Dressing down

I know it's lame to fill my blog with links but this article is hilarious. The idea of scooping up birds and driving them somewhere to mate was so pun-filled that I couldn't resist drawing attention to it. Isn't it absolutely amazing what people spend their day jobs doing? Mind you, there's little doubt that I'd rather drive around Italy scooping up lost, bald, winged creatures than sit in front of a PC booking taxis and printing Word documents.

The noteworthiest moment of my day occurred at around seventeen minutes after noon. I was seated at my desk and had flipped open the top of my delicious Pret a Manger houmous and superfoods salad. My mouth was watering with anticipation and my hand may have trembled slightly as I poured the dressing over the leaves, seeds and other delights - but I was sure and firm as I pressed lid back onto the emptied dressing pot with a satisfying click. Not so satisfying was the immediate accompanying sound of oil spattering on to medium grey cotton. I looked down and, as expected, discovered a trail of dark globules ranging in size from 'tittle' to 'baked bean' soaking in to my work top.

I finished my salad and was advised by Laura to go and wash off the offending marks with hot water in the WCs, drying the top under the hand-dryers. I obediently headed off to the facilities and scalded myself with the clearly marked hot tap. Immediately, the grey fabric was turned to darkest charcoal and it became impossible to see where the oil had been. Still, I persevered and was standing at the sink in a black vest, scrubbing away, when Laura came in to see how I was getting on. 'You'll be fine,' she soothed. 'Now, where are the hand dryers?' We looked around. Strangely, having used this bathroom hundreds, maybe thousands of times, neither of us had ever noticed its complete lack of warm air. Still wearing only a skimpy black vest, I tried to sneak down to the gym changing rooms in the basement but ended up crammed in the service elevator with approximately thirty strangers. And Laura's hairdrying scheme really wasn't too successful - ten minutes later and my top was cold, very damp and still bore visible oil residue.

I called her and asked her to meet me by the lift with an alternative garment that I had brought in to wear tomorrow. Now I'll have to go to New Look this evening and buy something cheap to sport instead. I'm desperately trying to use this as an excuse for not going to the gym but, despite two runs in the past week, my trousers are still fitting rather more snugly than I'd like. If the situation worsens, I'll look like I've forgotten my skirt and am travelling to work in just my tights. Not good for the ego.