Black Dog Blog

I've had two women, each on a separate occasion, come up to the woefully inadequate kitchenette area in which I was mixing my lunchtime no-cal shake and admire… my stick blender.

"Isn't that clever?" they've both said, or annelids to that aftermath.

I decided not to tell them of my secret evil plot to wash the paraphernalia in one of the lavatory sinks afterwards, in case the overwhelming admiration should quite sweep them off their feet.

The kitchen facilities suck here. There's a microwave and coffee machine and that's it. No sink. No water source. To find a power point, I have to paw the extension socket out from under the cabinet. And it's rather public, too, which, when you're a little embarrassed about whizzing pink and white powdery drinky things every day, is tough luck.

I have also found out that out of an entire building full of journalists, I was the only one to email a fellow at the police station and check up on a telephone scam alert email attributed to him that had been fwd:fwd:fwd:fwd:fwded to me, before sending it on to everyone I knew. (The alert, as it turns out, was a year old and he'd subsequently found out that it was a hoax.)