Half a day in the life of . . .

I thought maybe it was about time for a short description of my working day. I know that even now after over a year that you have no idea what I’m doing here.

I’ll take today as a typical example (although Tuesday’s are quite special) and walk you through it.

08:00 – Henry arrives at 51 to collect me
08:00 – 09:04 – He drives me to work mostly discussing odd topics such as horror films, who’s friend did what, the most recent argument either he or I have had with our respective partners, my most recent theory of political terrorism at work, etc.
09:06 – Swipe into work. Yes. Swipe. I am tagged.
09:15 – Computer finally wakes up. Eat bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes (the type of cereal varies, or most likely I eat biscuits).
09:30 – Check all emails that I didn’t read yesterday. Realise something important was supposed to happen. Worry about it.
10:00 – Emma arrives (although on Tuesday she doesn’t because she’s in London)
10:10 – Make Emma a cup of coffee (but not on Tuesdays)
10:30 – By now I am into full report mode, or I’m checking a file or I’m writing a brief, or I’m discussing a job with someone - or all of the above at once.
11:00 – Make coffee for me. Have proper coffee in my drawer – process takes time and dedication. At the moment it's French Continental Blend. It's slightly bitter.
12:00 – Start report for Status Call, get updates on status of various jobs running, fill in template.
13:00 – Dial into call. Wait.
13:05 – Everyone who is supposed to be on call is in another meeting. Hang up.
13:10 – 14:30 – Load checking program and check that data received is correct. Raise quote, deal with queries from suppliers, book in meetings, file list orders, and print labels.

That's my day so far.
I have a list of ten things to do. They include creating two LOL's (List of Lists), sending some extracts, discussing a suppression file and outputting some returns files.

Discussions have arisen in the office about there being too much stuff on my desk. I believe that you once had a similar problem? I don’t appreciate it. My dying creativity needs an outlet. It’s a small, malnourished whelp that gets no sunlight.

I will write to you. I promise.