the backlog
Sorry; Ms Baroque has a terrible backlog of blog posts, poems, articles half-written, half-thought-out, half-something-elsed. I'm off to work now. We're finally having our pre-Christmas lunch with the guy from the printers, so no writing of any kind can get done then. I have four meetings today. From 5.30 to 7pm it's yoga, which I realise is a good idea & indeed must pay for today, which'll take a bit of fancy footwork somewhere along the system. I'll get in around 8pm &, well, we'll see.
Yesterday was all about getting the new laptop, which I did, meeting the vendor at Starbucks (ugh) for the handover, under the chaperonage of a colleague. Then the frantic scrabble up to Oxford Circus to the loathesome Apple Shop for Microsoft Office on the way home.
(Disneyland of computers, I say; I felt cloyed, sick, within seconds of arriving. My eldest, the Urban Warrior, says it is more like 2001: A Space Odyssey, than Disneyland, all white with big slabs everywhere. He and his mate were laughing themselves sick at this and they are right! It's totally excessive. But none of the assistants punched anyone while I was there.)
Anyway, Disgusted of Stoke Newington finds when she arrives home that Microsoft's packaging is four times larger than the tidy-looking DVD case which in fact houses the software and its booklet, and is all anyone needs. So, I apologise, Earth. I had to throw away a plastic mountain. And now I don't even have time to do the thing it was for.
The UW and his mate went out at 10pm and came back in just before 2am, which was fine except that they woke me up. It was that kind where you know it's going to be insomnia, where you're thrashing around and your brain is spinning, so I got up and read emails etc. Back to bed at 3.
Now: shot away, destined for meetings, and not a minute to call my own. Yesterday I even had to stand up all the way home.
This has taken me seven minutes to write. Here are some of the coming attractions Ms B has half-written about:
Martin Amis, the latest delight
the TS Eliot Prize for Poetry, awarded last night
time present and time past, both perhaps present in time future
That last is a drag; I was hoping for a bit more room in time future.
3 comments:
Gah - I am so scared of the Apple shop on Oxford Street. My dad went in there to get his iPod fixed there and ran away in fright when they told him he would have to wait for an appointment with a 'genius'. I've never come across an organisation with such an inflated opinion of itself, apart from the Wetherspoons chain of course.
Miss H, it is a genius gimmick. Your dad should go back, though; my kid went through three iPods on one warranty, because they just replace the broken one.
Don't forget the inflated corporate ego-fest that is Star*ucks. Honestly! And we're supposed to think this is an improvement over religion and cathedrals? At least in the cathedral you didn't have to repeat slowly five times with ever-increasing volume and purpose, "I said a VERY BERRY SCONE please?"
Seven minutes well spent Ms B. I look forward to reading the half-finished pieces.
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