wendy house

As you know we have been experiencing some ‘changeable’ weather conditions, and we are reacting to these demands, on a daily basis by turning the heating systems on and off.  In addition, we have taken the opportunity to carry out some essential maintenance work in readiness for next winter’s challenges, hence, we do need to turn the heating on and leave it on for short burst of time. 

We have now turned the heating off as from today, further maintenance work is planned for next weekend, if you should need any more heating locally in your area of work please do come and talk to any member of the team.

Ben, the building maintenance team works to a strict schedule. On May 1st the central heating is switched off until November 1st.

The sole traders on floor 6 are surprised by Laurel’s admission that the heating has been on in May. They haven’t felt the benefit. Their heating still isn’t working. Everyone has at least once ‘local area heating’ appliance. Even Caroline who’s worked there for 6 years doesn’t remember the heating ever having worked. Could this essential maintenance end 6 years of frozen, penthouse, wilderness?

The 1st floor are still steaming and dreading yet another summer with the heating going full blast. On the 1st floor, no-one can remember the heating ever having been turned off across the summer. Their open windows create a pleasantly cooling breeze. But the breeze is laced with smoke from the smokers basking in the brief rays of sunshine outside the west wing on Abattoirs road

Could we please remind you that smoking is not permitted outside of the west wing door of the building.  Smoke is drifting into the building through open windows. 

As she talks I watch the blackness through the gap where her front tooth used to be, the scarcity of eyelashes that host her electric-blue mascara, and the folds of skin that reveal she was once a larger woman than now:

It feels later than it is. I didn’t sleep too well last night, it makes the days seem longer. I called the Samaritans. When you’re awake, alone, at night it helps, they are there to listen and they can’t give advice. They help you think. My husband’s got depression, he can’t cope. It’s affecting everyone, all my family.  He can’t cope so he just goes off and we don’t know if he’s going to turn up or not. We’ve been married for 29 years and I do all the caring for our 15 year old disabled daughter. It’s difficult, I’m the main carer. She doesn’t understand, at 15 you don’t. She wants me to get rid of his stuff. Maybe she should go into residential care. I don’t know. The weekends are the worst because you can’t call anyone. The Doctors won’t tell me anything, I don’t know if he’s going to see his Doctor or not. He’s got an inheritance, I’ve seen his statements, he’s staying in hotels. £40 a night in a hotel. When he calls I can hear a woman talking in the background, but you would hear that in a hotel wouldn’t you? I can’t assume stuff, but being a woman hearing another woman’s voice. Well, it’s difficult. He’s 51, he said he wants to have a life before he dies. When dad died, mum got over it, but it wasn’t the same because she knew he wasn’t coming back. With my husband I just don’t know. When he calls I don’t what mood he’ll be in. He says there’s someone listening in, but it’s difficult to believe anything he says. It’s difficult.

I didn’t want to walk in the rain, so I’m taking the bus, even though it’s not far.

I remember being taken to Leicester Forest East service station as a child. It was a big event, my parents paid for the silver service restaurant meal for the whole family. We sat over the M1 watching the traffic roar passed underneath while being treated to a quality meal.

The M1 was the first British motorway, my parents remember before the UK Motorway system was built. I can’t find a reference to it, but I think this was the first of the modern motorway service stations.

It’s gradually become like all the other service stations, lacking the stunning uniqueness that it had when I was a kiddy.

As a post-graduate student at Loughborough University in the late 80′s we would drive out to Leicester Forest East after a night clubbing. When Loughborough closed, Leicester Forest East was open 24 hours serving burgers and coffee. A place to hang-out and watch the waifs and strays taking a break on their journeys. Fond memories. It’s scheduled to close in 2017 to make space for a wider motorway. The end of an era.

Bros 57 laughed. Thomas rocked.

wendy: wassup bro?

Bros 57: you’ve got cobwebs, in your CAR. Spiders living in your car!  (LOUD LAUGHTER)

wendy: oh yes, and I wind the windows down to attract flies so the spiders don’t starve to death.

I love that Bros 57 is amused, rather than squeemished, by cobwebs in my car. I think they give Thomas a really homey feeling.

I’ve been never knowingly suffered from depression. I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve listened to people who are probably suffering from depression, taking their calls to helplines.

I’ve listened to their long silences.  There’s something peaceful and reassuring in sharing a long silence over the phone. I’ve heard their curiously monotone voices. I’ve listened to them repeatedly describe their situation as-if they’ve forgotten what they said before their last silence. A brief auditory glimpse into what may be depression.

Scary Duck pointed out this blog post: http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/depression-part-two.html

Allie’s story captured my attention, held it with wit and comic engaging sketches. It’s helped give me an insight into one way of experiencing depression. I’ll be following Allie’s writing from now on, once I work out how to replace my google reader….

After the interview I was invited to stay behind to talk to the interview panel. They asked me:

interviewer: we were curious about your references. One reference was 4 pages of detailed praise for your work. The other reference was one page which, while highlighting your strengths, seemed a bit odd. It made us suspicious about your referees motives. For example, were you sleeping with your first referee and then moved on to be sleeping with your second referee, that would explain the differences. We thought you should know about the differences

Gobsmacked silence as I take on board that I’ve been judged by presumptions, based on popular gender stereotypes, rather than the actual content in the references. A pair of good references couldn’t possibly be because I do good work, must be because of sexual relationships. Reference length differences couldn’t be attributed to differences in author’s writing styles .

wendy:  you should take the content of the references at face value, they are both genuine comments on my work and not my sex-life.

I was given 2nd refusal on the job, if the first (male) candidate rejected it. I decided not to accept it if offered.  Why would I want to work for an organisation where key people are more interested in speculating about my sex-life than actually seeing what’s in-front of their noses – my good work.

I have a rather loud laugh.

It’s a house family trait. My laugh is demure compared to my brothers. Bros 57 can silence a large noisy pub with one lashing of his laughter, his style is somewhat reminiscent of Jimmy Carr – with more volume:

I love my loud laugh. Not everyone does:

• In cinemas people will tap my on the shoulder and ask me to keep the noise down. Have you every tried to down-volume your laugh? I don’t even bother to try, I apologise for disrupting their enjoyment then continue with my own, unabashed, feeling pity for them that they can’t enjoy my laughter.
• In restaurants peers have asked me to keep the noise down because I’m disrupting the enjoyment of people at other tables and drawing attention to our table. Again, I’ll apologise and wonder at how these people can feel such a strong need to ask me to conform with a perceived need to be seen, but not heard enjoying yourself.
• A lady in the office next door came round to complain that she couldn’t hear her telephone conversation when I was laughing. I apologised for the noise level and suggested that she consider investing in a headset.

I was regularly asked to be THE AUDIENCE for full dress rehearsals by a Theatre company. Free theatre! My laugh was big enough for me to mimic a whole audience! The actors were able to adjust their timing to deal with likely audience noise levels.

One friend commented on how she envied my ability to laugh so genuinely, so unaffected by the people around me. How sad that her happiness was stifled by her respect for other people’s right to be not-offended by it. People who ask other people to moderate their laughter volume are to be pitied.  I do try to moderate when I laugh to be socially acceptable, but not the volume….

Ear-bashing happiness or hand-muffled silence

interviewer: what will you do if a 40yr old male Engineer says to you, that’s a load of rubbish, I don’t need that

wendy: I’d get some good evidence to demonstrate the value to him

interviewer: what would you do if he says he doesn’t listen to women

wendy: (pauses, a bit gobsmacked) I’d stay focussed on the work and what it could do to help him do a better job

interviewer: imagine he just ignores you

wendy: I’d calmly walk to the rest-rooms, SCREAM, then calm down and find my manager to strategize how we can deal with this idiot

I was offered the job

I didn’t take it

At the wake, I shadow the widow armed with a fresh cup of tea and a chicken leg from the buffet, it’s her favourite. Since his death she’s barely eaten and is clearly loosing weight rapidly. She needs to eat. The guests line to talk to her, picking up her conversation then moving on.  Whenever she catches my eye I offer her the tea and chicken-leg.  She sounds proud that Mumsie is here:

“That’s my family over there, meet my sister.  OH, you’ve met her before, yes, that’s MY FAMILY“

After most of the guests have moved-on the widow takes a seat by Mumsie and chatters away to her in an almost ‘hyper’ way. Through the ceremony I’d kept my tears under wraps. Here, listening to the widow, tears start to roll on out.

“I’ve never used a credit card. I wouldn’t know how to use one. What will I do? He paid for everything. He was always there. He knew where my saccharin were kept, he’d have the packet in his hand whenever I had a cup of tea. What will I do?”

She rummaged in her handbag looking for her saccharin tablets. The bag slipped in her hands emptying the contents on the floor.  I was glad of the excuse to get on my hands and knees under the table and pick up the contents for her.

Hearses stacked in a line on the glorious Bedminster down awaiting entry to the South Bristol Graveyard and Crematorium.

Mumsie pauses to worry that she wont be able to walk from the car, once parked, to the crematorium.

We’re all respectfully wearing black, long sleeves, long skirts, high necklines. In my Pierre Cardin black trouser-suit with a blue pinstripe I look more like Dad than usual. He looks elegant in black with a white pinstripe. Neither of us wear Lodge ties. I’m the only female wearing trousers.

The room is full of the deceased’s Masonic friends. Elderly males. Sporting their ‘Royal Clarence Masonic Lodge’ ties.  They chat amongst themselves. His extensive family from a previous marriage fill the first few pews. The widow’s sister, my mum, and myself are her only blood relatives present.  At 49, apart from the grand-children,  I look like the youngest attendee.  I keep trying to give my seat to the more frail looking individuals, but they wont take my family member’s seat.

The deceased arrives in the church to Louis Armstrong playing “When the saints go marching in” raising smiles all round as we remember his excellent good humour

A meme packaged as an ‘award’, from the very talented Scarlet! Perpetuating the meme is called ‘accepting the award’ and involves publishing an answer to the following four questions and then fingering a couple of bloggers who’ve recently inspired/moved/fingered me.

1. If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?
I’d be born a white, English-speaking, man - then drive for equality from the advantages of this privileged position.

2. If you could repeat any age which would it be?
15, and I’d be more creative about getting to go to the local 6th form college rather than attending the local comprehensive where all sorts of unpleasantness happened in the following 2 years.  

3. What really scares you?
People who get obsessed with me.  It’s why I have an online pseudonym. They’ve cropped up throughout my life, both male and female, and prompted me to move home, involve the police and ‘HR’ services. They seem normal at first then start showing a fantastic ability to build and maintain a reality that I just don’t recognise. They also try and persuade the people around me to believe their fantasies. One of them showed me his gun and knife collections, that was when I realised that him holding down a good job and telling entertaining stories were not sufficient signs of a well adjusted person. I left the USA within the year.

4. If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be?
Margaret Thatcher’s father before her conception. I’d have a vasectomy.

Bloggers I’d like to finger for this award ….  …..um, I’m having difficulty here, does that mean I don’t get the award? These are people who’s writings I actually read….

• Kevin Musgrove
• AF Harrold – poet, author, and eccentric with excellent music taste

Inspired by “The Outsider” I moved onto another Camus book ”The fall” knowing that the band “The fall” were named after this book, but not having read any book reviews.

Recommended for people who like deconstructing writers techniques and thinking and philosophy, whether that’s pub or academic philosophy.

3 smiles:         Ratings explained

Two things kept me gripped through-out the book:

1. It is written as a series of one-sided conversations, where the reader is the other half of the conversation. Listening to the protagonist, rarely questioned by the protagonist. A simple idea, incredibly difficult to write. I’ve never read a book written using this technique.
2. What is ‘The fall’? Early on the protagonist talks of his fall from being a prestigious and effective Paris lawyer to hanging around in fog-ridden Amsterdam, drinking with strangers in bars. This tracks the distance fallen, but not the actual fall. The book describes the fall, the ideas and insights bring the protagonist to Amsterdam bars.

I’m planning to read the book again because I suspect that I’ve missed many of the subtleties that it contains.  At the moment, I preferred ”The Outsider“. I suspect “The fall” might turn out to be an acquired taste.  I’ll re-read it with the aid of some matured whiskey….

An Italian, and American and a Wendy in a room together.

The American compliments the Italian.

The Wendy turns to the Italian, raises the flat of her hand into the air and smiles at him.

The Italian looks baffled, takes Wendy’s hand as if to shake it.

Wendy: High Five, slap my hand

American: Yo, High five man!

I really like the way USA people express compliments with this physical gesture. It will happen to people that I work with….

I’ll be 50 in November

I’m celebrating by doing something that would have inspired me as a teenager:  Driving the original Route 66 in a convertible. Flights and car booked today. Before the internet existed, I purchased paper versions of original maps. Finally, I’ll get to use them!

Friends will be meeting me before the journey, travelling part of the journey with me, and afterwards celebrating in my old home town of Seattle.  Finding a convertible to rent in Chicago, in late October, is not an easy task. So there’s already been some hard work and I’ve compromised. No Mustang…..

EXCITED levels are vibrating towards amber

Between now and October I’m collecting potential sights and stops on a Pinterest board: http://pinterest.com/thewendyhouse/route-66/

Being wendy, I’ll be visiting train stations, Bus stations, Cemeteries and Court houses along the way.  Please suggest unusual places to visit en-route.

Hannah is determined to make sure everyone in the building can empathise with the deep-frozen floor 6 sole traders.  There is gossip that the recent influx of blow-heaters to floor 6 actually resulted in the power loss.

Could we please ask you all to make sure that when using West Wing door it is closed properly, otherwise the alarm becomes activated and disturbs other tenants working in the area.

From every floor the smokers gather downstairs, outside the west wing. They’re not allowed to smoke on the street outside the front door. They lower the tone of the business centre.  The west wing door opens onto Abatttoirs road, a wind-tunnel disguised as an alleyway. It’s not a popular walkway, the smokers aren’t seen outside the westwing.

If the smokers forget to bring their key-card they have to walk around to the front door to get back in again. They’ve taken to leaving the door propped-open with pens or any small item from their pocket so that it doesn’t fully close while they’re out.

The door has got the message, it’s learned not to close fully.

20 minutes out of Crewe, the train doesn’t stop as scheduled:

wendy: I think I’ve gotten on the wrong train (gotten = US english)

train manager: where do you want to go?

wendy: Wilmslow

train manager: (laughs out loud, covers face with hand) yes, you’re on the wrong train

wendy: when’s the next stop?

train manager: (still giggling) London, Euston, in 2 hours

Silently absorbing that I wont be able to present to the 20 people who’ve travelled to Wilmslow to hear me. Trying, successfully, not to cry. I  call my colleague who’s travelling separately. My call is cut off as it’s connected, by a tunnel.  The train manager is fiddling with his ticket machine.

train manager: you can get on a return train immediately, it will get you to Wilmslow by 1.37pm. 

That’s 3 hours after I’m due to start! URGH.  I leave a garbled message on my colleagues answer-service as the train manager fiddles with his ticket machine.  A 2hr each way fast train to London, that’s probably a £200 ticket he’s printing-out. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry….

train manager: no-one else has got on this train by mistake (giggle)

He’s just told me I’m a complete numpty. Don’t cry, don’t cry….   I phoned my host, apologised and explained, asked if we could reschedule to 2pm. They agreed to try for this.  The train manager gave me a FREE return ticket to Euston, at least this ‘error’ hasn’t cost me £200.  I thanked the train manager and sheepishly snuck back to my seat, trying again to call my colleague. 10 minutes later the train manager found me.

train manager: there’re a few people on the train like you, one lady is very upset, she hasn’t stopped crying

wendy: I’m not crying, but I sure as hell feel like crying. (sure as hell = US English)

train manager: could you sit with her? I think it would help

wendy: sure  (sure = US English for ‘of course’)

The train manager lead me to the last, almost empty, first class carriage where a lady with immaculate hair and make-up, wrapped in a shawl, was elegantly dabbing her water filled eyes with a well-ironed handkerchief. We exchanged similar stories. I reassured her that she wasn’t dipsy. The Crewe service announcements and signs were less than adequate. How kind of the train manager to give us free return tickets and treat us to the quiet comfort of first-class seats. Rachel was charming and entertaining. But

Crewe train station is not forgiven, I may have to send them suggested improvements for their signage…

I had never heard of a Piñata when I moved to the USA. My manager was going out to buy one for a friend, I asked him what it was. He was gobsmacked that I didn’t know. How could I have lived a truly fulfilled life without knowing what a Piñata is? He explained that it was a colourful paper container, often shaped like a donkey, that is hung from a tree branch and people beat it with baseball bats until the sweeties it contains fall out.

wendy: so it essentially rewards people for being violent to something that looks like an animal?

manager:  yeeeeaarrh (he’s Texan)

wendy: Americans are strange people

My new phone ran out of battery power while I was out. Once the initial impact of the ‘no phone?!’ panic died down I scavenged paper and pen then improvised entertaining myself. Hoorah for remembering old-world, pre-smart-phone skills. My phone doesn’t have to be smart all the time if I can add some smarts to our relationship.

Even with a pinned arm I can write, and miss-spell, on paper. So I produced a draft blog-post.

But what would handwriting experts say about my scrawl? Do their analytical techniques still hold-water for the generations that haven’t really needed to learn to write?

A quick search of the Internet for graphology analysis 101 turned up this PDF.

After a thorough thoughtful application of this information I have analysed myself to be a little bit of everything really.

wendy: I talked to dad on the phone last night

mumzie: yes, I was here darling, I heard

wendy: that’s a first! we don’t normally actually talk to each other on the phone

mumzie: I know dear, he normally says “that’ll be wendy, you answer it” and hands me the phone

wendy:……

Luckily, I learnt in my teenage years that talking with dad is only warranted if there is valuable knowledge to be shared. Talking to me is not something high on his list of priorities – why would he want to do that?!

Today I called because mum’s brother-in-law has just died. Mumsie talks to move her feelings around, sometimes I wonder how on earth they ended up together, strangely, they fit together extremely well. Dads silence and mums chatter.

wendy: Dad? There’s too much Margret Thatcher everywhere. To try and keep my spirits up I’ve been listening to Tony Benn interviews. How are you?

Dad: He was active in the electricity industry you know, if it wasn’t for Tony Benn Britain wouldn’t have a nuclear power industry.

Dad still wouldn’t tell me which way he votes, or voted, rather we compared fundamental beliefs and values. Unsurprisingly, our beliefs are very similar, so I don’t need to know which way he votes if what we want is fundamentally the same. I love Dad, he has such a strong and grounded perspective on things.

The constant nausea and depression as side effects of drugs to keep you alive, or high risk of death by a stroke at anytime?

Dilemmas faced by the elderly are far beyond difficult

I phone Mumsie regularly, try to visit at weekends if I find that she will welcome a visit. She’s beginning to prefer to be alone, finding reasons to send dad out of the house.

You can hear so much more than what is said in a mother’s voice.  In the last 2 months mum’s has changed dramatically from fluid bubbly chatter through a slow jerky rap to a slower monotonous drone.

The doctor took her off the drug that was depressing her and replaced it with Aspirin.

I want her to be happy, this gift is sometimes easy with little things like a family afternoon sleep-over.

One of the breakfast rituals that has evolved at mum and dad’s home is loading-up their daily pill portions to ensure they take the right pills at the right times and can be confident that they haven’t misremembered taking them.

This is dad’s personal container after it’s been loaded. He knows what each pill is for, what it’s called and has a system for the pill-case division. He proudly talks me through it’s contents while mum chips in occasionally with a cheerful ’I take that one too“. They go on to compare their different pill regimes for me, why mum takes aspirin to thin her blood while dad takes warfarin, pronounced by dad as “wool for in”.

We’re competing for who takes the most, different, pills

They’re like a couple of kiddies comparing toy collections. I smile and tease them about the drug names. The size and mix of drugs in this daily dose to keep an 80 year old on track for longer life surprised me.

Easter Sunday, sated on a tender lamb roast with the trimmings including a cheeky little mint sauce. We indulge in a favoured family tradition, settling down to watch the Boat race. We all support Oxford for reasons long since lost in the Ethernet. Mum suspects it’s because they used to loose a lot when she was a gal and we should support the underdog.

The ’House’ style for watching THE boat race is diverse. I was the only person who did it with open eyes despite the thick, percolated, coffee supplied by mumsie from one of her 20 or so prized percolators. I’ll call her  ’Grandmum’ because we are in the presence of her grandchildren.

Bros 62 assumes the horizontal position for viewing enhancement. Pointing his beard between his distant toes.

Niece 92 ensures the blood-flow to her head by placing her legs on the footstool mumsie has procured for her comfort.  At first I though that niece 92 forgot to put a skirt on over her pantyhose when she left home this morning. Apparently this is a style feature.  She is proud of consecutive years of not wearing shorts or a skirt to keep her bum warm. She’s receiving as-it-happens updates from her friends though her much-prized iphone. She’s a tall and creative genius who demonstrates it in many pleasing ways.

Niece 94 is multitasking, she’s a formal thinking high-flyer.  Revising for her maths A level while watching the boat race, drinking evil coffee and possibly simulating sleep. What is she doing under that hair? A woman of infinite mystery at just 17.

While sister-in-law has resisted the black attire favoured by her hubby and daughters, she can’t resist the sleep inducing effect of grandmum’s classic 1960′s Parker Knoll rocker.

Synchronised snoring with the cats

Normality temporarily resumed

I’m loving the colourful and smooth experience of unpacking my Nokia Lumia 800.  I’ve unpacked it and repacked it several times.

It came pre-powered-up, quickly (Bluetooth) paired with my old phone and ‘people’ transferred. Yummy! When the new SIM arrived my classic self used it to make some phone calls! I wonder where all the anonymous people in the phonebook came from….

wendy: I love my new phone, it works!

Apple fanboy: Only a Microsoft user would feel that way just because it worked

Just in case you thought that all my story blog posts mean that I’m neglecting my role of publicising details of software failures, I thought I’d throw this little message in the pot.

Arriving at work to discover that my computer had ‘shutdown unexpectedly’ or some such phrase that completely ignores the emotional impact of a computer crash. I do like that Microsoft wants to know about these events so they can diagnose their causes and work with partners to reduce their occurrence.  I’d rather they used this messaging opportunity to:

• acknowledged the emotional impact of what happened.
• told me they will use this information to reduce events like this happening in the future “sending more information can help Microsoft create solutions” is too corporate, formal, impersonal.
• added a bit of humour to the message to demonstrate that they want me to be happy and they employ expert editors to make that happen.

Eventually these things may well happen, but I’m getting impatient, come-on already!

Some of the microwave ovens in the building are being left in a very unclean state, please could we remind you that it is your responsibility to ensure that they are left in a clean state ready for the next user.

Snow and ice hazardises the pathway to the Bean & Gone Café. It’s known to the inhabitants of Heidelberg Tower as the ‘Sad Café‘, a comment on the food quality.  The beans are boiled until the colour and any attempt at rigidity is battered out of them. The jackets on the potatoes are tough as tank-tracks, even a steak knife couldn’t cut through them. It’s cheap, not cheerful.

The triple-dip recession mixed with icy pathways have conspired to make Heidelberg Towers’ residents bring in home-grown, cheaper, meals. At lunch time people vie to be the first to use the microwave without being seen to queue or be competitive.  They’re failing.  Denise watches Jonny across the office.  If Jonny moves his chair back while holding a Tupperware container in one hand, Denise will rise quickly, hike-up her pencil skirt and use the extra leg-length afforded by her 4 inch heals to be the first to the Microwave.  Jonny’s tried walking away from the microwave then spinning round to have the momentum to out-stride Denise, but she’s fast and slippery.

Denise’s motivation isn’t hunger. She doesn’t want her lovingly home-baked pie to be sprinkled with Jonny’s left-over Thai green chicken curry. If Denise gets to the microwave first, she sucks her thumb then wiggles the wet digit at Jonny mimicking their company logo. If Jonny gets there first he turns his back on her, simultaneously wiggling his bum and thumb. This competition will probably end in tears, or worse. When Laurel and Hannah send an email to the whole building about Microwave etiquette everyone suspects Denise of escalating the problem to keep her pie pure, but it could be that Jonny’s engaging in proactive counter terrorist techniques.

Could you please email reception and say whether you still  have heating issues in your rooms

Almost all the heat on floor 1 escapes through the open windows,  the rest escapes down the customer phone lines of the Goin’ my way? staff.

The heat never seems to rise to the 6th floor sole traders. Even snow on the roof doesn’t warm the 6th floor, its already cold so it’s kept cold by the snow insulation. The sole traders arrive cold. They shiver and shake through the day then jitter out of the building around 5pm when a call echoes around floor 6 – “Tanner’s posse up?!” replies include “Aye up chuck!”, “Eh-up”, “you’re ON”, “I’m in!” and the occasional “fulk off!”. They huddle together for warmth before flocking in close formation to the Tanners arms. In the warm pub they share stories of today’s; dodgy supplier, indignant customer, technical emergency and, of course, the inevitable lack of heating. The heating system belongs in a museum. Floor 6 sole traders dream of radiators that can achieve, or exceed, body temperature.

Hannah’s email resulted in an inbox-assault of sarcasm from the floor 6 sole traders. Their heating definitely doesn’t work, they’re thinking of improvising a stove by burning Neil, the centre manager, in a wicker man.

The ground floor is literally steaming. The travel agency, “Goin’ my way?”,on flr 1, keep their windows WIDE open. Neil, the building manager, is concerned about the security risk of having all the ground-floor windows open all day, especially if people forget to close them before leaving. Odd Jenny says it’s not in her job description to check and close windows as well as clean them.

The Goin’ my way? staff already wear sleeveless tops to stay cool and, perhaps more significantly, to show off their liberally applied L’Oreal Sublime Bronze arms. Jilly, one of the Goin’ my way? company directors, picked up 20 boxes of L’Oreal Sublime Bronze in the Tanner’s Arms (local pub) at less than 10% of the published retail price. Jilly prides herself in knowing a good deal when it’s slipped to her under the table.

Flashing some orange skin is now part of the Goin’ my way? way.  Another company way is using the logo as a greeting, the hitch-hiker style ‘thumbs up’ wiggle. At reception, Laurel and Hannah enjoy sharing thumb-wiggles with the Goin’ my way? staff as they arrive in the morning. It’s amazing how many variations on the hitch-hikers thumb-wiggle you can actually come up with:

• Young Jonny has added a distinctive butt-wiggle, He’s a tease!
• Jello Jonny uses both hands in an asynchronous rhythmic movement that ripples through his whole body.
• Denise sucks her thumb before wiggling the shiny digit.
• The plaster-cast on Carol’s wrist makes it difficult for her to wiggle, for now she’s waving her way in….

“We have a parcel in reception fro Diana Clutterbuck but we can’t remember which company she works for“

Cathy may be invisible to the main residents of Heidelberg Tower, but not to the receptionists. Laurel and Hannah know who Cathy is. They enjoy their morning banter over tea together. There are many invisible people in Heidelberg Towers. Doreen has tried extremely hard to be one of them, but she just isn’t.  Her attempts to shuffle around the edge of rooms are so quirky that you have to really look at her. Doreen is terminably ‘Noticeable’ like Eugene Felnic in the Grease duopothy.

On the other hand, Diana Clutterbuck is eminently forgettable, except for her charming name. Laurel and Hannah agree that they couldn’t put a face, gait or dress style to that name. Neither of them will recognise her when she walks through reception in the morning.  There’s nothing left to do but to email the whole building to get her to come to reception and collect her parcel. Now everyone will know her name, but she’ll still be invisible to everyone except Laurel and Hannah.