Sally Gulliver is Out of the Office

Hell’s teeth, I hate holidays. To be precise, I hate other people’s holidays. To be more precise, I hate Sally Gulliver’s holidays.

Off she goes to some island or other, clutching a metaphorical bucket and spade. And I am left here on my shelf in her office, the telephones silent, the papers on her desk undisturbed (and disturbingly neat) and not a meeting in sight.

Ho-hum.

It’s enough to send a plant to the Baby Bio.  

I struck up a conversation with a spider plant in the meeting room next door but do you know, it turned out he knew next to nothing about military history, brass rubbings or jazz? What’s a plant got to do to get a decent conversation around here? 

I even attempted to engage some of the motes of dust in the office. Turns out they have almost no sense of humour. I suppose I should not have been surprised. After all, it’s very rare to see motes of dust being witty on quiz shows. You could say they have very few bon motes. Bon motes – see?

Sigh. 

Of course Sally Gulliver has left me some books to read.  A political thriller or two, and I have always been partial to Dickens.

She also left me a large picture book about Kew gardens. I am as susceptible as the next green-blooded piece of flora to glamour shots, although I must confess I would never leave such adult material lying around in case some seedlings saw it.

Yawn. Offices are so dull without the office politics.  

Come back Sally Gulliver, all is forgiven.

I hope it’s jolly well raining on your island.  

Next Friday: Tortured by the Talent

@BinglebyinHR

Bingleby was confiding in Richard Goff