Pirates

Friday. Up and off to work. Lorraine dropped me at the station and I ran up the stairs and, puffing, caught the train by the skin of my teeth. Off into town, via Hassocks. Reading the last few stories of Good Evening, Mrs Craven: the wartime stories of Mollie Panter-Downes as I am on a mission to finish the books I started during the year. These home front short stories are mini-masterpieces of English manners under duress. To work, and the security badge I'd begrudgingly been given didn't work. I was sent down to IT where I was greeted unnecessarily grumpily. I gave them grumpy back with interest and it was soon sorted. The day panned out as usual, having to mind read what people wanted, due to the absence of briefing. A pleasant walk at lunch, though loping along in a tired way and my knee was hurting. In the afternoon the word programme on the laptop they've given me froze, and I lost three hours work despite all efforts to recover it. Asked by the CD to go for a be...