grumpyf1

By the time you read this, an epic battle of strategy, cunning, deceit and psychological warfare (not to mention fear, paranoia and possible violence) will have played itself out. I may not have survived. You could actually be reading my self-penned obituary. Yes, another office move takes place today. I’ve got the day booked off, but so great is the peril of allowing colleagues to move your stuff from one place to another, that I’m actually going in to work. If I don’t, I could well return on Monday to find my desk so close to the photocopier that I’d get a tan, or possibly in the car park, depending on how benevolent they were feeling. Whilst some folks are content to sit anywhere, I’m so far in the other camp that you need a taxi and packed lunch to get there. I spend a third of my weekday life at work, and whilst I have some control over my home life (I am married, so in no way is it more than partial), my grip on the office plan is tenuous, to say the least. There are