The business of work stopped
When the sickle chopped
For you
Who
Knew
When
To wield a pen.
But you
Could laugh too.
How silent is the office now
That your paperwork is done.
The serious and the fun
All must
Blend
In the end
In dust,
And in the memories of we who live on
After you are gone.
Soon baubles and toys
Will intrude, while the day’s noise
Will wrap me in petty care
Yet, on awakening there
Where
The birds, as they always are
Drowning out lorry and car.
Going to bed at night, we assume that will be awakened by our alarm next morning. But…
Reaching for the alarm that wakes
He takes
A step into the unknown.
Breakfast will, he thinks, Be followed by leaving home
For work.
No sudden jerk
Of fear,
Just the passing thought, death is always near
And one day all will
Be still
“You look smart. Are you off somewhere nice?”, said the man operating the luggage gate at London Victoria’s mainline station. (Being blind this gentleman has assisted me onto trains on numerous occasions hence his familiarity in speaking to me in this manner).
“No, just work”, I replied.
“But its Sunday Kevin!”, he said with obvious surprise.
Suddenly everything clicked into place. The 4 coach train at my local station when, during the working week the train consists of 8-10 carriages should have screamed, “It’s the weekend you crazy man!”. Likewise the lack of people at the station together with their relative absence on my walk there should have registered with me as signifying that it was a Sunday.
I have never done anything like this before and can only conclude that my desire to be early for the meeting I was due to chair on Monday morning, coupled with the need to prepare for it so occupied me that I neglected to notice the trifling fact it was Sunday rather than Monday! Oh well at least my guide dog Trigger enjoyed an early morning trot albeit on a Sunday!
Kevin
Today, as on every working day, I went into my office in central London with my trusty guide dog, Trigger. On opening my emails I was pleased to see, in among the various pieces of work requiring my attention that a colleague had emailed around saying that, in honour of his birthday he had made a lemon drizzle cake and we (lucky people) should help ourselves.
The cake was, I am pleased to report most delicious. Having partaken of the delights of cake I emailed my colleague thanking him for it and saying that, fortunately Trigger haden’t managed to get anywhere near my tasty snack, (Trigger has been known, on occasions to relieve unwary colleagues of their lunches. He is, obviously working for Wait Watchers and performing an invaluable function by preventing my office from over eating, noble beast that he is)!
Scarcely had I pressed send on my e-mail when I heard a commotion – Trigger had helped himself to the remains of a colleague’s slice of cake and, irony of ironies the person in question was none other than the birthday boy. Oops and double oops! Fortunately my colleague was more concerned whether the cake would upset Trigger’s stomach and not at all about the loss of his tasty snack. Oh the joys of taking one’s guide dog into the office. Anyone for cake? I’m sure I had a chocolate one somewhere. Now where could it have gone …
Some photographs of my guide dog Trigger taken in the office at Christmas time.
My Colleague Trigger relaxing on his bed in the office
Trigger with a toy in his mouth facing away from the camera
Yesterday I breeched one of the cardinal rules of computing. I had taken the day off from the job which pays the bills (with my boss’s permission of course), With the aim of getting stuck in to some serious writing. Having treated myself to a healthy breakfast consisting of hash browns, bacon, sausages, eggs and beans (with several slices of tost just in case I faded away), I sat down at my laptop and began typing.
I worked merrily away, words populating virtual paper until, oops the machine froze. So intent had I been on my writing that I had neglected to save the document. The laptop, showing no immediate desire to behave itself, I took a deep breath and went to make a cup of tea. Fortunately the computer had, by the time I returned unfrozen allowing me to save my work.
I don’t know what caused the machine to freeze but suspect it may have been connected with Windows Update prompting me to install Microsoft’s latest updates. Whatever the cause I was lucky not to have lost the story I am working on – the lesson I draw is that work should be saved, on a regular basis to avoid hapless computers being thrown against walls by angry authors who, through their own forgetfulness have neglected to save their manuscript. I am pleased to report that my laptop has survived to drive me mad on a future occasion.
Lying here on this sofa. I should go to bed really but I’m so tired after a hard days work I can hardly move. Besides my bed’s getting old now and the sofa is so comfortable.
Maybe I should get into bed, after all its only just across the room from where I’m snoozing on the sofa but this cushion under my head is so comfortable, perhaps I could take it to bed with me. Even with the cushion in the bed, the fact is the sofas still much softer.
Another hard day in the office tomorrow, roll on the weekend say I. The weekend’s my favourite time as I can have a lie-in.
Oh I hate those crowded tube trains, everyones in such a rush bumping into one another. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve been trodden on, people seem not to see me. It isn’t deliberate but it hurts none the less.
I’m lucky, my colleagues are really nice, even though people are busy someone or other always has time to stop and chat. I’d hate to work in a place where you couldn’t socialise with people. As a wise person once said “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”.
There is a big tradition of colleagues bringing in cakes and biscuits. I’m a little mean in that respect, I will help myself to food but I never bring anything in nor do I stand my round in the pub however, people still appear to like me.
Oh this sofa is heaven, it beats me why I need a bed at all, perhaps I’ll sleep on it every night.
What was that sound? Is he coming in here? False alarm I can stay right here, he isn’t coming in.
I can here him snoring. Do I snore like that I wonder? I have the most vivid dreams, mostly about chasing things or, occasionally being chased. I guess we all must dream. I know he does because I sometimes here him talking in his sleep.
I’m so tired, living and working in London really takes it out of you. Personally I’d prefer to live in the country as I love all that green grass but beggers can’t be choosers and I’m stuck in the capital so long as his majesty decides to stay here. If I sleep now will I hear him getting up? My hearing is very acute, I’ll be sure to be up and about as soon as he opens his bedroom door.
“Get down you naughty dog, you know you aren’t allowed to sleep on the sofa!”
Oh know I must have been very tired, I didn’t here him come in. Back to my basket for me. Tail between my legs, pretend to be sorry and hope he’ll take pity on me.
(The above is dedicated to my guide dog, Trigger who has been known to spend the odd night on my sofa)!
Despite the security at my place of work intruders have been detected. Unauthorised visitors have been found wandering the coridors without the requisite credentials on previous occasions. Action has been taken, the authorities called in and the unwelcome guests sent packing. However try as the powers that be might, intruders keep breaking through our security barriers.
Things have gone missing from the filing cabinets and drawers. The unwelcome guests are circumspect being rarely seen. They generally operate in darkness when all good people and true are safely tucked up in their beds. However, on occasions colleagues have caught a glimse of the intruders, a mere flash of movement but none the less a sighting which is logged with the authorities. I think that the time has come to call in the services of that most stern of enforcers, Mr C, for with his powerful spring, sharp teeth and claws he will, surely rid the building of these pesky mice!
K Morris - Poet 