who said a change is as good as a rest?

Some people have to work overtime in their job. Although I hardly have to work at all at the institute, I'm experiencing something nearly as bad.

The powers that be in my workplace have decided I should move offices. Where I am now, I'm in a quiet room hidden behind a lift shaft where nobody ever comes. Where they want to move me to is in a fluorescent little box right next door to three bosses. Victimisation! Actually, it's more like bureaucratic ineptitude; that, and bosses wanting to be seen to be doing something, anything. Any change that might justify their existence.

The new office is also across from the customer service desk, so every time the customer disservice operators get a customer they can't handle, they'll ask me to come out and help. As if I could help anyone! I'm already flat out just trying to help myself and the handful of bloggers who find their way here.

So I'm refusing to move, but as I'm about to disappear to Duneditin for a few weeks, the're little I can do about it if they want to move my stuff while I'm away. Maybe I should remind them I'm in the union. That used to help. Or I could play the medical card. Ooh me leg! Or in my case, ooh me head!

---

Another cloud on the horizon is that our boy, who mercifully flew the coop last year, has his eye on moving back in here "to look after the house" while we're away. In other words turn it into a 24-hour party house for passing Scottish tourists and pyromaniacs. Dearie dearie me! This is what happens when I step outside my comfortable routine. Take my advice: never go on holiday. Beyond a certain age, it's never worth the hassle. That's what the internet's for - roam the world without leaving the house.