A tin of cat food and a transistor radio
The coppers are doing VIP protection training in the grounds of my workplace. We were warned a couple of times in advance, but the occasional boom of a controlled explosion…
Career aspirations
My boss is great. In the face of continual pressure and ever-looming deadlines she remains largely unfazed by the caprices of her editorial staff. We’re currently working on my appraisal…
Familiar faces
My mother is a musician, who also teaches singing and piano. Her pupils encompass keen singers and players of all ages and most abilities, and every January she hosts a…
Schadenfreude
I adore and despise the Metro in equal measure. I never take a copy from the poor bastard loitering in the rain outside Cally Road tube, but once down in…
Out of office
Last night I left the office early to go and interview a minor celeb via ham, egg and chips at a Sainsbury’s café in Southall. Just in case anyone stopped…
The campfire gourmet
Faced with a half page to fill in a magazine, the most grown-up and professional solution for an editor is probably not to draw a picture. Nevertheless, this is what…
A reminder of festive times
2011 seemed to be the year of the Christmas jumper, and in our office the fundraising department ran a little competition wall of jumper pics. Since I was the nearest…
The stuff dreams are made of
A side effect of entering the London Boat Show is that you immediately lose all concept of money. You are horrified by the decadence of the first £700,000 yacht you…
Mixed messages
The stroppy note on the front door annoyed me slightly, but I think the transparency of this Christmas message is quite sweet. I texted a nice message back.
The tenacity of tinsel
Up on the North York Moors, there is a particularly exposed stretch of main road running between the derelict Legendary Saltersgate Inn and the truck-slaying gradient of Blue Bank. As…
