Invisible Stranger

Invisible Stranger

Collecting Crises on Old Compton Street and Beyond

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Little Tinker

Currently clicking:
- bboyblues
- bitful
- blue witch
- diamondgeezer
- glitter for brains
- london calling
- naked blog
- troubled diva

Usually Playing:
- ute
- neil and chris
- peter and anna
- june
- kurt

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Friday, January 09, 2004
And On The Conveyor Belt Tonight
The past couple of days have been spent clearing out my desk and immediate office space. Lest you think Mama Boss has finally twigged, seen me for the cynical, scheming what's-in-it-for-me sort of person I really am, and quite sensibly shown me the door, let me reassure you that this ludicrously early spring-clean is just the preparation for a major office move over the weekend.

Apart from the usual spare keys, scribbled Post-Its, and mangled paperclips, I have so far discovered in my office drawers:
a jar of jellybeans (I hate jellybeans); the terrestrial TV listings for June 1995, stapled to which is a November 1979 flyer from a punk-rock club; a personalised horoscope slating me as "cold and reserved", and another calling me "passionate and hopelessly romantic"; ten quid in tuppenny pieces; a workaday tape recorder, unused and still in its bubblewrap; my family tree, and, appropriately enough, an analysis of cult classic Freaks; the BBC Annual Report, as well as its country profile of Iceland (no, I don't know either); one topless photograph of Tim Vincent, two of Lily Savage (although thankfully fully-clothed), and a black-and-white negative of Diana Rigg; an unfinished novel, and a hardback, unread because it's all in Greek; and finally an old Tupperware lunch box from a couple of years back, with, er, something still in it.

For me to have stored these particular items in my desk drawer, when other similarly useless things such as memorandums and reports get chucked straight in the bin, means they must share something linking them all together. Do you know what it is? Because I'm buggered if I do.

I'm moving into the new offices next week. After three years of working in a gloomy and windowless basement, I shall now have a room on the first-floor, with access to daylight and the Outside World. If I crumble to dust on Monday morning, then I shan't be in the least bit surprised.