17 March 2016, 10 am
Today I am heading to the Dark Satanic North for the annual Yorkshire meeting. The train is miserably coffee-stained and embellished with chewing gum remnants and muffin crumbs. Unlucky Gary has reserved me a seat in the middle of the chewing gum remnants. The lady in front talks incessantly all the way to Doncaster. Her life story is not that interesting but her voice is not that unpleasant either; the net result is to send me soundly to sleep. I am supposed to be writing the minutes from last Thursday’s round-table, but my notes are all about the new coffee machine and I cannot summon the energy required to make sense of them. I am fed up with meetings anyway, not to mention the products thereof, which mainly involve me writing about stuff which I will then have to bust a gut to make happen. I figure that if I am late writing the minutes, then I will have delayed the point at which I have to start following up on them. This will be easier for everyone, but especially me. It’s my guess that very few people will notice. Anyway I have broken my laptop screen, by allowing my rucksack to fall from a great height propelled by a dodgy hook on the wall of the ladies’ toilets at King’s Cross. I am left with only two-thirds of a screen, so am limited to doing two-thirds of my work. If this sounds a little like a dog-ate-my-homework excuse, it is not intended to.
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