Corporate Hell

For many reasons, though the sun was shining only a little less this morning, it was wise not to go back to Calton Hill. Instead, I went back to the new but as yet unoccupied New Corporate Prison that has been built opposite the equally beautiful King James Hotel / St James Centre. The NCP (for that is what it resembles) has been built at the foot of Calton Hill just where it joins Leith Street and does a marvellous job of completely obscuring some charming 18th century houses a bit further up the hill.

Corporate hell continued in the office as I spent about two hours getting two job numbers from the global job booking system and starting the tortuous process of getting everyone and their dog to provide their wee bit of cost. Then I did six weeks of timesheets. Jesus.

The light relief consisted of looking for a card to send Ewan. He's continually disappointed at getting no mail (as if credit card bills and catalogues constituted mail) so I promised to send him a card, with an envelope and everything so he could have the fun of opening it. A curious experience sitting at my desk wondering what message to send my six year old, without sounding like I'd just dropped out of a Jane Austen novel, especially as I see him before he gets the card. So, I drew him a picture of what my desk would look like if he were looking down from the ceiling. It didn't occur to me that that would make him God or an angel. I also wrote him a note. I told him work was relentless misery. No, I told him not to watch too much TV and be nice to his sister.