Blinded by the building

At 1.30pm, Si cries: 'The light!' And we pull the blind down, but not too far down because we need to relish the daylight that's still left. At 2.30pm, H and I are blinded by a ray so strong that we cannot even glance at our Macs. The blind is pulled right down and fluorescent light fills our gloomy world. Such is the reflective power of the Building Opposite.

When I first started in the office, the site across the road was in construction and I could see St Pancras station not too far away. Out of the building site rose a monster of steel girders and glass. We can see into the offices facing us. We peer at rows upon rows of seated, bored suits gazing at someone in charge of a flip-chart. I'm distracted by a monstrously huge TV that shows BBC News 24. Sometimes, when there's an event in the street (such as Fathers for Justice marching to the law courts), we catch the eyes of the people opposite watching from their building, and we make faces. They make faces back. It's a camaraderie that lasts for only a few moments, then we straighten our exxpressions and get back to work.

Mostly, though, we're jealous of the window cleaners. They have a deluxe box that lowers the men once a month to make their building shiny and ultra ray-reflective. The one time our outside windows were cleaned, it was because myself and a few colleagues of various heights bought a mop and did the job ourselves, showering unsuspecting people in the street below with suds. We're on the 6th floor. Yes, there were health and safety issues. Mum and Dad, I know you're reading this - I didn't lean out of the window (much). I wasn't tall enough to do a very good job and no one (especially me) would let me.

I'm feeling a bit nostalgic towards the office today. We've just been told that a move to Kings Cross may be in January, a lot earlier than we'd hoped. Will I miss the beams from the building opposite? Probably not, but I'll be much less informed about world events.