British Gas Theorem

Before disappearing to Valencia, I made arrangements to have lunch on return with Lynn - someone I have met through work, and who works for a similarly structured organisation. Lynn is one of those women who looks fantastic, despite appearing to wear no make-up bar a slash of eyeliner and some lip gloss. She is funny, insightful and sensitive. I wish she was one of my colleagues.

On checking my Blackberry before I leave to start work, I see an email asking for information about a currently sensitive situation within my particular patch of responsibility, and manage to obtain this - plus photographs! - while walking towards my rendezvous with Lynn. I send through a detailed report to the Hierarchy from their Reporter on the Spot. Within five minutes I receive a thank you from the Chief Executive for my "helpful update".

Now there would have been a time that this kind of communique would have given me a nice warm inner glow lasting the entire day (not for nothing does my husband call me Lisa Simpson, making comparisons between that cartoon character's pitiably eager thirst for praise and affirmation and my own...) But today, all that the CEO's email represents is Freedom! The Hierarchy now know I am out and about, busily working. I suspect that this means I will not hear from anyone for the rest of the day, and this prediction proves correct.

So Lynn and I enjoy a leisurely lunch during which we swap a number of Line Manager stories. Oh - the relief of finding one is not alone! And why do these insecure, neglectful, and easily threatened Line Managers always seem to be men?? I know there are some wonderful men out there, so how come we've ended up getting total dorks over-seeing our lives between the hours of 9am - 5pm? Another of life's Great Unanswered Mysteries.

Our lovely lunch over, I pop in to see another couple of work contacts before finally heading towards my own office (a little haven of tranquillity, where The Others have never trod). En route I buy a big coffee to see me through the ordeal of switching on my computer and actually doing some desk work. I chat to some of the other inhabitants who are hovering about in reception. I get into my office at about 3pm, and start booting up my systems. Sigh. It is taking ages today. 

I shuffle a few papers around, stifling a yawn. Am feeling a wee bit tired. The advantage of having my own little space with a lockable door becomes apparent when I work out that by pushing two armchairs together I can make a very neat little bed! (I am quite small, you understand). And it just so happens there is a comfy cushion and a blanket to hand...

Half an hour later I wake up feeling much MUCH better.

My computer is humming encouragingly, and all systems seem to be go.

I work very hard and fast for two hours, managing to complete all the tasks on my list.

I once received a vast bill after an engineer had spent no more than ten minutes twiddling with a couple of knobs on my problematic gas boiler. I wrote to Head Office politely querying the extortionate charge, and in response received an equally polite letter advising me that I was not paying for the time the engineer spent on the job; I was paying for "his ability to solve the problem". Hmmm. Hard to argue with that kind of logic. In fact - I rather like it!

So today, my employers paid not for the time I actually spent working, but for what I achieved.

It's just that I am not intending to draw this to their attention...