Belvita and I spend some time daily watching people in the offices across the road. It’s a narrow road. We can clearly see onto two floors of an investment bank headquarters. There’s what looks like a hot-desking area that has been empty but is gradually getting busier. One man has personalised a computer by the window.
This is apparently the biggest trading floor in London.
The rest of the traders must still be working from home. I can only imagine the disappointment felt by the owners of this bank, considering that the building reportedly cost over a billion pounds. The ultimate workspace for bankers, they say, it even has beds for executives who work eighteen hour shifts.
Well, it is an odd year for everyone.
The other floor we look into seems to be offices and meeting rooms, that’s where the action happens. One man in chinos, uses a standing desk all day and beyond. One has an unusual stretching regime, according to M, another of our floor mates. If one of us sees something interesting going on, we let the other know. I realise that what is interesting to us may not register on other folks interesting scale.
People use the glass walled rooms to make phone calls, we read their body language. It’s obviously a tense business. There’s a woman that we see often, slim, trousers, trainers, she looks amazing in a turquoise shirt, relaxed stylish, and somehow, very business like, very controlled. We were really impressed, but since have been underwhelmed by her top and shirt choices. I wonder if she knew she was being so closely observed and judged, whether she’d be glad of the tip re the shirt, tell us to eff off, or call the police.
Her phone call attitude suggests she would not be unduly cowed by the opinions of such low earners.
There are a couple of units empty on our part of the floor, we are currently a gang of five. I’m interested to see what adventures we might have.
As well as developing relationships with the building inhabitants and peeping at our neighbours, I’m also developing a relationship with the lift. It’s a tease. I get in and press for my floor, it ignores me, I press it again, the doors close part way then open again. I press again and off it goes, well most days it does. Sometimes it needs another tickle to get moving.
Bless.
I bet the lifts over the road don’t do that.
This, apparently, is the skyline view from the roof top park of the building over the road.
Whatever.
fat tart 