People, people everywhere. More people, more nutters obviously, lockdown has not improved folks temperaments, oh no
Having moved in during the pandemic, it’s busier around the studio than I’ve ever known it, it’ll take a bit of getting used to. The over dramatic version of me can feel like she’s in one of the training programs in The Matrix. Anyone might suddenly become Mr Smith and she’ll be dead, but only after a short and painful fight. No need to worry, that particular, paranoid, movie fan, tart isn’t let out often.
The investment bank employees are back in their billion pound office building the other side of Plumtree Court.
We noticed them a week or so ago. The building has been empty for so long that I barely look in that direction anymore, other than to check the reflected sky in its high glossy windows. They may have been back for some time. During the lights off, no one to spy on wilderness months I got out of the habit of checking the comings and going’s of those high powered sorts. It was a very slow moving soap opera, with no sound and no subtitles that was strangely addictive. The opposite of a radio play where you get dialogue but no visuals, we have the sets and casting done, stage management sorted but we need to imagine the dialogue.
I’m looking forward to the new series.
Much discussion has been had in the studios about wether the man using a standing desk is the same man that used to use that same standing desk. Has he got plumper working from home? Is his hair longer due to lack of hairdressing opportunities? I think he might have lost some height. Or is it someone new? Someone less sharp?
GorJus thinks that it is the man she named Oswald, she really dislikes him, the rest of us aren’t so sure.
The filthy window situation in our building doesn’t help, I’m tempted to take my Dad’s binoculars to work. I’m not sure if that would be creepy, just rude or actually illegal. Whatever.
A city full of office workers, suit buttons straining, hair in their eyes, feet distressed, crammed into actual shoes after months of slippers.
No wonder they’re so bad tempered.
fat tart 