Day 228: I Hear Something In The Radiator

I have been working. When I have not been working, I have been drinking dark beer in dark bars, telling twenty three-year-olds that they have no business liking the Stone Roses, and arm-wrestling impertinent giants.

When I have not been doing that, I have been constructing elaborate plans that involve buying a pony to keep in our office garden. And when I have not been doing that, I have been escorting my freshly-married friend around the canals of Amsterdam. "Where ARE we?", she has squeaked endlessly all weekend. "IT ALL LOOKS THE SAME". Poor thing!

But mostly I have been working. And tomorrow, as I must go to Parma with a Roman with a broken printer, I have been in the office writing things and printing them out on the printer on the floor above.

I didn't really mind going to work this afternoon. I thought it would be quite pleasant; after all, it is only two minutes' dangerous cycle ride from the IKEA showroom in which I live, and the journey to work involves scenes like this:



Unless it is dark, in which case it looks like this:



Unless it is dark and I have had too much dark beer, in which case it looks like this:



The office was jolly. There were some young people in it listening to music and eating biscuits. I did my work, and then I did some more. Two hours passed, and then three. As I entered the fourth, the last young person left. "Do you know how to lock the building up?", she asked kindly, shaking her head in pity. "Yes!", I yelped, aware that it was DARK and RAINING outside and that I would - if she left - be ALL ALONE in a FOUR STOREY SEVENTEENTH CENTURY MANSION ON A DARK CANAL IN AMSTERDAM.

"Don't forget to lock the doors!". "How?", I squeaked. "Press the button next to the desk in Reception. All the doors will close automatically. Then do the code, leave, and lock the door. Good luck!"

"Good luck?", I muttered to myself as I heard the front door slam twelve miles away. Something rumbled in the wall. I remembered the nice lady telling me about the central heating. I banged on my keyboard with my monkey paws for approximately eight minutes. Then a groan on the floor above! I remembered the nice lady telling me about the loose window. I did some more banging with my monkey paws, this time faster than ever before in my life. A ping in the computer: the things had printed on the floor above.

The stairs in our building are wide, and made for seventeenth century merchant millionaires to impress people with, not for porky ladies to sprint up. I ran up them two at a time. The lift creaked, but did not move. The window banged again. I put the paper in the machine. The things came out. I ran downstairs. A light went off of its own accord!

I snatched up the papers and then dropped them all over the floor. They spread out everywhere, all one hundred of them. By now, I could hardly breathe; the radiators were murmuring on my floor, and shouting on the floor above. Something was creaking; the lift groaned again. My monkey heart stood still. I ran for it.

I fumbled for the button. "Magnetic doors", it said. I pushed it and all over the building, up and down the four floors, doors slammed of their own accord. Could I remember the code? Yes I could. Could I put it in without setting the alarm off? Yes. And No! In and out and in and out I went. I set the alarm off; I stopped it; I re-set it; I left and stepped into the freezing rain.

Glorie the bicycle had fallen over! Her basket was askew. My hands were freezing and Glorie's lock stuck! It kept raining on my head. I dropped my papers; I dropped my bag; I dropped my keys, and then my lights. And then finally, I was astride Glorie, pushing off into the night. I looked briefly back up at the office. There was something there, lurking in a third floor window.

I am not working at the weekend EVER AGAIN.