Thursday, November 30, 2006

do you fart in a lift?

Missed the Tech Trot slot at 11:50 and headed out at 14:00. Took a wrong turn that took me past a young lady wearing a very small bikini while sunning herself in the Botanical Gardens. I didn't think it was that awrm, but I declined ot complain. I got the lap done in an average 18:55. Highlight came after the run (well the bikini was kind of a highlight) when I found, outside of Sydney hospital, a rusty old set of scales that looked like ones you'd find at a post office; the big ones with the flat base you can stand a sack on, with a big round head-high dial to read the weight from. Anyway, in my bling new trainers, shorts and a lightweight t-shirt I weighed in at a shade under 67kg. Same as I was when I when i was using the gym back in London. According to the antique, rusting scales. Make of that what you will. Very tempted to pop over and ask if the scales are used and if not, can I have them? Buggered if I know how I'd move them; they ook damn heavy. Photograph to follow.

Before the run I had, of course, headed to the changing rooms in the basement to get changed. When I arrived there was shower running and as I left, having got changed not too quickly, the shower was still going. There is a fucking drought in Australia, stop using so much water! Shower on, soaped an scrubbed, rinsed and shower off takes a couple of minutes. Pff! After the run another minor highlight took the form of a chicken schnitzel, salad (for salad read lettuce) and mayo on turkish bread. Purchased from Martin place station, it tasted great in the way that food bought from subteranean dodgy outlets often can.

Something that was pointed out to me today and I had not noticed before, probably because my window faces the harbour. If I look out of the window to my left and down onto the next door building I can see a swiming pool. It is indoors, but has skylights. It is atop the Channel 7 building, so maybe I will see Kochie and Mel doing laps one morning?

This afternoon is especially dull. The sky has turned a shade of grey that reminds me of London. Not an angry storms-a-brewin' grey, not a light this-will-blow-over grey but a blanket grey. A sort of absence of weather grey. The harbour is neither flat as a millpod nor whipped by winds, rather middling. Add to that the quieter than usual - and usual is a bit too quiet for me - quietness of an office lacking those who have headed to the Sydney Entertainment Centre for the Christmas shin-dig. Apparently it starts with three hours of speeches and talks and then the party begins. Oh the irony in the venue name. Very few contractors have abandoned their posts in favour of the party.

A personally disappointing end to the day as I opted not to fart in the lift. Farts in lifts are - objectively - funny. So I faced a dilema as I stood outside the lift doors on my office's 19th floor with one brewing. It was ripe when the lift arrived and the two other occupants of the lift were colleagues from my (extended) team. Do I or don't I? I supressed and that, when I think back over the (non) event was the wrong thing to do. If you can then you should fart in a lift. It is funny. And anyone not amused, well their lack of amusement simply makes it funnier. Next time I'll pull the trigger.

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