procrastination

Work still resembles a French farce. I got in this morning in a sleepy haze and started hunting around the counter for the small bunch of keys that unlock the cupboard beneath the till. Some digging around, behind, below and inside the till did not lead me to them. As you do, I asked Vicky, "Where's the cupboard keys?"

She regarded me thoughtfully. "We've lost them. And my handbag's in there. But there's a spare key in the safe."

"Where's the safe keys?" I asked.

"In that cupboard."

"Ah," I said, and realising that this wasn't actually humanly possible, went on, "But there must be a spare..."

"Tony's got it. He popped out for a second...

"Yeah?"

"...two hours ago."

"Ah."

All in all, a good day, although for obvious reasons none of us had any lunch. Tony did appear momentarily, shouting something about book tokens and picking up his father-in-law's trousers - no, I have no idea - and a woman came in demanding to know why we had sold her a copy of something called "Hwyad Afu A'i Ben Yn Ei Blu", because, as she said, it was in Welsh. With a title like that, one would have thought she would have noticed. But apparently not.

Anyway. I am procrastinating by writing and this and reading far too much fic in the other windows. Time to actually do some work.