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Apparently I am one of about six people in the entire world who hates working from home. I can’t do it. At home I am lazy, unproductive, and I accidentally do hours of overtime despite this, because I have no place where work ends and home begins. In March 2020, we were all officially sent home for a temporary office closure, the definition of “temporary” soon being stretched as far as I allow my credulity to when I watch The Prestige. It’s magical! David Bowie makes thousands of hats!
Anyway, at the tail end of last week I returned to the office, which it turns out is still almost entirely empty. It’s like working from home except I have to wear trousers (also Graham is here too so I can kick his chair and throw stuff at him). I spent a few hours on the first day creeping about looking at everything that had been left here for 18 months, and concluded that if our office were a level in a post-apocalyptic game, or a scene in 28 Days later, it would be pretty embarrassing.
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