Had a fire drill today. The fact that we knew about it in advance made it easier. We probably weren’t meant to, but one of the fire wardens had helpfully given all of us a photocopy of the drill schedule. Took something of the element of surprise out of it, though even the skivers who managed to avoid the last one decided to participate this time.

Knowing about it in advance meant that when the floor warden did eventually wander around the floor announcing our imminent evacuation due to a bomb scare, some people just smirked, and he quickly worked out that the drill was common knowledge.

The smirks turned to muffled laughter when we went to evacuate and the fire warden couldn’t figure out how to open the door to the stairs. Someone helpfully pointed out the “Press here to exit” button, and we were away.

Wasn’t too bad — walking down 8 flights of stairs is a lot easier than 28, which it was at the last building I worked in. After the All Clear was given, rather than queue for the lifts to get back up to work, I went for a walk around the block in the sunshine.

Bills arrived so far this week: 2
Awaiting payment: 3

Letters for other people that have arrived in the postbox this week: 2

Telemarketer cold calls since I changed phone numbers and got a silent line: 0

Number of e-mails in my inbox at home: 238
At work: 165

Smoke alarms at home: 2
Requiring a new battery: 1
Requiring acrobatic act to get them back into position on high hallway ceilings: 2

Buskers I have given money to in the past week: 1
Buskers I haven’t given money to: 1 (I was enjoying the music, but had no change, dammit)
Beggars I haven’t given money to: 2
Charities I pay monthly via direct debit: 2

Days the Man Of Mystery who shares my cubicle has actually shown his face at work this week: 2
Minutes he was at his desk for: About 30 (pretty much on the phone or sending e-mails for the whole time; nothing he couldn’t do remotely. Amazing how messy his desk is, for someone who is rarely at it. I wonder if he’s a bit like Pete Gibbons in Office Space)
Oh… number of different brands of deodorant he has on his desk: 3

Number of 1 litre cartons of milk in the fridge at home: 3
At work: 21 (for the tea and coffee of about 40 people on this floor?!)

Packets of Arnott’s Tim Tam Tia Maria the checkout chick reckoned she’d sold since her shift started: 50
Packets left on the shelf: 3

I left my mobile phone at home. Why? It’s a long story I’ll elaborate on later.

But how will I survive? I feel almost naked. No SMS. No wondering around the office and the city having conversations. It’s like a flashback to ten years ago. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll live.

9:45pm. Actually it’s not a very long story — just the result of getting locked out of my building at work on Friday night. Damn those electronic keys which claim to allow 24-hour access but don’t. Since my briefcase-thingy/glorified lunchbox was at work all weekend, this threw me completely as I left the house this morning, and I completely forgot to take my phone, only realising I’d forgotten it after I had run boarded the train, the doors had closed and it had started moving.

Miraculously enough, I survived being away for so long from it, by phoning it every hour or two just to make sure it was okay. And to check for messages.

Other highlights of the weekend: a fine, fine dinner (slightly pricey, but worth it) at a restaurant next to the Anthenaeum that I can’t remember the name of; lazing for half of Saturday; helping Tony and Rae move (even the kids helped, by offering token assistance on large objects, by carrying a few small objects, and most importantly by keeping each other occupied) followed by a stroll down to their Local Cool Cafe/Bar-type Establishment (the beer just after shifting lots of stuff always tastes best); breaking a ceramic cooking tray thingy (but the pizza that had been on it was fine, and hey, I hardly ever used it anyway); and managing to spend so much time out of the house that by the time I did the dishes on Sunday night for the first time since Wednesday, there wasn’t a huge imponderable pile of them waiting for me.

It’s late. Or is it early? 2:49am and I’ve been sitting here almost an hour and a half, watching the work computers, waiting for some guys to finish their night time firewall work.

It looks cold and grey outside.

Thankfully it’s only very occasionally that I have to do this kind of thing. Anyway usually I waltz into work whenever I feel like it with impunity, so I can’t really complain.

Still, I’d rather be in bed.

Update: It wrapped up around 5am. Yawn.

Everyone who has a speakerphone apparently understands not to use them in an open office. People who need to talk hands-free all have headsets.

Some of the womenfolk have fluffy toys on top of their monitors.

One bloke came in on Monday and accused one of the new people of stealing his chair. “Not so!” they said, it came from one of the meeting rooms. He claimed it back, and was then seen Liquid Papering his name to the back of it.

I haven’t seen anybody feed the fish yet, though someone must. Knowing my record of fishicide, I’m not going near them.

It’s as well to beware in the toilet. At least one of them flushes with such ferocity that you’re likely to get water splashed on your shoes if you don’t stand back.

The hot water boiler in the kitchen makes gurgling noises after using it.

One woman has a tiny tiny office which is almost smaller than my allotted space between the partitions. And no window. She must get claustrophobic if she ever has to close the door.

In my group of four desks are two spares, me and a mysterious stranger who hasn’t shown up for the last three days, and so I am yet to meet.

We moved offices yesterday. It went surprisingly smoothly, undoubtedly helped by the fact that all I had to be moved was a computer and two Occupational Health & Safety Approved-sized boxes (accept no substitute!) of papers, stationery and miscellaneous junk. A stark contrast to my house move last year.

No waiting around for the boxes to show up at the new office, either. We were instructed to take the afternoon off, which suited me fine as it happens. I went and sunned myself on the beach. Actually no I didn’t, I ran some errands, then went home early and vegged. Upon arrival at work this morning I found the whole kit and kaboodle on or around my desk, all intact, even my coffee mug.

Time will tell whether the move is good or bad (not like I had any choice in the matter - some managers somewhere with a chessboard nudge a ruler and shove a pile of pawns across the board, and we all get relocated), but so far my impressions are:

Location: Now in Collins Street, it’s added a few minutes added to the commute. But it’s a much livelier location, teeming with people. In the vicinity are locations aplenty to dispose of any errant money that may be skulking in my wallet.

Building: A curious blend of art-deco foyer, very slow lifts (Mr Otis could do some renovation work here; in fact one is midway through some work, and has canvas with some very dodgy graffiti over it) and a vast open plan office full of lots of other people that reminds me a little of a 21st century version of the Crimson Permanent Assurance. You need a key to get to the toilet, which obviously keeps the riff-raff out because it’s all gleaming marble and chrome.

View: Not nearly as good as the old spot, which provided a splendid vista over olde Melbourne towne. But not as awful as I suspected it might be. Being only on the 8th floor now, I thought there might be a bunch of hulking great skyscrapers blocking the view. Fortunately, they’re far enough away that they’re almost picturesque (in a big city kind of way) rather than merely blocking out all the natural light. Through one window you can see the Arts Centre Spire.

Other than that, it’s just your average city office, though for something a little bit different, there is a fishtank by the door. With fish in it. Living fish. And a silver inflatable alien that one of my colleagues has on her desk.

Yesterday’s most disturbing sight: seeing others working here (not necessarily workmates, as I don’t work with them, just near them) dressing up as Matrix characters. One woman as Carrie Anne Moss in the full black leather(ish) getup, one bloke doing a less fully-encompassing but nonetheless distinct Keanu. Disappointingly no martial arts moves, but the image of middle-managers in their 40s impersonating Trinity and Neo is not one that will leave me in a hurry.

Slightly smug this morning at reading that my high school and its sister school (which was also, perhaps confusingly, my sister’s school) trounced the private schools in VCE results this year. Not that I personally had anything to do with it - indeed my own VCE performance is best described as "good enough to get into the uni course I wanted while expending minimum effort". But it’s pleasing to see that the government schools can triumph over the piles of money poured from all directions into the private schools.

Hooray - my most worrisome Christmas presents: those for my sister and her husband, are organised. As I sat in the office last night filling time until the Blog Meetup (a small attendance - tut tut to those who didn’t make the effort for the last one of the year), I pondered what I would buy them. With only a few days left until The Day Itself, I eschewed the 400 gazillion square metres of retail outlets in the vicinity of work and instead hit Amazon UK. A few dozen clicks and �48.93 later, it was all sorted. A bunch of stuff in gift wrapping with personal (though undoubtedly not in my handwriting) greetings, which - hopefully - they’ll like and will arrive on time. Where would I be without online shopping? More organised, hopefully.

Yesterday morning I was car-less, and to make carrying stuff while taking the kids to school on the bus easier, I packed a few things into my day pack. Sits on my back, easy. It was only later when walking to the station to go to work that I realised that with the day pack on, and a tie, white shirt, dark trousers… all I was missing was the name tag and I’d have looked exactly like a Mormon. Well, except that my tie was too cheerful (purple), and my shirt had long sleeves. How do those poor Mormon boys survive the depths of winter in short sleeves, anyway? Maybe they clutch their bibles for warmth.

The car is back. I’m happy to say it’s not making its funny noises anymore. For now. I’m even happier to say that the repairs were once again under warranty, so my wallet is no lighter for it.

The car turned ten years old a couple of months ago. I wonder when it will make the transition from being merely pass� to being a bomb?

Thankfully the wild storm of Tuesday night dodged my suburb completely. No golf-ball-sized hailstones, being rescued by boat, or soggy carpet for me, oh no. Just a moderate amount of rain and some spectacular lightning.

One of my colleagues bought a dozen yabbies at the market this morning. They’ve sat all day in a plastic box full of water by her desk, occasionally splashing and knocking on the sides. She’ll be a bizarre sight on the train home tonight.

It’s Christmas season again, and an almost bewildering number of lunches, drinkies and dinners are arranging themselves in my diary for the month. Catching up with old friends and ex-colleagues is probably the only chance all year I’ll have of getting rid of my never-shrinking stack of business cards, so this morning I dug some out from the box they’ve been hiding in. If the people I give them to are anything like me, they’ll end up in a wallet for a few days, then relegated to a small pile on their desks, then within a month any essential details copied to an address book or into a mobile phone, and the card itself will be thrown in the bin. But hey, at least I’ll be rid of some of them.

In the gent’s toilet at work, one of the soap dispensers has gone missing. Perhaps it’s been stolen by rampaging maruading corporate soap dispenser thieves.

And one final thought for now: I know some women wear runners on the way to work, because their shoes are too glammy to be comfortable to wear while commuting. Fair enough. But blokes wearing runners on the way to work? With suits? That’s just wrong.