I am unreliably informed that Friday is "POETS Day" (P--- Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday), and yet here it is, 5 minutes after the final bell for the day - and indeed week - and I'm still here. And I'll still be here for at least another 25 minutes, and possibly much longer. The staff car park is just about empty; the cleaners are here.
The significance of the fact that the janitorial staff all drive cars several decades younger than mine is not lost on me, particularly as my 'ride' could not be classed as a "Classic" for at least several more decades. If it doesn't fall apart before then. Like me.
So now I'm off to clear my filing backlog, open this morning's mail (hopefully nothing important), and attend to similar tasks that could probably wait until Monday. Now there's an idea ...
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