Lunchtime madness

I have just returned from a ridiculously windy and cold lunch break. It was so windy that I couldn't actually read my free lunchtime newspaper - the pages kept flipping over when I was mid story. I should have been reading about George Best who is reportedly in intensive care, and naughty MP George Galloway who is in trouble again for (allegedly) receiving money from Iraq. Instead, I first read that George Galloway was in intensive care and the next thing I knew, George Best was receiving £85,000 from Iraqi oil!

It was so cold I had my biggest winter coat fully zipped up - with the hood up to protect my ears from the bitter breeze. An earache is all I need. I was physically shaking while struggling to eat my home made cheese and pickle triangles. Still tough, sitting in the freezing cold, getting blown about and not being able to read my paper was preferable to sitting in the kitchen here at work.

The kitchen is tiny. It does have a table, but it only has four chairs. If you miss one it's just unlucky. If you manage to grab one however, it's unlucky too, because everyone who enters the kitchen will feel compelled to make small talk while making their coffee or baking their potato...

I sat in there once with my headphones on while reading my book. The battery on my ipod was dead, but I thought that people may not speak to me if they thought I couldn't hear them. Unfortunately, because I could hear them attempting small talk (despite the decoy headphones), I felt bad ignoring them and had to make equally small talk in return. Before you know it, your whole lunch hour has disappeared into a veritable quagmire of meaningless, senselesss and forced chatting.

I am going to end up with a cold if I keep this up though. The small, slightly rotting wooden park bench that sits on the single strip of neatly maintained grass, nestled in the tidy graveyard that is my lunchtime haven, is not going to shield me from the rain when winter arrives and the heavens open. I am going to have to find another (covered) hideout, or else I'll have to brave the kitchen.