For some Friday is normally a slow day in the office. In late, bacon rolls and coffee, some chat about Thursday night out, some more chat about the weekend, and even fitting in some work. And then off to the pub for lunch (which I don’t do) and back for a leisurely afternoon, and then away at 4.30pm, via the pub of course, just to make sure it’s still there.
This of course was not a description of yesterday, and is never a description of my day in the office, which normally starts between 7.15am and 7.30am, and has been know to kick off at 6.45am.
Rocky coined phrase “Golden Hour”. Yes we do have someone in the office called Rocky, but any similarity to Mr Balboa starts and ends with his christian name. He is a gentle, grey haired religious man of around fifty years of age who has a dry and wicked sense of humour. He arrives each day before 7.00am so he can leave at 4.15am to catch his train home and have dinner with his family. Golden Hour starts just after 3.00pm pm each Friday when the slow down for his weekend begins.
I tend to go into Golden Hour mode with him as we go to get a cup of tea, have a chat in the kitchen, then wander back to one of our desks to talk through “work”. But for whatever reasons yesterday our clock watching didn’t even get out of first gear as we fielded questions and mails from all and sundry about nothing much really. It seemed important at the time though.
The unofficial factory whistle is the toll of the bells at the Dutch church, but I didn’t even notice them ringing at 5.00pm and left forty minutes later.
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