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Posts Tagged ‘World’s Greatest P.A.’

World’s Greatest PA has introduced me to my new favourite comedy website: www.regretsy.com , an edited highlights (or, more properly, the low points) of the “craft and trading” website, etsy.com.

I am extremely pleased with her, not simply for introducing me to the world of the “mature plush teddy bear” (hand-made teddy bears, with startlingly plump vaginas stitched in somewhere just below their belly buttons), but for the manner in which she helped me find the image in question.

She came to my desk, gave me the address, and then, as I scrolled down the toolbar to find the picture she guaranteed “I would love”, she issued the following, straight-faced instruction:-

“Scroll down. Scroll up. Up. Click on “Vaginas”.”

That I should hear this instruction issued by her is a happy and good feeling.

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Wife is on a photography job at the moment, so the not inconsiderable task of delivering the three children to school fell to me.

My ambition was to get them there on time, and without having sworn (which may seem like a lowly ambition, but believe me, herding cats looks like a doddle compared to getting three children to school on time), and I managed it.

Daughter was always going to be the toughest customer: she has an approach to personal style, grooming and dress that make Beau Brummel look like a slap-dash compromise merchant. The right knickers took a while to locate, and it was a feat of UN-style negotiation to coerce her into tights away from socks – but this was as nothing compared to Hairstylegate. Wife has recently taken to putting Daughter’s hair in bunches – a feat of dexterity that defeats me, so I went for what I thought was a sensible alternative (ie: one that drew her long hair back and out of her eyes, securing it in a ponytail at the back of her head). This did not meet with her approval – by which I mean that upon examination of the finished result in the mirror, she exclaimed “Dada!” in a horrified tone (as if I had coiled a couple of turds around her head) and added “That won’t do at all!” (something that I presume she has picked up from Wife). A mere four attempts later, we had something that she deemed acceptable. The boys couldn’t have been easier (once I had persuaded Youngest Son to put his jumper on OVER his shirt, rather than vice versa; and had broken the news to Eldest Son that Ben 10 pants were a thing of fantasy and would not be materialising in his wardrobe any time soon…) and off we went.

When I got into the Agency, I talked to World’s Greatest PA about the strange experience of going back to school (and specifically the impenetrable curriculum meeting that Wife and I attended last night, that threatened “Science” for four year-olds). Science is a particularly personal fear of mine, based on the lowering experience of having scored so low in the Physics Mock O’ Level that my mark was featured as an “N.B.” rather than as a proper score, lest I bring the average score for the whole class down too substantially. No such problems for World’s Greatest P.A., it seems – just the affectionate memories of how one of her adolescent team-mates attempted to disguise the evidence of someone’s perm having been introduced to a Bunsen burner (“it went up like tinder”), which gave rise to one of my favourite quotes of the year to date: “Aaah, the smell of burning hair and Lentheric!”

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Saturday, 30th June 2007

So, for a while now, myself and American Diva Friend have been awaiting transfer to our new offices. This has involved leaving our old offices and being transferred to “holding offices” – by the loos on the Creative Floor. If you are interested in the bowel evacuation schedules, habits and (grotesquely) accompanying reading habits of T-shirt clad creatives, there is an ideal vista. If you are interested in daylight, room to unpack your books, or basic contentment, it is not so great.

However, yesterday, I moved, down to the first floor to my new office. It’s not as nice as my first office (which was INSANELY lovely), but it’s fine and I was moved into it really efficiently by the House Ops boys.

And that was when the trouble started: being a book-hoarder (ie: incapable of original thought), my bookcase is enormous: 8 feet high, 6 feet wide – and its original resting place against the glass wall that separated me from the office next door was blocking the light from that office. So, I unloaded the books and moved it up, higher on the same wall, as requested.

So, there I was, sitting in my office, when in sidles World’s Greatest P.A. to tell me that someone else wasn’t happy with where the bookcase was. I snapped. It wasn’t a nice office to begin with. That was the only place that I could put the bookcase. If I was now being told where to put my furniture, then that would be the last straw. World’s Greatest P.A. stood there soaking up these theatrics with the expression of one who has seen it all before, and is resolutely unimpressed.

“We’ll get you some new bookshelves,” she said “Bigger ones.”

I love her.

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Tuesday, 10th July 2007

Yesterday was Best PA in the World’s birthday.

Fearless Leader (with whom I share her) had performed particularly well on the birthday front: lunch at Daphne’s, Champagne for everyone in the office at 5pm and a necklace from Paul Smith. Brava, show-off.

Stylishly, I didn’t even manage a card. So today, I went on a present-finding spree, which saw me end up at the V&A. My God! What a magnificent shop: jewellery, clothing and objets d’art from rising British designers of a calibre that you wouldn’t find anywhere but (possibly) Liberty, with whom the V&A shares an ethos.

So, I found a fantastic necklace, made of long curling scrolls of vari-coloured silk and bore it off. 

However, I needed ribbon, and (incredibly) the nearest stationer’s is Harrods.

I know I have written of my loathing for Harrods before (tinged with an acceptance that it does have an exhaustive stock), but really! Today, it took me twenty minutes to find the fucking stationery department – even though I was on the same floor. No wonder all the assistants append their transactions with “Can I give you directions to another department?”. My eventual answer was “No. No. Just tell me how to get out of here.”

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