Doris

This morning at work it struck me that 'my' desk had been feminised. Just look at the evidence!
Heading down to the shop for some refreshements I was happily surprised to see Doris behind the counter. Seems despite the new ownership, she has retained her Tuesday arvo slot. Naturally it was good to catch up on the gossip from a such a renowned source as Doris. She's been in the 'hood longer than I have for goodness sake.

I opted for Maltesers, Nik-Naks and a coke and was directed towards an out-of-date pack of cheese slices. The management may have changed, but the bountiful supply of reduced price fodder hasn't.

Today at work...

I think the week back at work will do me good and pep me up a bit. Already at the end of day 1 I am itching to fill my evening with 'my stuff'. It just goes to confirm to me that the less spare time you have, the more you try and pack in. Hopefully when I've finished this stint I will be doing more with my days and at a faster pace.

I had no problem getting back into the swing of the old job and the less I thought about the procedures involved, the easier it was to complete them. I think that I was quite lucky today to have a project that I was able to complete in just one day.

Resisting the temptation of the internet was not so hard and I hope to steer clear of it for the duration. At lunchtime I moseyed on down to Doris' shop to find it had been taken over by new managment and the crisp rack had been shifted. I adjusted my bearings and found myself approving of the new choice of magazines and display of man-sized lattice pork pies. One of which I bought.

Back at the ranch I got the low-down on Hammond's experiences.

At 3pm on a tea-making mission (the 5th of the day) I was coaxed into the computer-server room with a psssst and a wave to be confronted with a remarkable rocket launcher. OK so it turned out to be a homemade reflector telescope, but it was still amazing, especially the choice of materials (waste pipe for the main tube & Rolling Stones albums for bearings in the swivel base.)

On my return from the tea-facilities I noticed work was steaming ahead for the new buildings and sheltered walkway. Blimey.


Once 5pm had past I had completed my task and zipped up the relevant data and documents for manufacture. On driving off into the bleak weather, I decided that this would definitely be my last week here. It's good but it's all too familiar and being there blurs the new pastures I've moved through since leaving in 2004.

Obvious discovery of the day : Little Davy Jones is English!

No really, humour me on this one...

While channel-surfing on Sky last night I ended up watched part of "Daydream Believers: The Monkees Story".

Now I haven't seen an episode of The Monkees since I was knee-high to a grasshopper back in the mid '70s and I think I was vaguely aware back then that this was an American show.

So last night as I was noting the fine job that actor George Stanchev (who incidentally in from Bulgaria) was making of Little Davy Jones's voice I heard him use some English slang. Just as I was pondering the dual of Americans throwing in English words into conversation in the same way we might attempt dodgy American accents for effect, it hit me that Jones was in fact an Englishman.

*insert sound of cogs speeding up and ending with a lobby bell 'ding'*

The point of all this is not the realisation but the reason I didn't realise before. It would seem that Little Davy Jones, being born in Manchester and growing up performing on the stage in London and appearing on TV in Coronation Street, had incredibly, always had an English accent.

So I conclude that when you are so familiar with a particular actor's voice (having heard it right from a very young age) you just hear the voice as that person's voice and any accent just merges into the uniqueness. I did exactly the same thing with Sean Connery, not twigging that he was a Scot until probably in my teens. It was just his unique voice that I heard.