I SIT here at my desk a little flustered -- and a little late.
It's only a couple of minutes -- so slight that nobody has noticed (or rather nobody has said anything. Every office has the diligent, unofficial time-monitor who takes it upon themselves to clock what time people get in and moan under their breath) but it was late all the same.
"Late is late" a former editor used to preach to me. "It doesn't matter if it's one minute or one hour, you cannot be 'more' late."
And during the dark days of factory work (I've been around a bit) you would get your wages docked by an hour for just being 15 minutes late.
The good side to this -- there's always a good side -- was that if you were going to be 15 minutes late you might as well take the whole hour off. Go back to bed or grab yourself a cup of tea and a slice of toast, there was no point in working 45 minutes for free!
Nowadays there's no financial punishment for walking through the office but the feeling of shame and guilt is punishment enough.
I don't like being late. You feel like people are looking at you when you finally skulk through the office doors, keeping your head bowed, avoiding eye contact.
The mission is to get to your desk, without anybody (or the bosses at least) seeing you. You can only hope that you have not been called upon by those in charge and therefore highlighting your absence.
As always, however, those odd occasions you are late are usually the times when you are more sought after than a quality defender for Manchester United.
And you may be able to sneak through the doors, past the unsuspecting eyes of the bosses and the altogether apathetic eyes of most of the colleagues but you won't get past the diligent, unofficial clock monitor.
Just when you think you have made it to the safety of your desk he/she takes great pride in booming a heart-felt "good morning" arousing the interest of the bosses, who take an equal great pride in hearing the lame excuses you have to offer.
Personally I always think honestly is the best policy -- and I always offer the truth. I must sort out the car trouble I always seem to have on those odd days of lateness. And try and avoid those traffic jams that only I hit in the morning.
Today, though, it was my fault and it was a catalogue of errors which lead to me entering work (only slightly) late.
The irony of it is that I didn't sleep in -- the most popular cause of lateness -- and in fact I actually got up early for a spot of breakfast. I had anticipated the cold snap and dutifully poured a scolding hot kettle over the freezing cold windscreen. As you do.
And I was ready to set off with time to spare, so perhaps I could walk in, held head high, and even beat the diligent, ineffectual time-monitor. In fact I was hoping that today I would be that time-monitor.
Not so.
First there was no sight of my car keys. The hook, where they usually hang, was bare, leading to a frantic search of all nooks and crannies.
Ruing the day I cast aside the novelty key-ring which would bleep when you whistled (it was always go off when certain songs hit a certain pitch) I eventually found them taking solace in one of my shoes (don't ask, because I don't know.)
By this time the car had frozen up again and required another dose of boiling hot water. All this had put my finely-timed schedule out of balance.
My journey to work is carefully planned with little room for errors. Every day (except for those odd days I am late) I set off at exactly the same time and arrive at exactly the same time. I see and pass exactly the same sights at exactly the same time everyday, which act as an indicator of my journey.
Today all that was out.
Instead of being in front of the various haulage trucks I usually lead in convoy down the A roads, I was stuck behind them.
The lights, which usually beam their green lights blushed with shame as they halted me further. Minutes were adding up.
My usual car parking space had gone, leading to me to find another -- that little farther away. Another minute.
I eventually made it in exactly four minutes late. No great shakes, but late is late but I think I've got away with it.
"Good morning Jamie" booms the diligent, unofficial time-monitor...
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