Nine Weeks
Nine weeks - count them - nine weeks from today the refurbishment of the Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú building in Inverness will be complete. At that point my life will change for the better. Once again I'll have a desk and chair to call my own. Once again I'll be able to hold meetings without having to embark on a three-and-a-half-hour train journey to Glasgow. I'll be able to reaquaint myself with my wife and children. No longer will they think of me as that strange bloke they pass in the hallway pulling a suitcase on wheels. The Wheely Dad, they call me. I'll be able to eat more wholseome home-cooked meals and sever my relationship with the First ScotRail catering trolley. Nine weeks and counting.
This good news came from my boss, Donalda MacKinnon, when she arrived in Inverness this morning to chair a staff meeting. Of course she said lots of other important stuff too. Stuff about programmes and the future strategy of the Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú. But my mind kept drifting back to that promised date at the end of June when the builders would stop their hammering and the doors would open on our new workplace.
Of course there will be a downside too. I'll have to abandon my collection of courtesy toileries from hotel bathrooms. I never did find a use for those little boxed shower caps but perhaps I'll wear them all at the next school parents' night. Just to get revenge for that Wheely Dad stuff.
Nine weeks...and counting.
