Published: 07/04/2005, Volume II5, No. 5949 Page 35
Martha is assistant director of modernisation at a primary care trust.
At the end of a busy week, she collapses in front of her PC to e-mail Mary, a former colleague, who has escaped Down Under
Bet You have been having sleepless nights wondering what happened to our dear boss Roger, now that he's too depressed to have breakfast meetings? Good news: all is tickety-boo chez PCT now, and Roger may be the happiest boss in Britain. Bad news: effecting this radical mood change has meant getting rid of all our desks. We have 'de-cluttered' the chairs, too, and are sitting round on bean bags. I thought hot-desking was a silly idea 'til I came across no-desking.
Very modern, and That is what We are all about in Roger's little team.
The Ex, still semi-disabled after his yoga injury, assures me that living without a desk will do me a power of good, and keeps going on about back health in Samoa. But Roger hasn't thought through the implications. We all look like bag ladies, staggering round with mountains of admin. It suits some of us better than others. Trudy, our droopy director of communications, lies down by her phone, assuring us It is the comfiest position. And It is done wonders for her phone manner, which is literally laid-back.
Jenny, Roger's deputy, is to blame.
She found a book called Office Feng Shui, which she thought would give him a bit of a thrill as there are no people in any of the pictures. It did the job, my goodness! And now she is a victim of her own success. So are we all.
I was the first in on the fateful day that we'd been Feng Shui-ed. Thought I must have come into the wrong office.
Because there wasn't one. Just an empty room, with some cushions on the floor, and on one wall the slogan: 'Less is Everything'. When Jenny appeared with her McFlurry, she nearly collapsed. 'Oh my God. He's finally flipped!' It was tempting to point out that it was all her fault, but she looked a bit too shocked for that, so I accessed the emergency supply of office Maltesers and we stood there chomping and wondering what on earth Roger would think of next.
It can't get any worse - can it? Think of me when you're on your sun-lounger.
Love, Martha Next week: creativite tensions