Late, we’re going to be late.
Of course we’re going to be late. We have to be late. The least thing we could is to be late!
The dilatory … is our milieu. We’re pacing ourselves. Waiting.
Waiting for what? For Godot? For oblivion?
We’re waiting for waiting … There is a question of philosophical honour.
We will appear at the Organisational Management party when we choose to appear. We’re not slaves of the Organisational Managers – not yet. We’re not here to follow their orders. We won’t be whipped into line!
We’ll roll in drunk in our time. Sweetly drunk. Singing drunk. They’ll see us as … unmanageable. Unconquerable. Not rebellious in any obvious sense. Not opposing our will to theirs. Not butting heads. Not opposing our wills to theirs.
A sweet refusal. A merry refusal. A Christmas refusal: that’s what we’re going for.
Come on, they’ll just think we’re just full of Christmas spirit. That we had one too many out of Christmas cheer.
Sure, we’re full of Christmas spirit! Full of the spirit of the feast! Of the carnival! Of the suspension of work!
We’re actually coming to the party – surely that’s something. We’re showing good will! Extending the olive branch! It’s in the spirit of cooperation! Even collaboration!
We’re making an effort. Left our homes! Braved the Newcastle winter! We’ve left the coast. Travelled inland. Ridden the Metro. Made an effort …
We’ve torn ourselves away from our Russian film watching. We could have been inside, watching Hard to be a God or the thousandth time. Pondering My Car, Khrushtalev! for the millionth time.
Or just drinking – drinking! Looking out at the snow instead of being in the snow. Look out at the whirling flakes.
Work in Progress 