Monday was bathed in the uniformed glow of a furnishing giant from Sweden.
Tuesday still shone from the previous days Ikeaness, until a dead possum decided to fall through the ceiling in one of the ticket booths, landing maggots and all on top of the new girl Elisa.
The first third of Wednesday was spent trying to convince Elisa that the zoo wasn’t in the habit of storing dead animals in ceiling spaces – walls are a different matter altogether – and the remainder of the day was spent trying to explain the new directives from a certain CEO, which amounted to more of the same; do more with less.
Thursday rolled along and two staff threatened to quit due to Mr A’s reforms, and the Union suddenly reared its head to make things even easier.
On Friday the vending machine ran out of Snickers bars.
There was no doubting that my week festered as the days disappeared. The sheer bliss of complementing shades had been far outweighed by an absence of dairy milk and peanut rectangles only four sleeps later. My hope for a better next week is that Ikea will re-release their catalogue just for moi, but I’ll arrive armed on Monday morning with an armada of Snickers just in case.
The two-notches-less-than-fabulous Ms M.
