Home of Things

Ah, Cheltenham. The place where things happen. They should put that on the signs as people come in, because it really is true. My office is in Cheltenham, my desk is facing a window with a busy road just outside, and I see all things. It’s actually quite interesting. There’s a spot just outside the window where two lanes merge into one, and people are constantly getting narky with each other, and that feeling of ‘sucks to be you’ gives me my hourly bursts of joy. Because I’m not them. I am me.

There’s also one of those little power cable places right next door. You know the ones…they’re all fenced off with the transformers (well, maybe they’re transformers) and the power signs that say you’ll die if you go in there without the training of a quality Cheltenham qualified electrician, who is qualified in the field of not touching things that give you a good zap.

I’ve even seen some electricians working on a it a couple of times, which is like…wow. How privileged am I, getting to do MY job, but also see other people’s? I get to watch the electricians at work (every now and then), I get to watch the people from the RACV come and tow away people’s cars who didn’t merge correctly (somewhat more frequent), and I get to watch police telling people off for letting this merging thing get out of hand (not as often as I’d like).

I guess if I had to pick my favourite thing to be distracted by, I’d say it was the electricians, if only because I don’t have a clue what they’re doing and there’s not enough contextual clues, so it’s a constant mystery. Obviously, they are commercial electricians. That’s obvious.

But beyond that, I just make stuff up. Tapping away on a tablet? Probably ordering more…volts. Putting on gloves and checking the metre? Probably checking for excess…volts?

Yeah, look, I haven’t got any sound for the stuff I’m watching. I’m using my imagination, people.