Anything could happen in the next half hour

Today we move.

My employer has been in existence since 1994, and both it and its predecessors were all based in the Atlas Centre. This started as a computing laboratory - in the picture on the other site, it was originally just the big block and the wing that makes the lefthand side of the courtyard. Over the years the other wings were added and bit by bit it became mostly offices and mostly us.

It has a certain ... charm, for a given value of "charm". The courtyard created by building two more wings around it has a distinctly mid-1950s Moscow feel - there are concrete benches out there but I've never seen anyone use them (and my desk overlooks it). My Russian colleague used to have this desk, maybe out of nostalgia. The newest wing, sticking out to the left, is the nicest bit. But of course it all sticks to the 60s and 70s ethos of offices and corridors, and we can't help noticing that it's slowly decaying. Not to mention having a landlord who likes to put up brand new residence hostels six inches away from us, fix our heating once the weather starts to warm up, etc etc etc.

So we are moving. Our new home is five minutes walk down the road (= further from the canteen). It has been purpose built for us. It is environmentally friendly, with lights that only come on if they sense your presence and louvres that open or close automatically in accordance with heat and humidity. It is (whisper who dares) open plan. And in the event of attack, it retreats into the ground and a loud voice blares "Stand by for action! We are about to launch Stingray."

Actually that last bit isn't true but I'm feeling desperate for something to write. So let's analyse the opening credits of Stingray instead. Marineville is obviously preparing for an air attack, so I'm not quite sure why launching a submarine is expected to help. Nor am I impressed by Commander Shore's announcement that "anything could happen in the next half hour." This is not the kind of wishiwashiness I want from a leader of men. (And women.) (And two women.) (And one woman and a kind of human-aquaphibian hybrid who can't talk.) (And women.) If my commander had just called battle stations, missiles were popping out of their silos and aircraft screeching overhead, I would want to know what the &*!£ is going on? Otherwise it really is a bit of an overreaction.

And if you've still no idea what I'm on about, watch it on YouTube.

To mark the occasion, three of us decided to come in early and have a fry-up breakfast at the soon to be slightly more distant canteen. Well, we had to do something! Actually only two of us had the fry-up as the third is a Buddhist so just came to watch. She has two sons so probably didn't learn anything about male eating habits she didn't already know.

I seem to have changed subject. In fifteen minutes I'm due over at the new building to help with the relocation of our document store. I may wander over now. Or not. Oh, the agony of choice.