A day of plates

When we loaded the plates into the warehouse in January there was such a small amount of room left that we just had to put them anywhere that there was space. It hadn’t occurred to me that they might be used as something to stand on by future people carrying heavy things.

The warehouse is vast and packed to the gills with flats and dressing that have had their time in the light for now. We picked our way to the boxes. We tried to move the boxes. We couldn’t move the boxes.

Jack and I had got them in with a trolley but there’s no trolley now, and no room for one.

Tristan and I somehow manage to wrestle the lighter one out. Then to the heavier one. Oh God. We can’t drop them either because they contain lots of lovely rare plates…

Although most of the plates on the side leading deeper into the warehouse had been pulverised beyond recognition. I’m trying not to be annoyed about it. Easy come easy go, and there’s no way I could have got them into my flat.

We took the shards out to make it marginally lighter but I still feel like I’ve been fighting cows after wrestling that box free. I haven’t stopped all day until just now – doggie and I left the house at 8.30am to pick up dogmum from Gatwick, and now it’s just gone 10pm.

The mercy is that Tristan and I could share the driving. He’s competent enough that he only occasionally scares the shit out of me nowadays. What have I created? Something that allows me to check my email and indignantly respond to little snipes from old family friends who still think I’m the bastard I was when I was 16. It’s nice on these jobs not to be the only driver it seems. It means you can double up and do bits of life admin when you’re going from A to B.

Now I’d like to stop but I’ve got lines to learn. Tomorrow my alarm is set for way too early as I’ve got to clear some space in the living room and put greenscreen down all over the place plus make myself look sexy and smart and competent and ensure I have a handle on what I’m doing…

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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