Today was a day of much jocularity at work. I am pioneering a post-it note led work practice, so I have no space on my desk. I fear that I will be unable to make the most of my post-it note vision until I have a corner office. So some kind of infinity into the future then. But in the meantime, my co-workers have given full rein* to guffaws, chuckles, giggles and oomphs of astonishment.
What I would really like to do is lie on the floor again with my textas and a couple of sheets of butchers paper. Not in a team building kind of way, just in a I don't want to look at my computer screen ever, ever again kind of way. Or perhaps I could just stay in bed and dictate to a minion over the telephone. There I go with that whole corner office approach again.
But actually what I was thinking this morning is that if I was Frodo I wouldn't be in Mordor. But probably not in Rivendell either. Actually, I am probably not in the Lord of the Rings as such, but maybe a shorter book with less poetry and more measurable outcomes and KPIs. Which lacks narrative focus, but also lacks vast armies of evil orcs rampaging about the place. And I am so depleted on outrageously romantic notions this week that frankly I'd rather take the KPIs**.
Next week I am going to talk to you all about how if only Gandalf had done a decent risk assessment process*** at the time he first became concerned about the nature of Bilbo's ring, they could have strolled to the Cracks of Doom (or more likely entered into some kind of contract arrangment or perhaps an MOU with the Riders of Rohan), and disposed of the ring according to the guidelines. With time for a festive morning tea at Rivendell for Aragorn and Arwen's wedding on the way, in which the Hobbits all bring a plate of home made goodies, but Gimli forgets until the last minute and only brings a packet of tim tams, which get eaten way before the home made chocolate biscuits which probably taste quite nice but look like lumps of poo.
*suddenly have metaphor anxiety, because I don't really know if 'full rein' comes from letting the reins go loose on the horse so that it has full rein to gallop away with you or whatever it feels like (which in my admittedly limited experience is stopping dead and eating grass) or whether it should be 'full reign' such as a monarch might have if it subscribes to the philosophy of the divine right of kings and can therefore do whatever it feels like, including laughing until it spits on yer post-its.
**I don't really know what these are, and please don't tell me because you might ruin the surprise when I get up to that bit in my non-narrative driven story, and because of the lack of suspense in most of it I have to get my surprises and plot-reveals wherever I can get 'em.
***You can find decent examples of risk assessment processes all over the intertubes. Gandalf was a rubbish researcher.