Pouring myself a cup of ambition.

Small Person is poorly ill.

She has a virus thing that has left her with a cough and a temperature. Last night she coughed for ages (finally making herself sick) and, when I checked on her at seven thirty this morning, where she would normally be stirring she was still twitchy-faced and dreaming. So I took an executive decision. Today, I would Work From Home.

Ooh, working from home. For some reason, this strikes me as being impossibly glamorous. While the population at large was struggling into work clothes, damping down Sunday-night hair and scowling through their cornflakes I lazily mooched around in my jarmies, emailing Lovely Assistant for the files I would need today and informing Small Person’s school of her absence. New Boss was a little recalcitrant on hearing of my proposal this morning, but once we’d established my objectives for the day he soon capitulated. Once Madam was up and breakfasted I explained that she needed to be quiet for the day so that I could work, and we settled down to variously plod through spreadsheets and gaze vacantly at Spongebob Squarepants. I don’t feel the need to clarify who was doing what. And do you know what? Even with the distractions of the fridge, the TV, the interweb and just plain staring out of the window, I achieved more today than I did in the whole of last week at the office. Maybe it’s because of the cachet my thirteen-year-old mind ascribes to Working From Home. I couldn’t stop telling people. The school rang to say they’d found Small Person’s glasses which had been AWOL since before half term. Since the Ex had been the one to inform me that they had gone missing, I thought it was only fair to update him. So I texted to let him know, adding that Small Person still wasn’t totally better and that as a result I was Working From Home. As if he cared. This afternoon, a nice lady representing the Home Office called round to once more try and convince me to take part in the Crime Survey I’d recently cried off from on the grounds that it was Saturday afternoon and I really couldn’t be bothered. She asked if I could spare her some time. “I would,” I said airily, “only I’m Working From Home today.” We arranged an appointment for tomorrow instead, and she went away in total (imaginary) awe of my 21st century lifestyle, even as I emailed Oslo on my Blackberry (I did nothing of the sort) and pencilled the finance boys in for a week next Wednesday (in my head). Ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m just that sort of person though. I have a distinct memory of being around eight years old, and playing at the Rec on a chilly Spring afternoon without my coat on. I remember being utterly convinced that anyone seeing me would be unavoidably impressed with my strength of character and physical hardiness, and spent a week in bed with a cold as a result. Again, ridiculous.

But you see, when I am Working From Home I am not poor, downtrodden Surly, awash in the minutiae of sucking up to my superiors, hanging round the coffee machine for a gossip and hiding in the loos. No! I am Nicola Horlick! I am Anita Roddick! I am, I am….um…Sigourney Weaver in “Working Girl”!! Oh yes!! In your face, corporate drudgery!

I bet they never have to nip off halfway through a video conference with New York* to cook some fishfingers, mind you.


* Not that I have been video-conferencing with New York, or anywhere for that matter, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?