Mustn't Grumble

So much for my holidays. It was a silent struggle to achieve them, and, once achieved, their taste was not as sweet as anticipated.
For the first time since I began working in this place, I decided to take off those precious days between Christmas and New Year's - those special three days that are the most peaceful known to man. Sure, the trains weren't working, and it would have been impossible to get into the office without facing the empty streets, but I usually work from home and get as much done in less time (with fewer distractions). I had decided this year (being now last year) to bite the bullet and stay at home and not work. I told my ladies to stay away and not talk to me until the new year, or words to that effect.
Beach rang me just before Christmas.
"Are you working through the break?"
"Maybe."
"Will you be in the office?"
"Most likely not."
"Will you be working from home?"
"Not if I can help it."
"So you'll be on holidays?"
"Unless someone wants something really desperately."
"So, I'll put you down as on leave."
"But if I come into the office, then I won't have been on leave, and I won't be able to get that time back."
"Can't I sort it out if that happens?"

Beach was going on holidays, and trying to organise the end-of-year pay before she went. I could sympathise. Just. I took holidays. I kept them.

However, some didn't. Doodles had brought us a Spanish market, which meant that I now had to find a way to ensure that our product actually worked. I put the call in to engineering to do some investigation, and Gabrial assured me that, even with WildMan and Bull away for that week, they would put in every effort to make my new lady's job a breeze when she started in the new year.

First thing Tuesday morning, having forgotten that WildMan hadn't been in, I went up and asked him how things were going, and got a blank stare. Bull, nearby, also shook his head sadly. Gabriel then admitted that no-one had really had any interest in doing the work, so ... it wasn't done. Fine. I got Roddy, my new Spanish Market Expert, working on something else to satisfy my curiousity, and fumed in silence.
Wednesday, and I collected the milk on my way into the office (being first in). It hadn't occurred to me that the kitchen had been a bit of a mess without Tutu around last week, but I don't notice things like milk unless there isn't any. On this occasion, there was no space left in the fridge for the fresh milk because of what could generally be described as very unfresh milk.
I removed 14litres, went off to put my coat on its hanger, and forgot about it until Stripe came in an hour later. When I thought about it, it was a good little demonstration of the state of things that no-one had noticed 14litres of curdling milk filling up the fridge. We had the stench of the sewer invading our offices for weeks with constant complaining, but no-one notices chunky green milk.
Several hours later, I returned to the kitchen with the express purpose of removing said curds. It was at this point that I discovered some kind soul had ordered the contents by date, and by solidity therein.
Ten minutes of nose-holding, hot-water-running, and sheer terror later, the collected works of several bovine gas-producers was wending its way through the system to add to the general post-new-year's detritus such a city produces.
I wonder if that counts as green waste?