I apologise for not blogging for a while. My life is currently sandwiched between trips to the alehouse, satisfying a girlfriend who only loosely knows about this blog (yes, she will get a proper mention soon, now leave me alone on MSN), Stick Cricket and work. None of which (with no disrespect to said girlfriend, who’s lovely) are particuarly interesting to you, my 40 million readers.

Until today.

At the risk of throwing the Data Protection Act of 1998 out of the window (look Sarah, a law reference!), I’m going to talk about something at work which had me running scared.

We had a bomb scare.

Not wanting to share too much information (I don’t want to lose my job), we work in the same building as the UK Passport Office. Anyways, we had to have bomb training, because we may get a phone call warning us. Officially, we’re supposed to fill in a 3-sheet form giving a character description of the bomber.

Yeah, right.

Today, luckily, somebody else got that phone call. The alarm sounded almost immediately, and we got a stern sounding bloke telling us “prepare for evacuation”. Again, bollocks to that, I’m off. Although I did leave by the official, safe route, I did have a little more spring in my step than I usually do.

We assembled at some green land somewhere, and I kind of forgot my training (it was a Friday afternoon). So I did what anybody else would of done: hung around with my supervisor, who knows more than me in these sorts of situations.

Why we ended up in The Cross Keys on Myrtle Street, I dunno. But I do agree it ‘calmed my nerves’.

Apparently we only get one bomb threat every 3 months. I’ve had one already. The next one should be around Christmas time.

Hopefully the subsequent evacuation will allow me to do some last minute blokey style shopping.

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