April is definitely happening. Mostly to other people.

This is the kind of day where I get woken by the cat headbutting me at 6am, and everyone gets locked out of the office when the three people who can do anything about it are all on various iterations of holiday-timetabled public transport, where I am getting nothing done at work because everyone I should talk to to get things done is off on Easter break, and nobody minds all that terribly.

Translink actually told me it was a bank holiday today as well. It isn’t. I am the Keeper of Lists and I know these things. I am still not sure how the exact status of the day off is relevant to the fact the journey planner was telling me to go to Belfast via Dublin, starting at 3am and taking 7 hours to do it in, either.

It’s quite nice having a quiet work day though. We have been flat out since St Patrick’s weekend, including six hours of work on the holiday Monday and a half day of leave both of which boss owes me an extremely large drink for, and I honestly slept through most of my long weekend as a result. So today I am puttering through paperwork and bitching cheerfully with L about public transport companies that hide their holiday timetables and listening to Radio 4 and intermittently wandering over the other side of the office to boggle at the lost and U-turning tourists.

I suppose I should be putting together JIRA pages and booking trains for taking Mike to Dublin and finding bus tours for when K arrives (four weeks, four weeks, we’ve known each other since we were oh god, twelve, and this will be the culmination of at least ten years of thwarted visit planning) and finishing my expenses claims and suchlike.

But I’m mostly just taunting Alan with simnel cake. And watching the builders run for cover in the intermittent downpours.