Ah, how I love the smell of Metros in the morning. It's like the news, only less substantial. The long commute to and from work has been providing plenty of amusements - highlights include the guy I sat down next to who whipped out a pack of cards and proceeded to practice hand-cardy-flick-poker-type-things for FORTY MINUTES, the young teenage girls clearly on their way to have 'the best time ever' taking photos of themselves in various train related poses - including putting rubbish in the bin - and finding it hilarious (oh to be young again), or the Hooray Henry yesterday morning barking a very rude joke about hung parliaments which I'm too polite to repeat. Or I can't remember it.
The real fun, however, begins in the office. Some professions have built-in excitement - as a doctor, or a fireman, or florist (go with it) - you know every day will bring the ups and downs of life, death, love and loss. And burns. If like me, you're a thrillseeker in academic publishing...you have to seek pretty hard. Which is why it made my day last week when, after handing me a list of herculean tasks (e.g. emailing) my manager picked up an author's file and said this:
"Now this might take you a little longer...I want you to try and get in touch with this guy. We haven't heard from him in a while, I'm not sure we have current contact details for him...also, we think he might......be dead."
This is a true publishing mystery - it has everything: late manuscripts, missing people, potential death, and a large file. I am now keeping my eyes out for a deerstalker hat so I can get to the bottom of the puzzle as Arthur Conan Doyle intended.
I have no real way of linking to this, but I just think it's amazing. Parton sings 9-5 with Minnie Mouse.
14 hours ago