under the blanket

Managed to relocate myself to a desk that is hidden from the features editor. Now I'm obscured by stacks of hardcover books, or "fire hazards" as their owner calls them, as I'm seated next to the journo who writes for the books pages. He is this blustery red-faced Irish man and calls me "sweetheart" in a booming voice.

The reporters are having some sort of story meeting now [no space in the room for inconsequential interns], and all of them are wearing the ill-concealed looks of boredom I remember so well from the days of Richard Lim. The ed seems to be getting overly-excited about something called Speed Snogging, which happens after Speed Networking events, which in turn is a variation of Speed Dating for those who don't want to be labelled as desperate Speed Daters. Wonder if he is gonna make any of his babe female reporters go undercover.

Despite asking for more work, some work, any work, please, there is absolutely nothing to do. All I did today was compile a column of quotes. Which was what I did yesterday. And the day before. And I'm pretty sure that is what I'm doing tomorrow, too.