Office life
Instead of
Holly Budd
Holly Budd was ill this week but The Spectator was sent the following by Nigel and Debbie, her deputy and her secretary.
We hope that Holly will feel no shame in being, after all, vincible. We always knew she must be although, really, there was almost no other sign. She has acquired a fax machine at home so that we can send work to her. Even in defeat she will not be vanquished — except that we won't send any. We'll do it ourselves while she concen- trates on recovery. She can read this instead.
We loved the notes she left behind on her final afternoon while she womanned the office single-handedly because we faint- hearts had succumbed already. She could not have known that this particular bug announces itself via a sense of dreamy detachment which quickly deteriorates into a pleasant sort of mental confusion, of which the victim is not wholly aware. Just as well in view of what is to come. During her confused state Holly left notes, mes- sages and instructions with all and sundry, which it has been our pleasure to sort out for the best part of a week. We most enjoyed the one that instructed Arthur, our dear Line Manager, to use up the rest of Holly's milk carton in the fridge before buying any more. Debbie got the one com- plaining about the Marketing Depart- ment's spread-sheets.
It's strange (and frankly a relief) to arrive in the morning and not find Debbie here already, and to leave an empty office in the evening. It's not quite so strange not to have her around during the day because most of the time we never know where she is anyway. We love the drama and mystery of working for Holly, the unpredictability, her sweepings in and out, her meetings, deadlines, urgencies, changes, revisions, reversions and surprising recapitulations of things we'd never heard of. The work gets done, as it always does, but it's the fun we miss.
Debbie is in danger of sad sartorial decline without the daily discipline of Holly's top-to-toe glances — nothing ever said of course — while Nigel feels mental stagnation creeping over him without the stimulus of Holly's running commentary on her colleagues, her computer, Arthur, pub- lic transport, the post, Europe, the Today programme, the Leasehold Reform Act, teachers, builders and the cost and fragility of ladies' shoes. We also miss — we know she'll take this in the spirit in which the joke is played — her daily advice to the Royal Family. There's nearly always a tabloid open on Debbie's desk with a pic- ture or article about them. No matter how busy Holly is, her eye fastens upon it as she rushes past, she stops, the article is con- sumed, her opinion declared. Every day we have a bet on how long it will take her to do it. Loser makes coffee.
We miss the gossip, too, and her friend `Streaky' Bacon who calls to know if she's back but doesn't linger with us. Perhaps we don't have enough gossip to trade with him, but without Holly how could we? (The Chief Executive hasn't rung, by the way.) We even miss the occasional Friday afternoon crisis which occurs only when Debbie has a date, Nigel has promised to be home promptly and Holly herself has planned a weekend away. Most of all, we miss her cheeful presence. She brings to work the enthusiasms of play. Get well soon, Holly. So much is forgiven.
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