A Fictional Account

On Sunday, I posted my fourth part of a series of posts about Filofaxes. A comment left by Jill who blogs at Geniaus prompted a response and as part of that response I have written a fictional account based upon some real facts that appear in my journals. If you didn't read the Filofax post, pop back now and read it, then the comments and all will become clear!

Fictional Account

"The Victorian building was set back from the main road. It was an oppressive building, but necessary and fully functioning once inside. She stood and looked at the building before walking across the small visitors car park towards the main entrance.

She reached the top of the small flight of steps and went in. Speaking to the man behind the strong perspex she gave her name and explained my reason for being there. She was then taken through a set of secure see through doors marked "Staff".

After the issuing of a rough and handwritten map, with the message of "dispose by shredding" and a set of keys, to be affixed to her person at all times she was escorted through the building to her new work domain.

The strong metal door closed with a sound of definiteness. Her escort and her walked through the building, chatting, on occasions stopping to say hello to fellow staff, to open another door or gate and for the escort to point out various places, such as the post room and the staff toilets. The escort gave a rundown of the working day, as this was relevant to how her cog in the large wheel of the building fitted in.

Later in her office, she looked out the window. Not a clear view there were bars, but the window could be opened a little and a gentle breeze came wafting in. For some strange reason, it was quiet and that bothered her a little. Usually there was no quietness. A thong of black and white uniformed staff were walking across the grassed area outside, ah it was lunchtime. Simply knowing that settled her and she prepared herself for a new working place.

The closing of the gates and doors, the sounds of keys, the sound of a stampede of running individuals became second nature, as much as birds tweeting"

There you have it, a fictional account based upon an entry or two of my journals from this period, which was the early 1990s - In fact, just after I came back from Australia.  In fact the first day, that has been described above took up 4 pages in my journal.