Book off...

During the decade that I worked in the construction industry I don't ever remember taking a book to read on site or in the lobby. I don't remember it because it would never have happened. Even my tabloid of choice at the time - the Daily Mirror - was considered ladylike by some that preferred the more breast-laden The Sun and Daily Star and, later, the Daily Sport. A book may well have been the final straw, an act of macho-world defiance that would have resulted in me being buggered senseless by those accusing me of homosexuality for daring to be bookish. So I opted not to take a book to work to read. Only when I worked in an office environment did I feel it was ok to carry a book into work openly, although I didn't read at the desk. Why would I? I very rarely worked at the desk. I f*cking hate desks. If it was up to me I'd take desks and get them pulped and turned back into paper that could be used for the production of books.

Toby Lichtig wrote funnily at the weekend about reading in the hours of work: "There's always the option of the office itself. A friend of mine used to read under his desk. And I confess I had a job so boring I was reduced to photocopying pages of a novel and pretending to proofreed them. I blush at the environmental implications (I was later sacked). But in an actual, well-earned break from work, who's got the mental strength to curl up next to the fax machine and photocopier and be transported to a different world?"