The place where time stands still

My sincerest apologises for not posting sooner. My pre-festive To-do list is longer than our new volunteer's hair extensions, which incidentally got caught in the paper shredder last week. I was busy on reception when I heard a blood curdling scream coming from the photocopier room, I hurried over to find her just a false eyelash away from losing her real hair. Thankfully Marcus, senior solicitor, pulled the plug before she was scalped. Anyway I am whizzing around at the moment without a moment's respite and it seems I am not the only one. The usually slow girl on checkout number ten in my local supermarket has picked up speed, so much so she has taken to hurling easily bruised fruit through the scanner. I reported her to management which I wouldn't usually do as she is usually such a pleasant person but I those plums were a touch on the expensive side and I am on a tight budget. So anyway she must have got her knuckles rapped as when I went in yesterday she put my shopping through at a snail's pace and scowled at me as I scrabbled around looking for the right change. In fact the whole of town seems to have picked up pace with people purposefully stomping around down clutch plastic bags stuffed with glitzy wrapping paper, baubles and bows. Everyone except the staff at my local building society. I don't go in often but when I do the service is unbelievably slow. So slow time actually stands still, in fact today I could have sworn the clock starting ticking backwards and we returned to the 70's. It ate up a full forty minutes of my lunch break which could have been spent marching around town with a furrowed brow looking for stocking fillers and cheap secret santa gifts.