In to Lunch

I'm not a great one for standing on ceremony, but I do find the habit of eating lunch at one's desk quite repellant. It's not that I think everyone should be patronizing a reputable restaurant every day of the week. I choose to do so on a regular basis, but I'm also happy to procure a salad or a sandwich (if freshly made) and eat it in one of the lovely little enclosed gardens the City keeps hidden for its own. In rain or cold, there are plenty of indoor options for fast, cheap food. Yet still, so many of my beloved colleagues insist on dribbling crumbs into their keyboards and smearing mayonnaise over their mousepads.


It is barely past midday, and already one of my younger colleagues has set to on a carton of teriyaki, or laksa, or perhaps it is Thai red curry - some delight of the East anyway, emitting altogether far too many rampant odours. Fish sauce and lemongrass are fine in their place - but not this close to breakfast or, for that matter, to my desk.


It's all about face time I suppose. Bankers seem to believe the longer they are seen in the office, the higher their bonuses will be. Twenty minutes lost at lunchtime, to them, is wanton in the extreme. Never mind that they'll be doing nothing more useful than surfing the internet or completing a sudoku. Being seen is all that matters.

I'm going to lunch. I may be some time.