Madwoman in the Attic

I haven't been around here much since I started my new job, but I have resolved to change that.

Today, I spent the day in the attic at work putting stickers on tags and tags on hoodies. Ah yes. For reasons unknown, a tag is no longer enough. We need TAGS WITH STICKERS ON, d'you hear? TAGS WITH STICKERS ON.

Last time I spent a day in the attic, it was so mind-numbing that I could actually hear my brain cells screaming for mercy after the first half hour. This time, though, I came prepared: an MP3 player full of variété française and Radio 4 podcasts.

There was a wonderful moment, mid-afternoon, when I encountered the past historic tense in a song I was listening too (amis français: c'était eûmes et la chanson était de Brel. J'envoie un Mars au premier qui arrive a me dire le titre de la chanson en question...). It was unexpected, and it made me smile. It also triggered a domino-effect of smiles that lasted all afternoon. Will any of the tourists buying our hoodies ever suspect what the shop girl was thinking about as she stuck labels on the tags? What would they think if they knew?

Having done my fair share of menial jobs over the past few years, I've developed a taste for the bizarre conjunction of practical and mental occupations. The summer after my A Levels, for example, I worked in a fish and chip shop and practiced declining Latin nouns on the edges of the newspaper when the shop was quiet. The following summer, I cleaned toilets whilst listening to Classic FM.

It all boils down to an attempt to maintain a certain degree of sanity, although my colleagues tend to see it as proof of the opposite: for them, I have become the madwoman in the attic. Long may it continue.