Like its Tuscan three bean soup (provenance at a push) and ‘freshly packed sushi’ (a leap of faith by any standards), the work cafeteria is a place of questionable quality.

Yes, it’s cheap, subsidised, ‘buzzy’ (read many suits) and well, very convenient, but it’s also pretty nasty. It’s not that I don’t eat there – I do, often – but it is just not what you’d choose if the weather was good, the soup wasn’t such tantalisingly excellent value and the location weren’t a few metres below your desk.

But there’s another canteenational pull besides the ever-irksome convenience factor: the talent. And by that I don’t mean the wonderful ability to construct a perfectly formed sonnet, a useful wicker basket, or even a Yorkshire dry-stone wall. You know what I’m talking about.

We have new building blood and it must be sniffed out. Not that I am at all interested in anything other than ogling – this is simply a question of self-preservation in the office environment. In this monochrome minefield of urban tans (grey pallour) and black, black and more black (womens’ fashion), a fresh, pleasing visage is a boost to morale and a reminding blast of out-of-office life.

Anything – be it a lovely face, a lovely dress or a lovely pair of shoes will suffice – newness and change, even dodgy newness and dowdy change, is a good thing. Not that my standards are mirrored throughout the glass-lifted edifice, but then that is the point, really.

Suddenly the chinese spice soup doesn’t seem quite so dishwatery afterall. But sorry, that sushi won’t tempt me in a month of days off in lieu.

2 responses to “canteen

  1. At least you don’t have to try and stomach chips and gravey or battered mars bar. Some of the delicacies my old school canteen used to offer on the ‘specials’ board. O the days of pre Jamie Oliver school lunches.

  2. Brilliant – what a talent you have to turn the most mundane things into something amusing to read about!

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