In the Zone

The phone line saboteur has been again so TFTR is a few days behind. This tale began last Thursday.
So there I was, minding my own business, listening intently to the sound of a deadline for a Court report rush by when I realised the high pitched siren like wailing was not the sound of a solicitor exploding on the spot waiting for my crucial evidence, it was after all 13.27, my report was not for filing until 16.30, no the sound interrupting me as I was in the zone was the fire alarm.
Now I did what the majority of my colleagues did, sat around, open mouthed like guppies and waited for it to stop. It didn't. There then began the "Is it real" followed by the "No it cant be" conversations. Finally the collective apathy dissipated and we headed dutifully for the fire exit and stood in the rain waiting for the Fire Marshall to arrive resplendent in her yellow dayglo. Hopes that a real inferno was in the offing were raised when it was remembered that the Fire Marshall was on holiday and our standing in the rain was not some payback for the last lethargic fire drill attempt. So it was real.
So began my second encounter in a couple of weeks with the boys from the brigade who to an assortment of ooohs and aaahs from the ladies played with their hoses and dealt with the inferno within. The cause was tracked down to zone 3, the kitchen, where a hungry social worker who had only minutes previously stated his weight watchers spaghetti bolognaise was not enough to feed a hamster and put a second one in the microwave and promptly forgot about it. For once I hasten to add, the social worker in question was not me. I view weight loss as a sign of weakness and diet meals are poisonous, and now I know they catch fire easily its all the more reason to avoid them.