Life for Lola

Arrived at work this morning and the place smells like a rabbit hutch. The people at L'oreal would have a fit. Imagine the state of my pores at the end of a twelve hour shift it doesn't bare thinking about. An average of eighteen people sit in a room that should be condemned. We are not allowed the doors open for some bizarre health and safety issue (oh the irony) so we stagnate in foul air breathing in each others biology. It is really rather grim. We have had a cold that never leaves the room, one person catches it in June and you can bet your life that one of us has still got the strain of it in February. Oh I shouldn't go on, it's not like the industrial revolution when factory girls were losing arms in the looms but, when you think that all of us use computers and the cut and paste of the newspaper world has long gone, we're not that far off of it.