On and on

The GigaPudding flops out onto the plate gleefully wobblingly - almost exactly as the japanese televison commerical had predicted it would.

I don't know why I'd waited so long to make it.

I guess I was a little scared to fail.

But I walked around the office that morning with the large 1-litre novelty pudding wobbling side to

side in my trembling hands and a disposable cup filled with disposable spoons asking people to have a go.

I'd sent out a mass email to the department the day before saying that I would do exactly this.

In truth, I'd always just loved walking around the office with generous servings of food - you feel like for a moment, everybody loves you. People pause, stop you in your tracks to say hi, ask you how you're going, smile, gourge themselves with a silly grin and then thank you. No, thank You.

So that's how I'd planned to leave the office - carrying a precarious wobbly pudding, through the various departments at 10am.

That afternoon, there'd be pingpong in the 'bouncy room' - a very sterile looking meeting space that'd been temporarily transformed by some of the guys into the perfect table tennis arena. I'd eat a pretty awesome burger, sit in a concall to say goodbye to a client and do some handover stuff. I'd write my last emails and make a timesheet correction, before processing my 'out process'. I'd sit at

my old desk and yack and take some joy in folding and wrapping things up - like my telephone and ethernet cables. I'd hang around till 5.30 - when the townhall meeting takes place, where I'd sit one the same step I'd normally choose and listen before opening a beer and heading out to the balcony and saying a few farewells. This is where Stephen (our chairman) says he'd read my blog the night before (which I'd flogged in my farewell email) I'm still quite tickled. 'Thanks' I'd grin.

The sun is setting on Robinson road. I'd always loved the view from the balcony at this hour.

I grab the oversized crumpler that Maurice and Renee had given me when I'd first started work as a junior here and wave goodbye to the department with a glass of white wine in my other hand.

That evening I'm at the pub, and we're drinking to Michael Jackson (who I'd uncannily refrenced in my last blog entry). There's clearly a pretty serious MJ conossieur on the decks I comment to Sonal - who is clearly the biggest fan at the table. I recall that once in primary school, while our substitute teacher was sick, I'd taken it into my own hands to entertain the class by sing/scatting the entire Dangerous album from cover to cover with my friend (who could moonwalk).

Eventually, everybody arrives and the day slowly burns up like a warm kindeling memory I'm already having trouble trying to pen down.