
There was a time when people wrote poems about daffodils, or tigers or the night mail crossing the border. How times have changed. Here is a rather splendid poem about hot desking by an anonymous social worker:
Hotdesking's fine if you're all the same size,
With identical leg-lengths, identical eyes,
Fit, young and supple, with delicate thighs,
But hotdesking's really the pits otherwise.
First a free desk you must find - oh what fun!
Then, is the computer a "Social Care" one?
If the base unit's massive, an obsolete mess,
With a high screen on top, indeed that's a yes.
If your chair won't adjust, that's the norm, and so be it.
Crane your neck at your monitor, hope you can see it.
All the Health monitors' stems will adjust,
But at least my neck swivels, so it's chin up, and thrust!
So I've now found a chair where my feet touch the floor.
Like a kid watching fireworks, my craned neck is sore.
We're all in the same boat. I mustn't complain,
But my posture is awful, and causing me pain.
I wear varifocals, which give me sharp sight
Only with screen, desk and chair the right height.
Sick of the blur, a solution's in hand:
I'm going to make my own monitor stand!
A morning of frantic endeavours it took:
A Tupperware biscuit tub and Argos book.
A precarious structure, of that I've no doubt,
And now that it's finished... it's time to go out!
My hotdesk survival kit's almost complete,
And I've even been given a rest for my feet,
But I don't have a desk where my kit can be stored...
So tomorrow - it's back to the old drawing board!

It's probably no suprise to readers that public sector workers are more likely
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