Well, sort of. Spool Pidgins been chewing on the ends of my subconscious ' woolen jumper for some time now. Unfortunately, due to drafting, reading, night job etc 'mine pidgin time hath been slight and surly, Sirrah' as Nickfaldio famously declaims in Shakespeare's Keanu IV (Part II).
A lot of my focus has been taken up in finding cover while I'm away. Given I'll be the invisible man at work for six or seven weeks, it seemed only fair to muck in with this. But its hard, I tell you. Hotel receptions are all about keeping a 24 hour circus going, forever manned with keen eyes and insane smiles. I've been ringing up our sister hotels in something like an election campaign, asking for people's support come the day (Any day- we've forty five of 'em.), but the fact is a lot of Night Receptionists can't commit to anything more than a fortnight away. The 24-7 machine rolls on- spitting out unplanned occurrences and chance, chance mutations- and no one's rota can see too far in that environment.
Still, its not all bad. I've got a load of dollars that I swapped some pounds of the realm for. So strange. When I hold them I like to pretend I'm in The Wire or some other place in the televisual Americaland of my Skull. I'm sure the novelty will wear off, but for the meantime I'm the Omar Little of Westcoates Drive. Except white. And a Pussy.