What was, what is

An object lesson in the transitory nature of things earlier this afternoon. I was walking past my old workplace and could not resist popping in for a look. I thought my pass would no longer be active but it got me on to the floor, there being one or two stragglers hanging around for a few days yet. This was the room where I spent 10 wonderful years. The work was great, the people were great, it was all great. It was my rock and my refuge in hard times and a place about which, all bar being bollocked up hill and down dale a couple of times for being a dickhead, I have only good memories. What a sad sight it is now: devoid of the clutter of the job, the chatter of the people. Most of the chairs have gone and some of the computers. Only broken examples remain waiting to be collected and put in skips. In my desk drawer, once hailed as the Ink Lending Library on account of all the to-be-thrown-out books I stored there, the only thing I could find was an out-of-date Vacher's. I stood on a desk at the back - the naughty boys' bench, it was called - and snapped it all on my phone. Desperately sad. I miss the talking, the laughing, the fun.

Later: A sage sentence from Justypops: "It's like the fall of Saigon in here." The office upstairs, in which I am working for the last time tonight, is also being cleared out to move to the new place. In between times, I have been rooting about in empty offices...just exploring nooks and crannies I won't have the chance to see again. I push a door and enter a side room, cooler than the rest of the place, with chests of drawers where illustrations and plans were stored. All the drawers are empty. I wish for a moment that I could stay in there forever and walk out with the overpowering sense of something final having happened. In another room there are bookshelves and two fridges. The shelves have been filleted clean, the fridges contain various screwtop jars - set honey, pickled stem ginger, caperberries, anchovies (that final one unopened, thank God). Outside, I find a ball made of elastic bands and thwack it around with a cardboard tube. On a nearby desk there are a few books to leaf through: a guide to posh hotels, photos of sad prostitutes in Bombay, another book of photos, a history of Shepperton Studios. Abandonment.