OU Activity 6.6 Part 1 Description of my workplace 1991
The office is compact, just enough room for five small shabby chairs and an old well worn oak desk. Two chairs sit under the window leaning against a much painted Victorian radiator, now yellowed and peeling from the constant heat it used to generate into the room. Now it is cold and a cheap electric convector heater sits against the opposite wall waiting to one day be of service. The small cracked window panes imply that they gave in under long forgotten screams from the adjoining room. The window looks out over the roses proudly basking in the summer sun. Beyond the roses, ancient conifers screen the old vegetable gardens, now a haven for wild flowers and nettles. On the wall behind the desk is a cork notice board covered in messages that are now history required by no-one.
Back through the office door is the day room, the long wall broken by six sash windows, years of over painting making them draught proof. Each window falls from the ceiling and settles on radiators looking like ridiculous oversized yellowing teeth glaring from a menacing smile. Brown fibre glass curtains with fiery orange psychedelic swirls hang at the windows offer an alternative reason for having a headache, as they clash against the sickly green emulsioned walls. The grey carpet is discoloured with an intricate map of individual encounters of coffee, cigarette burns, urine and chewing gum. An old black leather sofa sits beneath another window with a collection of odd chairs huddled around it. A coffee table separates them, strewn with an incomplete pack of playing cards and couple of chipped mugs.
Two large Formica tables sit, one each end of the room, one with a part completed jigsaw and several ash trays bearing the remains of multiple moments of denied relief. The other bearing the scars of biro etched graffiti, harsh gifts from tension filled fingers, and abuse from cigarettes smoking themselves to death while resting on the side of the table.
A TV sits besides the fire exit on a long ago discarded mahogany desk. A dishevelled row of half a dozen grubby grey moulded plastic chairs line before it expectantly, waiting for the motley audience to occupy them at the designated hour. The heavy wooden glass topped door besides the fire exit is closed. The sign hung over the brass door handle warns that unauthorised entry is not permitted between the hours of 10am to 6pm. Through the door window can be seen two rows of twelve made up beds covered in faded pale blue bedspreads, and separated by personal lockers; each one the same, but each one housing a different secret.
Everything around these rooms seems to have held a tight grip on both the past and the present and refuses to let go to offer any sort of future. Ghosts of the past still occupy the whole place suffocating and adding to the burdens of the current visitors. They curl themselves around everything as if letting anything go will release a tension far too great for the coping of any human being. And yet outside, horse chestnut trees willingly strip naked to feed the blades of grass patiently awaiting their autumn breakfast.
My Comments - NO SOUNDS, NO SMELL I need to include them next ...
to be continued
