Tuttle Not Buttle

Right so the electricity meter isn't in the embassy, it's the other next door. The company that occupied the bottom two floors of that building has now vacated the premises so the key to the meter cupboard currently resides with a recruitment agency on the second floor. And they won't give us the key; they don't think they're allowed to. We have to go back on Thursday when Samantha will be in and ask her. She may think differently.

This is achieving a level of bureaucratic insanity I did not believe possible. I've obviously been working with motivated competent people for far too long and had forgotten about the majority of lazy jobsworths whose sole desire in life is to make sure their own arses are so completely covered that they can never appear to be responsible for anything. They generally achieve this by inaction and continual buck-passing. It is slowly driving me mad. It's a bit like those puzzles in Zelda where you have to get an item that allows you to do a thing so you can talk to the wizard who, in return for another thing, will give you a doodad so you can finally take a fucking electricity reading.

The saga continues...