Deborah Richards writes: When I was last at my desk, it was in another building. So, like Patsy Stone, I'll need a map when I call in this week

But the well-heeled Patsy Stone, who lives on ciggies and Bollinger, actually does have a job. It's at a magazine.

"I'm a executive fashion director, darling ... I direct," she says.

They find the building, but need a map to find what floor Patsy's office is on.

Thanks to close to a year of working from home, I feel a bit the same. I need to go into the office next week.

A year is a long time in Office World. When I was last at my desk, it was in another building. So, like Pats, I'll need a map.

One thing that the pandemic has shown is how quickly the unfamiliar becomes the familiar.

A year ago, I couldn't have conceived that working at home would become normal. Forget the new normal, I'm way past that. The home office is now the same old, same old.

The only thing missing is grey carpet and a giant vending machine that spits out cans and packets of snacks, and often goes on the blink, prompting a furious display from the person whose money it has swallowed.

To be honest, I miss these little office scenes.

One of my favourite episodes of Office Life played out years ago when I was working in Sydney. These days, news rooms are more civilised, but an undercurrent that something could kick-off of any time remains. Due to the unpredictability of news, things can turn from calm to chaotic in seconds.

But, after that build up, the incident that I fondly remember from "Ye Olde Office Life" was something so lame it was hilarious.

It happened one night shift, during a dramatic sprint to deadline. We were on track, until someone dropped the ball and the finish line faded into the distance.

One of my colleagues, who was known for his mild-mannered nature, blew up. He was so angry that I thought we were going to see a good old news desk meltdown (when everyone ducks for cover as a supersonic sub-editor unleashes a mouthful of colourful terms that would embarrass a wharfie).

But, that wasn't my colleague's style. He was mild. He was mannered. Everyone was watching. What was Oscar Mild going to do?

He kicked a bin.

He didn't overturn it. He didn't lift it over his head Hulk-style and chuck it.

He kicked it.

It wasn't an industrial bin. It was a waste paper bin, about knee-high.

An uncomfortable silence followed the fury.

Then my laughter kicked in.

I hadn't laughed so hard since another workmate was so fed up with people nicking her chair that she secured it to her desk with a few lengths of heavy-duty chain.

Those were the days.

I'm not sure if full office life will return for me, but, if it does, I'm keen to reintroduce the bin kick. I'll talk to the boss about it when I make my guest appearance.

That is, if he remembers me.

I'll pack my ID with the GPS.

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