#oc pippa

[britishmuffin]

The girl who watches the world go by without her

★ patreon || website || bluesky ★

[womble1]

Tracy Island Job Opportunity - part 17

Another little instalment of my continued ramblings on the subject of how to better organise the logistics of putting your base of operations on an actual Island!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part3/ Part 4 / Part 5/ Part 6&7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16

AO3

After navigating the twists and turns of the hangar, Pippa was shown to her seat. Which Virgil has hastily brushed down muttering something that sounded like “Gordon”.

It was like sitting in the front seats of the world's biggest mumbus. The dashboard that went for days, and who knew how you were meant to park this thing.

The flight was smooth and uneventful, and they landed at their first stop, a set of warehouses belonging to Tracy Industries. Virgil introduced Pippa to the warehouse team, and after checking through the inventory lists, opened up the big flippy ramp door in Thunderbird Twos carry pouch (she had to remember not to say that one out loud) he left the team to load up the orders. Pallets of mechanical components and barrels of chemicals were shuffled into the far corner and lashed into place with webbing straps looped through handy anchor points on the walls and floor.

Next Virgil headed around the building to where a lorry was waiting. He waved to the driver, and they shared a few jokes about some sports team Pippa knew nothing about. 

“This is Shaun,” Virgil clapped the short stocky man on the shoulder. “Shaun, meet Pippa, she's going to be covering the pickups going forward.”

He was probably in his mid forties and had a dark stubbly beard flecked with grey around the chin.

Something niggled in Pippa's brain. She glanced at the side of the truck, emblazoned with the words: “McGinty wholesalers: Shaun’ll see you right!”

Virgil spotted her look.

“Yeah, he's the big boss, but sneaks out to deliver ours because he likes to keep his hand in, isn't that right Shaun?” 

“Too right!” He has a strong Australian accent and a chirpy delivery. He was rocking on his feet as he spoke, the kind of person who looked like they needed to keep moving at all times. “Can't keep behind a desk all day, it’d do my nut in. Y’know, big guy?” And he nudged Virgil jovially with an elbow.

“Yeah, and it has nothing at all to do with the golf outlet store just down the road?” Virgil nudged back with a grin.

“‘corse not man, that's slander that is!” But he was laughing too much to make it convincing. “Hey, maybe I'll get you out on the driving range if you're finally getting some extra hands!”

“That sounds like a great way to distract this one” she jerked a thumb in Virgil’s “ before I pack it all wrong. It's going to be worse than stacking a dishwasher.”

“Ha, I'm hardly going to fly over and then just not help.” Virgil laughed, dismissing the idea with a flick of his hand. 

“That is completely what you’re meant to do. That’s what you employ me for! Well, I’m not sure it specified golf in the contract agreement, but I could check the paperwork.”

“Ha! Well John is pretty thorough, so I don’t doubt it.”

Pippa turned to Shaun, “He’ll let you know when the next supply run is, Shaun.” Then she turned to Virgil, “and you’re going to need to invest in some plus fours and a Driver.”

“Huh? Plus four what? And don’t you mean a pilot?”

“And you might need to brush up on your golf knowledge too. Don’t worry, I’ll find you an audio book or something.” She pulled out a notepad and scribbled a few notes. 

“...thanks?”

“You’re very welcome. Now!” and she clapped her hands together decisively “Shall we get this stuff moving, ladies?! Chop chop!” 

“Eye Eye captain!” Shaun saluted, a massive grin on his face. 

They left Shaun, and a team of the warehouse workers, unloading pallets loaded high with catering sized multipacks of shelf stable essentials into the opposite corner of Thunderbird Two’s rapidly diminishing cargo space. 

Pippa clapped her hands together loudly, in an attempt to distract Virgil from micro managing the placement of each and every item. She felt a little bad when he physically jumped though. “Right, on to the next stop?”....but it worked!

[britishmuffin]

Patch being snarky while Pippa does some hardcore gazing

★ patreon || website || bluesky ★

[womble1]

Tracy Island Job Opportunity - Part 16

It's been a little while, but my brain is still mulling over the logistics of keeping an island running, and this is the next instalment of those ponderings.

AO3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part3/ Part 4 / Part 5/ Part 6&7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15

Pippa filled up her water bottle at the sink, and shoved it into her bag, a practical backpack for today, zipping it up she was ready to go! Virgil had said to meet her in the kitchen in the villa ready for her first experience of a full supply run.

Pippa parked herself on a high stool and flicked through the lists and they were extensive, and that was before the orders that were sent through to the wholesalers. She was sure that the multitude of lists made sense to Virgil, but she couldn’t quite line them up in her head at the moment. There was plenty of colour coding, but she really hoped he wasn’t too attached to these spreadsheets because she was itching for a bit of tweaking. 

As she got more drawn into the documents the residents of the villa started filtering into the kitchen in search of breakfast. Clattering and shuffling blurred into the background of Pippas consciousness, behind a backdrop of quantities of toilet roll and gallons of engine oil. Maybe Yellow was for mechanical items? Oh, but it was duplicated for snackbars, so maybe not. 

Her attention was brought back to the room by the strong smell of canned fish, that and Alans very vocal expression of disgust.

“Gordon! Not straight out of the can! You’re disgusting!”

“It won’t taste any different for being on a plate!” Gordon grumbled. 

“Sardines though! For breakfast”

“I challenge you to find something better” was the still grumbling reply. 

Cupboards were opened and closed, there was some audible rummaging. 

Pippa risked a peep, it was risky, if she got spotted she could very easily find herself drawn into whatever developing domestic drama was about to unfold. All the quick glance revealed was the sight of Alan two thirds of the way into climbing into the large refrigerator. It certainly went some way to explaining how the existing interesting dents had come into existence. 

Alan came clambering out, chewing on half a cucumber and brandishing a bunch of limp celery, which he threw at Gordon with unfailing accuracy. Pippa hid her smile behind her data tablet. Not her monkeys, not her circus, she had done her time mediating this sort of debate, she did not need to get involved now. 

Things only got more absurd when Scott came into the kitchen, and having peered into a barren bread bin, and peered longingly into a few of the cupboards, started making plain popcorn with the dregs of a bag of corn kernels. The percussive bangs and pops providing a suitably surreal background beat for the bizarre breakfast. 

By the time Virgil arrived, guarding a travel mug of coffee which he had come in carrying from sources unknown, there was barely a scrap left in the kitchen and Scott was sitting on the other end of the breakfast bar to Pippa, calmly eating popcorn out of a mixing bowl with a spoon as if it were an oversized bowl of cornflakes. He offered up a nearly empty bottle of ice cream sauce to Virgil, and Virgil for his part seemed to almost seriously consider it. 

Pippa was increasingly glad that her little beachside abode hadn’t run quite so low on supplies. Finally unable to stop herself, she slid down from her perch. Grabbing up her data pad and her bag, she coughed politely.

“Shall we be on our way then Captain” she waved Virgil in the direction of the hangars.

How much he just moved on instinct to the voice of command was unclear, but move he did.

Not without query though, “Captain?”

“Well I’m certainly not flying that thing, so I really hope you are.” she replied.

“Huh,” Virgil smiled to himself at the novel idea. “I guess I am the Captain then.” even just saying it had him straightening his shoulders a little and striding with a little more confidence. 

It was baffling. “How would you usually describe it then?” Pippa asked, frowning.

“Well I usually just think of myself as the pilot, but I guess, out of the two of us that would make me the more experienced pilot, so yeah, Captain.” he gave a dopey grin. 

“Don’t let the title go to your head!” Gordon called from where he was sitting on the kitchen countertop picking flecks of candied fruit out of a dried up bag of mixed dried fruit. “It’ll set the Colonel off!”

“Shut up First Officer!” Virgil shouted back, not even turning around. 

“How’d you like that? Throwing around the FO at this time in the morning. I only respond to ‘Skipper’ . Thank you very much.”

“Get back in your tin can Gordon, it smells like you’ve been in the intake filters again.”

“I keep telling you all, fish oils are essential for glossy hair and bright eyes!” he fluttered his eyelashes.

“And a wet nose? You’re not a dog Gordon” said Virgil.

“A dog would be better trained” Scott grumbled, as he poured icecream sauce over his popcorn. 

As they rounded a corner and got safely out of view from the chaos in the kitchen, Pippa slipped her bag off one shoulder and swung it round so she could ferret in its recesses. She resurfaced triumphantly brandishing a snack bar that had zero connection to celery. Tapping Virgil on the shoulder with it to get his attention, she tossed the snack into his eager hand.

The words of thanks were muffled as he tore the packet open with his teeth, since his other hand was still curled protectively around the travel cup.

“ thanks,” he chewed, “we’ve got ration bars on ‘Two, but they’re…. Effective rather than enjoyable.” he frowned, turned the packet over in his hand and peered at the label. “these aren't our usual ones.”

“I smuggled them from home,”

“Oh , I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Sorry, we can get some replacements at the shop” 

“Pssshh, I think I can stand a few snacks without reimbursement. It's more like pilot fuel. Land us there safely and I might even crack out the chocolate buttons for the return journey.,”

“Deal!” The remaining third of the snack was bought up to his forehead in a reasonably crisp salute.

[womble1]

Tracy Island Job Opportunity - Part 8

Ah go on then, have another chapter. Pippa is quite possibly on the edge of being overwhelmed by all of it, but as long as she doesn't say that to her self then it doesn't count - right? right? (yeah I am stuck in scene setting, and who knows if I will ever make it out the other side. cross your fingers!)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part3/ Part 4 / Part 5/ Part 6&7 AO3

By the time she heard a discrete cough from outside and knock on the door, Pippa had rationalised her notes into a list that screamed less of mental instability. Tucking it, and a pen into her back pocket she grabbed her sunglasses and was ready to go. 

She glanced at her handbag where it sat slumped next to the table. She turned to her “What am I going to need for this, Parker? Is this the sort of walk that needs supplies and blister plasters?” she looked down at her comfortable, but very much pavement loving, tennis shoes. 

“W-hell, with the Tracy Family I would usually advise that you be ready for h-enything, but in this hin-stance I you should be fine as you are, it's just a short stroll up to the main house.”

“Ok, got it, thanks.” she rummaged in the sack of a hand bag, and pulled out a much smaller cross body bag from within its depths. “Just the essentials then. - Lead on!”

Parker wore the expression of a man who had long ago learnt that it was best not to question a woman on her luggage requirements. That certainly earned him points in Pippa's estimation. 

He had been right too, a short stroll along a neatly edged compacted gravel path, which meandered its way through the trees with a gentle incline. It looked new, and she spotted a few armoured cable runs dotted along the side of the path, possibly some lighting was planned too. 

She was so caught up noticing those details that the Villa itself crept up on her entirely. They rounded a corner and ascended a few steps and suddenly they were alongside a massive swimming pool, which was only dwarfed by the angular building perched amongst the rockface and vegetation above it. A sweeping glass construction that had her leaning back to take it all in. The glass doors looked big enough for a cathedral! Parker led them around the side of a chunky cantilever patio and through some more domestic sized sliding doors into a pleasantly shaded kitchen. She was still shading her eyes when they adjusted enough to the ambient light for her to notice the other occupant of the room. A gangly blond haired teenager, probably about 18 years old, was frozen to the spot, caught mid rummage through a massive F&M stencilled wicker hamper which was sitting on the table.

On pure automatic reflex alone, Pippa raised one questioning “mum-brow” at him. It wasn’t more than a half-powered “look”, but it was enough that the lad backed away with his hands raised. Definitely guilty. 

“Good h-afternoon master H-Alan, so nice of you to h-offer to ‘elp with preparing the luncheon.” Parker flipped the lid down on the hamper, and pointed the young man in the direction of the kitchen. “Some plates, if you please.” was the command. Turning back to Pippa, he gestured across to some stairs set into exposed rockface. “I think we m-hight find the rest of the family h-up stairs, if you would f-hollow me?”

She wondered if he was just hamming it up for comedic effect by this point, but she resisted the urge to doff an imaginary hat and respond with “awwrigh’ gov-nor!” and followed him upstairs. She definitely didn’t keep repeating ‘Alan - guilty blond’’ in her head so it would stick in her memory. 

Pippa was reassured to see Lady Penelope waiting up in the lounge area, she was bound to be the sort of person who did proper introductions, the sort with the key details condensed down into a single memorable titbit. 

Lady Penelope did not disappoint, she swept over as smooth as if someone had put her court shoes on casters. Pippa did glance down to just check that she wasn’t on wheels, ever since her eldest had gone arse of tea kettle down a half flight of stairs whilst wearing a pair of heelies it was a legitimate worry that had stayed with her. 

“Ah Pippa, perfect timing, let me get the introductions underway whilst Parker lays out the provisions. John, would you be kind enough to message Brains and your grandmother?” Lady Penelope had turned to direct the last comment to a glowing hologram of the man from the interviews, although now he was floating and sporting a distinctive and form fitting blue uniform. She could see how that might have given the game away if he had worn that in the interview. 

Lady Penelope swept Pippa around the room, first stop was an eyewatering hawaiian shirt filled with sunshine and fish puns. The shirt would certainly stick in her memory, she just needed to pin the name to the shirt. Pleasantries were exchanged. It was only by the third (possibly) joking request for improvements to the island that Pippa remembered Penny's previous warning about not approving any requests from Gordon without running them past Scott.

Which did segway nicely into the next introduction, who turned out to be said Scott. His first words were to reiterate the warning about any of Gordon's requests. Pippa shifted finding out about Gordon's previous request up a few positions on her todo list. 

Pippa was just starting to wonder if she could get away with making notes when Lady Penelope glided them towards the kitchen and a beautifully laid out spread. She was introduced to Virgil, Alan, Brains, and Sally (grandma) in quick succession over the charcuterie and sausage rolls. 

Over the course of the meal Sally had already offered her extra towels, Virgil had made sure she knew where the infirmary was and where the fire evacuation points were. Gordon had offered up a supply of celery crunch bars and Brains had loaded her up with a hologram unit, laptop, tablet and comms unit, all with a mixture of Tracy Industries or International Rescue logos on them. 

Thank goodness Lady Penelope was part mind reader, gave Pippa a perfect excuse of going back to her hut to set up the electronic devices and settling in ready to get cracking the next day. 

When Pippa made it back to her accommodation she piled up her armful of swag onto the small table before collapsing back onto the bed. Tomorrow was going to need a lot of postit notes. It was more than a little intimidating. Since panicking wasn’t going to get her anywhere, instead, Pippa kicked off her shoes, peeled off her socks and did the totally sane thing of running straight into the sea up to her knees. Because, why not! It wasn’t every day you got to let your feet sink into the sand on a secluded tropical beach. Although, who knew, if she got to grips with this role then maybe she would be able to do this more often. Although maybe not too often because they would probably think she was off her rocker. After some fortifying lungfulls of sea air and the thoughts were starting to fizz around her brain, shuffling into the sort of energy that called out for a list or a spread sheet. Clapping her hands together decisively, Pippa head back to her pile of newly acquired tech and searched out a suitable device to start organizing her questions and plans for the next day. That was much better, now she had a plan! Bring it on. 

[womble1]

Tracy Island Job Opportunity Part 14

I forgot to post this one here. Gather round anyone who wants another installment of deep diving into the little details of keeping Tracy Island running. If domestic logistics is your thing, read on. If you're after dramatic rescues, this probably isn't for you. It's just a small one this time though.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part3/ Part 4 / Part 5/ Part 6&7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / AO3

Pippa rummaged around blindly in her bag, there was an urgent chiming coming from within its depths. So far she hadn't been able to convince whatever nagging device wanted her attention to make its way towards the light. So far there had been some alarming clunking sounds as the tape measure collided with things that sounded concerningly fragile. 

“Ah ha!!” a little final fumbling and the bleeping tablet came free. She stabbed at the screen to answer the call and couldn't stop herself from physically leaning back as the built in holo projector lit up and a blue tinged spaceman beamed into the space. 

“Hello Pippa, Virgil asked me to pull out some of the supply run invoices together for you. I assume you actually wanted them and this isn’t the emergence of a new evil streak in my brother?”

“Oooh goodie,”

“Well that sounded genuine, so that's a relief.” John laughed “my world view couldn’t take the adjustment if it turned out he had been playing us all along.” John clapped his hands together, “I’ll transfer them into your files on the server, ok?”

“Perfect, thank you! Now where does a girl need to go on this island to find a screen that isn’t holographic and a proper clacky keyboard?” John pinged a location across to her, and she set off on her mission for data clarity!

[womble1]

Tracy Island Job Opportunity: Part 15

oooh look what I forgot to post here. Another instalment of Tracy Island logistics fic.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part3/ Part 4 / Part 5/ Part 6&7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14

On AO3 Here

Something cut across the sunbeam streaming in through the window, casting a long narrow shadow, which was annoying as it made it a lot harder to see her own notes. Looking up she watched as Scott poured himself a bucket of coffee from the pot on the counter, he had a zoned out look on his face.

“Ah! Scott, just the person!”

He jumped, so much that trying to style it out was simply not an option. It was luck alone that saved him from coffee down his front. He clutched at his chest, probably to check his pulse was something within reasonable boundaries and wasn’t about to set off some sort of alert.

The voice had come from somewhere in the general vicinity of the walk-in larder. Scott took a few cautious steps towards it, knees bent, eyes alert.

A chirpy little two tone whistle came from the same direction.

“Down Heeeeeere!”

Scott edged a little closer, relief visible on his face as he caught sight of the owner of the mystery voice.

“Hi Pippa. Should I be concerned that you’re sitting on the floor……surrounded by….tinned peaches?”

“And tinned tomatoes,”

“Do they play a vital part in the scenario?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Essential. Did you know you have 27 tins of tomatoes in this cupboard alone?”

“No… I can honestly say I did not know that, is that a problem?” he folded his arms in an attempt at a casual posture.

“Only that on your current average consumption it will take you 2.5 years to run out of tinned tomatoes.”

“Oh,...wow” the look of surprise was not at all assumed.

“But not anymore!” Pippa maneuvered herself off the floor, grasping at the door frame and only kicking over two tins of tomatoes.

“I have installed, and when I say I, I may have had help…I have installed a little scanner on the recycling chute that tracks everything as it’s used, and then we can just order enough to maintain a sensible level.”

“That…that's actually a really good idea.” Scott nodded, a little uncertain what else to say.

“I know - right?! But I have to input the starting quantities, so that's why I was on the floor.” she stretched and her back clicked.

“Ugh, agghh. Nope, I’m not going to be bending again. Dammit.” She shuffled back towards the larder and shunted tins of food back into some sort of order with the toe of her boot. “Bother it, I only had one shelf to go. Do you think we can convince everyone not to eat from the bottom shelf until I’ve counted it? Yeah, that's not going to work. Oh well, I’ll just recount it tomorrow” She eased herself towards a kitchen stool.

“Was it just that shelf?” he pointed a little wairily at the bottom corner.

“Yeah, do you think I could just block it off or something?” she glared at the shelf in question, like it had personally insulted her first born, or even the second come to that .

“....or something,” Scott agreed, then lowered himself onto the floor, crossing his legs and blithely ignoring a suspicious crack from his knee. “One……two, three…..four. Four tins of ….Tapioca pudding? Who is even eating this?”

“You don’t need to do that, I can finish it off in just a minute, really.”

She was roundly ignored.

Scott blew dust off the top of the tin and turned it around peering at the label, “it’s in date… just.” Scott rolled the tin out of the larder, it came to a stop at the foot of the central kitchen island. “I’ll feed that to Gordon and Alan, just to see their faces. Please don’t add it to the restock list though. Ok, next?”

They had made it through tinned sweetcorn, and mandarins when a rhythmic tapping announced the arrival of Mr Tracy senior, who prodded at the stranded tin of tapioca with his cane until he could read the label.

“Is someone making pudding?” Jeff peered into the larder, half interested in what his son might be doing but mostly invested in the possibility of pudding.

“I was going to feed it to Alan and Gordon,” Scott wrinkled his nose at the idea.

“Not a fan, son?” Jeff seemed surprised, he propped his cane up against the island and went to reach down for the can. Pippa dived in to retrieve it first, not fancying having to pick the man off the floor. She regretted it when her back cracked again, and she had to grab at a bar stool to drag herself fully upright again. Pippa handed the tin across to Jeff, with only the smallest of winces. “Thank you, are you ok there?”

“Oh yeah, fine, I refuse to be beaten by tapioca” she punched at the air, but froze mid way at another softer click. “I didn’t even do anything!” she moaned.

Scott pulled himself up off the floor, "I'll grab you an ice pa-aack. Ouch!” his knee crunched as he unfolded himself and he was forced to catch himself on the same bar stool.

“I’ll grab those ice packs,” Jeff said, smartly picking up his cane and making his stately progress towards the refrigerator. “You sit yourselves down and I’ll get you some puddin’ too.”

“Why am I being punished?” Scott whined, sounding like a little child.

“But you love tapioca pudding.” Jeff said in the confident tone one might use to convince a toddler.

“I have never liked tapioca pudding.” replied Scott, with appropriate toddler determination.

“No… are you sure? You used to have it all the time.” Jeff was faltering slightly now.

“Because you liked it Dad, why do you think there were always leftovers even after splitting a single tin between all of us? We just used to pile it into Gordon's bowl and you’d ‘tidy’ his leftovers because he was the littlest.” the corners of his mouth crept up past the current disgust at the memory.

“It did seem pretty economical,” said Jeff with a thoughtful tone, as he passed one icepack to Scott and another to Pippa. “Can I offer you some pudding Pippa?”

“Oh you are quite welcome to the whole tin yourself, it’s not on my favorites list either.”

“You better leave it on the restock list though, I think we know who the culprit is now.” Scott glanced back at the larder shelf. “Although maybe we can reduce the numbers a little,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“I can help with that!” said Jeff, grabbing a spoon and tugging at the ring pull.

“Oh Dad, not straight out of the tin! Cold!” then he shrugged, “Pippa is on her probationary period, we’re still trying to make a good impression.”

“I’m not sure that's the way the trial period usually works,” Pippa interjected, raising one finger to punctuate her point.

“Oh no, in this family it does.” Jeff nodded sagely. “We tried engaging an au pair one summer when the kids were young, and we nearly got black listed from the company.”

“How?”

“Gordon.” was the instant reply in stereo.

[womble1]

Tracy Island Job Opportunity - part 10

So I wrote this to try and work out how they keep the wheels ticking over on Tracy Island, because it can't all be Max and Grandma. Unfortunately now its taken on a life of its own and the residents of Tracy Island are getting terrorise by this OC and I have absolutely no control over them. I take no responsibility for what happens from this point on.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part3/ Part 4 / Part 5/ Part 6&7 / Part 8 / Part 9 AO3

Pippa looked at the map on her phone for the millionth time, how many flights of stairs could there possibly be? She zoomed in on the floorplan, and spotted the tiny footnote “(x40 flights)” Forty flights of stairs! She really should have taken the lift, and she was definitely installing a warning sign at the top of the stairs, she might actually expire on these stairs. She stumbled the last few steps and had to stand still wheezing for a good 30 seconds before she re-consulted the plans and ventured into the hangars.

“Ah ha!” she found the room she was after and rapped a triple knock on the open door frame. “Hellllloooooo?” she called into the room and was rewarded with an echoing clatter. Ooops. 

“Hiya! Come on in,” 

“Are you ok?” she called into workshop, leaning through the doorway and shifting a tentative steel capped toe across the threshold. It always paid to be cautious when walking into someones workshop. 

“Oh yeah, all good,” Mr V. Tracy walked out from amongst storage racks at the back of the room, brushing some dust off his shirt and dragging a pair of stools to the work bench in the middle of the room. “How can I help, Pippa?”

“Ah, no, I am here to help you. I’ve got a fresh notebook and I am ready to learn! What can I take off your list? Should we start with the supply run” she punctuated it by clicking her ballpoint pen. 

“Oh, it’s fine. I mean, there's not that much really.”

“Well, how about you talk me through it and I’ll see how much I can absorb?” she opened the notebook and cracked the spine. “So, I might have prepared some questions, which I didn’t want to fill your inbox with.” she cleared her throat.

“Right, what sort of frequency are we talking?”

“Monthly, usually, well roughly, depending on….everything,”

“Ok, and how do you collate your requirements?”

“Would you judge me if I said a list on the fridge?” he asked with a little half lopsided smile. “I’m kidding!” he laughed at her valiant attempt to disguise her disapproval. “We have a spreadsheet, it's a bit of copy and paste from previous runs and then whatever additions get added over the month, some of that does come from a list on the fridge. Then it's just a case of sense checking it for any stealth Gordon items and sending it across to the wholesalers. Then Grandma likes to come across and add anything that we’ve forgotten. See it's not a lot, you’ll have enough else to cover, it's fine.” he tried to brush it off, but Pippa just ignored him, Penelope had warned her about this, she would decide for herself.

“Would you be happy to share some of those sheets with me, maybe some of the orders?”

“Um, sure, but they’re not very exciting.” 

“Oh, do not understand the appeal of a good spread sheet!” she joked, well, mostly joked. “I think we could certainly look at automating and forward forecasting, which would take some of the guess work out of it. But if you let me have a bit of a poke around with the past data, I can come back to you, would that be ok?”

“Yeah, we have something more along those lines for our core materials for the workshops, but we’ve never really had a chance to try and implement it on the other stuff.”

“And that is exactly what you’ve got me for!” she started scrolling through the data that Virgil had bought up on a compact holo unit sat on the workbench. “Whats this tab for?”

“Thats the fresh stuff, we get veg boxes each week.”

“How much wastage do you usually get?”

“Shockingly, very little, but that's because Gordon has absolutely no fear when it comes to smoothie ingredients.”

“Noted, well, I might just leave that one as it is initially.” Flipping back to the initial sheet, “Does anyone ever sense check what you already have in stock?” 

“Not really, theres probably tins back there older than grandma,” he looked embarrassed. “We try to work through the older stuff first, but there have been enough low power days when everything is just shoved in.”

“Well you have had a lot of other things to focus on, and frankly shelf stable stuff would be low on the priority list.” Pippa scribbled a few notes, “Ok, that's enough to be getting on with, I shall investigate and report back.” She shut her notebook with an audible snap.

“Great, now you better tell me there is an elevator back up to the main level,” Pippa stood up.  “because I really don’t relish the thought of my final resting place being one of the half landings on that never ending staircase.” 

Virgil laughed, it broke the tension, and he rose from his seat and led her in the opposite direction out of the workshop. As they walked they shared a cathartic moaning session about what it was like to be the “organised one” when your entire family seemed to be genetically incapable of finding their own backsides with both hands (her phrase not his, and it made him snort out loud.)