I've survived yet another round of redundancies at work, although I have been forced to take a pay cut - still a better option than trying to find a new job when I know there are people out there who have ben unsuccessfully lookng for months now. It feels slightly wrong to be celebrating the fact that someone else lost their job instead of me. It's like survivors guilt. We never know why we were spared, only that we were. The feeling when hearing that my job was safe was almost enough to make me turn to religion, at the time. It was a pretty big thing, given that if I had been made redundant, I would most likely have had to head home. And now is not a good time for that. So instead, I just have to find a new, cheaper home, and bid a very fond farewell to my lovely garden flat. Such a shame I didn't really get to use the garden terribly often. But the idea was there...
Parties have started up in London again. There were no Christmas parties last year. Or none thrown by the companies that we deal with at work, anyway. Everybody was edgy and dull. Now, it's the end of the financial year and they all seem to be either launching a new showroom (I was at one the other night that looked like a night club. Apparently, they do fabrics. Not sure where they hid it. Canapes were great, though), or just spending whatever was left in the kitty before the tax man claims it. And fair enough too. So I've had a couple of weeks where I've hardly been home.
Of course, there has been another reason for not being home. He lives in East London, and shall henceforth be known as Kiwi. A little too tempted to put a smiley face in there. I've been indulging in a little too much text speak lately. But, the short version of it is that Kiwi is tall - at last, a tall guy over here! - a kiwi, obviously, and very sweet. Breaking all the traditional roles in relationships, he's the romantic demonstrative one. I'm just along for the ride. Almost put a smiley again. Best move on.
I'm studying again. This time I have to write a thesis, to finish the honours part of my degree. Two years, many many words. I've finally picked a title for it though - Portrayals of fulfilment in Chick Lit. It's the perfect excuse to re-read all my favourite down time authors. And the best part is that it won't even involve me going out and buying any books, because I already have them. Genius, or what? Now I just need the time to sit down and do the work that I'm supposed to be updating my supervisor on...
Part of the reason that my team think we saved our jobs is that the associate who oversees our department is heading back to Australia to get married at the end of next month and not coming back, meaning we will be a team of 3. Well, 2, really, since I'm already back doing architectural work rather than interiors. Last night was the associate's hen do. In a fit of budget consciousness, I decided I couldn't afford the first part of the planned outting, a trip to the races, meaning that when I caught up with them at the restaurant later, most of them were...let's go with merry. Raucous could also be used. It was an entertaining dinner, with plans for karaoke to follow. Just as we were getting sorted with the bill, however, smoke started to billow out of the ventilation system. Quickly gathering all of our things together, we got out of the building in a hurry. We did pretty well, I think. With about 20 at least partially drunk people (I'm averaging it out here) we only lost one jacket and one phone. Most of us had the forethought to pick up the cash that we were about to put in kitty (although one girl claims to have left a £1 trillion note on the table. Good luck getting that one back!). But we did get separated when the fire truck arrived. There were tears and hugs when the other hal of our group was found, and a lesson was learnt by all. It doesn't matter that a tipsy mother followed her daughter out of the building and was seen standing next to her when the fire truck pulled up. When she can't find her five minutes after that, she will get frantic and assume said daughter is still in the building. It was more than a little disconcerting to see the amount of smoke pouring from the windows at the floor we had been sitting on. If I think of it, I'll post a photo on here later to illustrate the drama. It all happened very quickly. We eventually wandered off to our karaoke booking, not a small percentage of us singing "The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire". The rest were indulging in a little Gloria Gaynor survival. Had to warm our vocal chords up somehow, I suppose.
And that's it. That's my life and times for the past month. Now I have to go and deal with the roaring headache that I seem to have picked up somewhere between the fire and getting up this morning. Now where did that come from, I wonder?
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