Thursday, February 26, 2009

The New Deal

OK people, here's the deal. In an attempt to discover if there are more people looking at this than the two that I know about, I hav put a counter on my profile. I don't have great hopes of reaching double figures, to tell the truth. But it would be nice to see that someone out there is looking.

OK, I'll be honest. I was bored and was playing with the 'add gadgets' heading in the settings panel. Dear god I'm sad. Straight home from work to sit on the couch and tell myself to move, to make dinner, to wash some clothes. But I'm still sitting here.

It's been a long day. I can barely see straight from staring at the many-coloured lines of drawings on the computer screen at work. Some days I wonder if it's worth it. And then I think of all the things that I want to do, and all the money that is needed to do them. I think of all the giggles and fun times I have with the girls from work. And I think of the alternatives to working without winning the lottery. So yes, it's worth it.

So, the new deal is, I'll stop griping about work. I'll lever my butt off the couch and I'll get onto all those chores. And in return, the counter of visitors to this site will tick over at a healthy rate.

Yeah. Right.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Desolation

I have never pretended to love my work. It serves a purpose - let's me do other things - and doesn't always bore me stupid, so it's a step up from some of the jobs I've had in the past. It's generally a fairly happy place to be, because the others in the office tend to share similar views, to a certain extent. We're all quite happy to leave the office at the end of the day and go to our own lives. Sometimes that means that we all go out together. More often, it's catching up with friends and couches of our own. Which is what makes it especially sad to think that my office is changing.

Walking through the buildings now, it's like wandering an ocean of empty desks with occasional islands of work happening. Early last year, there was barely enough room for all of the people in the London office. When I left to get my visa situation sorted out, there was no doubt that there would be a permanent position waiting for me on the other side of the approval process. Now, the company has halved in size since the first round of redundancies last August. The losses have been almost exclusively architecture and support staff in London. So far, the other departments and offices have escaped unscathed. Areas that used to buzz with people jammed together are now silent. Either the gap to the next desk is too far for chatter, or there's no work going on.

Last Friday was the last day at the company for around 7 people, maybe more. Many kept the news to themselves until the last minute. Some never commented at all, just quietly cleaned their desks and left for the last time. For some, it's an opportunity to go and do the things they have always wanted to do. For others, it's a terrifying prospect. There is one who will become father to twins in June. Another has worked at the same desk for almost 20 years. He was in tears as he left for the last time as an employee. There are bills, mortgages, living, and there is no work out there.

The usual leaving drinks were held on Friday night seeing us trekking all over London trying to oblige the people who were leaving. Lunch in Goodge St. Back to the ghetto for drinks at our usual watering hole. Racing north once more to Hoxton Square, before running for the last tube home. There was a kind of desperation in the celebrations. We all knew that things wouldn't be the same after this, and we were determined to give them a good send-off. But this isn't like any of the other rounds of redundancies. This time, there is absolutely nothing out there for them. And even for those of us lucky enough to still have a job, there is the knowledge that we may find ourselves out of work at any time. The drinking was enthusiastic, the merriment forced, the fear lurking in all of us about what might be around the corner. And today in the office, all was silence, awestruck with the speed of events and no end in sight.

Because we all feel it. A Depression is not just about the economic mood of the country. It's about the attitude. The building industry is depressed in every sense of the word. The bubble has burst, and we're all wondering how long it's going to take for another to start to form. Please let it be soon. The emotions that were floating around on Friday were not pleasant and can only end badly for some who invest a whole lot more in their work than I do. For those who are defined by it, I hope the turnaround is on it's way. But somehow I doubt it.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Striking a balance

The world seems to need balance, and there are some things that will never change, however things may shift. Take Flatmate and I. We have only so much satisfaction to be shared out between us, regardless of the area in which we are satisfied. We seem to share out happiness in roughly even measures, job satisfaction and luck with boys.

At the moment, we're about level on job satisfaction. There's good and bad for each of us, with her working longer hours and my job alternating between boring me to tears and stressing me with the lack of security. We're roughly even on mood swings as well. It seems lately that one of us is always up and the other down. Occasionally we'll hit a good patch where we're about even and get the giggles together.

Right now, flatmate is on the first of three dates for the week. Based on the text I got a little while back, it's gong OK, but she's not sure there'll be a repeat performance. She's not likely to be too stressed by that aspect - not nearly as stressed as she was about the date - because she prefers either of the two still to come to this one. Meanwhile, in an evitable sequence of events given the combination of Flatmate having prospects and it being around Valentine's day, I have just fielded one of the more awkward conversations I've ever had. JD - he's destined to have that name forever in here now - has just proven what a nice boy he is and called me to say that he's met someone else in the time since I last saw him, and that he doesn't think he'll be seeing me again. Very decent of him, I know, but rather hard to be on either end of that phone. So, for the first time ever I have a prospect make it past Valentine's Day, only to discover that it fizzled within a week the other side.

So there you have it. Or rather, don't have it right now. It seems that the running is all Flatmate's way. One of these days we'll sort out the balance, and we'll both get what we want. Until then, well, good luck to her.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

From Hell

I've been reading about the horrific fires that have ravaged my home state of Victoria, and I've been gob smacked by the stupidity of some people. It's nothing to do with the poor people who have been caught up in the fires. For them I feel nothing but sympathy at the trauma that they have not only gone through but are still experiencing and likely to be trapped in for a long time to come. No, I'm not amazed by them, other than by the fact that any of them made it out alive. My shock is that anyone could try and make political milage out of such a tragedy, especially while it is still not over, or that blame could be so central to the focus of so many people who are not involved.

There are many reasons for the severity of the fire, certainly. There are probably many ways it could have been prevented or at the very least minimised. It does no good to argue that government policies are to blame, or greenies who argued against the clearing of bush undergrowth. It is even less senseless to suggest even the possibility of something I saw on one of the message boards that basically amounted to the installation of a state-wide sprinkler system to put out the fires as they started (do have to wonder if the person advocating that has any concept of the distances involved, given that he suggested using sea water when it was politely pointed out that part of the problem is the almost total lack of rainfall to Victoria).

But the most bizarre and offensive suggestion to date is of the psycho religious variety. The appropriately named Catch the Fire Ministry seems, at first glance, to be a fairly standard extremist Christian organisation (yes, I'm at best agnostic, but seriously, take a look at some of the things these people advocate...I'll fill you in). It's leader has a knack for attracting publicity and is often linked to former Liberal politicians, a fair indication of right-wing status if ever there was one. But anybody who suggests, as this mane did overnight, that the enormous disaster of the fires was brought about by the government's actions in making abortion lawful ought to be taken somewhere quiet and having some sense knocked into them, and fast. And not just that person, but also the media who give them a forum for airing their bizarre views. Anyone could think that there is justification in the bible for the burning to death of men, women, children, innocents who may or may not have had any involvement or even opinions on abortions, ought to take a look at the passage where Sodom and Gomorrah were saved simply because there was one just man to be found in them. How can someone, supposedly a godly man, grandstand on such a subject? Does a lot for the reputation of Christians the world over. I can think of several who'd far rather that he'd just shut his trap.

And in the mean time, heartfelt sympathies to anyone who has felt the impact of these fires. I may be on the other side of the world right now, but I spent many weekends in the Kinglake and Marysville area and thought of it being wiped out, along with so many of the wonderful locals, is bad enough. Experiencing it must be something beyond comprehension.

Notting Hill ad infinitum

It's official. Hugh Grant is ruining our lives by raising the expectations of women across the world when it comes to relationships (http://www.theage.com.au/news/lifeandstyle/lifematters/reel-love/2009/02/09/1234027939181.html?page=fullpage#contentSwap2). It seems appropriate to warn people about this in the lead up to Valentine's Day. Even more appropriate in light of the poster I saw outside my local shopping/cinema centre advertising Valentine's WEEK activities and specials. They're stretching it to a week now? It was hard enough to endure as a single for a day. Even as part of a potential couple, the thought of an entire week of schmaltz is enough to make me gag.

I am a closet romantic, it's true. I've read more than my share of Chick Lit books where the girl gets her man. I'm contemplating writing a thesis on them, so devoted am I to fluffy literature. I'm a massive fan of the romantic comedy film. I can - and do - talk relationships for hours, days, weeks. But I think if they stretch it to a week, even the most openly romantic soul will become a little jaded. She's my flatmate, so I'd rather not have to deal with it if it happens. There is an antidote in another friend's blog (http://www.treadonme.co.uk/). Whilst she is romantic, and writes openly of her wish to be an Austen style heroine, her sister - also wanting it, if her comments are anything to go by - is more sceptical. And that's as it should be, I think. Hope for the lightening bolt, but realise that even for the greatest artists, inspiration is only part of the battle. As beautiful as a Monet painting is, just think of all the paint stains and hours standing over the easel that must have gone into it unseen by the outside world.

Or perhaps just remember the origins of the word romantic, with the nineteenth century philosophical movement headed by the likes of Wordsworth, able to write wonderful (if over wordy, but who am I to criticise for that?) poetry, but sadly lacking in real world skills. One of the fathers of the Romantic movement left his love and his child behind in revolutionary France; he would not set eyes on them for ten years. Some romantic. Wordsworth's poems weren't the only writings to come out of the Romantic period though. Take a peak into some Gothis literature if you want the antidote to romantic comedies. Yes, there's love and modern kinds of romance in abundance. There's also blood and gore by the bucket and some of the corniest, terrifying villains ever created. So much for romance.

So, in the spirit of the Romantic Wordsworth, I'm heading off for Valentines. Months ago when it was looking like we were both going to be alone once again for that most soppy of days, Flatmate suggested that we take a weekend and head away somewhere that nobody knew us. Ironically, I would actually like to be around for this one now. Funny how that works out...

Friday, February 06, 2009

Note to self

It's one thing to discover that you know how to email a post onto your blog. It's entirely different when you remember that your work attaches a signature to the bottom of your emails just after sending one of the three posts within two days that you've been distracted enough to prepare (it was the third. In case you were wondering). It's even worse when a quick check confirms that your signature has not only your name, but also your work email address, telephone number, and office address. Try finding this out during the hours when you're locked out of the editing options of Blogger as well. Torture. Torment. I can only imagine how much worse I would have felt had anyone actually read my blog. Luckily, I have a readership of two - in a good week.

So, it's back to the drawing board (ie the computer screen where I do my drafting work, in so many senses of the word) and a return to irregular posting. Dammit.

Rhythm

I've been back dancing in the past week and have every intention of going regularly once again. We'll see how long that resolution lasts. It was great fun though, and has set me to thinking about various things, not least of which is how to cram as much of it in as I can without spending any money. Quite the challenge as it happens. Another question is how to meet some guys who can lead, so I get to follow for a change. Because the type of dancing I'm talking about here isn't the go-to-a-club-and-stand-in-a-circle-with-your-friends type of dancing - although that does happen sometimes, to a certain extent. No, I'm talking about swing dancing, the joy of jitterbug, lindy hop, charleston and, for the brave, balboa. Maybe even shag. As long as people are around who can find 1 better than most of the people in Sunday's class! I've never heard a group of people clapping supposedly in time to music sound more like a ragged round of applause. The teacher assured us that it's something that can be learned. Some clearly need to study harder than others. Finding the beat was always the one thing I could do without trying though, so shouldn't be too critical of others. Maybe they'll just be better at finding the moves?

There are other questions, as well. I know there's no way I could get nice boy to go along with me to these things. (I can't keep calling him Nice Boy. Sounds too weird. So let's christen him J.D. As in John Doe, but much cooler - can't give away names here. I have discovered that I can be found by Google searches and we can't have people knowing what I write about them unless I know them very well. So maybe his name will appear later - maybe). He's really not the dancing type, as we discovered last night when we ended up in a karaoke bar and ended up trashing almost every person brave enough to get up, while agreeing that we would never do it without a whole lot more alcohol than we were going to be drinking that night. So the juggling act starts to grow - friends, hobbies and potential boys.

There are other dilemmas as well. Next week is Valentine's Day. It is a month since our first date this weekend. I'll be away next weekend, on trip to Lisbon with Flatmate. So, is it appropriate to send a Valentine's text? Was never going to comment about the one month thing, and think in many respects it's better that I am away for St V's as well - too much pressure too soon, I think - but should it be commented on at all? Actually having to think about it is a bit of a novel situation for me, and we're neither of us the most demonstrative people. I'm struggling to find the right rhythm in this situation. Don't want to push too hard, but also want things to move on. God only knows how to manage it. I certainly don't.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Tick . . . Tock

Clock watching is a dangerously tempting activity. Especially when I realised that I hadn't gotten around to saving all the setting changes that I made to my blog at lunchtime. If only I could get back into it now, I'd actually be able to post both this and the last post I wrote (I ran out of time at lunch, and cannot access the blogger website during "work" hours thanks to the censoring software the office runs. Grr). So instead, I just thought I'd comment on the futility of clock watching

The last 6 minutes have been an eternity. I'm not sure I can make it to 5:30. A whole 115 minutes! And all I have to do are landscaping drawings (ie putting label tags on the lines representing different types of fencing on a large development site) and bathroom details

I watched the new Minder series last night. It put things into perspective when I saw the sort of scheme that I work on detailing being prepared by the dodgy developers trying to blackmail a poor innocent pub owner who refused to sell. Wonder what they'd make of the fact that I troubleshoot these mega schemes and attempt to make it so things run smoothly on site? Of course, our clients aren't like the Golds. Oh no. They'd never bend the rules at all. Strictly legitimate. They would, however, dock the pay of any of their employees who couldn't make it out to their offices in Seven Oak because of Monday's snow.

OK. Nose. Grind stone. Here goes.

Cold and grey in February is just plain wrong

The snow has turned to slush and London is once again cold and grey. It's been so cold in my office that I didn't bother putting my lunch yoghurt in the fridge this morning. I just left it in my bag by my filing drawer. Yes, I've tripped over it a dozen times today, but when I popped the tin foil (incidentally, never, NEVER try to peel the tin foil lid off a particularly sticky tub of yoghurt whilst ever so slightly squeezing the plastic tub. Especially if you're off on a date that night. It will not end well for anyone. Well, you, mostly) inside it was a cool as if I'd just pulled it from the fridge. Handy hints for the refrigeratorly challenged

Given that the return of grey also meant the return of rain, I'm trying to keep from getting my perfectly straightened hair wet by staying inside. Anything rather than having to present Nice Boy with my usual less-than-well-groomed self. You know it's bad when you're comparing notes with someone about how bad your hair is (you know you do it...) and comment that yours is a mess because all you've done to it that day was comb it when it was damp then aim the hair dryer at it for a bit before tying it back, and the response is 'Do you dry it?' in surprised tones. So I don't think he knows me well enough to be prepared for that just yet. I entertained myself at lunch by going back to Jen Lancaster's blog (www.jennsylvania.com It's sarky, it's nasty, it's comic genius), which was what inspired me in the first place with this whole blogging thing. I keep hoping that I'll have the same luck she did, getting book deals and a lifestyle out of writing. Maybe someday there'll be someone who stumbles across this blog, isn't scared off by either the catty bitching at telephone companies, the lack of any real substance to the posts, or my complete unwillingness to spell check, and will throw a six-figure book deal my way. Hell, with some work on my part I could probably reel out 3-4 in a couple of years.

But no. I'm not silly enough to think it's ever going to happen in the real world. A girl's got to have a dream though. Something to tide her through until 5:30, when she runs for the hills...OK, I'm not running for the hills. I'm dashing for the mirror, to put on a little make up before racing back to north London and a cinema where Nice Boy will hopefully be waiting for me. He just texted to let me know that he didn't get stranded in the fresh snow that fell across Hertfordshire overnight, so we're all set. Cold? Great for snuggling...Grey skies? Huh! Mood lighting. Drizzle, however, I'm less forgiving about!

Monday, February 02, 2009

Everything's turning to white

It's been snowing in London. Snowing a whole lot, in fact. I went into a bar last night, came out and the world was all soft and white. It turns out it's just as well I left when I did. If I'd stayed I might have either shared the fate of some of the people who were also at the dance class I'd been to and ended up sleeping in the tube station, or I would have faced the hour long walk home through snow that was coming down fairly heavily, by London standards. I also might have missed out on making a snow man last night.

Turns out though that I have had plenty of time to make up for any fun missed last night. It was the worst snow London has endured - the word the news readers are using, not my choice - for around 18 years. It certainly made for a pretty white blanket over everything. The kids in the area were going nuts about it all this morning. With snow so heavy, almost all schools were closed. Many offices were as well. It seems that London was not prepared for the snow. Only one of the tube lines was running without distruption north of the city this morning. I spent the day at home when it became clear that it would be nigh on impossible for me to get into the office without walking there. In fine weather, the walk takes about 2 hours. I hate to think what it would be like in this weather. So I've had the fun of going out in the snow, playing a little, watching kids make enormous snow balls that they rolled from the roundabout up the street onto the footpath, throwing snow balls at each other (I did my throwing last night when flatmate was taking photos of the lovely streetscape) and generally running amok in their unexpected free time. There were 4x4 owners ringing up radio stations gloating that their cars could get them in to work, arguing that this was reason enough to own one even in the inner city. Personally, I think being able to get to work when everyone else I knew had a good excuse not to go was reason enough to never buy one. It was great sitting in my living room and watching the falling snow, cosy and warm inside but able to head outside if I wanted. There's supposed to be more snow later this week, so I'm wondering how the city will cope. Of course by then, this current lot will have disappeared. It's already melting away in spite of steady falls all afternoon.

But all I could think was to wonder if Nice Boy had made it into the city from his commuter-town home, and whether he'd be able to make it for our planned meet-up (fifth date...apparently we're at the dinner and movie stage in his mind now...) later this week. And it makes me struggle to think about which I prefer, snow or date? Because if it snows and public transport gets shut down, he can't make it. But the snow is so beautiful and fun, especially when it scores me a day off work. I'm yet to come up with a solution that lets me have both.