It's all over now ...

My last day at work proved, once and for all, that I have made the right decision to leave.

Bearing in mind I organised the Christmas lunch, for 65 people, designed and printed all the place settings (with reminder menus on the back and jokes inside in case the cracker jokes weren't bad enough) organised the Secret Santa and the coach there and back, and managed to fit it all into the budget, oh, AND sourced the Santa suit AND made them a deal so that they could keep the suit for next year when I wouldn't be there to organize it ...

Bearing all that in mind, I was expecting a little more from the MD than, 'This time last year ... down-hearted ... didn't get contract ... blah blah ... Linda's leaving ... This time next year ... new contract ... blah blah ... Eat up everyone!'

Wanker.

I've made some great friends at the University. They clubbed together for the most wonderful designer jewellry for me that I love. I miss some of them already and it's been less than 10 days! But, on the whole, I'm glad to go - not because of the people, not because of the pay or the benefits or the holiday, but because of my line manager, Nick, and the one Senior Programme Manager who actually gave me any work, Joy. Joy has such a low opinion of herself and her ability that she projected that onto me from the word go, and assumed I would be incapable of doing the slightest task without constant supervision. Of course, one rises to expectations, and one also falls to them - whatever I did for her seemed to go wrong, and I maintain that if she'd left me to get on with it in the first place we wouldn't have had the problems we did.

But that's all in the past. This time next week I shall have completed my first week at my new job. I'm really a bit anxious about it because I always go into a new job with high hopes and last time - at the University - my hopes were dashed from day one.

I've had a very happy Christmas and I'm looking forward to a happy new year. I wish you all one, too.

xxx

Knit one, purl one

I used to knit a lot when I lived in Paris but since I've been back in England I've hardly done any knitting, and recently gave away all my needles. On a pre-Christmas visit to a friend I noticed a short piece of knitting on a pair of needles - full of holes and dropped stitches. Sue was teaching her grand-daughter to knit, and I started to think it would be nice and relaxing to knit something in front of the telly of an evening.

The following day I went to visit my Aunty, who also had a piece of knitting on a pair of needles. It was the most glorious, fluffy wool and (obviously a sign I'm getting old!) I got very very excited about this scarf she was knitting, so she kindly gave me 2 balls and a pair of needles. Less than 48 hours later, I've already knitted up one ball and started on the second, my repetitive strain injury is back with a vengeance in my right wrist, and I've bid on enough for 3 more scarves on Ebay ... guess what everyone is getting for Christmas next year?

I don't have any room for more hobbies! I don't have time for any more hobbies, but there is something very comforting about sitting in front of the television, watching this scarf grow, and wondering what colour to knit next.

Anyone want to buy a scarf? Could this be my next money-spinner, like the wooden rosebuds and the Peruvian jewellery? Hmmm, bearing in mind the hundreds of wooden rosebuds that are still unsold, and the dozens of pairs of earrings that I still have left over, perhaps I shouldn't have been on those 6 balls of wool ...

Friday night is music night ...

A little shared memory of my Mum in the title. Friday night on Radio 2 has been, for all my living memory anyway, 'music night', with a programme of oh, I don't know, old stuff that your mum listened to. Mum always listened and I always groaned, 'What are you listening to this rubbish for?'

Anyway, Friday night is quite often music night for me because I seem to have gone to quite a few concerts over the past few years, and last night was no exception. Well, it was a concert/ 40th birthday party combined. James was 40 and invited friends and fans to his birthday bash in Woking, with Sailor as the live entertainment - a kind of birthday present to all the guests.

'James? James?' I hear you muttering. 'She's never mentioned a James before.'

James is Sailor's and Georg Kajanus' official biographer, a Sailor fan, and a thoroughly nice chap, and before you switch off, this is not a review of the concert because that belongs on a site for Sailor fans who will appreciate it (not like you philistines!)

I had the day off work (the first of many in the run up to Christmas, as I have several days' leave to take plus overtime hours to use up: I've only got 4 working days before Wednesday 20th, when it's our Christmas lunch and my last day!) and went and got a hair-cut. No-one sniggered in the salon when Lynne asked me, 'What are we going for then?' and I replied, 'Well, you know Lulu?' I must say, it looked fantastic when Lynne had finished with me, although whether or not I can keep the style, I don't know! Lots of straightening and flicking involved and I'm not exactly skilled or patient ... We'll see!

After that I dropped into the beauty salon where my good friend Swims With Crocodiles had topped up my account as a birthday present. A new beauty therapist came out from the back and she was someone I used to work with many, many moons ago. 'My God!' she exclaimed, 'you haven't changed at all!' That was an ego-boost, because it was 15 years and 5 stone ago! So I had a treatment with her and caught up on a lot of news about former colleagues, and booked up another treatment for the day before my last day (I love saying my last day!) then did a bit of shopping and came home to get ready for the concert.

Anyone ever been to Woking? Anyone ever been to Woking on a multi-map internet route-plan? Don't. Seriously, I ended up in a church hall asking directions to this place everyone told me I couldn't miss. Half an hour later I seriously contemplated going back to the church hall and spending the evening there! Eventually I made it and had a several nice surprises - one was Susanne, a German friend who had come over and I hadn't got her e-mail to say she was coming. It was lovely to see her, especially when she said I looked fantastic and so much better than in the summer and had I lost weight? (Music to my ears, even though I hadn't!)

I also spoke briefly to a girl I'd met a couple of times back in the 70s at Sailor concerts. I didn't like her much then and, I discovered, I didn't like her any more when I met her again! She always seemed very hard and the years haven't softened her any. (I know, it's bitchy of me, but this is my blog!) She made some very stupid comments about the band, and that didn't endear her to me either!

I said earlier that I wouldn't go on about the band, so I won't, suffice it to say that they were brilliant - and I didn't know that I would be able to say that honestly again now that Pete has left and Ollie has taken his place as lead singer.

It was wonderful to see the original lead singer Georg, and his partner Barbie, who had come to celebrate James' birthday, and see the band perform for the first time since Georg left about 12 years ago. I'd met them in the summer and it was lovely that they remembered me.

The journey home was as bad as the journey there. I got very clear directions back to the car-park but of course what the person forgot was that the doors through the shopping mall to the carpark were locked by this time. It took me 35 minutes to get to the car because I had to go the long way round. If the mall had been open it would have taken me 10. I then got into the wrong lane and ended up doing another tour of Woking before getting onto the right road for the M3 and then it was plain sailing until a mile from home, when a police van pulled in behind me. I switched the radio off and checked my speed - no, I wasn't speeding. I turned off the main road onto the road that leads to my estate. Police followed at a not-very-discreet distance. They followed me as I turned into 4 different roads and into my own, which is a cul-de-sac. I turned into my drive. They stopped across the road and a young (rather good-looking!) officer got out. I asked if anything was the matter and he apologised if they'd frightened me by following me all that time, but they were on a call to 'an incident' in my road and couldn't help noticing my brake light was out and thought they'd better point it out to me because (wink from officer) the police could stop me for that and I could be fined £30. What a very very nice policeman!

So ... a long-winded story of my Friday night/early Saturday morning. I got in at 2am, too alert and too hungry to sleep, so I had some toast, checked emails etc until 3.30 and then went to bed, 'tired but happy' as all good school essays say.

I decided some time ago that I really couldn't afford to go and see Sailor in Munich in February but ... after seeing them last night ... Where did I put that lottery ticket?

I did it!

I handed in my notice. My soon-to-be-ex line manager didn't seem surprised and we discussed it very calmly. I gave him my letter of confirmation and when he read it his face fell when he got to the final paragraph, which basically put the blame on him - which is where it belongs! If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be leaving. If I'd had a more supportive line manager, who gave a damn about me, my career and my development, I'd have been more than happy to sit here and work for a few hours a day and then play on the internet for the rest of the time and collect what is, after all, a reasonable salary at a place with a good pension, not far from home, good holidays and a very flexible attitude to working hours.

My new job is miles away, the working week is longer, the holidays aren't as good and they don't have flexi-time. The new salary will all be swallowed up in travel costs and I'll need to change my car sooner than I'd planned, so I don't think pointing the finger at my line manager is too unreasonable.

Anyway, what's done is done, and I'm looking forward to a proper job in the new year, one where I don't spend my days trying to find things to do and being hassled about faulty toilet flushes and flickering lights.

I would like to be a fly on the wall, though, when the Big Bosses call my line manager in to talk to him about why I'm leaving ... Who, dear? Me, dear? Vindictive, dear? Yes, dear!

2.5 hours to go ...

... before I hand in my notice. I'm more nervous than the first time I met the boys from Sailor! How silly is that? I'm going to tell a little prat that I'm not taking his crap any more and that's all! Nothing to be afraid of ... is there? It's not like he's going to burst into tears and beg me to stay. Mind you, that would give me the opportunity to laugh in his smelly beardy face ...

Counting down ...

Contract's finally come for my new job and although I haven't had the chance to read through it thoroughly yet, at first glance all looks fine. I can now count down to when I hand in my notice ... and then to when I leave!

It's all very exciting, and I've got that 'end of term' feeling - I think I should be bringing in games for the next few weeks rather than working. I've got the usual crap jobs to do and I really can't be arsed, but I know I will leave everything in totally perfect condition for the next poor sod who joins the company thinking this is going to be a good job.

I wonder if anyone will volunteer to do Children in Need next year? I wonder if anyone will get people together to do the Race for Life? I wonder if there will be a Christmas event? Maybe, although I wouldn't be surprised if all the fun is squashed when I go.

I'm so looking forward to handing in my notice to my total asshole of a line manager and it will be very hard not to simply throw the envelope down on the desk in front of him and tell him to fuck off - I know I'd never do that, but it is soooo tempting!

Anyway, another chapter of my life about to close, and a better one (I hope and pray!) about to start!

I am worth $1,532,070 on HumanForSale.com

Well, next time someone tells me I look a million dollars I'll know I'm having an off day!

Next time the L'Oréal advert tells me, 'You're worth it' I'll say, 'I know!'

Next time I feel low because of something someone says to me at work (not for much longer though!) I'll remember that I'm worth over $1.5 million and start to feel better.

And to my friends who may be wondering - to me, you're priceless!

At last!

I've been offered a job! And I only went for the interview today! I really got on well with the man I'd be working for and felt we had an instant understanding (no, it was not a lust thing - I don't fancy him and I'm probably old enough to be his mother). Before that I had a chat with and HR person and had to trot out the same old answers to the same old questions: 'Can you give me an example of a time when you .... ' It's so hard to answer those questions and sound fresh and enthusiastic when you've answered them a dozen times (more, in my case!) because you don't want to sound as if you've been looking for work for more than 6 months and are getting desperate. I felt a bit deflated after that. Then I had a test on Excel, which I am not good at - just basic add and subtract, really! So I couldn't do all of that, and some of the bits I could do were pure fluke ... At the end of the Excel test I almost said I didn't think there was any point in wasting the European Financial Director's time but I thought, 'I've come this far...'

Anyway, we seemed to hit it off, he said I was one of the strongest candidates he'd seen (he hadn't seen my Excel test results though ...) and that he only had one more person to see. I went home and phoned the agency to tell them how it had gone and they'd just got off the phone with him - he hadn't even seen this afternoon's candidate and he wanted to offer me the job! YIPPEE! The extra salary will be eaten up with petrol costs because it's 17 miles away, and although it's a shorter working week, my day will be longer because of the travel but I don't care, it's a proper job, doing proper work, not just sorting out the post and reporting leaking toilets like I've been doing for the past 18 months.

They want me to start on 2 January. That means I don't have to give my notice in unti 5 December, and I'm on holiday from 21 December until 3 December anyway (offices close, plus I've taken 2 days extra). With the overtime I've done recently, and the holiday I'll have accrued to the end of the year, I could actually finish on 11 December - effectively only 1 week's notice. How funny that would be, considering it takes them a good 3 months to get around to placing an ad for staff ... HA HA HA ! And I wouldn't feel bad AT ALL about leaving certain colleagues to pick up the pieces, seeing as they've been so quick to put me down all the time. If they think they can do the job better or do without me, let them try.

I will miss some of my colleagues. Some, I can't wait to see the back of...

Where does the time go?

I can't believe it's 20 November and I haven't written my blog for almost 10 days. I'd like to say that it's been one long round of pleasure but, of course, it hasn't!

Having had bugger all to do for 18 months at work, everyone is now taking the p**s and piling on the work. I did actually say to one of my managers that it was too little, too late. She looked as if she was about to cry, but so what? I feel like crying there most days!

I've had interviews, seen other jobs to go for, been up to London for a board meeting - which was great, made me feel useful, and gave me an opportunity to do something worthwhile - and we've had Children In Need, which I helped out on. We've raised about £300, which is better than last year's £250. I hope, for the sake of my sanity, that I'm not going to be in the same job when next year's Children in Need comes round!

So, if you value my sanity as much as I do, keep your fingers crossed for me! I have to get another job AND SOON!

Bad manners

Aside from the basic good manners taught me by my ultra-polite parents, I also learned a good deal of etiquette and manners while I lived in France. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on other people who haven't had the benefit of living in France as I did, but surely some manners have nothing to do with geography and everything to do with common courtesy?

Take my (least) favourite person, Mozzie, for instance.

• When you go into someone's office, it's polite to say hello to those who are already there - especially if you share that office with them. It's not polite to waltz in, as Mozzie does, generally late, and only say hello if your line manager is there.
  
• If you're making yourself a cup of coffee, it's polite to offer to make one for other people in the room. It's not polite to wait until one person (me!) is out of the office for a nano-second to grab the tray and rush to the kitchen and then say, 'Oh, you weren't here, I didn't know what you wanted.'
  
• It's not polite to question people about everything you overhear them say.
  
• It is polite to ask your office-mates if it's OK to open or close a window.

Am I being unreasonable to expect a certain level of common courtesy from someone who is 21? I might expect this kind of behaviour from oiks in their last year at school, but not from someone who is sharing an office with me.

I think I probably am being unreasonable, but it's hard to keep a grip and stay calm when every single day is a struggle against incompetence, thoughtlessness and downright rudeness.

I may not be a celebrity but GET ME OUT OF HERE!

City College interview

I feel as if I'm on some kind of soap-opera-style game-show! I had an interview at City College this lunchtime as PA to the Principal. What a joke! The little boy who interviewed me (an HR assistant, not even an HR manager) looked like a teenager in his dad's suit - you know, the collar too big and the tie knotted too big, and he'd spent far too much time on his hair getting it to lie flat - and he read all the interview questions from a sheet of paper. I kept wanting to stop and say, 'Did you get all that?' because he was writing pretty slowly.

After half an hour with the little boy, a little girl came to collect me to take me through the typing test. She kicked off by saying, 'D'you wan' the loo first?' and then, 'We've got anuvver person comin' in for in'erview so she's gonna do the test at the same time as you.'

How unprofessional! Candidates aren't supposed to meet each other! Anyway, the next candidate didn't turn up so we got started. Little girl said, 'It don' ma'er 'bout akracy, we just wanna see how fast you can type, right, so don' bovver wiv c'rectin' anyfink.'

After my ten-minute typing test (which they'd cribbed from Southampton City Council) I was escorted back across the building site that is City College to reception, where I handed in my visitor's pass, and then went to the loo before leaving. Leaning against the basins, fat belly showing, was a cross between Vikki Pollard and Lauren, talking on her mobile 'phone. I went into the cubicle and sat down, and this is what I heard:

'Did you phone my mobile phone? Did you though? No, but, did you phone my mobile phone? Did you text me? Did you text my mobile phone? Did you though? No, but did you text me? Did you phone me? Did you phone my mobile phone? Did you though? Did you call me on my mobile? Did you though? Did you?'

I'm glad I was sitting on the loo. Even if I hadn't been, I'd have wet myself anyway.

I don't think I want that job. It's all just a bit too naff for me!

Interview update

I had a great interview on Thursday with a very dynamic, youngish director at B&Q and the job sounded exactly what I was looking for. I felt that we could work very well together and he seemed as enthusiastic about my CV as I was about the job. You can imagine how disappointed I was when the agency rang me the following day to say that B&Q had asked them to stress that I was absolutely the best candidate for the job, but they needed someone to start almost immediately so they could have a handover from the out-going PA, and as I had to give 4 weeks' notice, they offered the job to the 2nd best candidate, who could start on Monday.

So, while it's nice to know they had such a high opinion of me, it doesn't really help me in my current situation here at the University, where it's getting harder and harder to remain civil, let alone cheerful!

I'm living up to my dwarf persona - Grumpy - a lot today!

Spoke too soon

I spoke too soon about nice things happening to me. Today has been a real pain in the backside. Having been told to cancel our Christmas lunch, and having apologized profusely to the hotel, the Director suddenly took a vote in a whole team meeting and announced that we would be having Christmas lunch at this particular hotel after all ... so I was back on the 'phone, grovelling again. I pointed out to the director that I'd been told to cancel - no apology from him, just a flap of his hand and an irritated expression. I am so fed up of being here and being the one everybody kicks!

I didn't want to organise Christmas again this year anyway, I told my line manager I didn't want to volunteer, and he just shrugged and mumbled and I somehow ended up doing it. I just hope I get a new job before the Christmas lunch ... or that I can stand up at lunchtime and announce my departure. That would be fun!

HUMBUG HUMBUG HUMBUG

Nice things do sometimes happen to me ...

... for all my ranting you could be forgiven for thinking that life is just one long round of irritation (well, 99% of the time it is!) however, sometimes nice things do happen and yesterday was one of those rare nice days :

1. The awful Mozzie has 3 days off so I am spared her irritating whine
2. I put an old printer on Freecycle and a nice elderly man came to pick it up yesterday evening for his grand-daughter, who's just started her nursing degree, so it's gone to a good home and cleared a bit more space in the house
3. I GOT A TAX REBATE! So I can pay a few more bills

I suppose that's my quota of nice things for the rest of the year, but there's only about 9 weeks to go, so I think I can put up with it. Something else nice in the form of a new job would be welcome, too ...

Sunday already? Where did the weekend go?

One of the great things about having bugger all of any interest to do at work is that it gives me the chance to read other people's blogs. I skip around all day, checking out what other total strangers have to say, and I find all sorts of fun things to do with a spare five minutes, like this:

You Have a Choleric Temperament

You are a person of great enthusiasm - easily excited by many things. Unsatisfied by the ordinary, you are reaching for an epic, extraordinary life. You want the best. The best life. The best love. The best reputation. You posses a sharp and keen intellect. Your mind is your primary weapon. Strong willed, nothing can keep you down. Your energy can break down any wall. You're an instantly passionate person - and this passion gives you an intoxicating power over others. At your worst, you are a narcissist. Full of yourself and even proud of your faults. Stubborn and opinionated, you know what you think is right. End of discussion. A bit of a misanthrope, you often see others as weak, ignorant, and inferior.

What Temperment Are You?

Effing, effing Kay and Mozzie!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Just had to get this off my chest!

Effing Kay has now started backing Mozzie up if I say anything, for instance :

Mozzie: 'What's happening with this parcel? Seeing as it's in the middle of the office.'
(Actually, it was leaning against a screen, in no-one's way, and the parcel belongs to someone else and is nothing to do with her.)

Me (calmly): You don't need to worry about the parcel.

Kay (snapping): She's not worried, she's asking the question!

Irritating little bitch will never to learn to mind her own fucking business if she keeps getting Kay jumping in with her unsolicited opinion, and she's never going to learn not to interrupt other people's conversations if she sees Kay interrupting too. God, there are days when I wish I had a gun!

One of those days

Today is one of those days when everything, but everything is guaranteed to annoy me.

Mozzie had only been here for a couple of minutes and I was ready to become an axe-murderer. One of my friends here noticed me pulling faces (Mozzie sits behind me, so can't see the grimaces and gurning) and sent me the following to try and calm me down - try it!

Find your battle cry!

Feeling better? I am!

Just my luck!

Isn't this just typical of my luck?

Yesterday I had an email from the charity where I volunteer as a counsellor. They'd written previously saying that they head some excess funding and would like to 'reward' the long-term volunteers - I'd said that as long as I continued to get my expenses paid I was quite happy with that. Yesterday's email said that they were considering employing the more experienced volunteers (I count as one of those) on a freelance basis for certain clients, which sounded great! I'm currently taking £40 a week for the centre in donations, and the thought of that coming my way instead would be wonderful news for the poor old bank balance.

But isn't there always a catch?

We'd have to pay for the room hire ourselves. No idea how much that would be but could be £5 an hour. We'd have to have ongoing analytical therapy ourselves - that could be anything between £35 - £50 a week. We'd have to have our own public liability insurance, which is £85 a year, and we wouldn't get our expenses reimbursed (I claim about £5 a week for petrol and parking). So, in order for them to pay me £40, I'd have to spend £55 - £70 a week. Even with GCSE grade C maths I can work out that it would be costing me more to be paid that it currently costs me to volunteer!

I think I know what the answer will be when they ask me if I'd like to be paid ... NO THANK YOU!

Two new job opportunities in one day!

There was a nice job in the paper on Thursday - PA to CEO of New Forest Parks Authority - so I've asked for an application form for that. Today I had a call from one of my agencies to ask if they could put me forward for yet another job at B&Q (bilingual French/English) and one at Coopervision, again, PA, with another European language 'desireable'. Fingers crossed! The money at Coopervision isn't as good as B&Q and it's much further away and the traffic will be crap going that way - all in all, I don't think I'd be any better off financially there, but that's not the point, it won't be here, with its blocked toilets, pubes all over the place (on toilet seat and soap dispenser today) nasty people and fuck all to do most days.

It's got to the stage where I resent anyone giving me anything to do, but I'm just too pissed off to challenge it. For some unknown reason Kay gave me some diary work to do, didn't explain herself properly and then laughed like a drain when I contacted the wrong people. It wasn't my job anyway, all I was supposed to be doing was booking a room, not sorting out other people's diaries. GRRRR!

So, keep your fingers crossed that one or other of these jobs comes up trumps. I think my favourite ones of the hopefuls at the moment are Red Funnel (if the money's OK), New Forest job and the one at the BUPA hospital as PA to General Manager and head of Clinical Services. Holby meets 5* hotel ... and within walking distance if anything goes wrong with the car ...

I wasjust about to go into a major rant about Mozzie borrowing something from my desk and not putting it back properly but I'm aware I'm getting even grumpier than the grumpy old women on TV so I'll go and do something to take my mind off her and the awful Kay... Thank God for YouTube!

What a day!

It's been chucking it down with rain so Mozzie has used this as an excuse to be late in - again. 9.30am! Now, I wouldn't mind if she stayed and made up the time, but she's supposed to be working 36 hours a week (like me) but she comes in between 9 and 9.30, and she used to leave on the dot of 4.30. Now, occasionally, she'll leave around 4.50. No way is that anywhere near 36 hours a week. Being generous I suppose she does about 32.5 hours a week but is paid for 36. I'd love to do 32.5 hours a week and be paid for 36 - that would be like an extra £35 a week in my pocket. I've mentioned this to my lovely line manager (who is about as much use as a fart in a collander, as my Dad used to say) who just babbled on and made no sense. Apparantly Kay has spoken to Mozzie about her time-keeping and there has been a little bit of improvement (as in leaving at 4.50 instead of 4.30) but it's still not 35 hours a week.

On top of Mozzie irritating me just by her very existence, the milk's gone off in the kitchen, so I'm on black coffee, and someone has left what I would normally call a 'floater' in the loo, except that it's not floating, it's blocked in the S-bend. Disgusting. I've put a very graphic notice up in the loo and I'm going to add another one saying that we are able to trace the culprit through DNA so they'd better bloody well clear it.

Honestly, turds and pubic hair and sour milk - what have I done to deserve this?

And another thing! I just had a call from one of my agencies to say that Skandia didn't want to interview me because they were looking for someone with financial services background. So nearly 4 years at HSBC doesn't count as financial services then? Go figure!

And it's only 11 o'clock. I've got clients tonight so I won't be home until 9 o'clock - it's going to be a very very long day ...

I'm being boring

Nothing funny or even remotely interesting has happened to me over the past few days. No amusing encounters with nutters in the street, no telephone calls from call centres in India for me to rant about, nothing worth reporting at all!

This is just not good enough. I think I shall have to start walking to work across the Common again, just on the off-chance that I might catch a flasher (if I run fast enough!)

Tell you what, why don't you leave a comment about what's happened to you? All you have to do is click on comments below, and you can fill me in on what's going on for you. It would be great to hear from you!

Early Saturday morning

It's not yet 9 o'clock, and I've been up for an hour - unheard of for a Saturday morning! Perhaps it's because it's a lovely sunny (but cold so far!) day, the first decent day all week, or perhaps it's because the whole weekend stretches ahead with no obligations, no concerts, no visits, no need to go shopping, no college essays, no data entry to earn extra money, no transcription tapes (again, to earn extra money!) no jobs in Thursday's Echo to apply for, just a fridge full of nice food, and a load of good books, and some decent programmes on telly tonight.

Well, I've done my bright and breezy early morning. Time to go back to bed for a nap. All this bounciness has worn me out!

First gig of the new year!

This is me! The rock chick!

Well, you may disagree: my last 4 concerts were Take That, Robbie Williams, T-Rextasy and The Sweet ... Pretty rockin', I thought.

I've just booked the first of my gigs for next year. Wembley (if it's finished!) here I come on 14 April for 'Once in a Lifetime' - THE OSMONDS, David Essex, David Cassidy (that's when I'll be going to the bar or the loo) and Showaddywaddy.

Hang on, I saw the Once in a Lifetime tour earlier this year - so it can't be once in a lifetime ... but who am I to argue when it's the opportunity to see the Osmonds again? Be still my beating heart ...

Maybe not exactly a rock chick, more a rockin' old bird ...

Me and my big mouth

Do you sometimes wish you'd kept your mouth shut? I do.

I've been beefing about not having enough work to do for ages now, and this week I've been sooo busy I've hardly had enough time for all my blogs (did you think this was the only one?!?) my NaNoWriMo page and my website, let alone writing up client notes and doing paperwork for my agency. How on earth I find time to do any work at all is beyond me!

AND I have an interview at 9 tomorrow morning. It's unfortunate that Kay has got the day off, because it means that Mozzie will be on her own in the office tomorrow morning. I'm toying with suitable excuses for being in late. One of my colleagues 'stole' what I was going to do - call in and say I had a dental emergency and would be sitting in the surgery until there was a free slot - so I'll have to think of something else that doesn't tempt fate too much ...

To give you a clue about tomorrow's interview, here's a picture :

Wish me luck!

Why me?

Not being the most organised person in the world (well, that's not true, I am very organised, but I just don't like getting up early in the morning) I rarely bring my lunch to work and usually grab something to eat in the canteen. NEVER AGAIN!!!

There was a rather nice-looking pizza for lunch so I had a slice of that, sat down with some colleagues and tucked in. As I cut into the pizza for the 2nd time, I saw something sticking out of the base. 'Aha!' I thought. 'A piece of dried herb stalk perhaps? Just the thing to stick in my throat and make me choke.' So I pulled it out. It wasn't a piece of dried herb stalk, but it was something that would have stuck in my throat and made me choke ... A PUBIC HAIR!!!

Lucky me. I shall never eat in that canteen again. If this had been McDonald's I'd have some shit-hot 'no win no fee' company negotiating me millions in compensation. This being the University I haven't even had the courtesy of a reply to my complaint from the head of catering.

Another music-filled weekend!

It's been a fun-filled week since I last updated you on what's been going on in the Land of Linda!

I've had various meetings with managers at work to voice my complaints about my line manager and in the end had to talk to him myself - no-one can do it for me. The upshot is that he's not going to agree to my changing line manager (he can't actually stop me but, for now, I'm going to let him think he can) but I think he's going to be a bit more careful of how he behaves around me from now on. If he doesn't, then over his head I go ... Can't cope any more with being the bottom of the food chain here and the one who gets kicked whenever my line manager gets kicked ...

A good part of the week was sorting out Christmas! Yes, Swims with Crocodiles* and Swims with Sharks* will be swimming together for Christmas! I'm flying up to Manchester for almost a week and looking forward to it already. It means that Dances with Anyone* will be on her own with her daughters (don't get me started!) and her ex-husband and his twin brother. The only way to get through that recipe for disaster is to get thoroughly pissed and I don't want to spend another Christmas too tipsy to eat the dinner I've been helping prepare since the night before. I don't want to spend another Christmas listening to the girls snipe at each other and their father about the 'quality' of their presents. That might sound harsh but hey, it's my Christmas too!

To round off the week nicely I travelled to Trowbridge in the dark, wind and rain, to see the first appearance on UK soil of the lovely Peter Lincoln as front-man of The Sweet. Now, anyone who knows me, knows I am a die-hard Sailor fan, and Pete has been their 'Captain' for 10 years, and a very lovely and talented Captain he's been too. But he had the opportunity to join The Sweet and treble the number of gigs a year he does so although I'll still be trailing in Sailor's wake as often as possible, I'll also be upping the number of Sweet gigs I go to.

I must admit, it was very nice to be standing around in a bar full of strangers, feeling a bit nervous, and then see Pete, who gave me a kiss and bought me a drink and had a chat. People then realised who he was and, by default, who I was from comments I'd made on the Sweet forum, so I felt very welcome - no more nerves!

It was a great show - and good to see that other fans (not just Sailor fans!) are mad as hatters!

Shame I had to come to work today (especially as my line manager is trying not to be a prat but can't help himself) because I could have happily sat at home singing all day! But I bet the neighbours are relieved ...

Next (known) gig for me is Culture Club on 21 December in the Guildhall - with Phil Pickett (one of the founder members of Sailor and writer of some of CC's songs). Pity I can't fit into the clothes I wore in the 80s but I'm sure I can still plaster on the make-up!

Forgive me

Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned. It has been 4 days since my last blog!

Not that a great deal has happened since then, mind you. I had a great time bopping around to the sounds of T-Rextasy on Friday night, but I chickened out of the whole glittery make-up look. Last time my friend Heather and I went to see them we got all 'glammed up' and then got lost. I was driving so I had every excuse to stay in the car but I sent Heather into the garage to ask for directions ... of a young lad less than half her age who looked her up and down and said, 'Hmmm, nice make-up!' I suppose when you've got a model-girl figure and are wearing pure glitter as foundation and blusher you're going to get comments.

Anyway, a wonderful time was had by all and my ears have just about stopped ringing.

They might have stopped ringing ages ago, but the relentless whine of Mozzie in my ears at work has confused me! I'm getting better at tuning her out - or maybe I'm just taking more opportunities to be away from my desk. I'd wear headphones and listen to music if I didn't have to answer the main incoming telephone line - they didn't tell me at interview I'd be doubling as switchboard...

I must have been soooooo bad in a previous life to have ended up with this one!

It's Friday, so there must be another gig ...

Now, don't start thinking that I'm some kind of rock chick, but I am going to another show tonight ... No, not another huge stadium-style gig like Robbie Williams last week at Milton Keynes: tonight's show is going to be much smaller. I'm off to The Brook to see T-Rextasy, a great tribute band, for what must be the fifth time. It's a fraction the cost of the RW ticket, and a fraction the journey time, but it won't be a fraction of the energy and enjoyment, it will be full-on singing and dancing and trying to get close to the front of the stage with a couple of hundred other middle-aged women covered in glitter trying to pretend they're 14 again. F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C!

Now, let's hope I don't get into an argument with the drummer like I did last time I saw them at The Brook. Well, he cut in front of me at the bar and, as friends will know, no-one gets between me and the bar! So, I remonstrated with him with all the sweet, gentle politesse for which I am known (especially at work!) and then he pointed out that as he was the drummer he really didn't have time to stand in the queue as he was due on stage shortly. That took most of the wind out of my sales, but I did have enough puff left to say, 'Well, you'd better be, because if I don't see you on stage you'll be in bloody trouble!'

He was the drummer. He raised his glass to me and grinned from the stage and I tried to melt into the crowd. Let's hope he's forgotten by now ...

If there's one thing I really hate ...

... it's when someone arranges to meet you in an hotel foyer. It could be for a perfectly legitimate reason - like tonight, I had an appointment with a recruitment consultant in a Winchester hotel at 7.30pm - but every time someone walks past me as I'm waiting I can almost hear them thinking, 'Prostitute'.

My brain tells me that, logically, they probably haven't even noticed me and, if they have, they probably aren't thinking, 'prostitute' at all, but I just feel very awkward. Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part - sometimes being a prostitute is far more appealing than the job I'm doing at the moment. Sometimes I think there's very little difference between the two - you're surrounded by pricks in both jobs ...

So this evening, I sat down in one of the big red leather chairs in reception, right opposite the front door so I could see the consultant as soon as she walked in, and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. Of course, being only 5'4" on a good day, and less by the evening, my feet didn't reach the floor so I couldn't brace myself, and kept sliding forwards. I had to sit on the edge of the seat instead and, after 5 minutes, I had a wander into the bar and the lounge in case she'd got there before me. Nope. I went back to my slippery seat in reception and smiled and nodded at a dozen American tourists who were discussing the menu. The sea-bass sounded lovely. All I'd had before I came out was a microwave low-fat spaghetti bolognese and my tummy was rumbling.

The recruitment consultant hadn't turned up by 8pm and I don't wait more than half an hour for anyone, so I left a note on reception and turned to go ... and saw Kris Marshall, who plays Nick in My Family. As cute in real life as on screen, he looked me up and down and said, 'How much for the whole night, love?'

Only joking! But maybe I'll go and hang out there again tomorrow night ...

A fab 48 hours ...

Oh, Robbie, you were worth the slow and painful journey with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named ... She-Who-Talks-From-The-Moment-She-Arrives-At-My-House-Until-The-Curtain-Goes-Up...

I love huge rock/pop stadium gigs. I've seen some of the greats and, although some people say that being with so many other people (65,000 on Friday night) makes them feel anxious/claustrophobic, I've never felt like that. You have your own personal space around you, your own 'bubble'. Inside that there is no-one and nothing - no-one but you; nothing but your memories of where you were when you first heard this or that song; nothing but your own emotions evoked by certain songs; nothing but you and the music.

And, beyond your bubble, there is a congregation. You cannot help but be absorbed into the energy of the crowd. With so many people singing along with the songs you've loved, arms in the air, swaying, singing, it's not a religious experience, more a connection of humanity. In this age of wifi/internet/ remote living, it is wonderful to see people coming together for a single purpose - be that a rock concert, a protest march, or a peaceful celebration of the Soltice. There is hope for this world yet...

Villiers Hotel in Buckingham was only 9 miles from Milton Keynes Bowl. I got a room rate of £85 instead of £150; the breakfast (inclusive) was yummy, and the room was lovely. I can thoroughly recommend it - AND - if you can get to see the Robster, GO FOR IT!

My mucker from work, Leeanne, was right up the front in her red 'Donny' cap, and got on the screen at least 3 times! Way to go, Lee!

Back to work on Monday. How effing shite ....

This time tomorrow ...

This time tomorrow it will all be over. Robbie will have left the stage at Milton Keynes and the Fish Lady and I will be on our way back to the car ... FL will be talking 19 to the dozen, telling me about the concert as if I hadn't actually been there. She will be reliving the journey there, as if I hadn't been beside her, reading out the directions. She will be telling me the last time Robbie sang each and every song that he sang tonight, how many people were in the audience that time, and who he was dating then. She will ascertain how much mud there is in the carpark and how far up the wheels of her car it has come, and then give me chapter and verse on every muddy field she has parked in since she got her driving licence 22 years ago.

And I will close my eyes and hear Robbie in my head, drowning it all out.

Life can be sweet. Even if there is something fishy going on ...

Robbbbbbbiiiiiiieeeee!

Yes, I am in my 40s! Yes, I am old enough to know better but ...

I'M GOING TO SEE ROBBIE WILLIAMS TOMORROW!

And all the work shit just pales into insignificance so watch this space for news about the gig of the century!

Maybe I'm an angel?

All the time I've been wondering what I'd done in a previous life to incur God's wrath in this one and be saddled with Mozzie, I've been looking at it the wrong way. I was meandering through other people's blogs this morning and came across one which said, 'Maybe so-and-so has not been sent to you to annoy, irritate or upset you; maybe you have been sent into that person's life to enlighten, teach and improve them.'

I've never thought of myself as being an angel sent to enlighten someone before and those of you know know me probably see me more like this ...

Either way, I get wings and a halo!

Swims with Sharks

Instead of moaning about work and certain colleagues, as I seem to be doing in this blog, I thought I'd let you in on the reason for my 'Red Indian' name. Now, before anyone starts shrieking, 'Native American! Native American!' at their screen, 'Red Indian' is not used in any way perjoratively. 'Cowboys and Native Americans' doesn't have the same ring to it as 'Cowboys and Indians', just as 'Cops and Robbers' could never be replaced by 'Policemen and Financially-Challenged-Individuals-Just-Trying-To-Make-Ends-Meet'.

But I digress (because Mozzie has just come in and LEFT THE EFFING DOOR OPEN! AGAIN!)

Back in the summer of '77, the year after the really hot one, I was staying with a relative in Highcliffe. Every evening I would go down to the beach for a swim and one night I was the only one in the water. I didn't understand why people on the top of the cliff were waving at me - just friendly, I thought, and waved back. There were no red flags flying to indicate that the current was dangerous, so I swam for about half an hour and then went back to to the house. My aunt looked horrified that I should have been swimming and pointed to the front page of the local paper. 'Basking Sharks spotted off Highcliffe Beach.' So that's why everyone was waving in a, 'Shark! Get out of the water!' kind of way! And so my name of Swims With Sharks was born.

Years later, my very good friend Debbie acquired her own Red Indian name. Whilst touring Australia, the guide stopped the landrover at a beautiful lake and suggested they all went for a swim.

'What about the crocodiles?' my friend Debbie asked, trying to sound brave.

'Oh, don't worry about crocs,' grinned the guide. 'Freshies are vegetarian. Just stay away from the edge.'

And Debbie, sweet, trusting lady that she is, jumped in the water and splashed around, oblivious to the fact that there is no such thing as a vegetarian crocodile. Freshies tend to stick to very small mammals, and she was in no real danger (although when a log floated past she did an extremely good impersonation of a cartoon character running on the spot on the surface of the water!)

Thus 'Swims With Crocodiles' joined my 'tribe'.

We now have a third member of our tribe, although not nearly as brave and fearless. Our friend Anne, stuck in a time-warp, dances a kind of jive-rock to any music that happens to be playing. I have managed to stop her doing it at funerals, but any other occasion is fair game, and woe betide any man (woman or child!) who happens to be in the vicinity. I remember with a mixture of horror and admiration the time she whirled around a man in a neck brace, ignoring his protests that he'd been ordered by his doctor to keep still. Debbie casually asked me, last time we were all together, what Anne's Red Indian name would be and, quick as a flash, it came to me: Dances With Anyone.

This is one of those 'I guess you had to be there' stories but it's cheered me up no end to remember it.

Banging my head against a brick wall!

We have several new joiners at work and one of the ridiculous things about this place is that one of the new joiners who hasn't a clue about anything yet has been set the task of showing all the other new joiners round the office. I have been introduced this morning as 'Linda-who-looks-after-the-keys.' I've also been introduced as Linda-who-sorts-the-post, Linda-who-looks-after-the-pigeon-holes and, as I'm informed by my line manager that the senior management team thinks all I do is update the photo-board, no doubt someone will introduce me as that, too.

I feel like I'm banging my head against a brick wall to achieve any kind of respect, let alone recognition for my real role - PA and (unofficial) Office Manager - and the pain is only going to go away when I manage to leave this place.

Ah well, maybe the next life will be better than this one ...

A window of opportunity?

No suitable jobs in the Echo last night, however, I did have a call from my favourite employment agency (no, I'm not being sarcastic - they've been very useful over the years, when I've been between jobs) to say that they've just taken on a job which sounds right up my street. The salary isn't what I'd hoped for but it's better than here and it's not here! It's a senior PA role, so no need to worry about experience on that score. The added bonus is that it's in a higher education establishment and, of course, I have over a year's experience here at the University. You'd think that would have put me off, wouldn't you? But the part of the Uni I am in is a private research commissioning and management company, so has very little to do with 'real life' or even 'real' people. There are some nice individuals, but there are some right pains in the arse (as you will have gathered from reading this!) and, on the whole, the cons outweigh the pros.

Still, it's Friday, the sun is shining, and it's fish and chips in the canteen today, followed by a drink in the pub with a colleague half my age who is already as jaded as I am - shame, but that's what this place does to you!

How history is taught ...

Mozzie is currently pestering someone else and I have had a quiet few minutes with my other 'room-mate'. Actually, 'mate' is a bit strong - we don't see eye-to-eye on many things (call that anything) but we are a little more united over Mozzie. And Kay, my colleague, let slip that Mozzie appears to have learned all her history from cartoons ...

Now, that might be funny if it weren't so tragic. Mozzie was schooled at home by missionary parents and, as a friend of mine put it so succinctly, never learned that it wasn't always her turn with the plasticine.

Today's little gem - I think I might start another blog simply entitled 'Mozzie Bites' - was as follows :

Me : I haven't checked the lottery results today.
Mozzie : Why? Do you do the lottery then?

Blood spurted out of my mouth from where I bit my tongue so hard to stop a sarcastic remark coming out, but, bless her, Kay rushed in where I feared to tread and sniggered at Mozzie and asked her if she'd thought about what she'd just said: 'Why else would she be looking at the lottery results if she didn't actually do the lottery?'

I bet you wish you were here ...

Recruitment agencies and open doors.

I don't understand how some people can blatantly lie and expect you not to realise that they are lying.

As readers will/may remember, I went for an interview recently via an agency - the agency that wanted to check I was dressed appropriately before I went to the interview itself! I got in touch with the agency because they advertised the job I went for ... So why did the agency ring me yesterday and say, 'This is just to let you know that we are going to be advertising the job you went for, but you're still in the running.'

I said that that didn't sound like a good sign, to re-advertise after they'd seen candidates - it implies that they didn't like anyone they saw at the interview enough to make a choice. The girlie at the agency said, 'Oh no, it's not a problem, it's just that we haven't advertised the job before, and by law we're obliged to.'

So if they haven't advertised the job before, how come I saw the advertisement? That was why I contacted them in the first place!

This whole process is not doing much for my faith in human nature!

Another (yes, ANOTHER) one of Mozzie's irritating habits is leaving the office door open. My desk is opposite the door and I don't like every Tom, Dick and Harry wandering along the busy corridor outside peering in on their way past, nor do I find it easy to concentrate with the noise in the corridor.

When she first joined and left the door open a few times, I pointed out why I liked it to be shut. She continues to leave it open every time she walks in and last week, on the brink of violence, I said, 'You really do have a problem with that door, don't you?' She snapped at me, 'I always close the door!' As the door was open, that was obviously not true ...

So, again today, she's come in and out twice, and left the door open both times. I think I'm going to get an effing great big stick and then I can reach the door to shut it without having to get up and go round my desk. The only trouble with that is I'm likely to beat the silly bitch with it ...

As you can see, my temper is short already and it's only 9.25!

A colleague called Mozzie ...

No jobs in the paper last week that would be suitable. Mind you, if things carry on like this at work I shall be applying for anything at all, suitable or not!

There are several problems with my job, mainly the lack of it, and the misrepresentation at interview of the job I was employed to do… There is another fly in the ointment, though, a huge, buzzing, nasty bluebottle of a fly. I think, for the purposes of anonymity, I shall call her Mozzie – because, like a mosquito, she is a constant, irritating whine that simply refuses to go away, even when verbally swatted.

Every thought that pops into her head pops out of her mouth. She comments on everything she sees and everything she hears, everything she tastes and everything she smells. It can only be a matter of time before she starts feeling things and commenting on those, too: it’s the last of the five senses she has to whine on about.

Mozzie also has a problem with listening. She’ll ask a question and then ignore your answer, while giving an answer of her own. Here’s an example :

Mozzie : how many people called Nick do we have working here?
Me : Three
Mozzie : Oh. Two.
Me : No, three.
Mozzie: Oh. I thought it was two.

Now, this might sound innocuous, even mildly amusing, but believe me, after a day of this I’m ready to crack. After 2 months I’m ready to commit murder.

Another big irritation is the way she decides the answer to any query. Here’s an example :

Mozzie : You never drink tea, do you?
Me : Not often, I usually drink coffee.
Mozzie : You probably just don’t like tea.
Me : Well, actually, no-one can make tea as nice as my mother did, so I don’t bother with tea.
Mozzie ; Well, why don’t you use the same tea?
Me : I have tried using the same tea, but it doesn't taste the same.
Mozzie : Well, have you tried loose tea, not teabags?
Me : I do use loose tea.
Mozzie : Well, didn’t your mother show you how to make tea?
(I’m getting cross by this time. I’m 46, for God’s sake. How did she think I learned to make tea?)
Me : My mother did show me how to make tea.
Mozzie : Well, why don’t you ask her again? You’re probably doing something wrong.
(Doing something wrong? Doing something wrong? Where’s a heavy blunt instrument to bludgeon her over the head with?)
Me (smugly, thinking this will shut her up) : I can’t ask her to show me again. She died 14 years ago.
It didn’t shut her up. This is what I got :
Mozzie (even more smugly, thinking she’d solved some great psychological mystery): Oh, that’s why you don’t like tea. It probably brings back sad memories.

God, give me strength. We have these little exchanges two or three times a day and it’s got to the stage where I don’t even want to open my mouth because of the drivel I get in reply.

Now, where did I put that blunt instrument?

TGI Friday!

It's Friday, hurrah! Last night the local daily paper carried the jobs section. I didn't have time to read it last night but I shall go home tonight and settle down to scour the pages for an escape route. I'll prepare any applications over the weekend, then print them off at work on Monday and send them off.

I had a letter of rejection for a job yesterday. I didn't even get an interview, I don't know why. My CV matched just what the advert said they were looking for, and it's very depressing to be told, 'We had a very high number of applicants and unfortunately you were unsuccessful on this occasion.'

Mind you, that beats the letter of rejection I had a couple of weeks ago - after the job I'd applied and been interviewed for was re-run in the paper. I wrote back and thanked them for letting me know I hadn't got the job, but that it would have been a good deal more professional if they'd ensured it would arrive before the advert came out again. It won't do any good, but it made me feel a bit better for a few minutes.

I've applied for over 20 jobs since beginning my search for something new. All of them have been ones I am qualified and experienced to do. I've had 9 interviews, and they've all gone really well, but something's going wrong (or I'm doing something wrong) because I'm still stuck here at the University! I know it's only a question of time before I find another job but in the meantime, all this rejection is making me feel I'm not good enough for anything other than general dogs-body here.

At least no-one's come to report a broken toilet to me yet today. But there's still time ...

Bella and the Neighbour

She looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, doesn't she? This is my Bella, a Blue Birman, coming up for her 6th birthday. Although she has her own cat-flap into the enclosed back garden, she much prefers 'Front World', which lies beyond the front door, and makes a bolt for it as soon as she sees me heading in that direction. My own front garden is shingle and palm trees, not suitable for my lady Bella's dainty paws. No, she prefers the verdant greenery of Dave-Next-Door's front garden. It would put the Chelsea Flower Show to shame, and, although it's only small, it boasts an immaculate lawn and soft, rich flowerbeds. Bella loves the feel of the grass beneath her paws and has been known to dig small holes in the flowerbeds just to feel the earth between her claws. One morning last week she followed me out of the house and made a dive for Dave's. He was out at the time, but returned while she was sniffing his roses. He's a tall, gruff man, is Dave, who has absolutely no idea how to handle a cat, let alone a delicate, ladylike creature such as Bella. Thinking he was doing me a favour by bringing her back, he stood behind her and picked her up under her front paws, and carried her, dangling like a sack of spuds, along the road back to my garden. Bella showed her displeasure in a most unladylike way and wee'd all over him.

'Oh DIVE!' wailed Sand(ra), his wife. 'She's doin' a weeeeeeeee.'

Fortunately Bella had missed his trousers but his leather loafers caught most of it... At least he won't be trying to pick her up again in a hurry!

The usual way a Birman shows his or her annoyance is by coughing. I'm so glad Bella saved her special anger for Dave ...

The interview!

I really must blog more often! So much has happened since I mentioned that I was going for an interview ...

I had to go through an agency for the job I saw advertised. I was interviewed by a little girl who looked like a younger version of Chantal from Big Brother, and sounded as if she'd spent her formative years watching Neighbours, judging by the 'EK-sent?' and the way everything was a question, apart from the questions. After discussed the various PA roles I've had over the past 15 - 20 years she asked me to do a typing test. When I finished, with 100% accuracy and 80wpm she coo'd, 'Ah Jeez, a proper PA?' I guess, in her book, a 'proper PA' is someone who can type faster than a secretary ...

So I smiled through gritted teeth and went on my way and was called the next day to say that the advertisers of the Good Job wanted to see me. Chantal-Lookie-Likie-Neighbours-Chickie said that she would like to see me on the day for a pre-interview to, y'know, like, check I was properly pre-PARED? And that I was dressed apPROpriately? I swallowed hard to force down the words that rose in my throat. Those of you who know me will understand that those words began with an F and ended with an off ...

I must learn to swallow my pride (although it sticks in my throat like cold brussels sprouts on a rainy Sunday afternoon when everyone else has finished lunch and is allowed to leave the table). It is a very good job and I want it. It is halfway between my home and my shack on the beach, so in the summer I could be at the hut by 5.30 ... It is set in fabulous landscape gardens where I could sit and eat my lunch and relax. It has its own gym and the Chief Exec likes his employees to stay healthy so has paid for everyone to have their own personal trainer. I did squeak, trying to mask my horror, 'Is that obligatory?'

I would like the job. I would like the salary, which is up to £4K more than I get for turning up at the University and playing with ebay all day. I would like to get back into 'industry', where customer service matters and where you pick up a 'phone if it's ringing, even if it isn't yours, just to be helpful and professional. I would like to work with the people who said to me at the interview that they loved their job, they loved the buzz, they enjoyed being part of something important. I would like to leave work at the end of the day feeling that I had achieved something, instead of leaving work at the University thanking my lucky stars that no-one had noticed I was bored and fed up and had nothing to do (even though being invisible is no fun).

If I survive my first day back at work tomorrow after a week off, I'll blog again. If I'm too depressed I'll have a drink instead.

May your day tomorrow be better than mine ...

Prologue

I've been looking for a new job for some time now. Goodness knows, I enjoy a bit of slack time during the working day to catch up on personal emails, same as most people, but there is a happy balance between having a bit of slack time and having nothing to do.

A typical day goes something like this :

8.30am Arrive at work. Switch on computer, go and make a cup of coffee while the computer is warming up. Marvel at how someone as intelligent as the director who was making coffee before me has not yet mastered the art of putting the electric kettle back on its base-plate, nor of returning the milk to the fridge. Return milk to fridge. Return to desk.

8.35am Check Hotmail account to see if any personal emails have arrived since I logged off around midnight last night at home. Nope. Check office emails to see if any have arrived since I left yesterday at 5pm. Nope.

8.40am Check office answerphone in case messages have been left. Yes! One! An elderly lady's voice quavers , 'Can the doctor bring my prescription, please? Thank you.' It's a wrong number. I am often tempted to give medical advice over the telephone because we frequently get calls for a local surgery, but the callers are often confused and, however I may be feeling, I can't bring myself to sacrifice their health on the altar of my boredom.

8.45am Coffee still too hot: I blow on it gently and start a game of Spider Solitaire. Get bored and stare out of the window.

9.30am Post arrives! Chat briefly with the lovely postman (looks like a vampire, all long black hair, hypnotic eyes, wide smile and very prominent canine teeth. Could be fangs.) Sort and distribute post.

9.40am Stare out of the window some more.

Of course, the whole day isn't spent staring out of the window. Sometimes people come in to tell me that the toilet on the landing isn't working (don't they know how the flush operates?) or that a neon tube has blown in their office. I call Estates and Facilities and ask them to fix it ... and go back to staring out of the window.

Occasionally one of the managers comes in and talks to me slowly, in words of one syllable. She wants me to arrange a meeting, but maybe we should have a meeting first to discuss how to arrange the meeting? I humour her and schedule a meeting. At that meeting she says, very slowly, 'Now, the first thing we need to do is check people's d I a r I e s to see when they are free.'

Ye gods! I've been a top PA for about 25 years. I go back to the office and bang my head slowly and heavily against the inside of the closed door. A few minutes later someone comes in to report a banging noise. Could I call Estates & Facilities to get someone out to check it?

So you see, I simply have to find a new job soon, before my brain turns to tapioca, semolina, porridge, or something else equally stodgy.

The job-hunt continues and tomorrow I have yet another interview. There is already a saga to that one, but for another day. I will keep you updated!