I have about 10 days off now. I need a break; P needs a break. It's a good thing. We are going to stay in an amazing hotel in Devon for two nights (seriously, booking took ages as they consulted me to the minutest detail on our preference for bedding and pillow fillings) and then to the lovely B&B we stay in each May for three nights. Then a few days in Suffolk as P has leave he needs to use and I need to be with him and away from the office.
I booked the hotel as a birthday present for P; we're eating there on both evenings. In fact, we know the hotel because we've eaten there twice but have never stayed. The food is very good but it's the experience that's amazing. On his actual birthday we're having a seven course tasting menu with matched wines. It's all amazing and I'm looking forward to it.
But.
I am always scared of the impact that having a life will have on my lardiness. We'll be eating out pretty much every evening (we may have a room picnic at the B&B one evening), there will be wonderful breakfasts, a cream tea for sure, wine and who knows what other wonderful, terrifying things. I owe it to P to enjoy it fully with him - he's very patient about the fact we rarely eat together - but I owe it to me to make the best choices I can. Is it possible to do all this at the same time?
We'll be doing some very hilly hiking too but I'm not naive enough to think that will do much to the balance sheet. If the weather's like this though, it should be lovely. At least one pleasure that doesn't come with a side order of fear.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
Friday, 14 September 2012
Eyes down
So, it appears that you can't swallow down sadness with food. Nor can you take the bitter taste of disappointment away with sweet things. That's right, dear Reader, I didn't get the job that I wanted so badly. I heard this morning by email. I suppose I knew it was unlikely but the rebellious bit of my mind that wouldn't quite give up on the dream had constructed whole alternative universes with me working there, away from the vileness of my office and somewhere where people are nice and I could have been enthusiastic about the work.
It doesn't help that this knock back comes hard on the heels of my six monthly check up with the mad Prof about my weight. I absolutely know going in there that it won't change anything (other than it's nice to see him) but when I leave, having recounted the failures of the last six month and having agreed together that there's no drug on the horizon and I'm doing the right things so maybe at some point my metabolism will perk up (or show some signs of existance - perhaps I need the Higgs Bosun guys), I want to cry and cry and cry. Being terribly English I just sit quietly for a day or so and will away the frequent surge of tears when they threaten to take over and try and count my blessings (which are of course plentiful). At least I managed not to cry in his office this time; that's progress. My voice went a bit squeaky and wobbly but we politely had an unspoken pact to ignore it. He's very English too. Insists on calling me Miss ....
They say that nothing tastes as good as being slim feels. 'They' clearly aren't getting out much but nothing tasted right tonight. It's pointless grazing all evening of nothing of nutritional value, let alone diet compliant, but just at the moment I don't have the mental resilience to stick to the diet. So that's been my Friday night. That and watching an indifferent chick flick featuring the absurdly beautiful Nathalie Portman. I even bought a bottle of wine to drink solo (P is out) which is incredibly rare. But I had to force down my solitary glass in the end (pretty stupid in itself). It could have been indifferent wine of course but nothing seems to take the taste of disappointment in myself away and I suspect that's the problem.
I worry that I've inherited my father's bodge gene (along with his mean little eyes) - if there are two courses of action, he unerringly picks the wrong one; bad luck seems to dog him and it's not entirely of his own making. Although he has a spirited and unceasing attemt to botch up his life comprehensively. Maybe I have that trait? The one that makes me clumsy and mistake-ridden and unlucky? Count blessings, count blessings.... Anyway, I've practically had a heart attack every time my mobile has rung this week (uncharacteristically frequently) so at least I needn't be so on edge now that I know that the man from Del Monte say no.
I had the call to say my wedding dress has arrived (one of the ones that precipitate my heart to a gallop). The boutique owner told me what to bring for my fitting and included Spanx adding politely if mendaciously "not that you need it". I joked that they hadn't yet invented Spanx that could contain me and that they'd need to be made of a stronger substance than kryptonite to stand the merest chance. But at least I had started work on my bingo wings before I had this call. It gives me the illusion that I might make some progress in de-wobbling myself. Okay, it's unlikely in about a month and a half but worth a shot. I've been doing some weights at home - three sets of targeted exercises, three sets of reps of 15, four times a week. My arms feel hot and achy and I hope that this will at some point frighten the fat away. Sometimes it seems that the only fearless part of me is my fat because it toughes it out whatever I throw at it (a hungry and hard week of intermittent fasting achieved a very disappointing loss of 3/4lb this week).
Perhaps I'll win the lottery tomorrow and then I won't need to worry about work at least. Assuming I win the big prize that is, I don't think £10 will emancipate me from my life of wage-slavery.
It doesn't help that this knock back comes hard on the heels of my six monthly check up with the mad Prof about my weight. I absolutely know going in there that it won't change anything (other than it's nice to see him) but when I leave, having recounted the failures of the last six month and having agreed together that there's no drug on the horizon and I'm doing the right things so maybe at some point my metabolism will perk up (or show some signs of existance - perhaps I need the Higgs Bosun guys), I want to cry and cry and cry. Being terribly English I just sit quietly for a day or so and will away the frequent surge of tears when they threaten to take over and try and count my blessings (which are of course plentiful). At least I managed not to cry in his office this time; that's progress. My voice went a bit squeaky and wobbly but we politely had an unspoken pact to ignore it. He's very English too. Insists on calling me Miss ....
They say that nothing tastes as good as being slim feels. 'They' clearly aren't getting out much but nothing tasted right tonight. It's pointless grazing all evening of nothing of nutritional value, let alone diet compliant, but just at the moment I don't have the mental resilience to stick to the diet. So that's been my Friday night. That and watching an indifferent chick flick featuring the absurdly beautiful Nathalie Portman. I even bought a bottle of wine to drink solo (P is out) which is incredibly rare. But I had to force down my solitary glass in the end (pretty stupid in itself). It could have been indifferent wine of course but nothing seems to take the taste of disappointment in myself away and I suspect that's the problem.
I worry that I've inherited my father's bodge gene (along with his mean little eyes) - if there are two courses of action, he unerringly picks the wrong one; bad luck seems to dog him and it's not entirely of his own making. Although he has a spirited and unceasing attemt to botch up his life comprehensively. Maybe I have that trait? The one that makes me clumsy and mistake-ridden and unlucky? Count blessings, count blessings.... Anyway, I've practically had a heart attack every time my mobile has rung this week (uncharacteristically frequently) so at least I needn't be so on edge now that I know that the man from Del Monte say no.
I had the call to say my wedding dress has arrived (one of the ones that precipitate my heart to a gallop). The boutique owner told me what to bring for my fitting and included Spanx adding politely if mendaciously "not that you need it". I joked that they hadn't yet invented Spanx that could contain me and that they'd need to be made of a stronger substance than kryptonite to stand the merest chance. But at least I had started work on my bingo wings before I had this call. It gives me the illusion that I might make some progress in de-wobbling myself. Okay, it's unlikely in about a month and a half but worth a shot. I've been doing some weights at home - three sets of targeted exercises, three sets of reps of 15, four times a week. My arms feel hot and achy and I hope that this will at some point frighten the fat away. Sometimes it seems that the only fearless part of me is my fat because it toughes it out whatever I throw at it (a hungry and hard week of intermittent fasting achieved a very disappointing loss of 3/4lb this week).
Perhaps I'll win the lottery tomorrow and then I won't need to worry about work at least. Assuming I win the big prize that is, I don't think £10 will emancipate me from my life of wage-slavery.
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Life in the fast(ing) lane
So, Blogger has decided that I can’t blog from my work computer. No, not even not in work hours. Who would have thought that a virtual entity could make such strict moral judgements? It’s going to make life trickier, that’s for sure. I can see my blog but I can’t log in and post. Apparently it’s sniffy about the creakiness of my ‘platform’. So, happy to make those sort of moral judgements then...
I finally braved Scales of Doom yesterday; I had put on 3lbs. It’s been 2 weeks and long weekend of hedonism since my last WI. But also 4 days of ‘fasting’. I am, of course, hacked off but I did eat a lot of bread products. Sadly the memory of that is fading fast whilst the fresh wound caused by results on the scales is seared into my psyche. I thought I had better slot in an extra ‘fast’ day today. So please excuse any grumpiness....
I’m actually going to change my routine to make it more literally ‘intermittent fasting’ so that I’m (mostly) doing this Monday, Wednesday and (you guessed it) Friday. It means changing WI to a Tuesday I think (since I’m at my mum’s on a Thursday morning mostly) and that’s not ideal. But I’ll give it a go. Okay, the BBC man only did it twice a week but I do not have a normal metabolism to contend with. And I’d really like to lose a stone before the wedding. Okay, a stone and a half but I know that’s not possible. Let's leave aside the elephant in the room here (no, not me, a metaphorical one) of whether it's possible to lose a stone and concentrate on going forward.
The key to this diet seems to be not treating the non-fasting days as a free-for-all – tempting though that undoubtedly is. I see it as a 3 phaser: phase 1 – very restricted calories, phase 2 – a normal dieting day and phase 3 weekends when I allow myself to have a glass of wine or two and maybe, just maybe, the odd treat. Occasionally. In actual fact, there isn’t a massive difference between phases 1 and 2 – compare and contrast the last two days as an example:
Phase 1
B: Large latte
L: Tub cottage cheese, head chicory or a few cherry tomatoes. Nectarine
D: Vegetable stir fry. Fruit yoghurt
Phase 2
B: Greek yoghurt with a few raspberries and some nuts/seeds
L: Chicken salad. Nectarine, 4 greengages
D: Marinated squid and salad. 4 greengages. 2 dark chocolates
Essentially the difference is more fruit and a bit of chocolate. And I don't put up with being so hungry either, I guess. At weekends I might have a different breakfast – a cheese and tomato omelette or smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and some wine with a more substantial (but carb free) evening meal.
This weekend we back down to Suffolk. And, dear Reader, you remember the 22 bike ride that nearly killed us? Yep, we’re doing that again. Possibly with a bit more of a rest built in. I seem to remember that it had no effect on weight loss but I can’t help but think that it ought to. And that this time, it might. Yeah, yeah, I know – definition of idiot is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. So bite me. (Unless you're fasting too.)
I finally braved Scales of Doom yesterday; I had put on 3lbs. It’s been 2 weeks and long weekend of hedonism since my last WI. But also 4 days of ‘fasting’. I am, of course, hacked off but I did eat a lot of bread products. Sadly the memory of that is fading fast whilst the fresh wound caused by results on the scales is seared into my psyche. I thought I had better slot in an extra ‘fast’ day today. So please excuse any grumpiness....
I’m actually going to change my routine to make it more literally ‘intermittent fasting’ so that I’m (mostly) doing this Monday, Wednesday and (you guessed it) Friday. It means changing WI to a Tuesday I think (since I’m at my mum’s on a Thursday morning mostly) and that’s not ideal. But I’ll give it a go. Okay, the BBC man only did it twice a week but I do not have a normal metabolism to contend with. And I’d really like to lose a stone before the wedding. Okay, a stone and a half but I know that’s not possible. Let's leave aside the elephant in the room here (no, not me, a metaphorical one) of whether it's possible to lose a stone and concentrate on going forward.
The key to this diet seems to be not treating the non-fasting days as a free-for-all – tempting though that undoubtedly is. I see it as a 3 phaser: phase 1 – very restricted calories, phase 2 – a normal dieting day and phase 3 weekends when I allow myself to have a glass of wine or two and maybe, just maybe, the odd treat. Occasionally. In actual fact, there isn’t a massive difference between phases 1 and 2 – compare and contrast the last two days as an example:
Phase 1
B: Large latte
L: Tub cottage cheese, head chicory or a few cherry tomatoes. Nectarine
D: Vegetable stir fry. Fruit yoghurt
Phase 2
B: Greek yoghurt with a few raspberries and some nuts/seeds
L: Chicken salad. Nectarine, 4 greengages
D: Marinated squid and salad. 4 greengages. 2 dark chocolates
Essentially the difference is more fruit and a bit of chocolate. And I don't put up with being so hungry either, I guess. At weekends I might have a different breakfast – a cheese and tomato omelette or smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and some wine with a more substantial (but carb free) evening meal.
This weekend we back down to Suffolk. And, dear Reader, you remember the 22 bike ride that nearly killed us? Yep, we’re doing that again. Possibly with a bit more of a rest built in. I seem to remember that it had no effect on weight loss but I can’t help but think that it ought to. And that this time, it might. Yeah, yeah, I know – definition of idiot is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. So bite me. (Unless you're fasting too.)
Friday, 31 August 2012
Disaster
I am proof positive that there are no such things as guardian angels. Or at least if there are, I’ve had a vacancy for a very long time.
I mentioned that I have an interview on Monday, right? I really would like to work for this company and I’ve been doing my research and preparing like mad. And this weekend I was going to pull all that research together and formulate my responses to likely (and unlikely) questions. I’d planned my outfit. I’d plotted how to slip away from work without detection. I was going to be slick, professional, prepared.
So I was mildly surprised when my colleague wished me luck this morning over my computer. His girlfriend was one of the interviewers so he knew about it. I sent a merry note back about Monday and how nervous I was; he queried the date. I checked my letter. No, the interview was TODAY in half an hour’s time. Dear Reader, I hope you are gasping in horror and sympathy – can you imagine how I felt? Well, let me compound your horror that by telling you that it’s dress down Friday in my office and I was in skinny jeans (they’re still called that if you’re not skinny, right?), a coral Breton tunic and plimsolls. Their HR department was sympathetic but immovable. Shaking with distress and fear I ran out of the door, straight there.
I managed a merry quip about the lovely jacket I’d been intending to wear at the start of the interview; I closed by laughing that at least no-one at work would dream of where I’d been, dressed as I was, but really I was a hair breadth from screaming with rage, frustration and disappointment. Mixed in with a dash of humiliation for being such an idiot (HOW did I think it was Monday? It’s in my diary for Monday, I had it all planned out...). I didn’t do my best; I was nervous and gabbled too much and too fast. My answers were not succinct and slick, they were flabby and unfocussed. I think I managed maybe 60-70% of my best at most – that’s all. Okay, under the circumstances that’s probably all I could do but it’s not enough. P thinks that my 70% is better than anyone else’s 100%, bless him, and praised me for my bravery in getting up and just doing it under difficult circumstances. And he pointed out that I have more chance of getting it by doing what I did, than by taking the easy option and not going.
I have to wait for two weeks now to hear the result. And I need to. I’m pretty certain that I won’t get that job but I cannot help but have a little, teeny-tiny flicker of hope and I need that to be put out so I can move on. But I bet I have nightmares tonight.
Still, at least they’ll remember me, right? Grrrrooooaaaan.
I mentioned that I have an interview on Monday, right? I really would like to work for this company and I’ve been doing my research and preparing like mad. And this weekend I was going to pull all that research together and formulate my responses to likely (and unlikely) questions. I’d planned my outfit. I’d plotted how to slip away from work without detection. I was going to be slick, professional, prepared.
So I was mildly surprised when my colleague wished me luck this morning over my computer. His girlfriend was one of the interviewers so he knew about it. I sent a merry note back about Monday and how nervous I was; he queried the date. I checked my letter. No, the interview was TODAY in half an hour’s time. Dear Reader, I hope you are gasping in horror and sympathy – can you imagine how I felt? Well, let me compound your horror that by telling you that it’s dress down Friday in my office and I was in skinny jeans (they’re still called that if you’re not skinny, right?), a coral Breton tunic and plimsolls. Their HR department was sympathetic but immovable. Shaking with distress and fear I ran out of the door, straight there.
I managed a merry quip about the lovely jacket I’d been intending to wear at the start of the interview; I closed by laughing that at least no-one at work would dream of where I’d been, dressed as I was, but really I was a hair breadth from screaming with rage, frustration and disappointment. Mixed in with a dash of humiliation for being such an idiot (HOW did I think it was Monday? It’s in my diary for Monday, I had it all planned out...). I didn’t do my best; I was nervous and gabbled too much and too fast. My answers were not succinct and slick, they were flabby and unfocussed. I think I managed maybe 60-70% of my best at most – that’s all. Okay, under the circumstances that’s probably all I could do but it’s not enough. P thinks that my 70% is better than anyone else’s 100%, bless him, and praised me for my bravery in getting up and just doing it under difficult circumstances. And he pointed out that I have more chance of getting it by doing what I did, than by taking the easy option and not going.
I have to wait for two weeks now to hear the result. And I need to. I’m pretty certain that I won’t get that job but I cannot help but have a little, teeny-tiny flicker of hope and I need that to be put out so I can move on. But I bet I have nightmares tonight.
Still, at least they’ll remember me, right? Grrrrooooaaaan.
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
Dough-girl
So I’ve clearly missed refined flour. A lot. I’ve eaten quite a bit of bread, a croissant (and a bite) and a couple of cakes. It may be coincidence that I’ve had dreadful stomach pain and bloating for the last couple of days. I don’t think I’m gluten intolerant but maybe my system was a bit shocked to have been dough-bombed to this extent. What the reason is for my severely upset stomach is another matter. I’m trying to tell myself that it will help with weight loss but I remember that dysentery from Syria did not. Oh yes, the mental scars on that one are still super-fresh. Suffice it to say that it was a mercy for the passengers of the Jubilee line that I was working from home this morning or we could all have found ourselves in a pretty pickle. Well, not a pretty one...
Apart from the gastric upsets which set in on my actual birthday, the weekend has been fun. We saw my friend and god-daughter and handed over their bridesmaid/flower girl dresses – and were quizzed by her husband on canapés and eating times! (My friend’s husband that is, not my god-daughter’s because she’s 6. And anyway, I intend her for my nephew. Who may well be gay, but hey). We had a lovely long hike with a picnic (baguette with pate and a bottle of cider – oh happy days!) in the sunshine and watched a film with a bottle. We went out to dinner and had a lovely meal (squid followed by duck with pistachio pilaf followed by baked nectarines). And P bought me a beautiful 1950s ladies’ dress watch.
I drank much more than usual, ate much more than usual and much less judiciously than usual. And I know Lesley quotes Mrs L’s mantra “knowledge is power” but in my experience knowledge has the power to turn round and whack you round the face, leaving you blinking in pain and disappointment. So I did not consult Scales of Doom this morning – even though I could sense it peering beadily at me whilst I was, erm, pinioned to the loo. Next week will be soon enough. Especially since the way that the weeks have worked out means that I’ll have done 4 ‘fasting’ days between now and then. Even then, I bet the knowledge still has the power to sadden, dismay and disappoint me. Even with a little light dysentery on the side.
Ah yes, the tie shop. Well, it’s actually rather a prestigious shirtmaker’s. But although the full story is – I confess – rather good, I can’t tell you because I’d have to play a bit fast and loose with P’s details. And he absolutely hates that I write this anyway so I can’t be too candid. Suffice it to say that I was working there and he wasn’t but nor was he a customer – he had a specific reason for being roughly there-ish. And we got talking. And then we went to an exhibition over the road and it went from there. And a mere 17 years later we’re getting married!
Apart from the gastric upsets which set in on my actual birthday, the weekend has been fun. We saw my friend and god-daughter and handed over their bridesmaid/flower girl dresses – and were quizzed by her husband on canapés and eating times! (My friend’s husband that is, not my god-daughter’s because she’s 6. And anyway, I intend her for my nephew. Who may well be gay, but hey). We had a lovely long hike with a picnic (baguette with pate and a bottle of cider – oh happy days!) in the sunshine and watched a film with a bottle. We went out to dinner and had a lovely meal (squid followed by duck with pistachio pilaf followed by baked nectarines). And P bought me a beautiful 1950s ladies’ dress watch.
I drank much more than usual, ate much more than usual and much less judiciously than usual. And I know Lesley quotes Mrs L’s mantra “knowledge is power” but in my experience knowledge has the power to turn round and whack you round the face, leaving you blinking in pain and disappointment. So I did not consult Scales of Doom this morning – even though I could sense it peering beadily at me whilst I was, erm, pinioned to the loo. Next week will be soon enough. Especially since the way that the weeks have worked out means that I’ll have done 4 ‘fasting’ days between now and then. Even then, I bet the knowledge still has the power to sadden, dismay and disappoint me. Even with a little light dysentery on the side.
Ah yes, the tie shop. Well, it’s actually rather a prestigious shirtmaker’s. But although the full story is – I confess – rather good, I can’t tell you because I’d have to play a bit fast and loose with P’s details. And he absolutely hates that I write this anyway so I can’t be too candid. Suffice it to say that I was working there and he wasn’t but nor was he a customer – he had a specific reason for being roughly there-ish. And we got talking. And then we went to an exhibition over the road and it went from there. And a mere 17 years later we’re getting married!
Friday, 24 August 2012
Hedonism ahoy!
My bi-annual bout of hedonism is about to commence. I look forward to this with more than usual eagerness as today I'm on a 'fasting' day and so am a) hungry and b) very, very tired of cottage cheese. But tomorrow there will be cake! Croissant! Dinner out with pudding! Wine! All of which I am sure will make me very sad when I crawl back to Scales of Doom on Wednesday. I may even chicken out.... But in the meantime I will enjoy immensely.
It's my 3rd day of 'fasting' this calendar week but diet weeks currently start on a Wednesday and I can't see when I'm going to fit in another before next Wednesday. No matter, I will be 'fasting' next Wednesday and Thursday (probably) and I'm sure it will be a grievous shock to the system after a few days off.
Yesterday afternoon I took a half day's leave to do more wedding stuff. Poor P tried on many suits in order to find 'the one'. His line in the sand was that he wanted them to have a working cuff. This automatically cut out almost all the suits we looked at. In the end, having been to a number of posher options, we found that the Saville Row collection for M&S were a great buy - okay, they were expensive (especially for M&S) but the fit and the quality was great. And then we found that they had 20% off! This cheered P up no end - after walking for miles and being sold at by salemen intent on making him buy something he didn't want and didn't like, he was not happy mid point through the afternoon. We also bought bridesmaids' dresses and ties for the groomsmen. P told the man in the tie shop that we'd actually met there (we did!) and now we'd come back to buy ties for our wedding - the man showed some interest but didn't offer us a discount, affected by the romance of the moment!
Laden, we staggered in to an over-crowded pub to meet the secret drinkers from my office (ie the nice people who had snuck off and not told the coven of evil managers or the brown-nosers, rather than people with alcohol problems) where I discovered that foregoing alcohol in the interests of The Diet meant that 2 gin and diet tonics made me rather squiffy. Maybe I'm not build for hedonism!
It's my 3rd day of 'fasting' this calendar week but diet weeks currently start on a Wednesday and I can't see when I'm going to fit in another before next Wednesday. No matter, I will be 'fasting' next Wednesday and Thursday (probably) and I'm sure it will be a grievous shock to the system after a few days off.
Yesterday afternoon I took a half day's leave to do more wedding stuff. Poor P tried on many suits in order to find 'the one'. His line in the sand was that he wanted them to have a working cuff. This automatically cut out almost all the suits we looked at. In the end, having been to a number of posher options, we found that the Saville Row collection for M&S were a great buy - okay, they were expensive (especially for M&S) but the fit and the quality was great. And then we found that they had 20% off! This cheered P up no end - after walking for miles and being sold at by salemen intent on making him buy something he didn't want and didn't like, he was not happy mid point through the afternoon. We also bought bridesmaids' dresses and ties for the groomsmen. P told the man in the tie shop that we'd actually met there (we did!) and now we'd come back to buy ties for our wedding - the man showed some interest but didn't offer us a discount, affected by the romance of the moment!
Laden, we staggered in to an over-crowded pub to meet the secret drinkers from my office (ie the nice people who had snuck off and not told the coven of evil managers or the brown-nosers, rather than people with alcohol problems) where I discovered that foregoing alcohol in the interests of The Diet meant that 2 gin and diet tonics made me rather squiffy. Maybe I'm not build for hedonism!
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
Tunnel vision
My boss has resigned. He doesn’t even have another job to go to, he just can’t deal with the toxic way our office is run. I can see the difference in him – it’s like a weight has been lifted from him. He’s also abandoned all pretence at towing the line and is being very frank (“career cul-de-sac” was a personal favourite). But it was still a shock when he confirmed that there was literally a campaign against me. I kind of hoped I was just being paranoid but it seems I am not. He advised me to “get out as quickly as you can”. Good advice. And on the upside, at least I’m not paranoid! (Or if I am, that they really are out to get me!)
This is the third ‘campaign’ against someone in less than the year my boss has been there but of course I have been there for four years and this is the 6th I know of. I don’t suppose it will ever end. In fact, I can see them gearing up against a newish girl on another team too. She’s good at her job but they’ve just taken against her. It’s a cycle of persecution that never ends. And why does this keep happening? Well, no-one’s really sure – partly it’s fear (I might be next so quick, let’s pick on someone else) and partly I’m sure it’s because the Dementor gets a kick out of the drama, with her in the middle of it all.
So it’s good advice I got from my boss – but kinda superfluous. Believe me, I’m trying to escape. So I was devastated to find out – by accident – that I hadn’t even been shortlisted for one of the jobs I’ve applied for. Devastated because it’s exactly the job I’m doing, just in another department; it would have been the easiest to do and the easiest to move to with the same money and I’d be able to take the leave I’ve been squirreling away for the wedding. I’ve now found out the reason I wasn’t shortlisted which is pretty shocking – even too shocking to share here, anonymously – and maybe, just maybe I had a narrow escape. Apart from the salary, the leave and the ease of it all.
I do however have an interview for a week on Monday. I’m terrified. It would be a struggle financially, I’d also struggle with my leave for the wedding and honeymoon and the job is only for a year. But it’s a great organisation – it literally sounds like the antithesis of where I am now. And I do really want it. So I’m terrified.
Luckily I lost 1 ½ lbs this week – that was with 3 days on the “fasting” programme in anticipation of the weekend. I say 'luckily' as L is a fabulous baker and brought a whole tray of her incredibly delicious millionaire’s shortbread which I definitely had my fair share of. I was pretty restrained apart from that but I think that third day 'fasting' saved me – that and a 5 hour hike anyway. It was a great weekend – they’re such a well suited and lovely couple – and it stopped me brooding when my escape tunnel had caved in. I’m now digging my way to tunnel 2.
This is the third ‘campaign’ against someone in less than the year my boss has been there but of course I have been there for four years and this is the 6th I know of. I don’t suppose it will ever end. In fact, I can see them gearing up against a newish girl on another team too. She’s good at her job but they’ve just taken against her. It’s a cycle of persecution that never ends. And why does this keep happening? Well, no-one’s really sure – partly it’s fear (I might be next so quick, let’s pick on someone else) and partly I’m sure it’s because the Dementor gets a kick out of the drama, with her in the middle of it all.
So it’s good advice I got from my boss – but kinda superfluous. Believe me, I’m trying to escape. So I was devastated to find out – by accident – that I hadn’t even been shortlisted for one of the jobs I’ve applied for. Devastated because it’s exactly the job I’m doing, just in another department; it would have been the easiest to do and the easiest to move to with the same money and I’d be able to take the leave I’ve been squirreling away for the wedding. I’ve now found out the reason I wasn’t shortlisted which is pretty shocking – even too shocking to share here, anonymously – and maybe, just maybe I had a narrow escape. Apart from the salary, the leave and the ease of it all.
I do however have an interview for a week on Monday. I’m terrified. It would be a struggle financially, I’d also struggle with my leave for the wedding and honeymoon and the job is only for a year. But it’s a great organisation – it literally sounds like the antithesis of where I am now. And I do really want it. So I’m terrified.
Luckily I lost 1 ½ lbs this week – that was with 3 days on the “fasting” programme in anticipation of the weekend. I say 'luckily' as L is a fabulous baker and brought a whole tray of her incredibly delicious millionaire’s shortbread which I definitely had my fair share of. I was pretty restrained apart from that but I think that third day 'fasting' saved me – that and a 5 hour hike anyway. It was a great weekend – they’re such a well suited and lovely couple – and it stopped me brooding when my escape tunnel had caved in. I’m now digging my way to tunnel 2.
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