Wednesday

To mark 2nd birthday of blog I have tried not to think about it. It's here. Come and read it if you want. Comment if you want - but do so here. Do not use it to judge me outside of it.

So today. Well the morning routine is broadly as yesterday. Except I woke up slightly earlier and therefore left earlier. Despite checking the starboard and bow windows 3 times before locking up and going. The first thing that struck me as I left the house was the piercing blue sky and the two airliners in it. Beautiful. The end of street pylon was tangled in the sky by the telegraph post and wires. Magic. No rain. Appreciated. So I get a Charing makes me Cross branch Misery Line train and change at Embonkment. I would like to moan about this but sadly there was scant need. Well there were a few people on the escalators reading and being unaware of the hordes behind them and the usual uptight female who refuse to move down the carriage. But on the whole I was content in my world of Pearl Jam and pre work lull.

I arrive in a sun drenched office. The only person in is Earl Grey and he is merrily chomping on breakfast and checking the web. I take off the layers and trainers and turn into super asst manager. He hem. This morning I am on a course. Well until 2.30pm. How to recruit. I am not overly looking forward to it. The First Man arrives and sheepishly says good morning. Offers of tea are made but I am shortly leaving so decline. My parting words from last night have enforced a ponder. The First Man has pondered about himself. I smile and pass on my regards. Finally I hear laughter between us. It has been weeks since I last saw that smile. The sun through the window is warming and welcome. Sadly I have to leave it but not before my Chief comes to talk to me about The Major Project. I reply in my sage way and nod a lot.

I walk downstairs to training room 5. I am slightly late by 2 minutes following my Chief's interception - but not as late as the other 5 people due to be on the course. So the 3 technical types in the group have a chat. The course starts at 9.40am a mere 10 minute late. Lateness annoys me. I try not to show this. At the start of the session we are asked to answer several questions about the course leader, who at this point had said nothing - for example what sort of school were they educated at? Beyond school? Newspaper read? and other 'non-contentious' questions. The problem for me is trying really hard not to answer in the stereotypical way or indeed answer in a sarky way. I jot down answers trying hard not to be too judgmental. Our first prescribed task is not well described. So the separate groups all do their own thing and the course tutor is dismayed that we have not done as she asked. She asked us to interview each other so she knew how to run the course. Answers on a small postcard.

So after a poor start we switch back to conventionally going round the room telling everyone who we are and what we do and our expectations. Ah that's more like it. The ritual 'my job title is better than yours' competition and 'I am infinitely more suited to be here than you' positioning. He hem. It soon becomes apparent that due to The First Man's efforts several months ago, to which I was party and indeed grateful, most of what this course is about is stuff we have already done and put in place. So the morning shapes up into observing how other departments choose to operate. There are few surprises for me but there are some recurring themes which in my vast time here all seem to be still in play. However its easy to be coy when you realise how far things have come in your own little department. Meanwhile on the other side of the world... its a different planet.

Lunch is some curly sandwiches and deeply oil coated crisps. I pass on the crisps and stick with egg mayo - the moisture may help the bread. Then I hoover up the fruit bowl contents. In true internal course fashion I escape to the relative comfort of my desk. Finally some kindly office service chap has sorted out the light above my desk. Finally I do not sense I am creeping back into my gloomy corner cave. I am illuminated and able to see properly. This however has not pleased all around me. Apparently now its too clinical. Excellent. We are now ripe to operate.

(I can say my eyes and head feel less achy this evening. But then I have hardly been at my desk all day. Is this a real feeling or a proper feeling?)

I return to the training room. The final session descends into utter conversational jousting. I find it hard not to betray my impatience. People do like to talk. About themselves mainly. Finally the whistle blows and we can leave. Seconds away ready for next meeting. An hour talking to another a department head. The First Man seems much more relaxed so I in turn feel more levelled. The meeting goes well. A buzz is once more in the air.

I spend what is left of day getting last Xmas lunch money and tidying up email queries. Out of office on. Yes tomorrow I am not at work. The First Man suggests that I have a job interview. My mood dips. If I knew what I wanted to do then yes that may well have been the case. But no. Perhaps then its a covert suggestion.

Its still dry as I walk my groove into the Embankment pavement bound for Waterloo. As the train pulls out of Waterloo the rain has once more returned. I sit in the same seat as yesterday to see if I will be joined by the same clan as yesterday. I am not. But the man opposite me is older with no hair but one of those amazing grey beards and glasses which makes him look academic. He reads a book about how societies ruin themselves, not a newspaper which tickles my knees. I am glad.

Wombledon station is heaving. The rain is intensely falling. I risk it anyway and have to dodge larger puddles than ever and by the time I get to Sava Centre I am SOAKED to the skin. Oh well. It affords me more space as other consumers avoid my drips. Home - disrobe dry off and erm turn on the football.

I predicted we would lose. 0-2 we looked sunk. 2-2 and we back in it. 3-2 final score. I spend the game texting my dad. We are both as non plussed as each other. Too much lower league football. Too many basic errors. Its all too familiar. Actually its as bad as the lower league stuff I endure for the love of my team - the one without famous star names.

I am angry. The game I love has been abused over the last 11 years. Over paid. Under skilled. The team looked lack lustre in midfield and the poor youngster put in goal - I hope not as a scape goat. The media will go loopy but they have to accept their responsibility. The media and Sky Sports have sucked the natural order out of the game. The game has to take a long hard look and sort it out. It's not a given that England will qualify or indeed win. Time to face the facts. 'We're not very good'.

So is today the day the England Manager walks and based on the Customs & Revenue losing millions of personal details is this the day the PM loses his footing.

I watch Heroes on Three. Listening to the rain. And as today draws to a close I brew my Horlicks and trudge to my large welcoming bed. End of 6-06. Alan Green continues his heart felt rant though I fear Graham's Waddle & Taylor had provided a rather good warm up act.

Lights out.