And Wouldn't You Know?

Just had a call from my mother, wishing me a Happy New Year in advance, in case she falls asleep in front of the TV later, or just goes to bed before midnight. Not much going on over there, but she had received a belated Christmas card from my younger cousin, Richard.

Out of the four children between my parents and my uncle's (father's younger brother) family, Richard is the youngest - a year younger than me - then there's a year between my sister and our older cousin, Stewart, with my sister being the eldest of the bunch.

The big news is that Richard now has a baby... approximately a year younger than my niece. Stewart, if I remember correctly, has two.

So now I'm really feeling like the runt of the litter: out of work, no children, and not only unmarried but single...

...I'd make changing all that a New Year's Resolution, but that'd be daft, because it'd take more than a year...

Resolving

So I guess I'm working through some laziness..?

I'd more-or-less decided to do a bit of shopping today - pop over to Uxbridge and/or Harrow, pick up a DVD or two (Scott Pilgrim is out now, after all), possibly WiiFit Plus (with Balance Board) assuming I could find it...

But, in the end, I've stayed indoors all day - not even popping out to restock on fizzy drinks, or empty my bins. Sure, I've done some laundry, but that's about all I've done of any great import. Other than that, I've been bumming about on the internet, burning through my bandwidth, and I decided to watch The Men Who Stare At Goats on DVD.

It had been recommended to me, having missed it in the cinemas, but I really didn't know what to expect from it. I was quite pleasantly surprised by a bizarre, yet subtly-played road movie - the road travelled being both a geographical and a metaphysical transformation. It's one of those comedies that doesn't make you laugh so much as think... its situations being, by turns, strange and harrowing. And, naturally, Kevin Spacey was the bad guy...

Anyway... here we are, approaching the end of 2010. 10 years after the Millenium Bug didn't cripple the world's economy, it has been brought to its knees by the very people who were operating it. London has a mere two years to completely overhaul its transport infrastructure to the point where its hosting of the next Olympics will not be an unmitigated disaster for all concerned. I've been made redundant by one of the UK's largest independent publishers, because they think they can save a few quid running the Production side of their operation from a battery farm in their head office in Norwich, even though they've seen twice before that it doesn't work.

It's looking increasingly likely that I'll be working on a freelance basis for my former boss, who's setting up her own Design company. Whether she's based in Blackheath or elsewhere depends on when the serviced offices in Blackheath become available - the date keeps getting put back.

So what else am I going to do to stop myself going stir crazy?

Well, there's always writing. I've had the germs of several stories - at least two series of novels, potentially - knocking about in my head for far too long... Now I'm going to be alone with my thoughts for a while, perhaps they'll line up and come out in an orderly fashion. Stranger things have happened... but, frankly, the last time I did any significant writing, it was almost an act of retaliation. My 'opponent' has long since faded back into the abyss. The writing group I had joined is effectively gone due to the death of one of its founders, and I haven't even tried to find another. Writing challenges from friends have been roundly ignored, even when I have ideas that fit.

Nevertheless, I shall try.

Other 'New Year's Resolution'-type things include:

• Get a bit more active... even if it's only with WiiFit. I'm four years shy of 40, and am beginning to notice that I'm not as fit as I used to be. There's a park just down the road, and I could do worse than wander down there for a walk every so often.
• Spend less time on the internet... and more time in the real world? Wow... that'd be a step...
• Stop dismissing out of hand anything and everything that I don't believe will work... I should always at least try, until I'm certain. As part of this, I'm actually intending to keep in touch with a few folks from my last job, which I've never really been keen to do in the past. I've always felt that any connection made in an office environment is irrevocably connected to that office environment, and cannot translate to 'The Real World'... I may be wrong in that assessment. That said, I'm generally an excellent judge of character... so while I may be keeping in touch, there will be an element of caution involved with some of them.
• Cut down on the analysing... Several people over the last month or so have mentioned to me that they feel I am constantly 'judging' or 'criticising'. This isn't necessarily true, but I am constantly analysing... and, I suppose, that does sometimes lead to a conclusion being reached, and this conclusion can alter my behaviour in certain circumstances. Not that that's a bad thing.
• If I do end up in another office... I shall fight off the urge to generate a new 'Office Me'. My last few days proved to me that I don't actually need to function on that reduced level, as long as I can concentrate on the work by some other means.
• Write more... whether it's just this blog, or stories, or haiku, or poetry... I'm not fussed. I just want to write.

There may be more...

Embarrasing

Not too long ago, I found I'd had a text message from an ex-colleague. She'd texted pretty much first thing this morning (while I was still asleep) to say she'd turned up at work, but no-one else was there. I failed to notice the flashing light on my phone somehow, until about half past three, having been up and about in the flat and out doing some local food shopping in the interim.

I called her back with the details she had asked for, though it transpired that she'd got in touch with another ex-colleague in the meantime, who'd informed her that she shouldn't be back at the office till next week. Sadly, this was the same colleague who'd got nasty with her at the Christmas Party over her flirtatious behaviour with at least one of the Salespeople. That can't have been a fun conversation...

Not much else to report (so why the hell am I blogging at all?)... Having checked the Uxbridge times for Tron Legacy, it seems it's only showing in the late evening... and I can't say I fancy going out that late, even to see the long-awaited sequel to one of my favourite films from my formative years...

Chillaxin'

By which I mean, now that I'm back home, it's rather cold.

I'd switched the boiler over to minimal operation for the duration of my Christmas Stopover With The Folks, fully expecting it to have flatlined before I returned... But I was lucky - it was still functioning, albeit with just barely enough pressure to keep it going and prevent freezing - and the flat was a balmy nine degrees centigrade.

Switching the heating back to full-time, full-blast, I waited for it to get warm. I got here before noon... and I'm still waiting.

So, Christmas?

Well, it could have been a whole lot worse. I went back to my folks on Christmas Eve, my Grandmother came over for Christmas Day and Boxing Day, and my sister, niece and brother-in-law came over for Boxing Day.

Surprisingly, I only had to tell my Grandmother that I'm no longer gainfully employed once per day... I think, last year, I had to tell her about work at least three times over dinner. None of it sank in or made any sense to her, of course, but not having to repeat myself till I started questioning my own sanity was a bonus. For some reason, she seemed to think that my erstwhile employers should have offered me something else... Then again, I suppose they did. In Norwich. Which is tantamount to not offering me anything.

In any event, it all went smoothly. Presents were gratefully received (not so much in the niece's case - she had Christmas Present Fatigue from her visit to her other grandparents) though I had correctly surmised that the gift I got my sister was not necessarily the best of choices. I'd left my own presents (Being Human series 1 & 2 boxed set, Chuck season 3) at home but, as my mother pointed out, that just saved on wrapping paper. Christmas Dinner was the usual kind of thing with my family, and the remaining turkey and gammon became Boxing Day lunch and dinner, not to mention dinner the following night. Shame it seems almost impossible to get a family-sized turkey (or turkey joint) that doesn't leave so much as leftovers.

Still, the whole experience gave me a neat idea to try, assuming I can still find some M&S Festive Spiced Streaky Bacon...

I'd taken over a few DVDs - in case, y'know, the entertainment on offer from the myriad TV channels was just not up to snuff - and gave my sister and parents the pleasure of seeing Inception. All agreed that it was a fantastic, not to say fantastical movie. We also managed to squeeze in Salt (my second copy of the disc, as the first was flawed and skipped about half a minute about an hour in), Iron Man 2 and Revenge of the Fallen, while still finding time to watch the Doctor Who Christmas Special.

Which was actually bloody good.

I've hated the Christmas Specials, by and large, because they're little more than extended episodes with the flimsiest of plots. The David Tennant/RTD axis was always overblown and underwritten, unless it was to say The Doctor was wonderful, even if he did keep shouting at everyone and banging on about how he was over 900 years old. Matt Smith's Doctor made but a passing reference to his age as he jumped about in time, playing Jacob Marley to Michael Gambon's improbably-named Scrooge. Even the inclusion of another singer in the cast (remember Kylie, in the one set on an interstellar cruise liner?) didn't ruin the story... even if it did seem like an excuse for a musical interlude at the end. Moffat has proven (again) that Who is in safer hands with him than it's ever been... using time travel within his stories, rather than just as a means of getting from story to story, and that it is perfectly possible to make a decent episode out of the Christmas Special. I only once looked at the clock while it was on, and that resulted in me being disappointed that the show would be over so soon.

Still, the trailer for the next series looked awesome.

My sister and her husband were on good form - no signs of any of the strife we've been hearing about, let alone any indication that he might have snubbed our invitation due to the financial bail-out my folks gave him recently. My niece was delightful as ever, though clearly a little overwhelmed by it all. She also had a fine bruise on her right cheek, due to being exceedingly clumsy as she totters around enthusiastically. None the worse for wear, however, and it was nice to see her father actually interact with her once in a while. Weirdly, most of her toys were ignored for the duration of her visit - she favours fridge magnets, the (frequently breakable) contents of my mother's display cabinet, and spools of thread... as they're portable and colourful. She led us all a merry dance, ascertaining the whereabouts of the items she'd swapped from one room to another... though she'd normally be very careful to make a direct swap: Russian Doll Chicken for Spool of Dark Green Thread, leaving the wooden toy in the appropriate slot of my mother's thread box.

I still haven't seen Tron Legacy, despite the fact that my parents have (using my tickets!) and apparently enjoyed it immensely... the 3D effect, according to my mother, is incredibly real... Strange, for such an unreal world...

Perhaps I shall correct this oversight tomorrow - there is, after all, an IMAX screen in Uxbridge, and I could certainly do with getting out and about, having been indoors for about 4 days on the trot. Mind you, I have more of that to look forward to... Unless I find some gainful employment in an office.

I Haz A Nyoo Fridge

Probably a good thing that I set my alarm, really... When I got up, I had just enough time to get dressed and empty out my old fridge before the delivery people arrived to collect it and install the new one.

There was a bit of a struggle getting it in, not least because of all the stairs getting up to the flat, but also because of the size of the gap it had to squeeze into. While I had measured between the end of the counter and the start of the skirting board, and found the space sufficient, I hadn't taken the radiator into account, and it was that which caused the best part of the problem.

Still, in it went and in leiu of a switch on the wall (God only knows why there are two sockets back there, but no switch) the refrigerator was set off, and I was instructed to leave it a couple of hours before using it.

That should have given me just enough time to finish wrapping Christmas presents, do the gosh-darned washing up, and then pack my bags before I toddle off to my parents' place for a few days... but you know what I'm like.

I had to dash out and get some more wrapping paper - my mother's gift is rather large, so I didn't have quite as much paper as I needed. Then I distracted myself with other little tasks... and, of course, the interwebs...

I'm starting to wonder if I need Office Me more at home than I do at work...

A Stragely Relaxing Day

I'd like to say something dramatic, like "you know what this feels like? The end of Braveheart, where Mel Gibson's William Wallace is crying out 'FREEEEEDOOOOOOM!' while someone pulls his guts out...", but it's actually been rather anticlimactic.

I didn't even wake up feeling as though a great weight had been lifted. It's just... like the weekend started early... or I'm on holiday.

Sure, I sent out a great, long farewell email yesterday, which said everything I really felt the need to say (no, nothing nasty) and did a great deal of hugging (still riding high on the wave of smug self-satisfaction after scamming a kiss out of the only decent Sales Manager in the place) as I accepted compliments from all corners on the eloquence of my email.

I've even vowed to keep in touch with some of them - one, a recent hire, is a Trekkie, very sharp, and extremely witty; another offered to attempt to match-make for me when she learned I'm single - and several I'll be connecting to via LinkedIn, if nothing else.

Today, as is fairly typical, I've been starting to feel a little unwell - probably just the return of a cold, rather than having anything to do with the resurgence of Swine Flu.

I popped out early today to Smyths, having learned that the first wave of Hasbro's Reveal The Shield subline of TransFormers has hit the shelves... Picked up Jazz and Tracks, both of which are awesome. I passed for the time being on Fallback, the predicted repaint of Revenge of the Fallen Brawn... but it is such a good mold, I will probably pick it up eventually.

What I haven't done is wrap any of the bloody presents... so that'll be my first project tomorrow, after receiving my new fridge. Then I'm off to my parents' for Christmas... and probably staying longer than I'd expected, going by the weather reports...

Insomnia

Currently having another of my sleepless periods - not expecting it to last long, but who knows? - following a press day which, given the circumstances, could have been significantly worse.

As I suspected, I was on my own till the early afternoon, as my boss had wisely played it safe and stayed indoors till it looked as though the roads were in a fit state for travel. By the time she arrived, everything was proceeding nicely, apart from one or two hiccups.

The Copy Controller working on today's magazine had been distracted at various points in the day by her attempts to train a new recruit who, it seems, is just not shaping up. There was also a point where there was altogether too much chatter between her and a Salesman with aggravating Britpop hair and a somewhat arrogant swagger to everything he does. I politely interrupted that and reminded her that, if she wasn't too busy reminiscing about getting a Fireman's Lift at the Christmas Party, I was sure there was a magazine to put out.

And, oh God, the Christmas Party.

I tried to hear as little as possible about it... And everything I did hear served to remind me why I loathe Christmas Parties with the folks I work with. Excessive alcohol consumption, ill-judged advances and, in the case of one of the Designers, further evidence that he's going nuts: confronting the aforementioned Copy Controller over her dalliances because "I like you... You should be going out with me!"

I'm still obsessing somewhat over the Publishing Director's message in my card... Not least because several folks at work can't believe she'd be "so unprofessional" as to write something like that. I should just let it go, because she's just spiteful and pathetic (and she went off on holiday today, leaving a message to the remaining Sales staff that they can leave early on Christmas Eve if they hit their targets), and it really shouldn't bother me. I mean, really, it only bothers me because I cannot believe she can be so small minded and spiteful about the Production Department that has made the titles she inherited among the best in London. Or maybe that's just my nostalgia talking.

At the end of the day, having completed the magazine, there was a touching and tearful farewell between the Property Manager, my boss and me, in which I scammed a kiss with the line "If I promise no tongues, do I get a kiss?". Not remotely smooth, but very me.

It's rare that I find my opinion of someone in the workplace changing so dramatically as my opinion of her. When she first started, I absolutely loathed her, as she seemed to be duplicating the mannerisms of a manager I didn't like much. When she moved into Property she became a very large thorn in my side for quite some time. I'm sure I've written some very choice things about her in this very blog. But then, when the Property team moved in right behind me, I saw and heard the way she dealt with her clients and her team, saw the passion she had for making it all work smoothly, and realised that - annoying as she could be - I absolutely loved her. Not romantically, that would be weird. She and I swim in very different oceans. In a relatively short time, she had changed the way I looked at her and thought of her so profoundly and earned more respect than almost any other colleague in my entire career so far. I'm very glad to have been invited to monthly get-togethers between her and my boss (and probably others I shall live to regret), as I'm sure I would miss her terribly otherwise.

One of her team proffered a goodbye earlier in the day, while I was busy... and I believe I gave her quite short shrift. She is a prime example of my first impressions being too optimistic.

I think there are only a couple of other goodbyes I'm keen to make... and maybe a couple of 'stay in touch'-type farewells. Then it's just a case of writing some recommendations for my already-departed colleagues.

Winter Wonderland

So. Snow. Lots of snow.

Today has been reasonably warm and mostly clear-ish skied, but there is the suspicion of more snow tomorrow. My boss has decided not to drive back into town tonight, so I may be on my own for a while in the morning.

Of course, when I say "on my own", there will be at least two Copy Controllers, and the Editorial Designers will be doing the honours with the ads, so it'll be essentially business as usual for the last week of the year.

Meanwhile, I popped over to my folks earlier, to drop of my tickets for Tron Legacy, showing at the Waterloo IMAX tomorrow. Hopefully they'll be able to get there... Having missed it myself yesterday due to the weather, I certainly hope they enjoy it.

Just for giggles, here are some cellphone snaps of my old stomping ground in the snow:

Quite lovely, really... Shame it's all such a pest...

The Beginning of the End of the Beginning

And so my official time with my employer of the last 5 or so years drew to a close yesterday, with the Christmas Party, which was retrospectively decided to also be a big, happy send-off for Production when everyone but the Publishing Director decided that's what it should be.

I have decided to go in as a freelancer for three days next week, to put out the last three magazines, one each day. I wrote a short, but heartfelt email to my boss's boss explaining my decision in the circumstances, sending it first to my boss for a quick check.

She cried, and sent it on.

My boss's boss replied that she had a lump in her throat.

My boss proceeded to email it to several other folks around the company, including the Finance Director for the Group and a couple of the Magazine Managers. The Manager of my last magazine cried over it. I may yet print it out and stick it up in the kitchen before I go.

My Thursday magazine actually went reasonably smoothly... Quite a few fillers in at the end, but we avoided any messing around with the flatplan and, barring about 6 pages with minor problems I had to fix on Friday morning, it all went to press perfectly by about 7pm.

The Christmas do was predictably awful. In so many ways, the journey to the venue was vastly more entertaining than the party. My boss had two passengers other than me: one to drop off home, the other to bring with us to the do. The latter ended up using her Duke of Edinburgh's Gold Award skills to direct us to the venue with the use of little more than a poorly-scaled map with barely any detail. In so many ways, it's a shame we found the place.

The venue was incredible (in a good way) with beautiful views over London, from Alexandra Palace to London City Airport and a little way beyond into the city centre, taking in Blackheath along the way. The food was diabolical - pathetically, insultingly small portions in tiny bowls, brought round on trays at irregular intervals. The PixPod photo booth was well used throughout the evening, with at least one of the property team disrobing... even though she knew the photos would be available to download from the PixPod website this evening. The bar service was surly but, considering the member of staff who represented us when the venue was booked, I'm not surprised they took a dim view of the rest of us when we turned up. Not only were the drinks tokens of limited use (soft drinks, beers, or 'house spirits' only) but the bar closed entirely at 4.45 (a full 15 minutes before we had been told to expect).

Highlights? Well, I was paid plenty of compliments by those I've worked closely with, both Production and Sales (not so much from Editorial, but they were mostly idiots) for my choice of clothing (I fuckin' rock a waistcoat) and, while six people didn't get a Secret Santa gift, my boss and I were singled out for special presentations (a bottle of Morgan's Spiced Rum, in my case) before a particularly trite and vaguely insulting speech from our Publishing Director. I also managed to con one of the bar staff into making me a Calfornia Root Beer (Galliano, Kahlua, Coke - try it) on the company tab by offering to pay for it. Lows include the aforementioned speech, the whole PixPod thing, and the Karaoke - apart from my boss putting everyone else to shame with a groundshaking a capella rendition of Amazing Grace, which had Group Editor raving that she should go on Britain's Got Talent.

These are such small people, with such small lives.

The Property Sales Manager hinted darkly that we'd share some time together in the PixPod, but that didn't happen... Perhaps it was my warning that, if she intended to kiss me again (as she had during the week), that she should not go anywhere near my neck unless she meant it.

I was also criticised as being judgemental - in a good way (with caveats) by one of my designers who told me I could be a Critic, but he couldn't decide what kind, and in a bad way by one of the girls in Sales, still smarting that I called her 'Miss Woodhouse' in an email, despite my assurances that I was referring to her as Jane Austin's matchmaker, not as a posh, self-absorbed halfwit.

It has been said before that I have an "observe, record, assess" approach to people, and it's not something I make any effort to deny... I'll even add that it gets worse for attractive girls, for whom the attitude is closer to "Yes, I can see you're good looking... what do you do for an encore?"

In any event, I left around 5.30, while everyone else was filtering off downstairs to the larger main bar. Sloping off back to the car park via the DLR, driving off to the Southbank Centre to pick up two tickets for Tron Legacy at IMAX, which will be going to my parents at the earliest opportunity. From thence, back home. When I read the leaving card signed by many of the folks in attendance, I found a rather sad little note written by the Publishing Director: "Adios, Beardy. It's been fun. See you... Out the door". Now, I'd imagine she'd been planning that all week, and just couldn't think of an alternative on the day... because I was clean-shaven for the party.

And, really, 'Beardy' was the best she could come up with? She couldn't simply have used my name, and avoided sounding like a complete twat?

There had been some snow yesterday, but nothing serious... but late in the morning today, it started coming down again... so we went from this:
   To this: within the space of a few hours.
And, while the snow appears to have stopped for now, with precious little gritting (again!) it has prevented me from getting to Uxbridge to see Tron Legacy and, rather more seriously, given my boss a near-death experience with a jack-knifing articulated truck on the motorway... She's back home now, but understandably shaken.

Goddamnit!

I don't know what it is, but there have been curious things going on ever since the weekend's stunning coincidence. Mainly, work has been - if I may be curt - utter shit, but there have been silver linings.

The smallest of my magazines has been a harrowing experience. First everything got put back by the snow, then we had flooding in the office over the weekend, causing further delays as the maintenance crews cleaned up and made safe as much of the office as they could. The magazines got pushed back another two days, meaning the smallest was supposed to go out today... but my next magazine - my largest - could not be put back due to advertiser requirements, so that's supposed to go out tomorrow.

Normally I have a clear three days between their press days.

And I need them.

Initially, my boss suggested I palm off the initial stages of my largest magazine on my counterpart, who leaves on Friday, along with everyone else, and had already done his last magazine for his term of service. On the way home last night, I realised it'd be far better if he took out the smallest, not least because it would be easier, and I was less concerned about it going terribly wrong.

Of course, when this was proposed to him, he looked quite cheerful - this was the magazine he'd first started working on, 11 years ago... what better way to round off his term of service with the company, than to put out one last issue of his first ever magazine?

So I concentrated on my behemoth.

Part way through the day, the Property Salesperson I utterly loathe (as she is lazy, spiteful, condescending and entirely thoughtless) finally noticed that she'd made a mistake with one of her bookings. She had offered a client three pages, but booked only two. Of course, in her world, she had booked three pages, because that's what was agreed in her email exchanges with the client. In my world she had not only booked just two pages, but she had failed to check the flatplan to ensure her bookings were correct. And it's not as if there was a shortage of flatplan printouts for her to check. The Property section was full. No space for an additional page.

Naturally, she wanted to rearrange more than half the magazine - moving pages from Lifestyle into Property - to accommodate the extra page, and couldn't see why it was a problem to take two - granted, otherwise unused - pages from the front of the magazine and put them right near the back... despite the fact that a good chunk of the magazine had already been output and made ready to send to the Printers.

And that's just part of the problem. They see a flatplan, and think it's easy to shift a couple of pages from here to there. It's on a computer, innit? It's a five minute job. They don't realise that some of the pages in between will need - at the very least - changes to the folios because they've moved forward by however many pages.

So she kicked up a fuss, speaking to our esteemed Publishing Director who, in part due to her twisted little power play interference in the Property team, immediately sided with the Property Rep, and demanded that everything move to accommodate. She'd caught her mistake, and wanted it fixed now, her way. Even when a serviceable 'plan b' was mooted, nothing was good enough except completely ruining my half-day's work.

So my boss kicked up a fuss in return, bumping it even higher up the food chain, and pulling our trump card: They could stick their freelance work, because we hadn't offered to return for two, then three days next week to output the last two magazines because of the money. Hurt our professional pride by acting like we are obligated to deal with other people's shit two days before we're thrown out, and we would not be inclined to return.

Publishing Director is absolutely not happy that our argument carried far more weight.

It is quite clear to all those higher up the food chain that they are thoroughly fucked if we do not turn up for work on Monday. Clear to PD, too, she just chooses not to accept it.

While I was at work, I decided that I didn't want to do the freelance work anyway. What was the point? To give them another three days in which to try to piss all over us? No, thank you.

And yet now, tapping away at my keyboard at home before I retire for the night, the stupid old romantic in me wants my own silver lining... Because, if I do go in next week, my last magazine will be the one that, essentially, got me my job there, 11 years ago. They'd just bought the title, and needed extra staff. The ad in the newspaper might as well have been asking for me by name. I happily accepted a £2k pay cut and lower rank, because I knew I could do the job better than anyone else they might interview.

I hate to say it (no, seriously, I really hate to say it) but I probably owe it to myself to put out that last issue...

Serendipity

Strange how things that happen in precisely the wrong way can end up being somehow beneficial.

My sister, my old mate Paul and I were headed uptown to Kings Cross for a Mediaeval Baebes gig at St Pancras Church. My sister had bought the tickets, but hadn't researched the location particularly well so, when we set out, all we had to rely upon was a printed Google map of the area, which wasn't exactly detailed.

Nevertheless, my sister knew which way to head and had, for some time, thought that the gig was at another similarly-named church in the opposite direction, the route to which she was familiar with also. So, when we got to St Pancras Church and found in a state of disrepair - scaffolding all over one end - and with signs pointing to a Crypt Gallery, we suspected we had arrived at the wrong church.

A middle-aged couple started looking at the messageboard on the fence and, putting two and two together, my sister asked them if they were looking for the Mediaeval Baebes gig - they seemed the type, after all. When they answered vaguely in the affirmative, and showed her a ticket of sorts, my sister concluded that we must have all arrived at the wrong church, and proceeded to lead us to St Pancras Old Church, back past the station in the opposite direction. Thankfully, we'd left early enough to get there with time to spare.

This couple had come into town from quite a way away - 5 hours travel to Kings Cross - and were here to see their daughter perform. So far, so plausible - the Baebes had run one of their singing workshops during the day, and my sister had told us to expect a performance by the students at the end of the evening. Hell, for all we knew, these two were the parents of one of the Baebes, let alone one of the amateurs from the workshop.

And so, when we arrived and lead them to their daughter - who looked uncannily like a young Katharine Blake (although with darker hair) - the girl was utterly grateful to us, as her parents might never have found the right place had they not happened upon us. We took our leave, found some seats, and prepared ourselves for the evening.

What followed, in short, was not a Mediaeval Baebes gig.

There was group of a cappella singers, male and female, performing a range of folk and gospel songs (including Down To The River To Pray from O Brother, Where Art Thou?), one half of a duet (the other half had called in sick that morning) who had gamely stepped up to perform solo, reading poetry and singing (one song only which, she said, she performed "completely wrong" with 'her friend the harmonium'). She was endearingly quirky in dress and manner, reading from a notebook that kept shedding its loose leaves as she squirmed nervously in front of the audience. "Like all poets," she explained toward the end, "I used to be a waitress... and I wasn't any good at that either..." I honestly kind of wished there was more from her, because she was so damned cute, and clearly terrified of performing alone. She was followed, however, by more from the a cappella group (they had a name, but I'm damned if I can remember it now... despite it being a funny (as in deliberately amusing) name) and three or four songs from a slightly whiny Irish singer, who'd been involved in fixing up the Church (and others like it, he said) for concerts just like this one.

At the halfway point, my sister decided to look for the couple we'd brought with us, to ascertain whether or not we were even in the right place...

...And we were not. There had been a huge misunderstanding over the nature of the gig they were going to and, while the woman suspected we were coming along to the wrong place, she didn't like to question my sister's certainty of purpose.

So off we jolly well trotted, back to St Pancras Church, which still seemed to be derelict and unoccupied... until we turned the next corner, and found loads of stereotypical Baebes fans milling around outside the entrance, smoking during the mid-point break in their set. We dashed in, grabbed some merchandise, then took our seats for the remainder of the evening.

It was a good gig... but not their best. The range of voices wasn't as wide as they used to have, and much of the playfulness and cheeky banter was absent. At one point, I felt something crawling on my neck, and flicked off some small, dark, unknowable thing onto the floor, only to start worrying that it'd just climb up my leg.

A whole host of civilians did, indeed, take to the stage for one of the last songs of the evening which, in many ways, made the experience all the more disappointing.

My sister had been saying since we left the other concert that, should we feel in any way disappointed, she would refund us the £17 for the tickets... by neither my old mate nor I felt hard done by...

...And, for my part, I wondered if perhaps we (I?) should have remained at the other concert after all.

Visitation of a Different Kind

Here's a weird one. I've had a house guest during this inclement weather. To cut a long story short, we were sharing the bed most nights but, on Tuesday night, unable to sleep, I took myself to the sofa.

I wasn't able to sleep any better there than I had been in my own bed, but it was a little quieter. Gradually, I felt myself getting to the point where I might just about fall asleep... and then, just as I thought I was gone, I had a visitor.

Naturally, I assumed it was my guest. She sat down on the floor next to me and, holding my hand, asked what was wrong. I came out with some reply that I don't remember and was probably barely comprehensible at the time and, after a few moments, she departed.

Sometime later, again on the cusp of sleep, I heard my guest call out "Are you alright?", then start padding around the flat. Eventually, she made her way into the lounge, knelt down next to me and, stroking my face, asked "why you sleep on sofa?"

Again, I mumbled a response, wondering all the while why she felt the need to come back and ask that when she'd already popped in earlier.

Imagine my surprise, the following morning, when I asked her how many times she'd come into the lounge, and she quite emphatically stated that she'd only been in the once, recounting in great detail the sequence of events that led her there.

And that's not all... because that's the second time I've experienced something like that. About seven or so years ago, when I was living with my folks, I woke up in the middle of the night to find a distinctly female form sitting in the bed, silhouetted in the moonlight through my blinds, watching me. Having registered her presence - and apparently quite comfortable with it - I closed my eyes to go back to sleep. Then it hit me that someone was in my room, sitting on my bed, so I promptly woke up again... and no-one was there.

This more recent experience suddenly became all the more disquieting because, on both occasions, the presence was somehow familiar and thereby nonthreatening. And this time it actually enquired after my wellbeing. And now, instinct tells me it was the same presence - similar build, similar hair length... though I never quite saw a face.

But, hey, maybe I was asleep after all, and it was just a dream.

Still weird, though.

And, Once Again, London is Crippled by Snow

Except, just for a change, it wasn't. At least, not in my neck of the woods. In fact, most of London north of the Thames got away quite lightly - sure, people grumbled, but there was no particular disruption, either to trains or roads. South London wasn't so lucky... and the further south you tried to get, the worse it became.

As of now, it looks as though the snowy patch is over (for now)... and the Silent Hill fog lifted from my neighbourhood after lunch, leaving it looking as though we've just had a big rainstorm.

It's surprising how little effect the inclement weather had on work - almost everyone got in, almost all of them had little or no difficulty getting into work or home again... but those who were affected were very adversely affected. Even so, the Powers That Be decided to put back all our magazines by two days... triggering a huge battle between my boss and the guy who will be running Production from Norwich, as the last two of our magazines were pushed back till after our last day. Norwich's Lord of Production reckoned this would hammer our Termination Bonus (originally called a 'Loyalty Bonus', as it was for everyone who stayed to the end, only later developing miscellaneous caveats). My boss didn't like this, naturally, and so spoke to her boss, our local Publishing Director, and PD's boss, all of whom reckoned Lord of Production had no say in this.

He also, apparently, wanted the bonus paid in January, rather than on our last day... but there might be certain difficulties with that, considering our P45s would already have been returned. The uncharitable might suggest that he's trying to avoid paying the bonus...

In other news, one of my colleagues in Sales decided she wants to play Matchmaker for me. I'm not convinced it'll happen, but apparently this is 'something she does'. The story goes that, watching me walk past, she blurted out "he's quite cute... is he married?" and it all went a bit Jane Austin from there.

Another of my colleagues has decided to subscribe to one of my other blogs, pertaining to food. It's written in my usual style - not taking anything too seriously - and documents both successes and failures in the kitchen. I may have to hit her up for some recipes... not least her fairy cakes...