On Tuesday morning I opened my email at work. There was a note from my manager entitled 'Areas of improvement'. I knew it wasn't going to be good. This is what it said:
"It has recently been brought to my attention that there are certain areas of company policy that you are not following sufficiently.
Dress Code
1) Wellies are not permitted - even on casual Friday.
2) Stripey or excessively patterned tights are not permitted.
3) Crimped hair is not permitted
4) Generally, your dress on business days is too casual. Sometimes your tops are cut too low and your skirts are too short. This is not professional and does not create the right impression.
Organisation & Planning
Although you always get all your work done on time and to an exceptionally high standard, you are not organised in the way you go about it.
Please do all you can to remedy these points as soon as possible."
Oh my God. How ridiculous is that? I was stunned. There's nothing in the rules about crimped hair, patterened tights or even wellies. It's all at the manager's discretion. Admittedly, the wellies I wore the previous Friday on dress-down day may have been pushing it, but it's not like they're mucky, farm boots. They're knee-high, red rubber boots and they looked fab. The child in me now wants to find a pair of knee-high, red leather boots and wear those instead.
I immediately sent an email back, in which I stated that I believed I was one of the best put-together people in the whole department. There are a few people who wear the same clothes everyday (including the same shirt/blouse) - gross!
I went on: "One of the many problems with this company is that there are far too many people who concern themselves with being overly organised and not enough people capable of creative or independent thought. I have a different way of working, but if the job is done on time and to a satisfactory standard I don't believe there's a problem."
They continually tell me that they love the fact I'm different, but try to iron this out at every opportunity. The book is now open on how long I'll last.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree
My Christmas tree has arrived. And it is spectacular. For the last few years, I've bought a real tree, but this time I've gone artificial. There are two reasons for this: First, the unavoidable pine shreddage that happens when trying to evict the real tree from my flat was something I didn't want to go through again; and, more importantly, real trees just aren't perfect enough. I like all the lights and decorations to hang exactly where I want them to and real trees just don't play ball.
I scoured the internet for the perfection I was seeking. Unsurprisingly perhaps, I found it at www.christmastreeland.com. The 'Fraser Fir' - "New to Christmas Tree Land for 2006, the Fraser fir is a truly stunning tree with a traditional Christmas tree shape. It's sure to bring the 'wow' factor into any home." I had to have it, but at £102.00 plus delivery - I wanted it for less. Xmas Direct came to the rescue with the same tree at £89.00 plus delivery. Nice.
Five minutes later and I'd ordered my tree for delivery on Saturday. Everything was going swimmingly. Chatting to my mum later on, I proudly told her of my purchase. "Yeah, it's 6.5 feet and 57" in diameter," I explained.
"57" in diameter? Lisa, that's pretty enormous. Are you sure that won't be too big?"
I got out my tape measure and realised that the tree I'd ordered was going to consume about half of my sitting room. Fuck. That would give the 'wow' factor alright. "wow! I can't believe you were dumb enough to order a tree too big for your house." "wow! I'm being suffocated by your enormous tree."
Back onto Xmas Direct. Yes, yes, yes! They had a slimline version for those with 'space issues'. 6ft, 39" diameter, £25 cheaper. I called and asked them to swap my Fraser Fir for a Fraser Fir Slimline. Done.
The tree arrived yesterday at 0930. And I'm very pleased. I suspect I will be even more pleased when my lights and decorations are all hanging perfectly, and my feet are free of jaggy pine needles as the new year begins.
I scoured the internet for the perfection I was seeking. Unsurprisingly perhaps, I found it at www.christmastreeland.com. The 'Fraser Fir' - "New to Christmas Tree Land for 2006, the Fraser fir is a truly stunning tree with a traditional Christmas tree shape. It's sure to bring the 'wow' factor into any home." I had to have it, but at £102.00 plus delivery - I wanted it for less. Xmas Direct came to the rescue with the same tree at £89.00 plus delivery. Nice.
Five minutes later and I'd ordered my tree for delivery on Saturday. Everything was going swimmingly. Chatting to my mum later on, I proudly told her of my purchase. "Yeah, it's 6.5 feet and 57" in diameter," I explained.
"57" in diameter? Lisa, that's pretty enormous. Are you sure that won't be too big?"
I got out my tape measure and realised that the tree I'd ordered was going to consume about half of my sitting room. Fuck. That would give the 'wow' factor alright. "wow! I can't believe you were dumb enough to order a tree too big for your house." "wow! I'm being suffocated by your enormous tree."
Back onto Xmas Direct. Yes, yes, yes! They had a slimline version for those with 'space issues'. 6ft, 39" diameter, £25 cheaper. I called and asked them to swap my Fraser Fir for a Fraser Fir Slimline. Done.
The tree arrived yesterday at 0930. And I'm very pleased. I suspect I will be even more pleased when my lights and decorations are all hanging perfectly, and my feet are free of jaggy pine needles as the new year begins.
Monday, November 20, 2006
I don't feel like dancing (yeah right!)
I was supposed to have Friday off work, but deadlines (and a grumpy boss) meant that I had to drag myself in. To make things worse, I've got myself involved in some sort of crazy crimping charity challenge. A few of my colleagues have pledged very sizeable amounts of cash to charity if I can convince 10 senior managers to sport crimps before Christmas. Badges saying "Nice bit of crimpette" are already in production. My usually robust confidence has deserted me, but I don't want to walk away from a challenge. What's a girl to do?
Saturday was Scissor Sisters day and we headed to Newcastle. I met Kerry and her colleagues Sam and Alysoun at 10am, and headed for the bus station. When the time came to board, we were met by two ex-bouncers who seemed to be pissed off that they were now driving the National Express up and down to Hull everyday. "Yougothotfidinair?" the fat one asked. To be honest, I wasn't sure if he was asking because I wasn't allowed hot food on the bus or because he wanted to eat it, but I was slightly offended. If the image I'm projecting is that of a girl carrying pies and pasties around in her bag then I've gone seriously wrong somewhere. "No", I managed, setting my job quite firmly. I then attempted to board the bus. "Yer bag goes in the hold hen." Clearly my (genuine) LV weekend bag was doing me no favours and I'd been identified as a chav. Kerry nudged me and started feigning shock "Don't you know who I am? This is an LV sweetie."
I decided to challenge them and said I'd really prefer to take my bag on board. "Naw hen. Bag goes in the hold. Ye ca be drinking alcohol on the coach." Fuck - now I look like a bucky swigging, pie guzzling schemie. Don't Louis Vuitton realise the hassle their luggage causes respectable passengers on the National Express? No, right enough, it is something of a contradiction in terms. The bus then started to fill up with genuine schemies and the drivers revelled in the opportunity to be bouncers once again. One guy was asked to get back off the bus, whereupon the drivers told him that he had to "get onto this bus like a human being and not an eejit". Kerry started laughing and remarked that it was like being on a school trip. "Do you know what would be great," I said. "What?" "If instead of a book and this week's Economist in my bag, I had a little stove and a wok. Why no Mr Bus Driver, I don't have any hot food - (aside) not yet anyway, mwahahaha!"
We got into Newcastle at 1pm and got settled into the Hotel - which meant that Kerry and I had a snooze and ignored Sam knocking at our room door.My new Decleor eye mask went down a treat. Whereas Sinead had previously told me to refrain from wearing eye masks when rooming with her ("I can't sleep when I know you're wearing that weirdo eye mask, it's freaking me out."), Kerry laughed and said: "Check you, Joan Collins!"
After consuming a bottle of wine with dinner and ordering about 10 taxis to take us to the arena, we were there. The French Maid sketch from Tittybangbang ('Don't look at me, I'm shy!) had caught on as a source of great hilarity in the group. We repeated ad nauseum in our merry state. Upon seeing large numbers of gay and lesbian couples in the foyer at the gig, I altered this to: "Don't look at me, I'm bisexual, lesbian or gay." Kerry was mortified. "Shhhhh!"
The show was great with an excellent finale of 'I Don't Feel Like Dancing' and 'Filthy Gorgeous.' The audience interaction was really good with lots of laughs - 'Laura' was dedicated to Laura Bush, and Ana Matronic wished every woman in the audience 45 minutes of uninterrupted cunnilingus. She wasn't clear about whether this was during the gig or afterwards, but I was touched by what I'm sure was a very genuine thought. And Jake was far too fanciable for very gay man. I'm beginning to worry about myself.
From the arena we took the slowest taxi ride ever to Buffalo Joe's. I wasn't expecting a great deal, but ended up having the best night out I've had in ages. The place was heaving, but there was plenty of bar staff. It was even better when four sexy half naked guys got up onto the bar and started dancing. I was shockingly thirsty and ordered the first soft drink I spied, which turned out to be 'Shark' energy drink. What the hey, it went down quickly and was very refreshing.
Upstairs there was enough room to dance. Dangerous given my penchant for shaking it all about, being merry from the wine and wired from the Shark. I went for it, unashamedly. Some people who were also dancing stopped to give me more space, then started cheering me on. Kerry and the others were bent double with laughter. At one point, a bald guy approached me. I stopped him short with one hand and said: "Don't look at me, I'm shy."
A little while later, a very nice Dubliner called Graham came over to tell me that I was "very, very lovely." He gave it a good go keeping up with me and didn't seem to be put off by my dancing like an absolute arse. If anything, he seemed to really like it. At about 01:30 we decided to head back to the hotel. Graham pleaded with me to stay and he made some excellent points in his argument. Alas, I decided it was not the night to claim Ana's kind wish for me.
Back in the room, Kerry and I chatted over our brilliant night. "When we come back next year, I bet they'll all be dancing like that," she laughed. I'd love to find out. Another trip is definitely on the cards for next year.
Saturday was Scissor Sisters day and we headed to Newcastle. I met Kerry and her colleagues Sam and Alysoun at 10am, and headed for the bus station. When the time came to board, we were met by two ex-bouncers who seemed to be pissed off that they were now driving the National Express up and down to Hull everyday. "Yougothotfidinair?" the fat one asked. To be honest, I wasn't sure if he was asking because I wasn't allowed hot food on the bus or because he wanted to eat it, but I was slightly offended. If the image I'm projecting is that of a girl carrying pies and pasties around in her bag then I've gone seriously wrong somewhere. "No", I managed, setting my job quite firmly. I then attempted to board the bus. "Yer bag goes in the hold hen." Clearly my (genuine) LV weekend bag was doing me no favours and I'd been identified as a chav. Kerry nudged me and started feigning shock "Don't you know who I am? This is an LV sweetie."
I decided to challenge them and said I'd really prefer to take my bag on board. "Naw hen. Bag goes in the hold. Ye ca be drinking alcohol on the coach." Fuck - now I look like a bucky swigging, pie guzzling schemie. Don't Louis Vuitton realise the hassle their luggage causes respectable passengers on the National Express? No, right enough, it is something of a contradiction in terms. The bus then started to fill up with genuine schemies and the drivers revelled in the opportunity to be bouncers once again. One guy was asked to get back off the bus, whereupon the drivers told him that he had to "get onto this bus like a human being and not an eejit". Kerry started laughing and remarked that it was like being on a school trip. "Do you know what would be great," I said. "What?" "If instead of a book and this week's Economist in my bag, I had a little stove and a wok. Why no Mr Bus Driver, I don't have any hot food - (aside) not yet anyway, mwahahaha!"
We got into Newcastle at 1pm and got settled into the Hotel - which meant that Kerry and I had a snooze and ignored Sam knocking at our room door.My new Decleor eye mask went down a treat. Whereas Sinead had previously told me to refrain from wearing eye masks when rooming with her ("I can't sleep when I know you're wearing that weirdo eye mask, it's freaking me out."), Kerry laughed and said: "Check you, Joan Collins!"
After consuming a bottle of wine with dinner and ordering about 10 taxis to take us to the arena, we were there. The French Maid sketch from Tittybangbang ('Don't look at me, I'm shy!) had caught on as a source of great hilarity in the group. We repeated ad nauseum in our merry state. Upon seeing large numbers of gay and lesbian couples in the foyer at the gig, I altered this to: "Don't look at me, I'm bisexual, lesbian or gay." Kerry was mortified. "Shhhhh!"
The show was great with an excellent finale of 'I Don't Feel Like Dancing' and 'Filthy Gorgeous.' The audience interaction was really good with lots of laughs - 'Laura' was dedicated to Laura Bush, and Ana Matronic wished every woman in the audience 45 minutes of uninterrupted cunnilingus. She wasn't clear about whether this was during the gig or afterwards, but I was touched by what I'm sure was a very genuine thought. And Jake was far too fanciable for very gay man. I'm beginning to worry about myself.
From the arena we took the slowest taxi ride ever to Buffalo Joe's. I wasn't expecting a great deal, but ended up having the best night out I've had in ages. The place was heaving, but there was plenty of bar staff. It was even better when four sexy half naked guys got up onto the bar and started dancing. I was shockingly thirsty and ordered the first soft drink I spied, which turned out to be 'Shark' energy drink. What the hey, it went down quickly and was very refreshing.
Upstairs there was enough room to dance. Dangerous given my penchant for shaking it all about, being merry from the wine and wired from the Shark. I went for it, unashamedly. Some people who were also dancing stopped to give me more space, then started cheering me on. Kerry and the others were bent double with laughter. At one point, a bald guy approached me. I stopped him short with one hand and said: "Don't look at me, I'm shy."
A little while later, a very nice Dubliner called Graham came over to tell me that I was "very, very lovely." He gave it a good go keeping up with me and didn't seem to be put off by my dancing like an absolute arse. If anything, he seemed to really like it. At about 01:30 we decided to head back to the hotel. Graham pleaded with me to stay and he made some excellent points in his argument. Alas, I decided it was not the night to claim Ana's kind wish for me.
Back in the room, Kerry and I chatted over our brilliant night. "When we come back next year, I bet they'll all be dancing like that," she laughed. I'd love to find out. Another trip is definitely on the cards for next year.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Au revoir Ambassador
Apparently the Ambassador isn't having a dinner party this year.
He's packed up and gone, without even the hint of a goodbye. I must say, I never expected such bad manners from an old-school gent of the Ambassador's calibre. And what do we have in his place? Some Bondesque silhouettes vaulting GM Ferrero Rocher to a Cilla Black tune (no, not Surprise Surprise - though I think that might have been more fitting. The unexpected certainly hit me between the eyes. That's the surprise you see ... enough).
Yes it's much cooler, but I loved the cheese. Besides, there's no conclusion to the Ambassador's story. I mean, did he die? At one of his renowned parties? Admittedly, his character was severely under-developed, but I would have at least liked some conclusion. Now I'll be forever wondering whether or not anyone ever said: "Monsieur, with these Ferrero Rocher you are really taking de piss."
Everyone's gone Bond this season. What about that M&S ad? Twiggy, snowmobiles, Ice Bars and Dame Shirley doing Pink - fantastic.With this advert M&S are really spoiling us. That said, I still don't get the story of Twiggy and the younger models. I voiced this at work earlier this week. Anne assures me they're all just friends, but I'm not convinced. To me, and I've thought this from the very first ads, there's just something slightly off about Twiggy and all those younger women. I see Twiggy as a Fagin type character overseeing her younger charges. I think they're thieves. The new ad just proves that they've exhausted the pockets and purses of the American tourists on the London buses and have moved on to bigger and better things. High class jewel thieves - that's what they've graduated to. I tell you, Dame Shirley left the ice bar sans earrings that night! Twiggy? A jewel thief mastermind? Who'd have thought it?
He's packed up and gone, without even the hint of a goodbye. I must say, I never expected such bad manners from an old-school gent of the Ambassador's calibre. And what do we have in his place? Some Bondesque silhouettes vaulting GM Ferrero Rocher to a Cilla Black tune (no, not Surprise Surprise - though I think that might have been more fitting. The unexpected certainly hit me between the eyes. That's the surprise you see ... enough).
Yes it's much cooler, but I loved the cheese. Besides, there's no conclusion to the Ambassador's story. I mean, did he die? At one of his renowned parties? Admittedly, his character was severely under-developed, but I would have at least liked some conclusion. Now I'll be forever wondering whether or not anyone ever said: "Monsieur, with these Ferrero Rocher you are really taking de piss."
Everyone's gone Bond this season. What about that M&S ad? Twiggy, snowmobiles, Ice Bars and Dame Shirley doing Pink - fantastic.With this advert M&S are really spoiling us. That said, I still don't get the story of Twiggy and the younger models. I voiced this at work earlier this week. Anne assures me they're all just friends, but I'm not convinced. To me, and I've thought this from the very first ads, there's just something slightly off about Twiggy and all those younger women. I see Twiggy as a Fagin type character overseeing her younger charges. I think they're thieves. The new ad just proves that they've exhausted the pockets and purses of the American tourists on the London buses and have moved on to bigger and better things. High class jewel thieves - that's what they've graduated to. I tell you, Dame Shirley left the ice bar sans earrings that night! Twiggy? A jewel thief mastermind? Who'd have thought it?
Friday, November 10, 2006
Claws and crimps
Life? Manic? Yes! And not in the good way. Work has been so crazy that I've taken to avoiding my email and my phone like the plague. In some ways it's good because it's only ever pishy little stuff that comes via those channels, but in others it's bad because I now have something of a 'diva' attitude towards my tasks. "If it's not even remotely interesting baby, I ain't touching it."
Yesterday I ran a future planning session for my favourite clients. It went really well and I only mentioned taking my clothes off once. Today, I was filming in Leith. Oh there's no end to the glamour. A couple of months back I'd drawn up some storyboards (complete with stick men) in response to a client's request to make a film, and today it all became reality. My left hand was required for one of the scenes. The very same left hand that had an confidence-shattering experience in this month's company magazine.
Somehow I ended up being centre-spread. There are a number of things wrong with the picture:
1) It's enormous
2) It's a cut-out and as such is bereft of context
3) The photographer shot it from below
4) My left arm is outstretched and, as a result of point 4, appears hideously disproportionate to the rest of my body
5) I am wearing a (hideously disproportionate) chunky, gold bracelet on my (hideously disproportionate)left wrist.
6) I pity da fool.
The only saving grace is that there are staples and a crease down my face so people may not know it's me (I pray. Oh dear God, do I pray).
My colleagues have now nicknamed me 'the claw' and do the full on Toy Story thing every time I open my mouth.
Anyway, I saw today's film as a chance to recover. I was required to stack £2 coins. It doesn't sound very difficult, but I hadn't factored on stage fright. My hand began shaking like Sue-Ellen in the early years. I had to do four takes - dismal.
It was really interesting seeing the film come together. I also had to sit in on the voice-over recording which was really cool. The guy had an amazingly smooth voice, which reminded me of just how nasal mine is.
The last few weeks have been really good for catching up with my friends. Jen (who incidentally was pished at her work today)and I had a marathon phone sesh which was cynical yet optimistic. I also spoke to Kerry, who informed me that one of her budgies has 'croaked'and that she'd bought a replacement which is 'much brawer like'. We're heading off to see the Scissor Sisters in Newcastle next week and are trying to decide what to wear. I'm definitely going to crimp my hair. I've had crimped hair every day this week and it's been attracting a lot of attention. Jayne said:"Oh my goodness. I've not seen a crimp since 1987." To which I replied avec great gusto: "Well Jayne, you'll be seeing lot more of them as it's a key part of the look for this season. And as everyone around here takes their fashion leads from me, expect to see plenty more crimped heads around here next week." She laughed, but in a nervous kind of way.
Sinead emailed with a subject heading of "Colin Fry - Mon 13th, Playhouse", so we're going to see him. I'm looking forward to hearing repeated use of the word "passed-over". On the phone last night, Sinead told me that she'd sent the same email to Joleen and she'd written back saying: "Great! When & where?" Prone to Hulkesque outbursts, Sinead resisted and replied: "Mon 13th :) at the Playhouse :)". Well done that girl!
That's enough from me. I'm off to work on my fireside tartan.
Yesterday I ran a future planning session for my favourite clients. It went really well and I only mentioned taking my clothes off once. Today, I was filming in Leith. Oh there's no end to the glamour. A couple of months back I'd drawn up some storyboards (complete with stick men) in response to a client's request to make a film, and today it all became reality. My left hand was required for one of the scenes. The very same left hand that had an confidence-shattering experience in this month's company magazine.
Somehow I ended up being centre-spread. There are a number of things wrong with the picture:
1) It's enormous
2) It's a cut-out and as such is bereft of context
3) The photographer shot it from below
4) My left arm is outstretched and, as a result of point 4, appears hideously disproportionate to the rest of my body
5) I am wearing a (hideously disproportionate) chunky, gold bracelet on my (hideously disproportionate)left wrist.
6) I pity da fool.
The only saving grace is that there are staples and a crease down my face so people may not know it's me (I pray. Oh dear God, do I pray).
My colleagues have now nicknamed me 'the claw' and do the full on Toy Story thing every time I open my mouth.
Anyway, I saw today's film as a chance to recover. I was required to stack £2 coins. It doesn't sound very difficult, but I hadn't factored on stage fright. My hand began shaking like Sue-Ellen in the early years. I had to do four takes - dismal.
It was really interesting seeing the film come together. I also had to sit in on the voice-over recording which was really cool. The guy had an amazingly smooth voice, which reminded me of just how nasal mine is.
The last few weeks have been really good for catching up with my friends. Jen (who incidentally was pished at her work today)and I had a marathon phone sesh which was cynical yet optimistic. I also spoke to Kerry, who informed me that one of her budgies has 'croaked'and that she'd bought a replacement which is 'much brawer like'. We're heading off to see the Scissor Sisters in Newcastle next week and are trying to decide what to wear. I'm definitely going to crimp my hair. I've had crimped hair every day this week and it's been attracting a lot of attention. Jayne said:"Oh my goodness. I've not seen a crimp since 1987." To which I replied avec great gusto: "Well Jayne, you'll be seeing lot more of them as it's a key part of the look for this season. And as everyone around here takes their fashion leads from me, expect to see plenty more crimped heads around here next week." She laughed, but in a nervous kind of way.
Sinead emailed with a subject heading of "Colin Fry - Mon 13th, Playhouse", so we're going to see him. I'm looking forward to hearing repeated use of the word "passed-over". On the phone last night, Sinead told me that she'd sent the same email to Joleen and she'd written back saying: "Great! When & where?" Prone to Hulkesque outbursts, Sinead resisted and replied: "Mon 13th :) at the Playhouse :)". Well done that girl!
That's enough from me. I'm off to work on my fireside tartan.
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