“Working” from home
I "worked" from home today. I say "worked" not worked because in reality my output has been somewhat limited. I think this comes with the territory though. I've never honestly known anyone come in from a day working at home with a completed version of War and Peace on their memory stick.
It does however present a bit of a problem. The organisation I work for is adopting New Ways of Working. In summary, I won't have a desk any more and I'll be expected to work, not "work", from home more often. The desk bit is fine with me. I only occupy it for 50% of my working hours anyway so sharing it with one or more people is entirely sensible. But I'm rubbish at working, rather than "working", at home. Being a social person, and doing an essentially social job, means that I've normally gone slightly loopy by the end of my day if I'm by myself. It's not good. I do not play well without others.
I'm off out for a beer, or perhaps several beers, with a friend now. I'll hug him very enthusiastically and I'm sure he'll think it's a reflection on him. In truth, I'm starved of human contact. I must never become a hermit.
A bit of space
After a very hectic and fun week away from the office, being back at work is a shock to the system.
My email inbox was heaving this morning. I've decided, the next time I go away, to update my out of office message to say I won't be reading any of my emails when I get back to work. I might even autodelete them all. I'm kidding myself and other people otherwise. After a week, issues will either get worse or fix themselves. If they've got worse, someone will shout at me as I walk through the door. If they've fixed themselves, I don't need to know. I wonder, if I did that and made myself available to chat on the phone to anyone and everyone on my first morning back, whether my day would be more productive. I certainly wouldn't be ploughing through endless discussions about all sorts of nonsense. I could find out what I needed to know and just get on with things.
As it was, I wouldn't have been able to do that anyway. I had a new person starting in my team this morning and I've been out all afternoon going to 60 minutes worth of presentation and meeting in Birmingham. I must not let this happen again. A clear diary on my first day back from holiday is essential. It'll get filled anyway but space is invaluable.
Anyway, at the end of that busy day I find myself not at home but on a train back from Birmingham. I really just want to be in my garden. My hands are sore today from an afternoon of intensive digging, but bindweed must be dealt with, especially as I like the neighbours and don't want to annoy them. I also want to make it a garden to sit in, rather than a patch of weeds to stare at. Right now it's halfway there. It's a patch of largely weedless mud to stare at. Gravel, raised beds, the odd chair and it's done. Like an empty diary after a week's holiday, a bit of space after a busy day. Just about perfect.
Slowing down
My first week off in going well, with a long lie in and an afternoon mooching around Tate Britain, complete with cream tea in the members room. Just lovely. Nice and slow.
The Camden town group, of whom there is an exhibition currently at the Tate, entitled Modern Painters, were a disparate bunch held together by geography more than artistic style. Their work evokes a London before and during the First World War. It's a London that's surprisingly recognisable, with crowded streets, cramped living rooms and muted colours. It's also a London of real surprises. I particularly enjoyed street scenes of cars, horses and people all intermingling with no traffic lights or street signs. Just chaotic, but slow, coexistence.
There's a school of thought that says in urban areas, we'd be better off getting rid of traffic lights and encouraging real awareness by drivers as a way of keeping traffic moving. Given that traffic speeds in central London are, on average, the same if not slower than a century ago, it's an interesting argument. The real problem would come in trying it out. It would only take on person narrowly missed or hit by a car to derail the entire experiment.
I wonder whether it's worth considering though. People are generally better at organising themselves than being organised. There's no reason to think that wouldn't be true of people in their cars too. Speed limits undoubtedly save lives, but in areas where average speeds are well below the speed limit, surely we should keep things moving, not slow them down further. That way, we might get close to some kind of equality between the people, whether in cars, on bikes or on foot. Chaotic and slow coexistence sounds very appealing.
In which the author undergoes a rite of passage on Oxford Street
This evening, I emerged from a well known department store, having undergone a rite of passage. I've finally admitted to myself that I'm just not young any more.
One of the hazards of working just off Oxford Street is that every morning, the first thing I see on leaving the tube is the glowing temple to youth and fashion that is Topshop. The last time I ventured onto the first floor, two things struck me. Firstly, neon colours did not suit me first time round and so are unlikely to two decades later. Secondly, I am a good 10 to 15 years older than the average Topshop shopper. 20 if you count the kids buying belts with their pocket money. 25 if they are desperately precocious brats called Phoebe or Cressida, and they're spending their afternoon shopping with Magda the maid while "Mummy's at an important meeting, darling, but we'll have dinner together later, I promise, my sweetheart. Be good for Magda..."
But I digress. For a while, I haven't really gone shopping, partly because I've been in denial that the Oxford Street temple is no longer the right place for me. If I don't shop at all, I can kid myself that I just don't need anything right now, not that nothing suits or fits me. Essentially, not shopping is a way of avoiding the truth.
So tonight was an event. I believe it's important to face the truth with confidence and boldness, so here goes... I went to Debenham's. I bought a nice shirt from the Rocha John Rocha range, which fits me well but doesn't cling and doesn't require me to breathe in all day. And I bought a pair of light brown, flat front chinos. They are comfortable and well made. And...
Here goes. The truth. Confident and bold.
They have a flexible self adjusting waistband.
My arm
For anyone who hasn't been following my status updates and wall posts, I managed to fracture the radius bone in my forearm while ice skating on my birthday. Pinot Grigio and ice skates don't mix, for future reference. Having been to the fracture clinic yesterday, it seems there is officially nothing they can do. The bone is cracked right in the elbow, and it'll just take some time to sort out. Three months until it's entirely back to normal apparently. In the mean time, I'm typing left handed. The only things that turn out to be desperately tricky are brushing my teeth (being right handed, I just don't seem to have the coordination to manage with my left) and spraying deodorant in my left armpit!
Meanwhile, my arm is becoming noticeably more mobile each morning, but is still very sore. I'm back to work tomorrow, which will be interesting. Nothing will get done quickly, but that might be a good thing!
Up on the roof
I'd never been to Soho House before last night, and to be honest, I think I'd walked past it endless times and not actually realised it was there. Anyway, despite a seriously dodgy tummy (eek) I decided not to pass up the opportunity to network at a Jake event. Well, I say "network"... ho hum.
Anyway, the roof garden turns out to be a fairly small decked area, with extensive views of lots of other roof tops, and what has to be the smallest bar in the world. At one point, there were so many people queuing to buy drinks, it was actually impossible to tell where the queue ended and the crowd began. So all in all, the venue's a bit of a disappointment. For somewhere with such a good reputation, it turned out to be just a little lacklustre. That said, I met some really friendly people and had fun, so I'm not honestly going to complain about the surroundings that much!
Now, if I can work out a way to sneak into Soho House when I'm in New York, they've got a roof top pool. I bet the London people are so jealous!
My “office”
As I don't currently have an internet connection at home (it always helps to pay the bill) I've been tracking down free wireless access in Clapham. My friend Drew recommended The Belle Vue, and I've adopted it as my "office". It has free wireless from 11 til 5, in return for buying the occasional latte or drink. So far, I've avoided the temptation of getting a pint... I know how sleepy I get in the afternoons if I drink, and I've found that staying awake is a great thing in life.
Anyway, I'm not alone in spending my afternoons here on my laptop. People seem to gravitate to the same tables each afternoon, so if you're not here by 1, finding somewhere to sit that's close to a plug socket is tricky. And we have celebrities too. The guy who plays the grandson in Catherine Tate was here earlier. I tell you, it's exciting in Clapham!
You also get great views of the bottom of Clapham High Street, which is handy for people watching when you're bored. I really can't recommend the place highly enough. Or maybe I shouldn't. I really wouldn't want it to get busier!
Job hunting
Looking for a job in August is an odd experience. I think it's that everyone in the world is on holiday, apart from those of us who are currently "between jobs"*. Job ads are ridiculously thin on the ground, and the delays between closing dates and interviews get even longer than usual. I've been on the other end of the process, when recruiting for vacancies, so I know how it works...
"So, we'll put the closing date as 29 July?"
"Sounds good, when are you free to shortlist?"
"Well, I'm on holiday for two weeks..."
"And I'm on holiday for the two weeks after that..."
"So are you free to shortlist in September?"
"Maybe..."
I mean really, why bother? Maybe there should just be a job hunting moratorium in August. It would be a little inconvenient for job hunters, but it would save a great deal of hanging around.
On the upside though, it's not long til September, when traditionally the papers are full of job ads. This too is completely understandable. I guess it's prompted by all those harried postholders who take a few weeks out to sun themselves on a beach somewhere and think, you know what, I really don't like my job after all. I'm going to give it all up, move back here and become an olive farmer... or something...
* Although the word "between" normally suggests an item is bracketed by things before and after, the after of "between jobs" is purely theoretical. As such, "between jobs" is a euphemism. Like "resting", "taking some time out", "travelling", etc...