After an exhausting two weeks of trying – and mostly failing – to juggle the craziness of work royal visits/VIP events, NaNoWriMo and the fledgling weeks of the marathon training plan, this afternoon I’ve hit a wall. And not just any wall; a great big Berlin Wall sized wall, that’s virtually impossible to circumnavigate. I say virtually, because with the imminent arrival of my boyfriend’s entire sibling clan (currently en route from Devon on the Mega Bus in order to celebrate his birthday weekend – the first night of which starts tonight at the Booka Shade album launch party), I really have no choice but to suck up the tiredness and crack on with the fun. Needless to say for the next three days at least my word count for NaNowrimo is going to be looking pretty shoddy-not ideal after yesterday’s lack of writing due to the evening event with work, but what can you do? There are only so many hours in a day, and this week it’s been Work-1, Writing/training/sleep-0. Nevermind, once the fun has had its wicked way with me I’m sure the pendulum will swing back the other way and restore some much needed equilibrium-and hopefully also sleep..Zzz.
Tag Archives: work
Why busy beats boring
I know I’m prone to exaggeration but when I say this week has been ludicrously manic it’s not even an overstatement. First of all, there’s been work, where I’ve been flat out preparing a presentation to present to the Board of Trustees on my new communications strategy as well as planning and coordinating a project visit from HRH The Duke of York. Outside of work I’ve been spending my time doing a combination of marathon training (pretty sure this militant training plan is going to kill me – and it’s only week one) and writing my novel for NaNoWriMo (which, as usual, is limping along rather ruefully and being shoe horned in wherever I can manage). Oh-and on Monday I hosted a dinner party. And last night I ‘popped’ over to Heathrow to see off the lovely Sarah, as I mentioned in yesterday’s post.
Yes, it’s been a busy week indeed. But as I mull it over (before heading out for a night with friends) I find myself thinking, not for the first time, that being busy might be stressful at times but it’s nowhere near as bad as being bored. Given the choice of being super busy or super quiet I’ll take the former every time – because a busy mind is a healthy mind. That said, I couldn’t half do with some sleep…
Just Be Cool
As important days at work go, today was right up there on the leader board. This morning I presented my PR strategy to the Board of Trustees before jumping in a cab to one of the charity’s projects near Westminster to coordinate a royal visit from HRH The Duke of York. Given the vast amount of stipulations and revisions that I’d had to make to the plan over the past couple of days I was expecting The Duke and his entourage to be a tough crowd, but in actual fact they were lovely. The Duke in particular was warm and friendly, and seemed to take a genuine interest in the project.
Tonight I joined my gorgeous friend Emma in seeing off our beautiful girl Sarah on her Australian adventure from Heathrow airport. We spent several hours drinking Tempranillo in the Three Bells pub and reminiscing about life and love. As ever, my time with her was precious and healing, and it was just so special being able to see Sarah one last time before her flight Down Under.
Before I forget, the following was the (verbatim) announcement on the tube en route to meet my dear friends earlier this evening:
“It’s Friday tomorrow, nearly the weekend. Yeah man.
Word to the driver, there are still some people trying to squeeze onto this ride.
Life is difficult, let’s just keep at peace and be cool.
Yeah man.”
I think Paul would approve.
Why I will (sadly) never play the Dane
This may well be my time of the month talking (they don’t call it ‘The Curse’ for nothing, boys. Sorry, too much information), but over the past couple of days I’ve found myself musing on the nature of ambition and, well, wondering how it is that somewhere along the way I managed to lose mine. Don’t get me wrong, I still have crazy dreams of writing a best-selling novel and retiring by the age of forty (forty five at a push) with millions in the bank. But back in the real world – the one where I have to work to earn money to put a roof over my head, avoid starvation and so forth – as my best friends forge ahead with their careers, so my drive to excel in the field in which I work has all but dried up.
Thinking back I’m not sure I ever was enormously ambitious in a wanting-to-set-up-my-own-company-and-be-a-CEO sort of way. I just had a quiet confidence that I would eventually establish a niche for myself and be happy. And, after a few blips along the way, I’m glad to report the happiness part is very much a feature of my life as it is today. The niche, however, has very much still to be carved and, much as I try to deny it, this is much to my chagrin.
There was, a few years back, a moment when I stood (metaphorically speaking) at a fork in the road and surveyed my options. The road on the left would take me further along the corporate path I was treading, with higher financial rewards but, in return, higher personal sacrifice. The road on the right would see me take an altogether more altruistic journey. Of course my moral compass won out and, on the whole, I don’t regret my decision. Working in the charity sector has its rewards – how many people can honestly say they care about what they do? – but it’s not without its limitations.
Next week I’ll turn thirty two – gulp – and yet I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, not really. What I do know, with depressing clarity, is how Montague Withnail felt when he said the following:
“It is the most shattering experience of a young man’s life, when one morning he awakes, and quite reasonably says to himself: I will never play the Dane.”
Friday? Sigh day…
Oh Friday, how have I hated thee? Let me count the ways…
- Arrived in the office feeling slightly worse for wear (a rarity these days given my advancing years and rapidly declining tolerance for hangovers).
- Was then faced with a barrage of emails about a VIP visit on Tuesday for which I had to prepare a multitude of documents, press packs and such like – not to mention liaising with the officious folk at the Cabinet Office.
- Just as the above task was being addressed, spotted an error in the marketing materials that were on the verge of being printed: Cue panicked phone calls and emails to avoid 2,000 information packs being printed with incorrect information.
- Hangover worsened.
- Afternoon flooding of inbox with general urgent requests.
- Exhaustion set in.
- Received text from mother to inform me my marathon ballot application had been unsuccessful and I therefore have no space in next year’s London Marathon. SAD FACE.
- Was unable to join colleagues for post-work birthday/leaving drink celebrations due to necessity of finishing above tasks.
Fortunately, at 6.24pm, I have now finished all my work and am ready to head over to see two of my gorgeous girlie friends for an evening of food and loveliness. And wine. After the day I’ve had, there must definitely be wine…
Walking tall
Calling all ladies “of a certain age” (by which I mean over the age of thirty): Let’s talk high heels. Or, to be more specific: Have your high heel-wearing days been in decline since the halcyon days of your twenties? Or are you still flying the flag for glamorous women the world over by squeezing your tootsies daily – a la Mrs Beckham – into skyscraper shoes that would dwarf the Shard?
I ask this question because it’s recently dawned on me that these days – bar the odd wedding or social engagement that demands smartness – I almost never wear high heels. I’m honestly not sure if this was a gradual decline or an abrupt change but, either way, I seem to have lost the glamour factor somewhere along the line.
And it’s not just when it comes to footwear. Not only have I not had a hair cut in over six months, most days when I roll out of bed and open my wardrobe to select an outfit I completely bypass the (admittedly few) corporate dresses in favour of my staple (and so ancient they practically pre-date the dinosaurs) comfort outfits. On the odd days when I do reintroduce a smart top or shirt (usually because everything else is in the wash) I get complimented by my colleagues on how nice I look. But does it tempt me to dress like that every day? Does it heck.
The thing is this: I place a very high premium on comfort. Why put yourself in constant pain by wearing towering heels all day long, or squeeze yourself into smart office wear that makes you feel uncomfortable (when, let’s face it, you’ll just be spending eight hours slumped over your desk inhaling minstrels anyway)?
This all rather begs the questions: When did I become this slob who doesn’t care about her appearance?! Is it age or laziness that’s made me this way? Whatever the answers to these questions, I’ve come to work today in a smart dress and towering heels, and have booked myself a hair appointment for this Thursday. I may have got into bad habits over the years, but I’m not ready to call it quits on glamour just yet…

Cold calls and cupcakes
This morning I came into work determined to blitz my to do list once and for all, so that I might go to Belgium this weekend feeling in control and, dare I say it, ‘on top of’ things. Sadly, however, today was not to be my day. My initial enthusiastic approach was thwarted at every turn. Firstly, I sat down at my desk to find the papers for the hitherto forgotten (in my mind at least) board meeting staring back at me. Then, post three-hour board meeting, I emerged, blinking in the light, to a telephone call from a blocked number which went something like this:
Me: Hello?
Annoying stranger: Hi, yes, I’m calling about your payment protection.
Me: I don’t have any payment protection.
Annoying stranger: But haven’t you recently taken out a loan?
Me: Look, if you’re trying to sell me something I’m really not interested..
AS: No, I’m absolutely not selling anything….
Me: So what are you calling about?
AS: Your recent loan..
Me: But I haven’t taken out a loan.
AS: Really?
Me: Yes, really. Look, I’m not interested in whatever you’re trying to sell me, okay?
AS: But I’m not a salesman, honestly…
Me: Then what are you?
AS (weakly): I’m calling about your loan…
Me: How many times do I have to tell you I’m NOT INTERESTED?
AS (sounding scared now): Um, okay….
Me: Right. GOODBYE (slams receiver down).
I’m not sure my true wrath translates so well in this context but suffice to say I think the poor man might be re-evaluating his career choices from this day forward…
Fortunately the remainder of the afternoon passed without incident and I did manage to make an indent in the To Do list despite the adverse conditions. But the true success of today was the delicious risotto we made for dinner-with peas, beetroot and goats cheese. This was topped off with a bottle of red and two delicious Hummingbird Bakery cupcakes (apple strewsel and tiramisu, since you asked), courtesy of my friend Kaye’s birthday voucher from a year ago, to celebrate two years to the day we ‘officially’ started going out – a low key celebration in light of recent events, but a lovely one nonetheless. Bruges this weekend will be the icing on the (cup)cake. I can’t wait.
Giving thanks
This morning at work we had an informal staff meeting, during which everyone (there were about twenty of us present) was asked to ‘check in’ – a technique used in the psychology practice that underpins the work the charity does. When you check in, you simply tell the other members of the group how you are feeling, and any other information that you wish to share. Today, for example, we all talked about our experience of the summer, where we’d gone on our various holidays and how we generally felt the season had gone. We also talked about our work, sharing our successes and any challenges we had faced. At the end of the meeting one of our facilitators and two of our young people turned up and joined in, which felt really lovely and inclusive.
I must be honest and admit that I usually begin sharing sessions like these with an attitude more befitting of a petulant teenager than a grown adult. I feel a bit awkward and embarrassed, and I can’t concentrate for worrying about my ever increasing to do list and how the gathering is delaying me actually getting any work done. But as soon as the sessions begin I start to relax. And today, as I listened to all the positive things my colleagues said I felt a warm glow and a real sense of pride at being part of such a fantastic and inspiring team.
It strikes me as I write this how sad it is that few people take the time to really get to know the people they work with and spend what is, let’s face it, the majority of their waking lives in close proximity to. When work builds up and you’re feeling the pressure it’s far easier to fire off an email than pick up the phone or meet face to face. It’s also easy to let small niggles about another person build up so that, before you know it, your whole relationship has deteriorated beyond all repair, with you treating one another at best like automatons and at worst with ill-disguised contempt rather than as fellow human beings with feelings, wants and needs.
Key to the checking in process is the act of congratulation – praising people for the things they have done well, and saying it from the heart. It really means so much to be recognised for your achievements, not in a generic appraisal email but in person and in front of your co-workers. This is why, despite the inevitable frustrations that arise in any workplace, I’m so thankful to work in an environment where people genuinely care. Don’t get me wrong, we’re hardly the Waltons of the work world – far from it – but it’s certainly a world away from the hard, corporate environments I’ve worked in before. And you know what? At this stage in my life, that’s more than enough for me.
Twisted optimism
Do you know that feeling of never having enough hours in the day, always chasing your tail to get things done and even then constantly feeling like you’re not doing anything properly? Work’s piling up, the walls are slowly but surely closing in until you struggle to breathe but there’s no let up? The working days becomes endless rounds of sweaty tube journeys, work, short evenings and insufficient sleep? You try to eat a balanced diet but after cramming in the evening running sessions you rarely have the energy to pull yourself up the stairs, let alone come over all Gordon Ramsey? You scarcely have a moment free to think about what you’d rather be doing than the activity you are doing at any given moment, and even weekend mini-breaks feel like a tease because they invariably leave you feeling even more exhausted than before you left?
Know that feeling? Yup, me too. It’s time to book a proper holiday, friend-you and me both. Or at least it would be if you could a) spare the time or b) spare the money. As it is you’re probably best off sucking it up and putting on that stuff upper lip we Londoners wear so well, confident in the knowledge this too shall pass, and the rainbow on the other side of the storm will be all the more beautiful for it.
Nice idea Boris, but I think I’ll take the tube..
Three months ago when I started my current job in London Bridge it crossed my mind I should consider cycling to work. Not only would it be a good way to fit in some extra exercise, it would also mean avoiding the horrifically busy Northern line in the mornings, which surely had to be a bonus? I wasn’t all that keen on turning up at work drenched in sweat and having to get changed, but thought that ultimately the benefits would outweigh the costs.
But then I started watching people cycling out of Clapham in the mornings, and observed them in their droves when I arrived at London Bridge. And I became hyper sensitive of all the news stories involving cycling accidents. And then I remembered that two of my good friends have had accidents on their bikes in the past two years – one serious, which would have almost certainly killed him had he not been wearing a helmet (which was cleaved in two by the impact – horrific).
Whilst the idea of cycling to and from work and avoiding public transport does appeal (well done on the PR Boris), I’m ultimately not prepared to run (or cycle) the gauntlet when it comes to my safety. I’m the first to admit my road sense isn’t great (when I was nine I cycled around a roundabout the wrong way and nearly gave my mum a heart attack, and whilst I’d like to say I’ve got better since I might just be lying), but even if I was a savvy cyclist it’s the others on the road that are the main danger.
The sheer volume of cyclists on London’s roads during rush hour is terrifying, not to mention the gung ho way in which many of them behave. Only this morning when the pedestrian light was green and I began to cross one cyclist shot right through and nearly knocked me over. Though that’s not to say it’s always the cyclists who behave badly. Car and lorry drivers often exhibit such a flagrant disregard for the lives of cyclists and motorcyclists when driving around London that it’s hardly surprising so many people get knocked off their bikes each year.
On balance, therefore, I’ve decided to stick to the tube for the time being. As much as I hate being face to armpit in a sweaty train carriage, I can at least be confident my brains will stay in my head instead of being splattered on the pavement due to a moment’s carelessness.






