Tag Archives: work

There’s more to life than work

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As I write this I am standing on the tube with two full Tesco bags literally dripping with sweat after sprinting from the office to the tube station because I’m rushing home to make dinner for a friend.

The stress of this situation’s got me thinking: Why is it only on the days you really have to leave the office on time that a million and one things crop up at 5.01pm that require your immediate attention? Is it some kind of divine test? If yes then I’m afraid I’ve failed, because not only have I not managed to deal with the million and one things that cropped up (I maybe managed four), I have also fully lost my composure (hence the sweaty mess that virtually stands before you-though it must be said that this ridiculously hot day has also played a significant part in that).

I suppose I should be grateful that these days I have a job where I’m usually able to leave soon after 5pm. Back in the dark days when I worked in leaflet distribution (I’m shuddering as I type those words) I regularly stayed in the office until 10pm, which is ironic given how unimportant that job was compared to the one I have now (I’m not sure my ex-boss would agree with that, or my ex-client come to that, but it’s true).

Even in my last job working for another charity I rarely got out of the office before 7pm. Working late is a culture, I know, especially in central London, but it’s one I’m no longer prepared to adhere to at the expense of my sanity and mental well being, especially now I’m in my thirties (sob).

In the vast majority of cases I doubt people’s productivity at the end of a ten or more hour stint in front of the computer is even worth their being there, but often they feel duty bound to stay because others are, or because they fear their slave driver boss will haul them over the coals if they leave (which, if my previous experience is anything to go by, they most likely will).

Well, count me out thanks very much. After ten years of imbalance I’m taking it back and making time for ME. I do my job and do it well, but at the end of the day I want to have an evening, whether it be to enjoy with my friends, exercise or do my writing. Without that I feel trapped, and whilst I’d rather not be sweating into my shopping bags right now because I’m so desperate to enjoy my evening, when I’m drinking an ice cold glass of Pinot Grigio by 6.30pm it will all have been worth it. Cheers.

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I have to admit that today is the first day I’ve been perilously close to forgetting to post something on this blog since I started it almost eight months ago. Whilst one could argue that it’s pretty impressive I’ve managed to post something every single day for almost eight months, it could also be argued that the fact I nearly forgot is indicative of a somewhat stressed out state of mind. And that’s hardly surprising given that in three days’ time I will be moving house in London in the morning and attending a wedding in Cambridge in the evening.

Providing everything runs like clockwork – by which I mean the man with the van and our friend arrive promptly at 9am, all of the furniture easily clears the corners of the three flights of stairs it needs carrying up, nothing breaks and I remember to pack my overnight bag for the wedding before packing all of my belongings into nondescript brown boxes (which will no doubt loiter in the living room for days like a pop up shanty town) – things will be great, but there’s limited margin for error.

On another note entirely today I had my three month review at work. Fortunately my boss has seen fit to keep me on for a while longer, which means the bills in the new pad will at least be paid on time and I won’t have to sell my body on the mean streets of Stockwell to put food on the table. She was keen to point out, however, that there was some room for improvement, so I shan’t be resting on my laurels just yet. She did take me out for a nice lunch on the river afterwards though, so I must be doing something right.

Roll on Saturday, roll on the house move, roll on some time to collapse on the new sofa and R-E-S-T, because I tell you what; I’m already pooped, and it’s only Wednesday.

Back to work

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No matter how much you love your job, you always have a degree of back to work dread when the alarm goes off on your first morning back in the office post-holiday. And so it was at 7am this morning, when I groggily opened my eyes and pulled back the curtains to see yet another delightful day in the making. After a twenty minute armpit-in-face commute I was even less enamoured with the idea of a day spent in an airless office (the window open is sealed shut – far from ideal in these sweltering conditions). And by 11am – by which time I was less than a third of the way through my emails – I was about ready to face plant onto my desk.

Fortunately the afternoon part of the day proved far more fruitful than its morning predecessor. After a brief stint in the sunshine I returned, fortified, to tackle the To Do list head on. But, though a welcome development it wasn’t my increased productivity that proved to be the ultimate redeemer. What rescued the day from the jaws of defeat was the time I spent with one of our young people helping her to prepare for this evening’s exciting Backing Youth event, hosted by HRH The Duke of York at Buckingham Palace. Hearing the passion in her voice when she spoke about how much the charity has helped her was inspiring, and reminded me of why I do what I do.

Here’s a sneak preview of some professional shots we had taken recently on one of our projects. Definitely a good reminder of how important my role is as PR Manager for the charity.

The balance and the bliss

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This afternoon, whilst working from home on a PR strategy document so complicated it made me want to repeatedly bang my head against a concrete wall, I began to ruminate on the importance of sometimes doing things we don’t want to do. When I became so frustrated with the document that a break was imperative I decided (somewhat irrationally, with hindsight) to do something else I didn’t want to do: Go for a run. And I’m not going to lie to you, every single step was horrendous. Beyond horrendous, actually, it being so humid the sweat was running in rivulets down my back before I’d even turned the corner of my own road.

But despite the discomfort of these activities, the important thing is that I did them – not with good grace and humour, admittedly (what do you want from me – blood?), but with something more resembling grim determination. And in doing them I managed to assuage the guilt I had been feeling about putting both activities off for the past few weeks.

It’s not just about assuaging guilt, however. One of my favourite singer-songwriters, Megan Henwood, wrote a beautiful song in which she explains why it’s important to endure harder times in our lives in order to appreciate the good ones: “Without the down and dark there would be no contrast between the high and light, the happy times, the balance and the bliss.” Now I’m not saying writing a PR strategy or going for a run when it’s humid are on a par with, say, a family bereavement or relationship break up, but no one could deny they place significantly lower on the scale of good times than winning the lottery or getting engaged.

So now my daily quota of ‘Things I Don’t Want To Do But Regrettably Have To’ has been filled, I’m off to view my new flat and spend the evening eating fine food in fine company. I might even treat myself to a glass of wine – it’s all about striking a balance, after all…

Face to face

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I’m writing this on the return train journey from Manchester, where I’ve spent the day meeting all my colleagues in our North West office. It’s got me thinking about the importance of face to face engagement, not just in a work context but also with friends, family and acquaintances.

As an example, how many times have you received an email from a colleague or been called by your mobile phone provider and rolled your eyes, judging their motives and pre-empting their reactions before you’ve even given them a chance to demonstrate them? If that same interaction had taken place in person, how different might it have been?

I’m as guilty as the next person when it comes to firing off emails to colleagues or texts to friends when I know I should have spoken to them in the flesh. The ridiculous thing is that it’s usually those texts and emails that need a personal delivery more than most. So whilst in the moment of deliberation and eventual action you think you’re saving yourself any trouble, the likelihood is you’re just storing it up for later.

Why are we so bad at communicating with one another face to face? The dawn of the email and smartphone age has made it easier for us to hide behind our screens, but is there a deeper motivation for our reluctance to engage with our fellow men and women? I know my dislike of confrontation is largely responsible for my shirking ‘real’ contact in favour of the electronic kind, for example, but I do wonder whether we as a species are perhaps simply becoming less inclined to be social, unless it’s a situation where we feel entirely comfortable and in control?

Not all of us are computer game addicts who hole themselves up for 18 hours a day playing Call of Duty, but I’d bet despite having hundreds of Facebook “friends” most my generation can count on one hand the number of people they see regularly in the flesh. We like to seem popular, and yet when it comes down to it we shun the majority of opportunities to really connect.

At work this reluctance can have very negative outcomes – if, for example, a colleague misinterprets an email you’ve sent in the wrong way, gets up in arms about it and shares it with other colleagues who then take his or her side it can backfire badly and damage your reputation.

The personal touch can go a long way – in today’s example, helping to bridge the gap between two geographically distant offices. We covered more ground sitting around a table together than we could have done in a month over email, and I left feeling I’d got a good understanding of everyone’s working styles and personalities – something you couldn’t hope to do on a phone call.

So if you identify with any of the above, next time you go to type an email why not stop and consider whether a phone call or face to face netting might be a more appropriate medium for sharing the information? You might just find the personal touch is more rewarding than you expected.

Writing this reminded me of a recent dinner party during which we played the game where you write a phrase on a piece of paper for the person to your left to slip unnoticed into conversation. If you haven’t tried it I’d recommend it!

“He who tires of London tires of life”

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When you live in one of the most famous cities in the world it’s surprisingly easy to forget the myriad reasons why it’s so famous. The views, of course, are self-evident (nothing beats the London skyline as dusk falls over the South Bank), but it’s the hundreds (if not thousands) of attractions, exhibitions, walking tours, wine tastings, cake makings, tea drinkings, secret supper clubs, underground speakeasys [sic] and quirky activities that often get disregarded by the folk who reside here.

Why? Because, after spending five days of the week battling through the crowds on public transport to and from the office – not to mention attempting to juggle catching up with friends, working late and working out – they’re usually too exhausted and/or hungover to do anything other than throw themselves into an arm chair with a cold beer and vegetate for two days.

Most city workers don’t even contemplate a trip to the National Gallery, a cruise on the Clipper boat from Greenwich or a cocktail making master class on their long-awaited weekends. Or, if they do contemplate it, it’s usually too late in the day to actually make it a reality.

And on those rare occasions when they do have the energy for a weekend excursion it’s usually to somewhere outside of London – because after the week they’ve had the last thing they want to do is run the gauntlet of tourists in Piccadilly or Oxford Circus, or any of those other tourist meccas.

But Londoners really should take the time to appreciate the city in which they live. Especially the young professionals who know their time here is limited, that they’ll move on in a few years when another opportunity – possibly the desire to start a family – presents itself. Because it’s often only when you leave a place that you realise how incredible it really was – and feel nostalgic for the things you never did, even though you had the chance.

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The art of procrastination

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If there’s one thing I’m brilliant at, it’s procrastinating. I can spend hours mooching around doing precious little (whilst convincing myself that the precious little I am doing is of the utmost importance) as the things I really should be doing languish at the bottom of my to do list, gathering metaphorical dust.

But now that I’ve decided Monday is, for the short term at least, to be my day of creative writing rather than commissioned freelance work, it’s more vital than ever that I rein in the part of me that is so very proficient in the art of procrastination and make every minute count. Because a day can pass incredibly quickly when you’re drifting through it, only half aware of what you’re doing.

Today I feel I have been conscious of all that I’ve been doing, though it’s only now as I sit down in my local café at half past midday I’m able to focus on my writing. I decided to start the day with a run around Clapham Common, to try and kick the sore throat that’s been plaguing me on and off for the past week into touch. On the way home I did my weekly shop and by 10.30am I was at my desk having showered and breakfasted, ready to tie up the loose ends on my last commissioned freelance job.

Now that’s done all that stands between now and 5pm is an afternoon of story and character plotting, and I can’t wait to get started on deciphering all the notes I’ve made in recent days as ideas have begun to take shape. So without further ado I must bid you adieu, for there’ll be no procrastination this afternoon, thank you! (It’s a good job I’m writing fiction and not poetry).

When I think of procrastination, I think of Koh Tao, for it was here I spent two weeks in blissful procrastination wondering whether to stay longer or continue further on my travels. Anyone who’s been there will know why I found it so hard to leave. Happy memories indeed.