Posts filed under 'Day-job'
Crackle… Is anyone there?…
Is it really mid-April?! Blimey. What changes have remained undocumented here in my blog? Not much really. Just a complete change in my lifestyle, an imminent change in my location and untold other little things along the way. Lets start with the main one.
The Planâ„¢ has been achieved. Not the way I intended it, but I’m not complaining. After spending the last 6 years trying to escape the unfair pigeonhole of new media and be recognised as a print designer, in February I found myself on the receiving end of a redundancy as the company I worked for closed it’s print department.
Downheartened? Yes. Disappointed? Not really. My interest in my design career fizzled out almost two years ago and this was the kick in the arse I needed to take my burgeoning photography business seriously. I considered getting another design job for about 30 minutes. I considered throwing myself into a serious freelance design career for about a day. In the end I know what I have to do to achieve my dream and those things would just get in the way.
So, some careful financial restructuring, a bit of helping/freelancing for previous employers to top up the coffers, and away we go. Ignoring the naysayers. Not worrying too much about the risks. Not looking down.
April 19th, 2007
I’m not really one for bad moods. They come occasionally, but they rarely linger. Which makes it weird that I have been grumpy since Monday. Not outwardly, but bubbling under. On the surface I’ve probably seemed my normal easy-going self, but just under the skin I’ve been angry at the world and ready to kill anyone that messed with me.
“South of Heaven” by Slayer. A great album. A classic in the true sense. Ground-breaking at the time of its release and still sounding good 20 years later. But it’s never a good sign when I feel the need to listen to it at full volume on my way to, and on my way back from, work for three days. Standing bolt upright on the train, staring straight ahead and willing someone to get in my way so I could crush them into a… you get the idea.
I have a good idea what’s caused all this.
Firstly, I got into a bit of a heated debate with a bunch of kids on Flickr. I took offence at some little scrote claiming that a bunch of other little scrotes who snuck into Camden tube station over Christmas and sprayed paint over all of the walls were some kind of heroes. Now I’ve never been a fan of graffiti/tagging, or ever really understood the thrill of mindless vandalism, but this incident in particular got me super-riled. The fact that illiterate teenagers kept responding to my arguments with nonsense just dragged out my anger. I’m still stewing about it now. I feel like someone’s Grandad chasing kids off his front wall. I’m only 31 for Pete’s sake.
Secondly, there’s the constant feeling of frustration at not being in a position to implement The Plan™ yet. I realise that’s in my hands to a large extent, and then I get frustrated and angry that I haven’t done more work to speed things up. I’m grimacing as I write this I’m so wound up.
Other things have kept the anger topped up as the week’s gone on. My old hosting company appearing to do everything in their power to stall my switch to a new host. The postman not delivering my new hoodie yet. Leo Sayer being such a lecherous, idiotic, self-obsessed twerp on CBB. An old friend visiting the UK for the first time in years, but not finding out because the other old friend who he is staying with neglected to tell me, and I found out through someone he did tell (who then went out and had a great time).
Friday just started, but I would like to start this week all over again please. I’m heading into the weekend with a rage the size of a small planet built up inside of me, which isn’t good when I have wardrobe doors to fit.
January 12th, 2007
I always think Christmas holidays last for at least two weeks. Subconsciously anyway. That’s how long they last when you are a pupil or student, and even though I have been neither of those things for longer than I was either, I still expect it.
All of which makes it extra-painful to be thrust into another working day as though Christmas never happened. Ten minutes at my desk and all memories of the holiday wiped from my brain. My USB Christmas tree the only reminder that there had been any break from the pixel-pushing at all. And the chocolates.
A big box of those Belgian ’shell’ chocolates. Guylian or Guiyilian or something like that. A gift from the freelancer who got a surprise invite to the office party. I’m supposed to be off chocolate, and beer, and anything with more than 3 calories. I’ve been informed that we’re doing the Little Black Dress diet from next week, and boy do I need it. Not that I want to fit into women’s clothing you understand.
Since the wedding in April I’ve not only outgrown the expensive and lovely Paul Smith suit my mother purchased for me, but 80% of my shirts and t-shirts. Fat bastard I believe it’s called in some circles. Lack of exercise is a contributing factor, but over-eating is the main problem. So, to the resolutions:
1. Eat less, eat healthier, eat cheaper.
2. Do more exercise, even if it’s just the odd walk.
3. Blog more regularly (You may have noticed that I have quietly upgraded to a fancy new Wordpress blog which makes this all a lot easier. So no excuses.)
4. Take more pictures, post pictures to Flickr, post pictures to Blipfoto.
5. Er…Get my haircut?
Which bunch of averageness brings me to the end of my first post of 2007. Apologies that there is nothing ground-breaking or world-shaking. If I vowed to achieve anything more ambitious I would only fail, and that would depress me. I’m keeping my ambitions to myself for now and if I achieve any of them you’ll be the first to read about it.
Maybe I should have written this before going back to work.
January 2nd, 2007
OK, so it was delayed in the end thanks to IK*A and British Tel$!om, but the move finally happened. You had to visit the old Or Media studio to fully appreciate how dank and dark it was, but trust me it was both dank and dark. It was basically a basement room in an old hospital with all the cream woodchip and ripped 20-year-old lino that that conjours. Very little natural light with a nice view into the IET underground car park out of the windows.
The new studio is as different as it’s possible to be. Above ground level with gallons of natural light, plain white walls, great location in Bermondsey Street opposite the ultimate gastro-bar. 24 hours in and feels like home. Easily the best environment I’ve ever worked in.
So as I tuck into my goats cheese, salami and sun-dried tomato ciabatta from the Italian deli around the corner, and contemplate my 4 job changes in the last two years, I have to ponder; what will ever drag me away from here? I imagine only the freedom afforded to me by The Planâ„¢.
September 7th, 2006
Today was my last day at the office until next Wednesday. I’d love to say I was off somewhere sunny, or even off to Reading Festival, but unfortunately I will be up to my neck in tile adhesive and grout as Bathroom™ – Phase III gets up and running.
When I return to the office I’ll only have one day in Savoy Hill House then it’s off to a new studio in über-trendy Bermondsey Street. When I was a nipper, and even fairly recently, before I actually worked in Central London I was convinced it would be fantastic. Like living in a film. Shops, bars, rubbing shoulders with major tourist attractions every day. Of course the truth is expensive shops full of tourists, expensive, tourist-filled bars and rubbing shoulders with tourists every minute of the day. The nice view on the way into work really isn’t worth the hassle.
I went out yesterday lunchtime and took some picsof the Savoy area of London to make sure I had a record of my short time there. I got nothing but hassle from tourists.
August 24th, 2006
What can I say? It was going spare. That extra DVI socket was just plain going to waste. It’s worth all the Starship Enterprise jokes. And it sure makes using InDesign easier. Can’t be good for my eyes though? Hmm.
January 11th, 2006
Nothing brings home the depressing feeling of going back to the day job after the Christmas holidays as much as a bare, dead tree left out with the rubbish.
I guess it’s more noticeable in the very centre of London as there isn’t really anywhere to hide them. Recycling doesn’t really exist in Soho. The binmen from Westminster Council come every night and clear the streets of rubbish bags and cardboard boxes, but it all goes in the back of the same truck. So no shredding facilities on Regent Street.
Still, just under 354 days to go.
January 5th, 2006
It takes something worth ranting about to kickstart blog writing when it hasn’t happened for a week or two.
They say bad luck comes in threes, but I didn’t really believe it until today. Firstly, my train to work was delayed by nearly 15 minutes again today. Not that surprising you might say, but 15 minutes delay on a 20 minute journey is quite a lot.
Next came a run-in with a suit. In my experience people who wear suits to work are either poor souls whose profession of choice requires them to wear this uniform under the misguided belief that suit wearers somehow look more professional or respectable, or they are people who believe the above and enjoy wearing a suit as it gives them a feeling of power and superiority. The latter are usually complete cocks, and so was the case with my fellow traveller in the ticket queue at Charing Cross this morning.
My first mistake was to not realise that there is one queue for two windows. When the window in front of me became empty and I made a move toward it the guy next to me pushed past muttering grumpily “Would you like to wait in line?”. I explained that it was a mistake and that I thought there were two queues. His response was to attempt to belittle me by sarcastically pointing out the obvious instruction above the windows. “That told you!” said the bewildered but smiling non-suit behind me, at which point I made my second mistake.
“Yeah, I know” I said with a surprised tone and laughed slightly. “You’d better stop laughing at me if you know what’s good for you” said Mr. Suit as he lurched towards me threateningly. “Are you threatening me?” I inquired, a bit bemused by the guy’s sudden bad attitude, and gave another laugh. “Laugh one more time and I’ll twat you” he shouted as he turned back to his ticket purchase. Raised eyebrows and a shoulder shrug were shared by myself and the now rather concerned looking guy behind me.
At this point the other window became free and I got on with the job in hand, opting to ignore Mr. Suit and let him wander off, red mist in tow. There’s not really any excuse for unprovoked threats of violence at 9:30am on a Friday morning. Maybe he was also pissed off (in a more dramatic fashion) that the trains were delayed. Maybe his whole family had just been hit by a stray comet. My instinct tells me that he was just a cock trying to assert his manly, suit-induced authority over me and that my audacity in making a simple error had resigned me to his wrath, and his poor work colleagues to a day of untold grief.
Reaching Pret I realised that I was lacking in breakfast money, but to complete the trilogy the cash machine on Broadwick Street was empty. So, late for work, stressed out by a verbal battering, and no breakfast. Luckily the rest of the day has been OK so far.
November 4th, 2005
Today I am mostly stressed about height. Off to float above Kent in a balloon-type contraption on Sunday. My fear of heights is not that pronounced, but hot air balloons just have a slightly flimsy look to them.
I am excited about it, but I get a twinge in my stomach when I think about looking over the edge of the basket to take photos. I may have to just look straight ahead. And drink all the champagne in one go.
Anyway, thought I’d share a picture of something that i have been walking under for the last 6 months on my way to work, but never noticed:
October 7th, 2005
Last year’s London Design Festival opening reception was a grand affair. In the British Museum, rubbing shoulders with untold artifacts stolen from all around the world, great canapés, bumping into all sorts of friends…
This year we were in the National Gallery, surrounded by gloomy and depressing paintings. There was nobody there of any interest, apart from some freaky Bride of Wildenstein look-a-like (Plastic surgery – don’t do it kids). The canapés consisted of endless miniscule lumps of over-cooked puff pastry with various different things added, none of which distracted from the over-cooked puff pastry. BN1 was necking the champagne at a furious rate, so we left before he lost it and attacked Van Gogh’s Sunflowers with a puff pastry missile.
This year’s guest of honour was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who—unlike Prescott last year—sounded like he had thought about his speech before he turned up. He mingled too:
Even Tom Dixon’s bench made of elastic bands was particularly unimpressive. Sitting on it produced a distinct feeling of being precariously suspended, and fear of breaking my arse on Trafalgar Square had me standing up before you could say ‘boing’.
Roll on next year.
September 20th, 2005
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