Picture of a judge's wigThis Is Not A BLOG!Picture of a judge's wig

Date: 12/03/12


Quiet here, innit?

As before, that doesn't mean I have nothing to say; simply that I struggle to put it into words, or that others have said it better.

So, there will be nothing here about the continuing prideful strutting of clerics who think that their adherence to an invisible friend of their own deluded devising gives them sufficient cover to impose their Bronze Age bigotries on the whole of society; nothing either about the passivity of the Great Public in the face of some of our society's most precious assets being snatched away from them and handed over to friends-of-friends and donors-of-donors; nothing even about the treacherous conduct (in that context as in others) of a political party which claimed two years ago to be left-of-centre but which ever since has been a combined enabling force and lightning rod for the policies of the most viscerally hateful government I have ever lived under (and I lived through the 1980s).

(Someone had a marvellous description of the LobDims; they're like a poor-quality capuccino - a lot of hot air generating a bit of froth which then dissipates to reveal a complete lack of substance beneath).

Instead, let's talk about me. Well, it's close to hand.

I mentioned in our last enthralling instalment that I was about to move to a different team, but doing much the same work.

The move went smoothly enough in itself, but I dropped very unlucky in the work I was given to do on that first day. It was Hungarian cheese, it really was. As someone who likes to see a whole job through rather than just a bit at a time as circumstances permit, it was frustrating in the extreme. By the end of Tuesday, I was in a state of high befrazzlement.

In bed on Tuesday night, I had to give myself a real talking to. I reminded myself forcefully that, as much as I want to do the best job I can, it was time that I recognised that, for all that, even if I didn't do absolutely the best I could, or if I did it slightly outside the required timescales, nobody was going to die as a consequence. It was just a job after all, and I was at least as good as most people at doing it. I would have to fail pretty spectacularly to be in any danger of becoming what one might euphemistically term 'over-leisured', and my own pride wouldn't let me get to that stage.

After that, I calmed down a lot and - as one of my new colleagues advised me to do - chilled out.

My new team seems to be comprised entirely of 'good 'uns', too. I'm sure they'll get used to my eccentricities soon.

So, it's all Sir Garnet with yours truly, then.

Not quite.

Whether it is the time of the year, or due to the sudden release from stress at work (regarding moving between managers who, in personality, capability and understanding are as like as chalk and cheese), or whether it is just the cycle that these things go through, I'm afraid that The Prisoner Complex™ has returned, and stronger than for quite a few months. The mood swings are a bit strong at the moment as well; this morning I came quite close to coming back into the house rather than going to work, and I haven't felt that quite so strongly in some months. Although the situation wasn't helped by the frustration caused by coming out for an earlier bus than the one I usually catch, only for said vehicle not to appear. The one after it was five minutes late as well, and we got later and later as we went on. Then the bus stopped outside the depot for a change of driver. Instead of being fifteen minutes early for work, I ended up five minutes late. I ended up having to work a lot later than I'd intended to to make up some more time for use later in the week. Gee, thanks Arriva!

I perked up a bit during the day, but I remain constantly aware from previous experience that such a state may be temporary. I just wish I had the means of leaving the drudgery of the day job behind without ending up without the proverbial to piss in. I'm getting the feeling which I had about a year ago that that is no way for a grown man to spend his time.