13

Been an eventful week, I’d say. Done one or two things. Had a few changes. Such as quitting my job, leaving my house and city, shedding half my possessions, and moving in with my girlfriend and her mum in Oxford. Also wrote an incredibly mad story, in a Garth Marenghi/Mills & Boon/Dan Brown stylee (ie, it’s written really rather poorly). Plus I got given two bikes and went to London to see about joining the police. Ate some chocolate too. I think that’s about it...

So it had to happen. Tuesday I went in for crisis talks with my area manager, fully expecting and hoping to get the sack. Or, if not, to quit in classic style, a big rant and then a, “take your stupid job and shove it up your arse.” With this is mind, I thought videoing the event would be rather a good idea – dreams of youtube fame and becoming a hero to the downtrodden yet job-loyal masses. Except it didn’t turn out like that. Naturally, my boss was an ass, waffling on for about half an hour about things I had to do to improve my “poor performance” (which related entirely to paperwork and procedures; last year’s figures showed an increase in profit of 23% over the previous year, and 109% above target) while I sat staring out the window looking disinterested and lonely, hands behind my head, playing occasionally with my knee, amazed that he didn’t get the message. Finally, mid-drone, the HR person cuts him off and says something like, “Rory, how do you feel? Because you seem to have lost all interest,” and I say, “yes, I have, I just can’t be bothered any more,” and she comes over all sympathetic, and wants to know why, and – my God! – it’s so refreshing to talk to someone who can actually see what’s going on. So I told her about losing my motivation, and told her, when asked, that it was because of my boss, and rather than anger that’s coming out of me, it’s feeling, the build up of stress, the loss of self-confidence and enthusiasm (as far as the job goes) because of all the undermining and criticism, and I swear she was gonna cry because of it all. Eventually we get down to the, “what do you want to do?” and I say, “I don’t want to go anymore,” and then up comes talk of resignation and I ask for a pen and paper, and the job's done. The boss still might force me to work out the remainder of my contract, minus holidays (which I guess I’m now on) but other than that I appear to be free. And what a wonderful feeling that is!

So then it was time to move house; Saturday I’d found a guy who could take over immediately, landlord was cool with that, and off I went, all my stuff in the boot of Perlilly’s mum’s car, her handily being here for Perlilly’s graduation. Nearly-tearful goodbyes to lovely housemates – the best ever – and to the house – also the best ever – and new life there I went, stopping off en route in the place of my upbringing, South Elmsall, to drop off four guitars to donate to my old school, and then direct to a job interview in Oxford for a teaching assistant position at Perlilly’s old school (which I didn’t get).

Bravo, though, is what I say. Bravo!

Now I’m to get down to writing. Now I’m to use this space to do what I really want to do, and to see where it takes me, before the world sucks me in once more and head becomes full of jobs and money, to see if I can’t just manufacture an escape from it doing what I really love. I won’t have much time – a matter of months – but I’ll give it a shot. And first one in the bag, a pseudo-story about killer towels, available for download by dropping me a message. It’s incredibly funny! At least that’s what I think.

What else could I write about? Checking out the police? Getting bent out of shape over exes and feeling bad for a few days, and then having a good old express and feeling fine? My wonderful girlfriend? Her great mum? The magnificent old racers I’ve been donated? The endless English rain, which I don’t mind at all?

No, I think I’ll leave it at that.

Thanks for tuning in!

Rory