I managed to avoid a speech! And it didn’t take any grumpiness. Apparently, at Rachel’s work an outgoing employee had to really put her foot down to steer clear of that pitfall. All that I did was say no. I barely talk as it is- imagine me trying to make a fucking speech!?!
Simon made one. I hate being the centre of attention. On my 21st (well, my Nan’s 73rd in reality) the whole family sang to me and Chris said he’d never seen anyone so embarrassed. Having people say nice things about you is awkward somehow, no matter how gratifying. It was the same when I left Cubs and Arkela made this big speech about me being the model Cub. I didn’t know where to look. It was the same on Wednesday- in the photo I just look suspicious of my now ex-boss.
Otherwise all was lovely. Wine made my head fuzzy and I chatted a little more than usual, explained the new job a bit more and shook some hands. Then we retreated for the afternoon and I chowed down on leftover tortilla crisps as I continued the never-ending tasks that I was about to finish.
I sent an e-mail instead- rushed because I remembered with only minutes to spare. Apologised for my computer vampire tendencies and thanked for all of the help given. And I said my final goodbyes (gained some hugs- only two, though: I had been hoping for more) and accepted the final lift home.
*
Getting up that early every day is horrible and strange but surprisingly easy. Sleepy movement gets my body standing, dressed, refreshed and walking through the freezing house with lips chapped, cracked and cut into the blistering cold for the bus stop. Paranoia tells me it won't come, leaving me relieved when it appears around the corner.
John drives us to the capital, from Willington Street to Tooley Street for me, as I try (and ultimately fail) to reach the state of real sleep while simultaneously trying to ignore my natural curiosity to see where we are and what is out there.
The walk at the other end is nice. A chance to wake up properly, get the blood pumping through me again. It takes me past the Wetherspoons at Elephant and Castle we went to once- makes me think of that night every day.
The job itself is great. Everyone’s very nice, although I'm too shy to talk much. You can tell the building was once an institution, all two-tone painted corridors, a bit like school, really, but with old film cameras in showcases.
I sit listening to old men talk all day- what could be more fun? They mostly make me feel more and more glad we haven't had to go and fight a war. And I swear I'm gonna pick up a Geordie accent from them before long.
All that's left to do is to explore the area until I find a record shop closer then Waterloo Station.
Simon made one. I hate being the centre of attention. On my 21st (well, my Nan’s 73rd in reality) the whole family sang to me and Chris said he’d never seen anyone so embarrassed. Having people say nice things about you is awkward somehow, no matter how gratifying. It was the same when I left Cubs and Arkela made this big speech about me being the model Cub. I didn’t know where to look. It was the same on Wednesday- in the photo I just look suspicious of my now ex-boss.
Otherwise all was lovely. Wine made my head fuzzy and I chatted a little more than usual, explained the new job a bit more and shook some hands. Then we retreated for the afternoon and I chowed down on leftover tortilla crisps as I continued the never-ending tasks that I was about to finish.
I sent an e-mail instead- rushed because I remembered with only minutes to spare. Apologised for my computer vampire tendencies and thanked for all of the help given. And I said my final goodbyes (gained some hugs- only two, though: I had been hoping for more) and accepted the final lift home.
*
Getting up that early every day is horrible and strange but surprisingly easy. Sleepy movement gets my body standing, dressed, refreshed and walking through the freezing house with lips chapped, cracked and cut into the blistering cold for the bus stop. Paranoia tells me it won't come, leaving me relieved when it appears around the corner.
John drives us to the capital, from Willington Street to Tooley Street for me, as I try (and ultimately fail) to reach the state of real sleep while simultaneously trying to ignore my natural curiosity to see where we are and what is out there.
The walk at the other end is nice. A chance to wake up properly, get the blood pumping through me again. It takes me past the Wetherspoons at Elephant and Castle we went to once- makes me think of that night every day.
The job itself is great. Everyone’s very nice, although I'm too shy to talk much. You can tell the building was once an institution, all two-tone painted corridors, a bit like school, really, but with old film cameras in showcases.
I sit listening to old men talk all day- what could be more fun? They mostly make me feel more and more glad we haven't had to go and fight a war. And I swear I'm gonna pick up a Geordie accent from them before long.
All that's left to do is to explore the area until I find a record shop closer then Waterloo Station.
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