Tadpole has been going to school in Belleville for less than a month, and she is already speaking the language of the ‘hood, apparently.
I would like to point out that the distinctly meaty sniff you will hear was courtesy of my daughter.
October 4, 2006
Belleville education
October 3, 2006
à bientôt
On April 27th, after receiving my marching orders, I dashed home. Once I’d spoken to three different men who were, or had been, important in my life, I cried for a while. Trying to pluck up the courage to call my parents, because I was worried (needlessly) that they would be angry with me for losing my job, I turned to my computer and started emailing anyone and everyone who I thought might be able to help. One such email went out to a few key people, some of whom I had met, others virtual acquaintances, and the gist of it was “I need a good employment lawyer”.
One of the first to reply was Colin Randall, French Bureau Chief of the Daily Telegraph. We had never met, he had simply linked to my blog a couple of times, and I had emailed him briefly to say hello. Colin wasn’t sure whether he had any useful contacts in the legal profession, but he did want to meet me. He felt sure that my story would be of interest to his readers.
We met soon afterwards, chatted over a bottle of wine. I joked afterwards that the alcohol must have been intended to loosen my tongue, but the fact was that until I had consulted a press lawyer, I wasn’t even sure I would let any story run. Even after I’d received the green light from my lawyer, I still kept Colin hanging on until shortly after my contract had officially ended in early July, and he respected my wishes. Throughout that trying time, he kept in touch regularly to see how I was doing.
When the story broke on July 18th, Colin fielded calls from other journalists and passed me the details; gave me advice about what it would be wise to accept or decline. I don’t think I could have navigated my way through those murky waters – in the middle of moving house (!) – without his help.
Last week I received a shocking text message which made me gasp when I read it: “My turn to get fired.” I had read about rounds of redundancies at The Telegraph, but I knew Colin’s blog was the most popular on the newspaper’s website, and never dreamed for a second that his name would come up.
Colin’s final post has just been published here. I would like to wish Colin well for whatever the future holds, and will be offering a little assistance in sprucing up his new, and hopefully temporary abode at blogspot.
I hope I haven’t jinxed any one else?
October 2, 2006
the office
I think it might be the light-hearted banter I miss most.
In the mornings, as the coffee machine screeched and growled, grinding beans (or cockroaches) to make a near perfect espresso, we yawned, stretched and gossiped. On a good day, someone might have baked a cake, or some brownies, or brought in a huge bar of imported Cadbury’s chocolate. It was nine a.m. and I’d only eaten breakfast half an hour previously, but I learnt that it’s never to early for the first chocolate fix of the day.
Around one, a crowd of girlfriends fetched sandwiches and salads together and we picnicked while we moaned about the boss, or our boyfriends, or discussed the latest episode of whichever series was flavour of the month. On bad days, our collective silence was punctuated only by the occasional sigh; on better days we made each other giggle uncontrollably, and I wobbled dangerously on my high stool, tears streaming down my cheeks, secretly giving thanks to the French God of post-natal re-education, without whom I would have undoubtedly been in trouble.
The office was my main source of adult conversation; my lifeline. I don’t think I ever woke up looking forward to working – or that a single day went by when I didn’t swear at the sound of my alarm clock – but once I was there, my office friendships sustained me.
There are many things I don’t miss, of course. The distinctive rattle of a cassette being inserted into a dictation machine, especially ten minutes before I was due to knock off for the day and fetch my Tadpole. The constantly trilling telephone, which could not be left unanswered. Not only having to drag myself to the office in the mornings, but the need to look presentable, which meant tights, make-up and uncomfortable shoes. The tray used for taking coffee and tea into meetings, which was just too wide to comfortably negotiate the meeting room doorway. Photocopying; binding; typing accounts. The ducking, diving, bowing and scraping of office politics. Living at the mercy of mercurial temperaments and blood alcohol levels. Long periods of idle time which crawled by at a snail’s pace while at home, piles of ironing, dusty floors, washing up in the sink all waited patiently for my return.
As I sit in front of my computer, barefoot, clad in jeans, a mug of tea by my side, I decide that a little bit of loneliness is a very small sacrifice to make, in the grand scheme of things. Besides, I can get my banter from gmail, and bake my own brownies if the desire should grab me.
And when an email pops into my inbox from my new accountant, the irony of the situation in which I find myself is definitely not lost on me.
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