I only worked half a day at Dixons today. One of the nice things about temping through Reed is that you get a certain amount of paid holiday to take so I didn't lose any money by not working this afternoon. I'd worn my suit to the office for the first time, too. Of course, I got a few comments, most of them sarcastic but I didn't really care; I had an interview to go to.
Twelve o'clock came round and I left to go down to the town centre. The trouble with where the Dixons warehouse and offices are in Stevenage is that it's a long way into town and even a long way to the nearest bus stop that will take me there quickly. Still, the interview wasn't until 2.00 so I had plenty of time and it was a nice enough day so I didn't mind having to walk.
I got into Kings Cross and down to Monument on the tube without any problems and finding my way from there to Mark Lane, which runs just past the entrance to Fenchurch Street station was easy enough. I found the right place and went up to the second floor, where the company had a fairly small office. The receptionist had just got me a cup of tea when the MD came to get me.
I had no idea what to expect but what I got would have been one of the last things I thought of.
The guy explained a bit about what the company does (consulting services for insurance companies) and what the job is (whatever is required, it seems). He may have asked me whether I knew anything about insurance but if he did it was only in passing and the answer was unimportant. Less than ten minutes in and without having asked any searching questions at all he said to me "When can you start?".
If I'd been taking a sip of tea at that point I'd probably have choked on it. My mind raced. I only had to give a week's notice to Reed but Dixons have been good to me so I said two. He didn't look best pleased with that but accepted it anyway and then asked his second unexpected question.
"What do you think we should pay you?"
Now my brain just stalled in mid-thought. I had no idea what the job, and me doing it, was worth so I managed to stammer something to the effect of I don't know and what were they prepared to pay me. Almost as soon as I said it I thought I'd made a mistake but the guy came back with an answer that was about as much as I'd have asked for anyway.
At that point the interview was effectively over but my tea still wasn't cool enough to drink so we chatted on for another few minutes before I stumbled out in a daze.
What had just happened to me?
I gathered my thoughts on the train home. Just a few weeks ago I had a very good job opportunity much nearer home but, because I still thought I had a chance of getting onto a Management Accounting training scheme somewhere, I didn't follow it up. Have I really decided to drop that aim, now? After all the effort I've put into it over the last 18 months?
More than that, have I dropped it in favour of working in London, which I swore blind I would never do while I was still at university.
It appears that the answer to that question is yes.
So, in two weeks I will begin the lifestyle of the commuter. Gone will be the twenty minute walk to work, leaving the house at 7.40 and being home in time for Countdown. Instead I will be spending two hours a day on buses, trains and the tube. Still, at least I'll have Plenty of time to read, now.
And what does this mean for my future? This is a change of direction I didn't foresee and I've got no idea what it will mean in the long term. But, ever the optimist, I'm sure it will be just fine.
The future is bright, as the advert says.
Monday, May 01, 2000
Tuesday, May 11, 1999
Laid Up
Let me just set the scene, time-wise. It's the middle of May in my last year at Manchester University and my finals are just a couple of weeks away. In fact, my German Oral exam is in just a couple of days. At this point I was doing a bit of revision; probably not as much as I should have been doing but, having had a 54.5% average in all the exams to date, I needed either an absolute miracle or a huge disaster to graduate with anything other than 2:2, so it would have made very little difference.
At 12.30 a.m. I got home from L's room in halls, where I'd spent the evening of the 10th. We'd done some work, been for a drink in the hall bar and then chilled out for a while. I had a busy day ahead of me, starting with a nine o'clock lecture and finishing with a party in the department so I went straight to bed. At that moment I felt absolutely fine; a little tipsy, maybe, and tired, certainly, but other than that I felt in perfect health.
Two and a half hours later I woke in agony. I had the most awful pain in my gut and I spent thirty minutes trying to find a comfortable position to lie in, thinking that I must have eaten something bad. No matter how I lay, the pain didn't subside at all. By now, my mind had turned to darker thoughts and at 3.30 I got dressed and called an ambulance, fearing the worst.
Because it was the early hours of the morning, I didn't wake either of my housemates, who each had to go to work in just a few hours, or L, who I didn't want to worry, and got carted off to Manchester Royal Infirmary without anyone else knowing. Looking back now, that was a mistake but my sleep-addled brain thought it was doing the right thing at the time.
From here on the memories start to get hazy. I was initially taken into casualty in a wheelchair (doubled over and clutching my stomach) but was soon transferred to a trolley in a cubicle. I can't remember how long it was before I was seen but by breakfast time I had a tentative diagnosis of appendicitis and a wave of morphine was rolling over the pain and lapping at the edge of consciousness.
I was eventually admitted to the ward and around lunchtime phoned L, who (despite my intention) had indeed worried when I hadn't turned up to the 9.00 lecture we both attended. There's no easy way to say "I'm in hospital but don't worry, I'm fine" without the person on the other end of the phone starting to panic but I managed somehow.
I had more morphine and slept. L was sitting by the side of the bed when I woke. She'd had some trouble convincing the nurses to let her in outside of visiting hours but the fact that, with the exception of my brother, my family was all down south finally won them over. She stayed around for most of the afternoon with me drifting in and out. At some point it was pretty much decided that I had appendicitis and would require surgery but it probably wouldn't happen until the following day. I'd been nil-by-mouth all day, just in case, but they still wouldn't let me eat. With the stomach cramps I had, I'm not sure I'd have wanted to even if they had.
L went back home for dinner and round to my place to let my housemates know what had happened and to pick up a few things for me, which she dropped off on her way to the party. She was reluctant to go but I persuaded her to; visiting was only until early evening and I was likely to be drowsy anyway.
Of course, then they decided that they could squeeze me in for the operation that night. I tried calling L's mobile but she'd left it in her back in the Maths society office so it just rang and rang. I did manage to talk to my parents, though, so at least somebody knew.
I think it was about 8.30 p.m., seventeen hours after admission, when I was taken to theatre. I suppose someone must have explained the procedure somewhere along the line but I don't remember it now. The only thing I can recall is the huge syringe of anesthetic, thick and white, and how cold it felt as it travelled up my arm...
I didn't sleep that well after the operation. A nurse came round every hour to check my blood pressure etc and that woke me up each time, no matter how quietly the nurse tried to do it. Thankfully, the painkillers were muting the pain in my belly down to a dull ache.
The following day I slept more soundly, completely missing one set of friends who came visiting and in the afternoon was moved onto the surgery ward, where the only space available was a side room (nice). My parents came up to see me and so it came to pass that the first time they met L was in a hospital room. Not ideal.
I was in hospital until the Friday morning and spent most of the next week at home, doing very little. I have to say, the university were very good about it. My oral exam was rescheduled without any fuss and I took my first couple of maths exams in a separate room, where I could sit a little more comfortably and take little breaks if I needed to.
I went along to a local clinic a week or so after the operation to have a look at how the wound was healing. I was surprised to learn that, instead of using stitches, my stomach had been stapled together! They were removed with a nifty little gadget and I was left with a scar seven inches long that will stay there for the rest of my life; a permanent reminder of what happened.
At 12.30 a.m. I got home from L's room in halls, where I'd spent the evening of the 10th. We'd done some work, been for a drink in the hall bar and then chilled out for a while. I had a busy day ahead of me, starting with a nine o'clock lecture and finishing with a party in the department so I went straight to bed. At that moment I felt absolutely fine; a little tipsy, maybe, and tired, certainly, but other than that I felt in perfect health.
Two and a half hours later I woke in agony. I had the most awful pain in my gut and I spent thirty minutes trying to find a comfortable position to lie in, thinking that I must have eaten something bad. No matter how I lay, the pain didn't subside at all. By now, my mind had turned to darker thoughts and at 3.30 I got dressed and called an ambulance, fearing the worst.
Because it was the early hours of the morning, I didn't wake either of my housemates, who each had to go to work in just a few hours, or L, who I didn't want to worry, and got carted off to Manchester Royal Infirmary without anyone else knowing. Looking back now, that was a mistake but my sleep-addled brain thought it was doing the right thing at the time.
From here on the memories start to get hazy. I was initially taken into casualty in a wheelchair (doubled over and clutching my stomach) but was soon transferred to a trolley in a cubicle. I can't remember how long it was before I was seen but by breakfast time I had a tentative diagnosis of appendicitis and a wave of morphine was rolling over the pain and lapping at the edge of consciousness.
I was eventually admitted to the ward and around lunchtime phoned L, who (despite my intention) had indeed worried when I hadn't turned up to the 9.00 lecture we both attended. There's no easy way to say "I'm in hospital but don't worry, I'm fine" without the person on the other end of the phone starting to panic but I managed somehow.
I had more morphine and slept. L was sitting by the side of the bed when I woke. She'd had some trouble convincing the nurses to let her in outside of visiting hours but the fact that, with the exception of my brother, my family was all down south finally won them over. She stayed around for most of the afternoon with me drifting in and out. At some point it was pretty much decided that I had appendicitis and would require surgery but it probably wouldn't happen until the following day. I'd been nil-by-mouth all day, just in case, but they still wouldn't let me eat. With the stomach cramps I had, I'm not sure I'd have wanted to even if they had.
L went back home for dinner and round to my place to let my housemates know what had happened and to pick up a few things for me, which she dropped off on her way to the party. She was reluctant to go but I persuaded her to; visiting was only until early evening and I was likely to be drowsy anyway.
Of course, then they decided that they could squeeze me in for the operation that night. I tried calling L's mobile but she'd left it in her back in the Maths society office so it just rang and rang. I did manage to talk to my parents, though, so at least somebody knew.
I think it was about 8.30 p.m., seventeen hours after admission, when I was taken to theatre. I suppose someone must have explained the procedure somewhere along the line but I don't remember it now. The only thing I can recall is the huge syringe of anesthetic, thick and white, and how cold it felt as it travelled up my arm...
I didn't sleep that well after the operation. A nurse came round every hour to check my blood pressure etc and that woke me up each time, no matter how quietly the nurse tried to do it. Thankfully, the painkillers were muting the pain in my belly down to a dull ache.
The following day I slept more soundly, completely missing one set of friends who came visiting and in the afternoon was moved onto the surgery ward, where the only space available was a side room (nice). My parents came up to see me and so it came to pass that the first time they met L was in a hospital room. Not ideal.
I was in hospital until the Friday morning and spent most of the next week at home, doing very little. I have to say, the university were very good about it. My oral exam was rescheduled without any fuss and I took my first couple of maths exams in a separate room, where I could sit a little more comfortably and take little breaks if I needed to.
I went along to a local clinic a week or so after the operation to have a look at how the wound was healing. I was surprised to learn that, instead of using stitches, my stomach had been stapled together! They were removed with a nifty little gadget and I was left with a scar seven inches long that will stay there for the rest of my life; a permanent reminder of what happened.
Saturday, February 20, 1999
A New Beginning
It was about 11.00 a.m. when I decided to go out and get the paper. I had a hunch that the time was just about right to walk to the newsagents. You see, in the pub yesterday afternoon I asked L out and she rather wickedly said she'd think about it. I mean, what was there to think about? There's been something between us for months and I know we both want to be with each other. We went our separate ways and I didn't see her last night so I was being kept on tenterhooks.
I knew she was going to play in a hockey match this morning and I knew she would have to walk past the end of my road to get to and from the sports centre so I just had to work out the most likely time to catch her on her way back to hall.
So it was that I left the house just before 11.00. I went down to the end of the road and turned left in the direction of the newsagent. Lo and behold, coming towards me was a small group of people in sports kit, and at the back of the group was the familiar, tall figure of L. When they reached me, she stopped and the rest of the group walked on, knowing smiles plastered across their faces.
"Well?" I said.
"Well what?"
If it had carried on like that then it would probably become very infuriating but mercifully, L decided to put me out of my misery.
And so, having been single for just six days, I find myself at the beginning of another relationship. I hope this one goes better than the last one did.
I knew she was going to play in a hockey match this morning and I knew she would have to walk past the end of my road to get to and from the sports centre so I just had to work out the most likely time to catch her on her way back to hall.
So it was that I left the house just before 11.00. I went down to the end of the road and turned left in the direction of the newsagent. Lo and behold, coming towards me was a small group of people in sports kit, and at the back of the group was the familiar, tall figure of L. When they reached me, she stopped and the rest of the group walked on, knowing smiles plastered across their faces.
"Well?" I said.
"Well what?"
If it had carried on like that then it would probably become very infuriating but mercifully, L decided to put me out of my misery.
And so, having been single for just six days, I find myself at the beginning of another relationship. I hope this one goes better than the last one did.
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