Carpet burns reinvention

I guess, now that it has been five! whole! days!, I should say something of LondonWorkTakeTwo. So, no NewNewWork for me, no fifteen minute commute. Given my antipathy towards that London, it shocked a lot of people that I accepted this role. Me included, it must be said. And given my choosiness over employ, they must have appealed to me. More on that later.

First, though, it was pointed out that I have been using the term NewNewWork for a while, and it indicates that Cambridge was some sort of Year Zero works wise. It wasn’t intended in that way, but I can see what said wag means.

On to what I would probably have said I dreaded the most. The journey. However, with a bit of jiggery-pokery (of which I am well versed), some route optimisation (of which I am now better versed) and mostly seated, I can do it in about an hour and twenty minutes. Getting all the green men/red lights down Victoria Street helps as well. The (mainline) train that goes into Liverpool Street (without me) comes in two flavours: fast and slow. Avoiding the slow one helps, natch. But getting a seat is the main bonus. All around me the crisp white shirts with their pinstripe jackets look at me oddly, like I am out of place. But I amn’t dressed like a tramp, just not in a suit. (And, on the subject of tramps, those selling the Big Issue shouldn’t be making calls every time I pass them on an iPhone. Sorry. No.)

But LondonWorkTakeTwo has its own garden. With a gazebo. And BBQs. (Yes, plural.) All private, all for us. In central London. Standing there, drinking champagne on my third day, wondering if it will always be like this. Free fruit on the kitchen worktops, 72” televisions, even a Wii tucked away there. There is a good atmosphere, and everyone was friendly, happy and smart. (Now, I doubt anyone there even remembered my name, so the chances are vanishingly small that they read this, but even so, I shall keep some things to myself, given that I know what I am about to write…)

As an(other) wag put it, “there is an awful lot of sideboob about.” And they weren’t wrong. All sorts of nice pretty dresses, the denim-and-tights combo I have always liked, and those dresses/tops made out of what looks like the material used for pyjamas that I can never decide if I love or loathe. Even the odd long dress with a long slit up one side. I have always loved that slink. A different sort of tall-and-posh that you get in Cambridge-Town, and a different attitude as well. A higher proportion of two constrained puppies fighting in bags. Not just a higher number, I said a higher proportion. Of course, given the time I am travelling, of course it is going to be so, all the shoulder pads and power suited pencil skirted ones heading to the boardroom. On the other end of the scale, the kohl-and-scraped hair (not averse to that either) do their makeup in the reflection of their mobile phones.

The office is about 75% female. And of those, I am guessing a similar percentage smoke. (I walk past a tobacconist every morn, and long for a pipe, or a decent cigar.) Which is an odd thing to see. But there is a brashness, a blouseyness, an exuberance in them only comes from being in the big smoke. In fact, those City chicks are all a different breed. I have heard the term vamp used in relation of someone else, and such an old-fashioned term, well, it just fitted. Stilletoes abound, bare midriffs and jingle jewellry. But, I have to say, their taste in music sucks. Truly, it does.

This is the first place I have worked in a very long time where there is communal music. Whomever gets there first can plug their iPod into the massive pile of separates that lives not far from me. Not knowing the etiquette quite yet, I have avoided bringing Abby in with me. That, and she is now has half her fave veiled in darkness, making it hard to tell what she is singing to me. I brought my headphones with me on day two.

And when you are told you look like you are into live RPG-ing, I bet my boyf knows you then you know the razor won’t be long in the airing.

All the travelling gives me time to read, as I can do that on a train, it turns out. For a bit. As the DS is also on the go, but using the stylus while a tube trundles isn’t that easy. LotZ: The Phantom Hourglass is a corking (not-so) wee game.

Have I made the right move? Who knows. Better to regret what you have done rather than what you haven’t. But I don’t regret it yet. If I can get a handle on it all, I reckon it will be great. Certainly there is a lot going on, and I think I can do a lot for them. A small team, which is what I like. But the leaving of my last team, all tightly integrated and superbly insulting, was a wrench, and I can’t expect it to be the same straight away. People need time to get used to me, I guess.

I have so much mail, news et al to catch up on now. But not now. Later.

Metaphorically, of course