Cymraeg's Open Salon Blog

Walking On My Nerves

Mon, 12 Mar 2012 16:03:08 -0400

<Thump, clatter, whump>

Me: Right. There you are Tiggerlump.

Kathleen: Don’t call him Tiggerlump, you’ll hurt his feelings!

Me: He’s a cat darling. And he can’t speak English. Plus he is a lump.

K: Well, now he’s a fit lump. Or at least he’s had his fructose blood test, or whatever it was.

Me: I still can’t believe that you had to go in and help the nurses when he tried to puff himself up and look tough.

K: He’s a great fat kidder. Looks tough, but he’s not.

Me: Not when you’re there, no.

K: He took one look at me and realised that he was in big trouble and deflated and gave me his unhappy whiskers. There you go, Tigger, out you go.

Me: He looks affronted. And Seb’s on his perch also looking affronted. Whose idea was it to take two of the cats to the vet today again?

K: Both of ours because it had to be done. Booster shots, even though they don’t go outside.

Me: Good thing too. Tigger’s last thoughts would be on the line of “What’s that big thing coming towards me? Perhaps it’ll be my friend?” followed by a splat as the car runs him over.

K: He’s not an outside kitty at all is he?

Me: Christ no, the worms would be lining up to mug him.

K: Where’s Toffee?

Me: Um… she’s peering suspiciously around the post at the top of the stairs. I think she thinks that she’s next for the vets.

K: Life’s too short for three trips to the vet. <Pause> What time’s the game again?

Me: <pause, eyes swivel> Um, I think it’s on at three. I’m going for a walk. I’ll grab my walking boots. I don’t think I’ll need a coat though, it’s crazy warm. <Walks into kitchen, grabs boots, kisses Kathleen, whose eyes have narrowed slightly as if she suspects something>

K: Have a nice walk sweetie-pie.

Me: I will. <kisses her again, walks outside, closes front door, sits on step to put on walking shoes.>

K: <opens front door> You lying liar! It’s been on for five minutes! It started at 2.30!

Me: <cringes> You know what I’m like whenever Wales play. I get nervous!

K: We’re playing Italy! <Closes door. Opens door> You’re just afraid to watch it! <Closes door. Opens door> We missed the anthems! I love the anthems!

Me: I get teary at Hen Wlad fy Nhadau!

K: Well I don’t! And we once saw your dad on the pitch singing it! <Closes door. Opens door> I’m so mad at you! Stop laughing!

Me: Well, you’ve seen Wales play more rugby recently than I have!

K: Go for your walk! Git! <Close door. Open door> I hear you laughing you know!

Me: I can’t help it! <finishes lacing boots> Right, see you soo. I love you!

K: I love you too. Even if you are a sneaky sneak who lies to his wife about when Wales games start.

Me: “COULD YOU GIVE ME A HINT AT THE SCORE BABE? GOOD? BAD? I LOVE YOU! XXX XXX XXX”

K: “HAS THE GAME STARTED? XXX XXX XXX”

K: “9-3 at halftime. Halfpenny kicking well.”

Me: Fuck. Needs to be more than that.

K: “16-3! WE JUST SCORED!!!”

Let me cut a long story short. We ended up winning 24-3. On Sunday we play the French for the Grand Slam (a clean sweep, winning all five games in the Six Nations). If Saturday was bad for my nerves, Sunday will be far, far worse.

I’d better get the walking boots ready. And charge the phone up. Kathleen’s going to be doing some texting to her nervous husband.

Ooh, The Hobb.... wait, what?

Sat, 14 Jan 2012 08:01:25 -0500

Let me start off by saying that I am a total Tolkein nut. I read the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings before I was 10. I watched the three Lord of the Rings films the instant that they came out and I also own the extended editions, which makes me deeply sad, not that I care.

When I heard that the Hobbit was to be made into two films by Peter Jackson I was ecstatic and I can't wait for the first one to come out.

Now, I was browsing on the Huffington Post the other day (as a good Liberal should) and I found something that provoked a very strong reaction from me.

It was this... thing. I won't describe it, but let me just say that it doesn't bare a lot of resemblence to the actual plot of the Hobbit.

Resolutions for 2012

Sat, 31 Dec 2011 20:12:33 -0500

Well, here we are in 2012 and I thought that I’d share with you my New Year Resolutions:

1) Enjoy my new job and make the most out of it.

2) Keep kissing my wife as often as I can every day, as well as telling her that I love her.

3) Laugh at my former boss whenever I see him near my new job, as I’ve heard that someone else was parachuted in by the US main office over his head to keep the London office sane.

4) Never again believe a certain person who promised me the editorship of a certain magazine before he was posted to Australia. I probably should have wondered why.

5) Treat the man who replaced him with mild derision.

6) Keep an eye on the inexperienced idiot currently in charge of a certain magazine with what I suspect is a teeny salary.

7) Be even more cynical.

8) Complete my book.

Happy 2012 everyone!

Get the gun, I see a synergy ahead

Sun, 17 Jul 2011 17:07:12 -0400

I don’t know how many people know this, but the Romans used to have a saying that when there was trouble up ahead their thumbs would prick.

I’m not sure what a pricking thumb would feel like, but what I do know is that at the start of this year I had a bad feeling that something was wrong with the company. Perhaps it was the fact that the empty desks hadn’t been filled. Perhaps it was the fact that one of the bosses vanished one day and the next thing we knew there was a general email winging its way around the office saying that her position had been re-organised out of existence and that she’d left. Perhaps it was the fact that the old head of HR left work on a Friday and was out of a job by the next Monday. Or just maybe it was the moment that I heard that the new financial bloke they’d praised to the skies just a few weeks before had left the company because his skills set didn’t quite fit the position (in which case why hire him in the first place?).

All I knew was that I sensed trouble ahead. So I did what I could – I raised my game, kept my head down and did absolutely nothing that could be construed as even skating close to the outer limits of the rules.

It worked – by the time that I had my annual review I had a better idea what the hell was wrong with the department than my boss in the US did. Not, perish the thought, that I had any intention of telling my boss that he was the problem as he was a spineless invertebrate who ran around in circles yapping hysterically at the first sign of a crisis whilst the rest of us did something more useful – like solving the fucking problem.

I passed my annual review anyway – and an odd one it was. I had a line manager in the States (my actual boss) and a kind-of boss in the UK (my titular boss). They both took me through the review – I was doing well, they’d noticed that I’d kicked my performance up a notch or two and whilst there were one or two small things to work on, I was doing well. I even got a pay rise and a pat on the head for being a good little flunkey.

The review was in April. By the time that May arrived that pricking of the thumbs hadn’t gone away though. I was right. At the end of my weekly meeting with my titular manager, when I briefed him on what was happening, he cleared his throat, looked keenly at the air above my head and then told me that the company was undergoing a review of positions and unfortunately my position was one that was potentially at threat, as the US office could do my job just as well. There was going to be a review process. It might lead to me being made redundant. Then he passed me a letter setting everything out in black and white and gave me the afternoon off.

I stumbled out of the office to my desk, sat down and read the letter, which was written in high bureaucratic bullshit. It said that the company was ‘identifying synergies’ (I challenge anyone to spot a synergy, even if it stripped naked, painted itself purple and danced on the nearest table) and that my position was one that had been highlighted for possible termination.

I didn’t stamp on it, spit on it or set fire to it and then blow it through the air conditioning, although that might have been fun. Instead the shutters came down on my face and I left the office, pausing only to call Kathleen and tell her everything. Her language in response was very similar to what I was thinking.

The ‘review process’ was, of course, nothing of the sort. They’d made their decision. My job was being moved to the US. I would not be going with it. I pointed out the fact that the press in the UK would not be very happy at the thought of the five-hour time difference and that the company would get fewer mentions. They replied that the press would be fine with waiting as the company was so important that the wait would be worth it. The moment that statement left the mouth of my UK boss I realised that a) it was pointless to argue and b) that he (and therefore by extension the entire higher management team) didn’t have the faintest fucking clue how the press worked. All my hard work at getting a fast response to interview requests from the press was about to go circling down the plughole. I kept the shutters down on my face and didn’t laugh at him and tell him that he delusional – if the press can’t get a fast response then they’ll just ignore the company and go with their rivals instead. It would have been a waste of breath.

No, there was just one thing in my mind – to get a good redundancy payout. To be professional, to offer constructive comments and to be polite – even if I wanted to tell them that they were a bunch of collective dipshits with the combined IQ of a concussed earthworm. The UK branch of the company was driving this, the part that had been split off the US entity. And I wasn’t alone – others were going, including a 20-year veteran, whose position had been similarly negotiated out of existence.

On the process ground until finally I was able to make it out of the company a week ago with the equivalent of three months’ salary and a gold-plated reference. And all during that time guess how much help and advice and support I got from my actual boss in the US? Yup, nada. The invertebrate stayed true to form. Oh, he was very sorry and upset – but didn’t raise a finger to help me.

So, here I am, a free agent. Possibly about to become the editor of a major UK financial magazine, touch wood, if things work out. And if I do get the position, hum…. Should I seek quotes from my old company about future stories? Could that be seen as favouritism?

Perhaps I’d better not. In fact I think that the knife should go into their backs as I smile in their faces. After all – I know where all the weak points are. I know where the bodies are buried - I am going to have some fun!

Religion: Jedi

Wed, 16 Mar 2011 16:03:18 -0400

“Honey, the census arrived.”

“It has? Where?”

“I left it on the stairs for you.”

“Yay! Census! At last!”

“… ok, why are you so happy about the census arriving?”

“Well, it only comes once a decade. This is my first chance to fill it in!!”

“You’ve never filled in a census before?”

“Well, previously my father always dealt with them. He filled them in when I was almost 1 and 10 and 20 and 30.”

“Ok. Congratulations, you have your first census. Do we have to answer all the nosy questions and send it back by the way?”

“Yes. We get fined a thousand quid if we don’t.”

“Fill it in.”

“Right… ok, here’s the form… we have two people in this house. Who gets to be Person One and who’s going to be Person Two?”

“What’s the difference?”

“There isn’t one. The form was address to ‘the occupant’.”

“Ok. I’m older but you’ve lived in the UK for longer. You be Person One.”

“Oh joy. Right, where’s a pen… ok… name… address…. Date of birth. Nationality. Welsh. Born in England. That’ll puzzle the buggers.”

“You know strictly speaking that makes you English.”

“I will respond to that foul slur by deploying my Duke of Wellington quote.”

“Oh that – ‘If a dog is born in a stable that does not make him a horse!’”

“Yup. Education… damn I seem to have one. Religion. Hmmm.”

“Don’t act coy, you know exactly what to put there. You’ve been waiting for the census just for that bit haven’t you?”

“Who me?”

“Yes you. Is there enough room for it?”

“Yup. ‘Religion: Jedi Knight’. Hee hee hee…”

“Why does that amuse you so much?”

“I just imagine someone looking at a copy of this in a hundred years time and marveling at it.”

“What, Jedi Knight?”

“Yeah… there’ll probably be a Jedi cult by then.”

“And you think there isn’t one now?”

“Good point. Besides, I have to write ‘Jedi Knight’ because there isn’t enough space for ‘militant atheist who thinks that all priests are lying bastards’. Are you still going to write ‘Pastafarian’?”

“I’m thinking about it. The world needs more pirates.”

“Never say that near my office. Lloyds of London is just up the road and you’ll get lynched. They hate pirates there. Right… work details… damn, I’ve forgotten my office postcode. Google is a wonderful invention. Right… dependents… hum, we can’t put the cats there can we?”

“The cats? Dependents? No!”

“Are you sure? It might be fun!”

“Honey, because then we’d have to send them to school.”

“…”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, I was just imaging our cats at school. Couldn’t work very well. Tiggy would be stuck in Reception level forever.”

“Doesn’t work like that, you can’t hold them back He’d end up in High School.”

“Right, that really wouldn’t work. Right. Finished.”

“That was fast.”

“Well it is my first time.”