ganching

On Being Tortured

So like on Friday I'm in this meeting and the property developer, he goes "In the final analysis at the end of the day what it boils down is that it's all swings and roundabouts" and the dreary equivalent to me on the other side, she goes "well as an RSL we have to comply with HC governance and if we're to sort out the SDLT and EP and SHG with the ODPM the HC will have to OK it" and I go "why don't youse stick some pins in my eyes because it couldn't be any more painful than listening to this heap of shite".

(I only made up the last bit.).

See-saw Emotions

Yesterday in the Guardian a building I was responsible for commissioning, was reviewed in the architectural section.  Initially I was really pleased as it was a fairly positive review.  Then I plunged into a major depression thinking about the terrible scheme I work on now and the fact that I have very little autonomy about anything that happens on this project.  Then I read the article again and got cross with the journalist as I thought that in writing the article he had resorted to a number of tedious cliches.  Then cheered up as I decided to write a sharp but amusing email to the said journalist.  Duly fired off email then plunged into depression again as realised my email was full of tedious cliches and unlikely to impress journalist and journalist very influential in the field in which I work so not good for him to think I am a bit of an eegit.  Then cheered up immensely as remembered that journalist had once told me what his confirmation name is and, between you and me, it is even more pretentious than the one I chose for myself.

Overall more positive about work as the Beresford Pig is off for a month.  Some fool of a girl (sow?) has agreed to marry him and no doubt a litter of little Beresford piglets will be arriving in due course.

My Disastrous Career

I have had one the most shit days that you could imagine. It would give you the scour just thinking about it.

I've worked in my present job for one year and in that time I have been responsible for really just one piece of work that I'm proud of and think will have a lasting impact. Most of the rest of the time I'm stuck in boring meetings with mediocre, dreary nonenities who say things like:

"As your partners" translation "we hate you"

or

"In the spirit of the partnership" translation "we hate you and we hate your mum"

Anyway this piece of work is a design guide which lays down some ground rules about what they should be aiming to do.

But the view seems to be it's only a £260M development (and I may be understating the figures) so let's not be fettering them by trying to get them to commit to doing something decent. It's all "trust me I'm a property developer".

Today I came into work to read an email from the Vice CE agreeing with them and telling me to back off.

I spent all morning imagining handing in my notice and all afternoon planning how to get even. Ideally I'll do both.

Anyway I'm giving up my job and becoming a second hand plate dealer. I was in a shop yesterday and I saw a 1950s plate on sale for £80. I bought 12 of them in a charity shop in Norn Iron a few months ago for less than a fiver the lot so I think I have a knack for the plate dealing.

Note from Inner Granda: Don't be listening to them oul' gypes sure you're worth twenty of them boyos - shitehawks every last one of of them. They may think they're very fly but they're not as cute as the Co. Antrim ones and remember we have longer memories so we do.

It Would Give Me The Scour

We all have an inner child but I also seem to have an inner Granda. My inner Granda is a County Antrim farmer. He is about 80 and is at his most active during meetings.

Unfortunately for me I have to attend lots of meetings, some of them involving difficult negotiations.

We all land up in some office in the City with our respective lawyers, and have long, inconclusive bad-tempered exchanges.

They go something like this:

Other Side: [some protracted guff and the suggestion that I should do something]

Inner Granda: Away and feel your heads you fuggen shitehawks youse. Do ye think I'm clean mad? I wouldn't hear tell of it.

Me: I'll have to take a view on that.

Other Side: So when will you be able to confirm this?

IG: How about when hell freezes over? Would that suit youse youse gypes youse?

Me: Er I'll get back to you on that.

Other Side: Would you like to join us for a drink after the meeting?

IG: A drink? A DRINK? With youse ones? The very idea of it would give me the scour so it would.

Me: That would be lovely.

I worry sometimes that my IG is going to slip into my real life especially when I find myself wanting to prod people to make them move faster or having thoughts that begin "it would answer you better..."

I need to get out more.

Today is the feast day of St Eustace. A martyr of unknown dates and doubtful historical existance.

Scour: noun 1. diarrhoea in calves 2. a thick drizzle of rain.