Monday morning came around far too soon. It felt like my weekend had only just started, and then I was wrapping up ready for work. It doesn’t help that I have now developed a habit of going to the gym on a Friday night till after 7pm, so my Friday night does not start till late in the game.
So by the time it started, I drowned my sorrow in red wine. And by the time this morning came round I could have done it all again. Drown my sorrow at having to go back to work in a sea of Shiraz. But alas I went. Off to a meeting across the city at just after 9am. Good meeting, interesting one. It’s nice to meet those decision makers some times, especially on their territory not at a time of crisis. It’s much more collaborative, it’s much less tense, and I felt less like a grim reaper. I got back to my house, dropped my car off, picked up my Blackberry and ran back to the office.
It’s a testing time on the coalface. We all feel the axeman commeth, and it’s a bit like that bit on Strictly Come Dancing when they all stand grinning in support of Felicity Kendall or whoever and hope to depict a sort of inane familial love and inane camaraderie that you know is false. Like a fleet of smiling assassins, especially seeing as they all get paid by the episode. Everyone is seemingly wanting the status quo to continue, and want to appear like the quintessential team player. Yet the first signs of ruthlessness has been shown. Yes, there are whiffs of foul play. I’m not sure how effective this will be of course. Those who interview will be those senior players appointed early doors. Those roles are easy to sign post. Those down the chain? That’s to be seen. I doubt a smear campaign will do very much, apart from amuse the likes of me for longer than it should.
So post work, I headed back to the dreaded gym. 45 minutes on the leg thing, 100 sit ups and ten minutes on the cross trainer. Done. 1300 calories. Got home to a pre planned dinner, pasta in a cream, pancetta, lemon and Parmesan sauce. I ate it in front of Fat Families on Sky One. In spite of the exercise, I felt guilty. These obesity programmes still freak me out. I’m mentally still fat, so feel that it is me in front of it. Today it was someone called AJ Middleton, a 22 stone 35 year old from Birmingham who objected to the world fat as it’s not respectful. No dear, but accurate. He lost 2 stone in two months. Good going, but they gave him a makeover and said he looked fab. Err, bit better, but not dramatic. Still morbidly obese. I object to these cheap shows who go in really short term and class themselves the saviours. If this guy and his young cousin have been fat, depressed and loveless for decades, you can’t just say wobbly bums, give them a Primark makeover with hair done by a guy with one eyebrow, and offer them a mountain bike and call it a lifestyle change. I think decoding these people is so much more complicated than Sky One seem to reckon.
Anyway, rant over. Pete watched the Apprentice. I don’t like it, it makes my skin crawl. It’s an hour of management speak, which I already have an allergy to. I just sat and started writing this blog update. I still got vaguely drawn in mind. Watching that woman who appeared drugged dress as an octopus to sell a cleaning product, ending the advert on the sofa looking comatose like it was actually an advert for rohypnol, was a daily highlight. Much better than Gwyneth Paltrow singing Cee-lo’s Forget You on Glee on t’internet. To quote Randy Jackson “mad pitchy, dog”.
Right and that’s you right up to date, Adam style. Tomorrow I’m mainly being exposed to an infectious disease. Long story. Don’t ask.
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