Laura lost her job today. A hasty one-to-one with her slippery manager resulted in her work being shared between two of her colleagues, and her position effectively being dissolved. She’ll be transferred into a different department, though luckily one that’s located at the other end of the room she works in now. She’ll be doing something entirely different to the job she applied for, was interviewed for, accepted the offer of, and moved 250 miles to fill. She’ll be covering someone who left - natural wastage - and the money that Whitehall pay for her post will be used to plug a gap in her original team’s operating budget. No warning. No option of negotiation.
Is it just me, or is there something really fucking dodgy going on?
*Yes, I know there’s not strictly a dole queue involved in this story officer. What? You’d like to check my artistic license? Sure, just a second…
Showing posts with label jobmoan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jobmoan. Show all posts
Monday, 6 September 2010
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Another day, another job application…
…or rather, another two job applications for the price of one. The positions of regional policy officer and policy officer at Oldham Council had virtually identical job description and person specifications.
Thursday, 24 June 2010
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Round up since April.
It is, I accept, a long time since I blogged. A very long time. I hope that I haven't alienated any of my already limited readership with this reticence. Plenty has happened in the last couple of months, but I've not been very good at writing it down. Since we last spoke:
- Everything with Laura is great, and I'm very much in love.
- I moved house, and now live with my friend Kate at the other end of Chorlton.
- I have an amazing new bike. It's fucking amazing.
- My college course has moved on quickly: I've submitted all but two assignments now, and have nearly made it to the end.
Monday, 25 January 2010
Shit hits fan.
No more interent at work!
No more eating lunch at your desk!
No more personal phone calls!
No more bullying!
Thus came the edict from my boss. She had called my team, the middle team, into her room for a word, and - flustered, mumbling - had explained what was eating her. There was, she told us, a chance that someone would be sacked.
No more eating lunch at your desk!
No more personal phone calls!
No more bullying!
Thus came the edict from my boss. She had called my team, the middle team, into her room for a word, and - flustered, mumbling - had explained what was eating her. There was, she told us, a chance that someone would be sacked.
Monday, 19 October 2009
Be Assertive, B-E Assertive, B-E-A-S-S-E-R-T-I-V-E
Being assertive helps you handle working with absolute wankers, according to the video that we watched today at college. Based on my recent experience at work, I should get a personal copy of the tape. And watch it every day.
Saturday, 10 October 2009
Happy birthday to Lu
As I was walking to the shops to buy some eggs, I texted Lucinda, wishing her a happy birthday . "Oh DTRMCR thank you v much what a memory!" she replied. Several of my friends - Zoe, Jordanna, John M - and acquaintances - Nic, Jon Lyall, Lucinda - share a birthday on this date. And after last year - when Paul, Dunk and I saw Mark Morriss at the museum, then met Lu and Liz and all at Trof - how could I forget? Sometimes I think that having a blog means I'll never forget a significant moment again.
Nostalgia swept over me, and I found myself drifting into the mind of myself a year ago. It's been a period of great change for me.
This time last year I lived with Paul on the West Didsbury side of Withington. Since then I've lived in two different houses in Chorlton, and with five and a half different people. Five and half, because I have three official housemates in Stretford, but I think Dunk should figure in the count too. Ryan replaced Paul in some ways, and not in others. Domestic affairs have had a massive impact on my daily happiness, a fact most demonstrated by how happy I feel now at 106. Living with Kate is brilliant. Big changes. Good changes.
This time last year I was dating Liz, though in hindsight it was quite clearly coming to an end by the now of 2008. Since then we've broken up. Actually we've broken up twice, or three times, depending on how you count things. There was that awful situation in November and December, and the tears we wept afterwards. Beautiful, brave Lizzie. In between, a brief fun month of Stephanie. Over the summer, an ill-advised dalliance with Miss F from work, and the odd handful of flesh and nothingness now and then. Another important factor happiness-wise. Liz was the biggest deal for me romantically since Rigby, and in some ways more so. For example, sometimes it felt like I was dating a woman, rather than a girl. I don't know if I've learned anything about romance in the last year. Muddle on, blind man, beware the ditches out there...
This time last year I had two prominently chipped teeth in the front of my face. Lucinda, the birthday girl, fixed them for me. Looking back at 2009, I think having my teeth repaired will be the main thing that other people remember about my year. Everytime I clean my teeth in the morning I think of, and feel thankful for, Lucinda's amazing generosity and kindness. I feel like my smile works better now, and I'm much more confident about using it. Lessons? Erm...? Use interdental brushes?
This time last year I was starting to hate my job. Despise my job in fact. Lack of purpose was the main cause, and mostly down to the hand that was on the tiller. Since then, things have got worse, and then much worse, and then steadily better. Studying for my Market Research qualification, and the management course I started last month, has kept my mind busy. And my colleagues see what I see too. I feel much more in control of things at this stage than I did this time last year.
Running. That's new too. Cycling. Yup. Owning Batman comic books too. Good new.
My blog was two years old about a week ago. I'd wanted to do a Year Two summary to commemorate it, but I didn't remember the exact date, and ended up missing it. I wonder what Lucinda would think about my memory if she knew.
Nostalgia swept over me, and I found myself drifting into the mind of myself a year ago. It's been a period of great change for me.
This time last year I lived with Paul on the West Didsbury side of Withington. Since then I've lived in two different houses in Chorlton, and with five and a half different people. Five and half, because I have three official housemates in Stretford, but I think Dunk should figure in the count too. Ryan replaced Paul in some ways, and not in others. Domestic affairs have had a massive impact on my daily happiness, a fact most demonstrated by how happy I feel now at 106. Living with Kate is brilliant. Big changes. Good changes.
This time last year I was dating Liz, though in hindsight it was quite clearly coming to an end by the now of 2008. Since then we've broken up. Actually we've broken up twice, or three times, depending on how you count things. There was that awful situation in November and December, and the tears we wept afterwards. Beautiful, brave Lizzie. In between, a brief fun month of Stephanie. Over the summer, an ill-advised dalliance with Miss F from work, and the odd handful of flesh and nothingness now and then. Another important factor happiness-wise. Liz was the biggest deal for me romantically since Rigby, and in some ways more so. For example, sometimes it felt like I was dating a woman, rather than a girl. I don't know if I've learned anything about romance in the last year. Muddle on, blind man, beware the ditches out there...
This time last year I had two prominently chipped teeth in the front of my face. Lucinda, the birthday girl, fixed them for me. Looking back at 2009, I think having my teeth repaired will be the main thing that other people remember about my year. Everytime I clean my teeth in the morning I think of, and feel thankful for, Lucinda's amazing generosity and kindness. I feel like my smile works better now, and I'm much more confident about using it. Lessons? Erm...? Use interdental brushes?
This time last year I was starting to hate my job. Despise my job in fact. Lack of purpose was the main cause, and mostly down to the hand that was on the tiller. Since then, things have got worse, and then much worse, and then steadily better. Studying for my Market Research qualification, and the management course I started last month, has kept my mind busy. And my colleagues see what I see too. I feel much more in control of things at this stage than I did this time last year.
Running. That's new too. Cycling. Yup. Owning Batman comic books too. Good new.
My blog was two years old about a week ago. I'd wanted to do a Year Two summary to commemorate it, but I didn't remember the exact date, and ended up missing it. I wonder what Lucinda would think about my memory if she knew.
Friday, 2 October 2009
An ally in the darkness
My boss is a good person. That good person is, however, a bad boss. She's the kind of person who'll spend fifteen minutes chatting on the phone to someone who's dialed the wrong number. She's always late, and ill-prepared with it. She's not deliberately mean, and generally only causes offence through her skittishness, not through malice.
But I've been at college, learning about time management. I kept a log of every working minute for the last week as part of my training. I am studying under the sensei of workload optimisation to become the ninja of not wasting time. And my training has made me ruthless, like a machine that knows no mercy.
We had a meeting booked for ten. We didn't start until 10.45. My inner ninja was enraged. Shurikens of anger shot through me. And then we didn't get all the work done because we ran out of time. Grrrr.
My colleague spoke to me afterwards. "That's just how [the Boss] is. We'll work around her. We'll manage her. Don't worry. I'm with you."
An ally in the darkness. Interesting.
But I've been at college, learning about time management. I kept a log of every working minute for the last week as part of my training. I am studying under the sensei of workload optimisation to become the ninja of not wasting time. And my training has made me ruthless, like a machine that knows no mercy.
We had a meeting booked for ten. We didn't start until 10.45. My inner ninja was enraged. Shurikens of anger shot through me. And then we didn't get all the work done because we ran out of time. Grrrr.
My colleague spoke to me afterwards. "That's just how [the Boss] is. We'll work around her. We'll manage her. Don't worry. I'm with you."
An ally in the darkness. Interesting.
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
The unread drawer
The course convenor for the Bolton course hasn’t been particularly helpful. He suggested, rather strongly, that I ought to think about taking the MBA course instead of the course I want to do. I held fast. He explained that the first year of the MBA is the same as the course I wanted to do, only more advanced. I’m looking for an introductory course, no dice. He explained that the modules were the same modules, only that there were three of them, rather than six. That’s not what I’m after either, I explained.
“We’re not actually running that course this year.”
Right.
On the flipside, the convenor of the Stockport course couldn’t have been more helpful. We talked about the modules, the course schedule, the residential weekend – we talked about assessment, and about group assignments. It’s not cheap, but it’s worth it. Where do I sign?
Afterwards, I met Jacqui and Sam for Wagamama and a few beers. I bloody love Sam and Jacqui. We ate noodles and exchanged cycling tips. Nothing changes in the old office, nor in the new one. The procurement dodging that my boss has been championing raised a few eyebrows. Their reports drawer would bulge if they were reviewing my service, I said. It wouldn’t matter, they said, nobody reads them anyway.
“We’re not actually running that course this year.”
Right.
On the flipside, the convenor of the Stockport course couldn’t have been more helpful. We talked about the modules, the course schedule, the residential weekend – we talked about assessment, and about group assignments. It’s not cheap, but it’s worth it. Where do I sign?
Afterwards, I met Jacqui and Sam for Wagamama and a few beers. I bloody love Sam and Jacqui. We ate noodles and exchanged cycling tips. Nothing changes in the old office, nor in the new one. The procurement dodging that my boss has been championing raised a few eyebrows. Their reports drawer would bulge if they were reviewing my service, I said. It wouldn’t matter, they said, nobody reads them anyway.
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
Paranoia, paranoia, everybody’s coming to get me…
Where are my exam results? Not, it appears, waiting for me in reception at work. What! Outrageous! Is this not the week commencing the thirty-first of August? What the… whatever, it’s not worth worrying about, especially as I’ve been waiting since 24th June for these results. So what’s another week? Pish! More alarmingly, my Belle and Sebastian comic hasn’t arrived yet either. So it goes.
My boss called me into her office to talk about the report that I gave her two weeks ago, and that she hasn’t yet read. As ridiculous as that sounds, that’s just how she rolls.
“So, have you included…?”
“Yes, it’s on page…”
“And how about…?”
“Yes, it’s under section…”
“What about….?”
“No.”
“Well, could you make sure that you include it, please?”
“Sure.”
And that was it. Ramble time. We got to talking about a report that my boss had written that was presented in absentia at a meeting she couldn’t attend. There was some opposition to some of the things that the paper recommended by some people at the meeting.
“They’re after me,” she said, “I know they are. It’s another plot. They want me out.”
I wasn’t so sure. They’d disagreed with her views in a forum for debate. Debate is about thrust and counter-thrust, balancing points against each other. Not about personalities. She went on.
“I don’t trust him, especially. He’s always very nicey-nicey when you’re there face to face with him, but he’s sly – very sly – and I think he’s up to something. We have to be very careful, you know.”
We have to be? Hello, are you mental?
“Just bear that in mind.”
Right.
I went to the pub with Chas, an astonishingly talented Polish admin officer from our team. The communication is poor on their side of the room. Middle Manager is worse than my boss at handling people. Some of us went to the room of doom in Moss Side to measure up for furniture last week; Chas’s team haven’t been told that we’re definitely moving. What a crock of shit.
Chas watches Terminator 2 every couple of months. He likes formula one, and fears that robots will one day take over the world.
My boss called me into her office to talk about the report that I gave her two weeks ago, and that she hasn’t yet read. As ridiculous as that sounds, that’s just how she rolls.
“So, have you included…?”
“Yes, it’s on page…”
“And how about…?”
“Yes, it’s under section…”
“What about….?”
“No.”
“Well, could you make sure that you include it, please?”
“Sure.”
And that was it. Ramble time. We got to talking about a report that my boss had written that was presented in absentia at a meeting she couldn’t attend. There was some opposition to some of the things that the paper recommended by some people at the meeting.
“They’re after me,” she said, “I know they are. It’s another plot. They want me out.”
I wasn’t so sure. They’d disagreed with her views in a forum for debate. Debate is about thrust and counter-thrust, balancing points against each other. Not about personalities. She went on.
“I don’t trust him, especially. He’s always very nicey-nicey when you’re there face to face with him, but he’s sly – very sly – and I think he’s up to something. We have to be very careful, you know.”
We have to be? Hello, are you mental?
“Just bear that in mind.”
Right.
I went to the pub with Chas, an astonishingly talented Polish admin officer from our team. The communication is poor on their side of the room. Middle Manager is worse than my boss at handling people. Some of us went to the room of doom in Moss Side to measure up for furniture last week; Chas’s team haven’t been told that we’re definitely moving. What a crock of shit.
Chas watches Terminator 2 every couple of months. He likes formula one, and fears that robots will one day take over the world.
Friday, 28 August 2009
Wise words from Tim
“You might not like your job, pal, but you get paid pretty well, and it isn’t that hard – the work I mean. Maybe you should just stick it out.”
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Room of doom
Our new office, in Moss Side, seems grimmer and bleaker each time I visit. The previous occupants were mostly gone this time, and the room was a shell. Wires poked up out of holes in the floor between darker patches of carpet that were once protected by bookcases and cabinets. One lone desk, papers and a diary – open on yesterday’s page – was all that remained.
“That’s _____’s desk,” said Middle Manager, “she really likes it here, so she’s staying as long as possible.”
What was the alternative, I wondered. Mogadishu? Beirut?
With a tape measure in one hand, and a bucket full of grumbles in the other, we sized up our future home. We juggled the three desks in the office we’ve been allocated. Facing inwards? Facing outwards? In a row?
“You’ll need to make room for the fourth desk too,” said our boss as she popped her head round the door, “I think I’m going to get someone else in to help you.” And then, like that – pwoof – she was gone.
Less than a week ago we had a team management meeting. We outlined approaching challenges – meaning that we got told what was going on with the team, and in particular its staffing – and devised strategies to handle service development – meaning that we got told what to do. Not a bean about a new team member. I’m pretty sure that I haven’t missed something that was implied because I asked a direct question during the meeting.
“Will we have any new team members?”
We wouldn’t, my boss had said. Less than a week ago.
Has she changed her mind, and since then decided that, yes, now you mention it, we do need a new team member? Was she suffering a bizarre mental blank at the meeting, and had in fact been planning for another team member all along? Or is she just really bad at telling her team what’s going on?
My colleagues and I looked at each other in disbelief.
“That’s _____’s desk,” said Middle Manager, “she really likes it here, so she’s staying as long as possible.”
What was the alternative, I wondered. Mogadishu? Beirut?
With a tape measure in one hand, and a bucket full of grumbles in the other, we sized up our future home. We juggled the three desks in the office we’ve been allocated. Facing inwards? Facing outwards? In a row?
“You’ll need to make room for the fourth desk too,” said our boss as she popped her head round the door, “I think I’m going to get someone else in to help you.” And then, like that – pwoof – she was gone.
Less than a week ago we had a team management meeting. We outlined approaching challenges – meaning that we got told what was going on with the team, and in particular its staffing – and devised strategies to handle service development – meaning that we got told what to do. Not a bean about a new team member. I’m pretty sure that I haven’t missed something that was implied because I asked a direct question during the meeting.
“Will we have any new team members?”
We wouldn’t, my boss had said. Less than a week ago.
Has she changed her mind, and since then decided that, yes, now you mention it, we do need a new team member? Was she suffering a bizarre mental blank at the meeting, and had in fact been planning for another team member all along? Or is she just really bad at telling her team what’s going on?
My colleagues and I looked at each other in disbelief.
Monday, 17 August 2009
“Smile ‘em to death”
My closest colleague has been increasingly surly of late. By closest, I mean geographically and professionally, rather than personally; I’m not really friends with any of the people I work with. For the last few weeks, her morning demeanour has been icy. No greeting to start the day, no questions about how my weekend was (on a Monday), or what I got up to last night (for the rest of the week), or what my plans for the weekend might be (on a Friday).
“Smile ‘em to death,” has been my approach so far. Try to be chirpy, keen, energetic, and happy. Face frowns and glares with smiles and wait for the frost to thaw. Assume good faith. Pay it forward. Be positive.
My approach has achieved neither of its aims: I’ve not thawed my colleagues frosty attitudes; nor has acting in accordance with my values offered the route to success. The former is disappointing, the latter especially so: to what extent should I compromise to get by.
Not that it’s affecting my work. Just how happy I am at work. Is happiness important? It’s been that long since I was happy at work that I really can’t tell.
“Smile ‘em to death,” has been my approach so far. Try to be chirpy, keen, energetic, and happy. Face frowns and glares with smiles and wait for the frost to thaw. Assume good faith. Pay it forward. Be positive.
My approach has achieved neither of its aims: I’ve not thawed my colleagues frosty attitudes; nor has acting in accordance with my values offered the route to success. The former is disappointing, the latter especially so: to what extent should I compromise to get by.
Not that it’s affecting my work. Just how happy I am at work. Is happiness important? It’s been that long since I was happy at work that I really can’t tell.
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Shelf-ish cnut
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Charlie and Oddest
I met my old colleague Charlie lunch today. As I waited for her to come out of the town hall, I stumbled across a Warhammer 40k figurine in the crook of an brass elbow as part of the shipwreck statue. I’m geeky enough to recognise it as a Space Marine, but not enough to identify its clan. Who put it there? I don’t care, I liked it.
We went to Don Giovanni’s, where the service was slow and the food mediocre, and had a bit of a chat. I wasn’t sure why Charlie had asked me to meet up with her. We were never that close when we worked together. She was widely acknowledged as being the hottest girl in the office, tall, pretty and busty – but I’d never seen it myself. I once went on a blind date with her sister. But I wouldn’t describe us as friends. Why was I there?
Because, it turns out, Charlie is pretty lonesome. She moved in with her boyfriend around the same sort of time that I started working in my current, somewhat tiresome job. They live together, alone, in Northenden, and she doesn’t get up to much of an evening. Or at lunchtime. As she spoke, something sad in her eyes touched me. Maybe I could help her. Choices and chances, right?
I kept thinking about her as the afternoon rolled on. It was heart on a plate stuff on her part, I realised. Pretty gutsy to ask to be friends. Brave. As I was about to leave for my holiday, I was given a pile of junk to handle. Frustrating. Sometimes I want to smash my office with a sledgehammer. Monitors, light switches, other people’s mugs, the photocopier – all of it. It was one of those days. Way to bum me out before my holiday.
An hour later than planned, my 85 rolled up outside Oddest and I went in for a furious pint to wipe out my work anger.
“We’re closing in twenty minutes,” said Kate
“I think I can fit in a pint. I need one.”
After the bar kind of closed, I stayed to help inflate balloons for a little while. It helped. The anger drained out of me. And when I got home I was filled with joy: my new phone had arrived
Dunk and I headed down for the bona fide opening party a little later on. With my holiday and then his European odyssey, I wasn’t going to get much Dunk time for a few weeks. Was the party trendy? We had our picture taken by a photographer. Were we trendy?
We went to Don Giovanni’s, where the service was slow and the food mediocre, and had a bit of a chat. I wasn’t sure why Charlie had asked me to meet up with her. We were never that close when we worked together. She was widely acknowledged as being the hottest girl in the office, tall, pretty and busty – but I’d never seen it myself. I once went on a blind date with her sister. But I wouldn’t describe us as friends. Why was I there?
Because, it turns out, Charlie is pretty lonesome. She moved in with her boyfriend around the same sort of time that I started working in my current, somewhat tiresome job. They live together, alone, in Northenden, and she doesn’t get up to much of an evening. Or at lunchtime. As she spoke, something sad in her eyes touched me. Maybe I could help her. Choices and chances, right?
I kept thinking about her as the afternoon rolled on. It was heart on a plate stuff on her part, I realised. Pretty gutsy to ask to be friends. Brave. As I was about to leave for my holiday, I was given a pile of junk to handle. Frustrating. Sometimes I want to smash my office with a sledgehammer. Monitors, light switches, other people’s mugs, the photocopier – all of it. It was one of those days. Way to bum me out before my holiday.
An hour later than planned, my 85 rolled up outside Oddest and I went in for a furious pint to wipe out my work anger.
“We’re closing in twenty minutes,” said Kate
“I think I can fit in a pint. I need one.”
After the bar kind of closed, I stayed to help inflate balloons for a little while. It helped. The anger drained out of me. And when I got home I was filled with joy: my new phone had arrived
Dunk and I headed down for the bona fide opening party a little later on. With my holiday and then his European odyssey, I wasn’t going to get much Dunk time for a few weeks. Was the party trendy? We had our picture taken by a photographer. Were we trendy?
Thursday, 9 July 2009
"If I'm funnier, they'll forget we're moving to Moss Side." No, no we won't.
The middle manager has been at it again. My inbox was graced with this today.
For the annual work party, the boss has decided that because of liability issues, we can have alcohol, but only one drink per person...
She will sack me for ordering the cups.
Apart from violating our organisation's email policy, it just isn't funny. That alone would be grounds for dismissal in my world. What a prick.
For the annual work party, the boss has decided that because of liability issues, we can have alcohol, but only one drink per person...
She will sack me for ordering the cups.
Apart from violating our organisation's email policy, it just isn't funny. That alone would be grounds for dismissal in my world. What a prick.
Friday, 19 June 2009
Surprise! You’re moving…!
We were asked to keep the last hour of the working week free for a ‘special team meeting,’ and when I pressed my boss for more information, all she said was, “We’re going on a magical mystery tour.” This didn’t look good.
The call centre weren’t told that much. As the time ticked around towards three, they were asked to collect their things. “We’re going out, and we’re not coming back here.” Eyebrows raised, but suspicious ones with it. We were put into cars, and driven off, not knowing where we were heading. A right turn towards Hulme, a left turn down Old Birley St… until we got to……here.
“This is one of the places we’re looking at for our new office,” said my boss, “what do you think?”
It’s in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“We’ve got a meeting room here, which we can use for _________…”
Yes, but it’s in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“…and the call centre and envelope machine can go here…”
Here in deepest, darkest Moss Side?
“…the kitchen has its own dining table…”
That’s lucky, because there’s not really anywhere to eat in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“…I think it’s a really exciting opportunity.”
I think it’s a big bag of sweaty balls, if I'm being totally honest. It makes no strategic sense at all to move out of the city centre - not when we're reponsible for _________ across the whole of GM. Not when all the other teams in the __________ sector are based in the middle of town. Not when our central government contacts are based by Piccadilly. It's fucking daft.
And personally it stinks too. It's the death knell for lunchtime cultural outings to the museum. No more meeting up with friends for a vegetarian lunch in the Buddhist cafe in the Northern Quarter. No nipping out at lunchtime to visit Waterstone's. No daily contact with the city. What a kick in the balls.
Driving your staff somewhere new, and telling them that's their new office is a particularly shabby way to communicate that news.
The call centre weren’t told that much. As the time ticked around towards three, they were asked to collect their things. “We’re going out, and we’re not coming back here.” Eyebrows raised, but suspicious ones with it. We were put into cars, and driven off, not knowing where we were heading. A right turn towards Hulme, a left turn down Old Birley St… until we got to……here.
“This is one of the places we’re looking at for our new office,” said my boss, “what do you think?”
It’s in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“We’ve got a meeting room here, which we can use for _________…”
Yes, but it’s in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“…and the call centre and envelope machine can go here…”
Here in deepest, darkest Moss Side?
“…the kitchen has its own dining table…”
That’s lucky, because there’s not really anywhere to eat in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“…I think it’s a really exciting opportunity.”
I think it’s a big bag of sweaty balls, if I'm being totally honest. It makes no strategic sense at all to move out of the city centre - not when we're reponsible for _________ across the whole of GM. Not when all the other teams in the __________ sector are based in the middle of town. Not when our central government contacts are based by Piccadilly. It's fucking daft.
And personally it stinks too. It's the death knell for lunchtime cultural outings to the museum. No more meeting up with friends for a vegetarian lunch in the Buddhist cafe in the Northern Quarter. No nipping out at lunchtime to visit Waterstone's. No daily contact with the city. What a kick in the balls.
Driving your staff somewhere new, and telling them that's their new office is a particularly shabby way to communicate that news.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
I have seen the light
Every time I go to a conference, I leave it with my faith in my job renewed. Like a pilgrimage to the source of true holiness, it makes me forget the sin and corruption of my godless backwater, and charges up my stocks of zeal. My heart cries out, “Hallelujah!” all the way home. And today I was filled with the spirit.
The second speaker, Peter, was inspirational. It wasn’t that he had a new approach, but that he actually did the things that he was supposed to do. The Department Of _______ insists that all of our work is evidence-led. A Google search for “evidence based practice” yields around 30,400,000 hits. But the amount of people working in my field that understand what that means… I’m not confident it’s very many.
His insistence on using research to inform decision-making should be normal practice, but it’s rare. His insistence on evaluating any research before it is acted on should be normal practice, but it’s rare. Planning the means to gather evidence about a project’s effectiveness before the project begins should be normal practice, but it’s rare.
Peter rubbished an intervention that is very popular in schools across the country.
“Absolutely no evidence that it works, none whatsoever.”
Later, during the Q&A, a member of the audience challenged him:
“We’ve done focus groups, people said they really…”
“Well, that’s great, but it doesn’t show that it works overall, what people say and how they behave aren’t necessarily aligned."
“B-b-but we’ve even rolled it out to the Army garrisons in the area, who say that it’s one of the best things they’ve ever…”
“You’re using the same intervention with soldiers and eleven year-olds?”
The challenger piped down.
And, sitting silently at the side of the room, I buzzed. More evidence means more research, i.e. more of my work being the part of my job that I like the most. Preach! Preach to my already converted heart!
The second speaker, Peter, was inspirational. It wasn’t that he had a new approach, but that he actually did the things that he was supposed to do. The Department Of _______ insists that all of our work is evidence-led. A Google search for “evidence based practice” yields around 30,400,000 hits. But the amount of people working in my field that understand what that means… I’m not confident it’s very many.
His insistence on using research to inform decision-making should be normal practice, but it’s rare. His insistence on evaluating any research before it is acted on should be normal practice, but it’s rare. Planning the means to gather evidence about a project’s effectiveness before the project begins should be normal practice, but it’s rare.
Peter rubbished an intervention that is very popular in schools across the country.
“Absolutely no evidence that it works, none whatsoever.”
Later, during the Q&A, a member of the audience challenged him:
“We’ve done focus groups, people said they really…”
“Well, that’s great, but it doesn’t show that it works overall, what people say and how they behave aren’t necessarily aligned."
“B-b-but we’ve even rolled it out to the Army garrisons in the area, who say that it’s one of the best things they’ve ever…”
“You’re using the same intervention with soldiers and eleven year-olds?”
The challenger piped down.
And, sitting silently at the side of the room, I buzzed. More evidence means more research, i.e. more of my work being the part of my job that I like the most. Preach! Preach to my already converted heart!
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Top tip for a school night
If your inventory includes all of the following…
Lass O Gowrie
Odder
Kro 2
Trof
…it’s probably a good idea to eat something before you start to drink, no matter how frustrated you are with work.
We’d booked a team meeting in the afternoon to go over some project management procedures, and I was really excited about it. I love project management. Project management is my middle name. When I sleep, I dream project management. My favourite cocktail is project management with a twist of lime. My goldfish are called Management and Project. If you cut me, I bleed project management in carefully controlled stages that have managed boundaries.
I prepared hard for the meeting. Flowcharts. Terms and definitions. Outlines on how I thought we could help the _________ that we work with adopt a distilled version of some project management fundamentals, rather than the watered-down flim-flam that currently passes for good enough. Not in my opinion. I came home from last night Irish poetry evening and put in another two hours. I was buzzed.
I came back from lunch, and found out that the meeting was cancelled. Ten minutes before it was about to start, it was cancelled. Cancelled. I’d prepared handouts. Cancelled. I’d already photocopied the handouts. Cancelled. I’d prepared a commentary. Cancelled.
“Can you go through this finance spreadsheet zzzzzzzz decipher the unlabelled line entries against zzzzzzz expenditure code *yawn* last two fiscal periods zzzzzzzz suppliers and reconcile outstanding zzzzzzzzzzzzz…..”
On Tuesday next week, I will have been here for a year. Even so, I should have eaten something first…
Lass O Gowrie
Odder
Kro 2
Trof
…it’s probably a good idea to eat something before you start to drink, no matter how frustrated you are with work.
We’d booked a team meeting in the afternoon to go over some project management procedures, and I was really excited about it. I love project management. Project management is my middle name. When I sleep, I dream project management. My favourite cocktail is project management with a twist of lime. My goldfish are called Management and Project. If you cut me, I bleed project management in carefully controlled stages that have managed boundaries.
I prepared hard for the meeting. Flowcharts. Terms and definitions. Outlines on how I thought we could help the _________ that we work with adopt a distilled version of some project management fundamentals, rather than the watered-down flim-flam that currently passes for good enough. Not in my opinion. I came home from last night Irish poetry evening and put in another two hours. I was buzzed.
I came back from lunch, and found out that the meeting was cancelled. Ten minutes before it was about to start, it was cancelled. Cancelled. I’d prepared handouts. Cancelled. I’d already photocopied the handouts. Cancelled. I’d prepared a commentary. Cancelled.
“Can you go through this finance spreadsheet zzzzzzzz decipher the unlabelled line entries against zzzzzzz expenditure code *yawn* last two fiscal periods zzzzzzzz suppliers and reconcile outstanding zzzzzzzzzzzzz…..”
On Tuesday next week, I will have been here for a year. Even so, I should have eaten something first…
Monday, 27 April 2009
Team meeting
I always bite my lip in this kind of meeting. An hour in, and we were still talking about washing-up, about fruit flies, about dress-down Fridays. Strategy? Whatever.
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