A rolling stone gathers...

"If I could just have five minutes with everybody at three o'clock," said my boss, "there's something I'd like to talk about with you all."

Moss Side has fallen though. We're not moving to Moss Side at all. We're not moving anywhere until after Christmas. We don't have to leave the building we're in until September. Next September.

I looked around the room as the announcement was made. Smiles broke out amongst the call centre guys. I'm not sure why. We could end up somewhere much further away. Bolton. Oldham. Bury. Small victories though, should be seized upon and cherished. Maybe this hideous dry run of an office move will inspire my bosses to handle any real move more tactfully. Then again, maybe it won't.

Be a better friend.

Woody's lectures are going to be just round the corner from work. Well, until we move to Moss Side, that is. If we move to Moss Side. He gave me a call as he was walking past my building, and I went to the window to wave at him as we talked. Do I want to go for a pint, he asked? Yes please.

We caught up. His course. My ill-fated cycling excursion. My course. His bar job. Films we'd seen. Music we'd listened to.

Clare joined us, and Ollie, in the BP, and we headed to Didsbury. Clare and I had pasta and pesto. She wept as she told me about work. I felt useless as I watched, offering advice that wasn't very insightful. My work doesn't make me cry, I thought, at least there's strength there. She apologised, poor love. Is there anything I can do to help, I wondered. Yes. Be a better friend.

Kumbi was in O'Neill's with Steve, Craig and the other Fordbankers. She's not working because of problems with her permit. Will they throw her out, and back to Zimbabwe? Poor love.

Moss Side problems

It looks like the Moss Side move might have fallen through. Happy? Sort of. Maybe we'll be decamped to Oldham instead. Hmmmm.

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.

Awesome Sunday

My day was three kinds of awesome today.

1. Milner awesome

I met Helen for lunch at Oddest. It’s been such a long time since I last saw her last for a one-to-one – since Easter, and the videos of the chimpanzees hunting; before Steve and Fordbank were evicted from Victoria Ave; before Steve moved in with Chubb and Helen; since before Helen got a job in London – and so much has happened since then with both of us. I talked about my new house, my housemates, the Moss Side move. She talked about London, living with a boy, optimism and change. “I’ve been in Manchester for three years now,” she said. Wow, I thought, it feels like less than that. This time last year we went to Gorton Monastery to see an orchestra. She’ll be fine – she’s a motivated and intelligent young woman, with a lot going for her. I’ll miss her. I’ll stay in touch.

2. Family Awesome

Caroline, Ashleigh and Izzy came up to see me today. I made a roast dinner using yesterday’s allotment vegetables – new potatoes, spring cabbage, spinach, courgettes – a ready-roasted supermarket chicken, and lashings of tasty gravy. Yum! Izzy and I pootled around the garden, when she wasn’t busy trying to eat rocks, and explored the spooky circle. The four of us strolled into Longford Park, and around the petting zoo. We’re off to the Isle of Wight next week. I’m very excited about it.

3. Batman awesome

In a quiet house, all by myself, I read the Dark Knight Returns and The Long Halloween. Bliss!

"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.

Don't blame the middleman, come to me

Ever since we were so shabbily taken to the Moss Side office and told “Here’s your new office!” the middle manager has been sending around ‘funny’ (i.e not funny at all) emails. Emails like the one below.

STRESS MANAGEMENT TECHNIQUE
Just in case you are having a rough day, here is a stress management technique recommended in all the latest psychological journals. The funny thing is that it really does work..
1. Picture yourself lying on your belly on a warm rock that hangs out over a crystal clear stream.
2. Picture yourself with both your hands dangling in the cool running water.
3. Birds are sweetly singing in the cool mountain air.
4. No one knows your secret place.
5. You are in total seclusion from that hectic place called the world.
6. The soothing sound of a gentle waterfall fills the air with a cascade of serenity.
7. The water is so crystal clear that you can easily make out the face of the person you are holding underwater.

I don’t understand. Does he think that circulating such tedious shite is going to make us forget that we’re moving to Moss Side? If he’s trying to win us over with humour, he should at least try to make it vaguely amusing.

The email above is the second this week. The only comfort for the other disgruntled employees and me is that he’s directly contravening our organisation’s email policy. Delete or file? Maybe I’ll file it. It might come in handy one day.

She called to find out if Michael Jackson was really dead.

After the stress of preparing for my exam, my late-ish night on Wednesday and my early start to get to Bolton for my teeth, I was zonked after work. I left at three forty, and dashed home to get ready for a real celebration – dinner with Pippa. It was a beautiful day, so I got into my cargo shorts and walked down the river, my old running route. I’ve not been out since the Wythenshawe Five, and before long I was aching to get my Nikes on and get out again. Soon.

On Burton Road I passed a beautiful girl putting on roller skates. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t help but smile. She said “Hi.” I said “Hi,” back.

Pippa and I met in the garden of the Woodstock and had a couple of pints of cider in the sunshine. She was very excited about her holiday, full of enthusiasm for camping cookers and sleeping bags. It was a whole year of Bruce, we realised. I’ve never seen her happier. We talked about the proposed (imposed?) Moss Side move with work, and I felt a lot better for her positive approach.

“I’ll buy us dinner out, if you like,” she said. Jackpot!

We went to Greens on Lapwing Lane – no anti-cargo short prejudices there – and luckily managed to get a table for two. We started with vegetarian black pudding, which was peppery, and really tasty. What was it made of, I wondered, if not from blood. Pippa had mushroom gnocchi, and I had this awesome Moroccan pumpkin and leek stew with savoury scones, it was divine. I’m so glad that Pippa and Bruce are moving to Chorlton, I don’t see enough of her.

Pip’s house is vast. The style is a bit Brookside, but it’s huge. It’s a shame she lives with a wanker, she says. We watched a bit of telly, and fiddled around with her mp3 player. Later on Emma Jennings called

“Hi Em, how are you? How’s Glastonbury?”
“Is Michael Jackson dead?”

Coincidence

Lindsey from work is going out with Dave Shmoo! Nuts!

Kate, Paulina, Ryan and I went to Blowout with Matt and Chaw to watch She Keeps Bees, who are going to be at the Green Man Festival this year. As we were chatting, Kate pointed out Dave Shmoo. As he came over, Lindsey said "Hello!" to me. We know Dave Shmoo from Sol's and Fuel. Tiny world.

I was half-pissed when they walked in, and ended up ranting about Moss Side to Lindsey. I'm sure she was baffled by my ramblings.

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.