“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.

Lucy and the Caterpillar at Cup

Tracy and I met after work. We had a pint in Odd (Kate was working), and then went to Cup to see the Lucy and the Caterpillar's single launch show. Everybody was dead trendy, Woody would have felt like a sore thumb again, I reckon. There were three acts.



Josh Weller had ridiculous hair, but some quite good songs.

Petty Thief was excellent. Some things reminded me of Dylan, or of Badly Drawn Boy. I'd definitely go and see him again. I'm sure - from his accent - that he's from round here.

Lucy and the Caterpillar were oddly disappointing. Musically, her band were more than competent, and Lucy has an amazing voice - Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music in one breath, Regina Spector in another - but there's something about the scope of her songs that lacks ambition. With her talent - not only can she sing and play, but she can really perform (Rachael Kichenside take note!) - she has a lot of potential, but the subjects of her songs - wanting to be a bumblebee; beans on toast; being best friends with a handmade doll - was better suited to a nursery school than to a gig for grown-ups. Structurally, again, they were overly simple - verse, chorus, verse, chorus, "thank you," giggle. Is a middle eight be too much to ask? She was punching far below her weight, in my opinion.

Lucy and the Caterpillar are not amongst my army of loyal readers, but if they were, I'd offer this advice: ditch the milk teeth, and put some snarl and some sexiness into your music - especially your words. Give us something in the words to get us thinking and reacting. The music can stay more or less the same, but there is no need to fear being psychologically sophisticated. The example I'd give of how that might work is the opening line of Venus as a Boy by Bjork.

His wicked sense of humour, suggests exciting sex.

From here on, it's clearly a song by an adult, for adults. If Lucy and the C can make that kind of developmental step too, I'd be very happy. Maybe Lucy needs to get in with a bad crowd? I want to send her If You're Feeling Sinister and The Boy With The Arab Strap and Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like A Peasant to show her that you can be twee and adult simulataneously.

Tracy had some interesting opinions on the draft of the Fun Things To Do For Free project, and its context. I'll have a think about what she said.

Negotiations and Milk thefts

My new boss called today to negotiate the new salary for my new job. His approach was very direct. “You’ve asked for the middle of the salary range, which is fair given what you’re on now, so I’m happy to offer you the job at that wage. What do you think?” We agreed.

My current job has a labelling-is-nine-tenths-of-the-law system of fridge security. It isn’t secure. My small team buy milk in larger bottles than anybody else, which seems to encourage theft. “They won’t notice, stealing some won’t hurt.” Paranoia, guilt and shame are the tools with which we intend to fight this theft. Oh, and Sharpie markers.

Mel-blah-blah

I’ve worked out how Melba is rude. She waits for the person she dislikes to finish speaking, and then – as if she hasn’t even noticed that they’ve been speaking – entirely changes the subject of the entire conversation. It’s a form of blanking that wouldn’t be out of place in a playground. She does it to me every time she’s at Clare’s, and it makes me feel rubbish. I’ve worked out how Melba is rude, but I haven’t worked out why.