I have just spent part of New Year's Eve writing a resignation letter. It is a gesture - kind of surplus to requirements because in 12 weeks time the job I do has been outsourced to one of the biggest companies in the outsourcing world - Capita.
And I'll share a bit more about other joys I am thinking about. I don't like to... but what the hell. It once was Christmas.
I had a best friend of 20 years who has just spent 365 days, more actually, not bothering to contact me. I took him to a Frank Skinner concert. We had a great time. Last I heard of him.
What's the point of thinking about people when they never think of you? You're just a concession, a punctuation and eventually you feel almost an irrelevance. Then you are an irritation, an embarrassment. When you're the only person making an effort, a note, a card, a text, an anything... you just end up feeling cheap.
I thought that was what Christmas was for. To redress one or two of those things.
I would say that people don't change. But of course they do. Either that or I made a miscalculation for 20 years. And that's perfectly possible too. Not everybody was raised on 80s schmaltz and believed it, like I did.
Sometimes I write about stuff here. But lately I haven't really done that either. Just haven't had anything to really say.
And now I need my car repairing from a collision.
And between Christmas and New Year I received a letter awarding me 3 points and a fine for speeding at 39 in a 30.
The same day, despite my best efforts I was emailed news of failing to get a role (not a job exactly) that I had a strong connection (I thought) with something I spent 10 years doing. I can't get past a rigid application system even when I know the person awarding the role.
I work broadly in a profession that used to believe in qualifications. I could show you some. Good ones. No rubbish. But that was yesteryear. It ain't now.
Quality cannot be outsourced and experience cannot be duplicated. So my qualities are embarrassing to the system. That's if you even believe I have them. And there's no reason why you should. My best friend of 20 years didn't. Not enough to make me worth talking to anyway. Not worth a text. Maybe I should have kept it more light and breezy. I just assumed I was in safe company. I was wrong.
How much do you stick to 'who you are' when the 'who you are' is no longer required?
Nobody likes a moaner.
And take my advice, if you find yourself thinking this way, don't put on Spotify and allow a sad song to slip past you. At least you can rely on the radio for a cheery furniture ad.
Oh, and I have a wisdom tooth that has called 'time'.
Oh, and I have a wisdom tooth that has called 'time'.
On the other hand....
Actually, I quite like a moaner. They've usually got a point. They make interesting conversation. If they do it like I do it then they are quite chippy, enthused and at least partially informed. They are realistic, observant and cynically comic people usually much more fun than rose-spectacled and over-liberal folk - the sort of types who are so judgemental that they actually call other people judgemental!!! To their face!! You can't get any more judgemental than that!
And moaners have more vision and insight, they are honest and you can usually break them into a smile or have a bloody good laugh trying. In fact, I bloody love a moaner me.
And I'm not unhappy with 'who I am' and I don't intend to be during 2015. I have never claimed to be perfect. That's for others to correctly detect.
And in the time it has taken to write this, another dozen FMEs have e-mailed their resignations. That's not solidarity by the way as our group does not roll that way. It's just a mutual recognition of an inevitable tide.
Tides aren't personal. They just feel that way because you put your person into what you do. Me more than most. There isn't a stunt I won't pull or a trick I won't play, a play I won't make or a lever I won't age, if I'm trying to instill a positive change in someone whose fingers are scraping the dust and lint at the bottom of an empty hessian bag of missing options.
And when I start linking one or two words together like that..colourful like...I sometimes write them down.
Although I've not written my blog, I've written 30,000 words towards a book, which (I assume) will be in the same style, unless Katie Price's ghost writer becomes available. I didn't know even she was dead but then I've not been keeping up with the news.
And when I wrote my New Year's Eve resignation letter and copied it to colleagues on the e-mail, I made an admittedly thin joke (but then nobody else bothered at all).
"Dear Colleagues,
I have sent my letter. I wasn't clear on the Inspector's rank so I just said "Dear Mate".
A gold watch arrived via DPL within the hour.
Who says we don't have 24/7 policing?"
It drew in a couple of jokey responders who still remembered to have a sense of humour.
And I'm getting my car repaired next week. The insurance and no claims protection will basically cover it and it will be a minor inconvenience.
And when I was telling my hairdresser this morning about my speeding, she said she'd been done in exactly the same place doing 35 mph in a 30 over Christmas as well. At least, I got an extra 4 mph out of my crime. And due to the passage of time they are the only points I have, and I might be able to get out of those if I go on a tea and biscuit morning.
And parts of the role I do could feasibly resurface in some sort of new capacity for a short time, but in the meantime I will have more time off. And I'm not short of projects. I will retweak my targets. They are going to become clearer. Louder. Screamier. More interesting. They are going to be faster and edgier. And if they're not, you can kick my arse in 12 months time when I will still be writing this blog.
End of year messages don't have to be twee and predictable.
Stick this one in your pipe and smoke it... errr, dear friends.
And if you are looking for a resolution, take mine... Always starts your sentences with And.
