Rainy days and Mondays

So much for the summer then - altho the weekend managed to stay dry we're now back to October skies and hammering rain. At least yesterday was good weather - me and the Other Half took Small Person to the park for the local free music festival, where she rocked out to various dodgy punk bands and ate far too much sugar (sugar (in the form of sweets or ice cream - in case anyone had a bizarre mental image of me with a bag of sugar and a spoon. Or a sugar beet and a sharp knife...) is carefully handed out on Days Out to ensure optimum good temper and staying power. And sometimes we let Small Person have some sweets too. Ahahaha). Oops, too many brackets there but it's been a long day. On Friday my job was, unbeknownst to me, posted on the company intranet site. I'm technically in charge of my small department, what with me having an assistant and everything, but, since I've done the job for two years without pushing too much I've never been officially made manager. Which is all very well until they start advertising for a manager. So I have a meeting with my manager's manager (are you keeping up at the back?) tomorrow to find out whether I'll soon be "made redundant" and therefore eligible for free school dinners for Small Person and a flat with stripey wallpaper and a great big telly. I try very hard not to mind these things but why are the doley people on Wife Swap or any ITV programme you care to mention always banging on about not being able to make ends meet while chaining Bensons on a brand new leather sofa? And if you look carefully there's generally a picture of the six of them (including "Uncle" Dave) on holiday in Benidorm on the mantelpiece/handmade bureau (bureau??? is it 1850?!)/baby grand. And meanwhile I'm waiting to see if I'm being downsized from a job I hate anyway so that I can figure out a way to afford my extortionate rent. Actually it's not that extortionate but it does prevent me from being able to afford three new pairs of shoes a month and therefore I resent it. So anyway, I've spent a humiliating day in the office with people asking if I'm leaving and me saying "I'm hoping not to" and doing that laugh you do while you're simultaneously trying not to cry and wondering if eBay does hand grenades. It's not like I haven't been humiliated at work before - I was sacked from an office junior position for refusing to ring the wholesalers and order new orange squash for the welfare room (didn't they KNOW who I was? So beneath me darling), and although I've never photocopied my bottom (to the relief of both my colleagues and the photocopier engineer) I've been to some interesting office parties. But somehow, knowing that your boss, while being an obsequeious, creepy little man with a foot fetish and a Napoleon complex, still considers himself an expert on your shortcomings despite the fact that he has no real concept of your abilities due to inheriting your department two years ago and studiously ignoring you ever since, is just a little bit galling.

Note to self: stop ranting about work. And brush up on punctuation. See me.