Friday, October 07, 2005
The Rats Are Running
I slept in. Despite my tiredness last night I struggled to sleep and fought against another bout of insomnia. I almost phoned in, but believe it or not I didn't want to miss my lunchtime pint in Clark's!
Work was as bad as it has ever been; boring, uneventful and like a magnetic force in reverse. In the past two months two members of staff have left our team. Several others have intimated a strong desire to follow. What does that tell you? Does it suggest people enjoy working in a company that used to be fun and productive? Or does it make you think the core is as rotten as a barrel of apples after sailing around the south Pacific on a schooner for six months.
Clark's was full of people complaining about wanting to leave the same company I work for. It's actually getting boring because all the complaints are the same as mine; I've head it all before. Don't get me wrong, it used to be a great place to work. I used to feel like I belonged to something worthwhile and the people were good to work with. There was a great atmosphere and the work we did was constructive and cutting edge. After the "restructuring redundancies", the rot set in and people weren't as friendly any more. A death sentence was cast and everyone started looking about to see who would jump ship first. Those first brave soldiers are now leaving like rats from a sinking ship. The saga goes on.
Planning for the Fringe Fantastic marketing campaign is picking up speed. As well as all the usual press releases to internet feeds and mail-outs to literary magazines and newspapers, the News of the World have already agreed to get involved. Although reviewing literature and arts is not exactly their bag, they have agreed to publish a small article about my chapbook from the "local author" angle. This will expose me and Fringe Fantastic to a circulation of 3,759,443 readers (Source: ABC, 01 Aug 05 - 28 Aug 05). Pretty cool, eh?
My lunchtime pint in Clark's turned into a few more and by eight o'clock and well under the grip of an alcoholic haze, we (Zander, Julie and her pall Jill) moved to Robertson's Bar in Rose Street (aka Bar 37). We drank until about midnight - I think - before I headed home to find Gail still up. I put on some tunes and had another couple of drinks, finally making it to bed around 2.30 am.
Work was as bad as it has ever been; boring, uneventful and like a magnetic force in reverse. In the past two months two members of staff have left our team. Several others have intimated a strong desire to follow. What does that tell you? Does it suggest people enjoy working in a company that used to be fun and productive? Or does it make you think the core is as rotten as a barrel of apples after sailing around the south Pacific on a schooner for six months.
Clark's was full of people complaining about wanting to leave the same company I work for. It's actually getting boring because all the complaints are the same as mine; I've head it all before. Don't get me wrong, it used to be a great place to work. I used to feel like I belonged to something worthwhile and the people were good to work with. There was a great atmosphere and the work we did was constructive and cutting edge. After the "restructuring redundancies", the rot set in and people weren't as friendly any more. A death sentence was cast and everyone started looking about to see who would jump ship first. Those first brave soldiers are now leaving like rats from a sinking ship. The saga goes on.
Planning for the Fringe Fantastic marketing campaign is picking up speed. As well as all the usual press releases to internet feeds and mail-outs to literary magazines and newspapers, the News of the World have already agreed to get involved. Although reviewing literature and arts is not exactly their bag, they have agreed to publish a small article about my chapbook from the "local author" angle. This will expose me and Fringe Fantastic to a circulation of 3,759,443 readers (Source: ABC, 01 Aug 05 - 28 Aug 05). Pretty cool, eh?
My lunchtime pint in Clark's turned into a few more and by eight o'clock and well under the grip of an alcoholic haze, we (Zander, Julie and her pall Jill) moved to Robertson's Bar in Rose Street (aka Bar 37). We drank until about midnight - I think - before I headed home to find Gail still up. I put on some tunes and had another couple of drinks, finally making it to bed around 2.30 am.
Colin 9:36 pm