Fear me, for I am GIANT

Just a quick note. Sat here on the train that I caught at Kemble, rumbling on at a fair old whack to Reading at the moment.


I think I either wipe out select details from previous journeys from my mind, or at the grand old age of (almost) 30 I am still growing.


I'm a tall guy, 6ft 4", but that's not exactly abnormal these days is it. So why oh why oh why do they create seats in Standard Class that are far too small and compact?


I'm well aware of maximising carrying capability for the best possible economic return etc but this is silly. I'm hunched over like a smartly dressed silverback gorilla, hammering away on my keyboard of my netbook that is on one of those silly little trays attached to the back of the seat in front of you. And yet my knees are crammed up against the seat in front, my head is bowed, my legs are bent as is my back, and I appear to be doing some form of Tyrannosaurus Rex impression with my arms in that anyone would think that they start at my elbows and somehow protrude from my ribs, not my shoulders.


This is all after I have pushed through to the empty window seat, past the woman sitting in the aisle seat. I then had to perform the intricate dance of new train boarders and struggle out of my coat and then place it and my laptop backpack up on the inadequately small shelves, whilst my body was bent over backwards and doing a very realistic impression of a suited and booted boomerang. This is because, of course, you can't prepare whilst actually in the aisle - the other new train borders desperate to get past to find a seat are actually legally allowed to kill and eat you if you hold them up in this way.


At least that would be more impressive grub than the food on the actual train. I've made that mistake too, before. Ordered a "Breakfast Bap", I did. Sausage, bacon and egg with brown sauce. When it was plonked in front of me after being nuked in the on-board microwave, I asked for another - one that had not previously passed through someone else's digestive system. Apparently, this was not funny. I think out of sheer curiousity and an internal voice saying "go on, be craaazy today! Experience life! And possibly death!" I actually took a bite. Never, ever, ever again. I swore that after that stupid mistake I only had days, possibly minutes to live before whatever viral or bacterial threat took my life away from me.


I can just see the headstone now - "Here lies someone who tried train food. The idiot."


And as for fares going up again - well I might just jolly well be annoyed if I actually had to pay for them. Luckily, I don't. However, I can't help but recall that the last four or five fare hikes have been to "improve the service received by our wonderful customers". Please correct me if I am wrong, but I have not seen one single improvement. Not one. The way they ferry us all about like cattle you would think they're making a fair buck. I know that there are maintenance and repair costs for the network, but still... I find it hard to believe that the extra money received from our increased fares are being well spent.


But then again, maybe we are all stupid for using the train. I mean, I am travelling from Kemble to London in a tiny seat in a vehicle out of my control getting wound up by the certain knowledge my train is probably going to be delayed or cancelled for my return journey (it always happens to me) on a day when I really need to be back on time to attend our first NCT class. My knees hurt, my legs are uncomfortable, the seat is not great and the train is getting overcrowded again now we are actually at Reading, and people who have paid like me are forced to stand.


People can buy return airline tickets to Spain for £30 or something silly sometimes, so what tiny charge do the train operators place on us travelling in 'peak' times?


£117.00 for me. That's ridiculous. Why is that OK? And why do we keep paying it? 


They've got us over a barrel, that's why.


Makes me so mad I might just go stomp around a bit and wipe out Tokyo later.

To Londinium, and beyond!

Apparently, or according to some friends and/or colleagues 'dahn the saaf-east, in Landen innit', I don't live in a little town in the Cotswolds, I live in "The Sticks".


As far as I can tell, "The Sticks" = "Anywhere outside of the M25", but the stigma somehow gets worse (Stickier?) the further away from this concrete ring you travel.


So by the time you get to the Cotswolds, as far as people in our own capital city are concerned, all we do here is occasionally munch a few carrots here and there, wear dirty and ripped dungarees and mostly get about from field to field on our tractors. Which we apparently refer to as "Tra-errrs". We'll meet up with our farmer friends at the respective corners of our land, say 'Oo-arr...' in a knowing way whilst nodding slowly and gazing into the distance, then head to another field and repeat the process with that neighbour. Finally, we'll shoot a rabbit with our 12-bore shotgun and take it home to skin and eat for tea that night.


My colleagues sometimes seem to conveniently forget that we do have technology in this part of the world as well, and that I actually work for the same company as them where I advise on secure business internet and hosting solutions, platforms, cloud computing and all... *yawn* (boring myself again). Most of the time this is just to open up an opportunity for a bit of banter which I very much enjoy, but I can't help but wonder sometimes that they actually believe it all a bit more than they let on...


I've always thought that there is some secret in London that I am missing for so many people to want to live there, or for the millions that do to actually want to stay there and shout about how great it is. 


But is it? Is it really? I don't think so and have rapidly come to the conclusion that I'm not missing any secret at all - you just need to be a certain type of person to actually WANT to stay there and make a life in the place.


I'm off to London tomorrow to show my colleagues down there that I still do exist, that I do know what a suit is and that I don't actually smell of manure. I hope. Am I looking forward to it? Not really. Let me explain why, drawing from previous trips and experiences.

• I have to get up earlier than usual. Never a good start. OK, I admit, not London's fault, but I ain't happy about it.
• Trains, Tube and Public Transport. I hate trains, and I dislike any sort of public transport intensely, mostly because when it fails, it tends to fail on an epic level. If I'm driving somewhere and get stuck in a jam or the car breaks down (not happened yet but might), at least I am in control and responsible for the situation, or potentially I can make a choice to try alternative routes. Not so with public transport. And as for the Tube - convenient, yes, I give it that. But try travelling during busy periods in the heat of the Summer (assuming we get one). How I love the clammy feel of my shirt and suit sticking to me whilst pressed up against several other bodies with my face in someone's armpit - usually the guy built like a brick out-house wearing no sleeves so his armpit-hair starts tickling my nostrils. It then turns into the "Please God Don't Let Me Open-Mouth Sneeze Into The Brick House's Armpit" game. Bad times.
• Let's ignore the Tube and the Taxis and take a wander on the streets and meet all the happy go-lucky people! Fail, on several levels:
• The air is so pollution-filled your lungs start to immediately collapse
• Assuming you survive the smoggy atmosphere, you quickly learn another fact - NO ONE OUTSIDE IN LONDON EVER SMILES. And God forbid even attempts to make eye contact. Even if you succeed at this rare challenge, it's usually seen as an act of aggression and the person you looked at will then proceed to beat you to death with his little fold-up bicycle.
• EVERYONE is always in a big rush to get where they're going. It's a real push and shove or be pushed and shoved world out there.
• No-one speaks to you. Unless they are with you, or mugging you.
• It's too noisy! On the few occasions I have stayed overnight in London, the ambient noise consists of sirens (not the good kind) and murders. And that's it.
• It's too big. Whilst choice and convenience are obviously good things and beneficial, there is such a thing - a very real thing - as too much choice and London absolutely has too much of everything. Even deciding where to get lunch from can be a mammoth task if you don't shut your brain down quickly and settle for the Subway around the corner.
• It's too threatening. You can't go anywhere without seeing large groups of hoodies, drunks or murderers. Half the journey planning is spent dynamically adjusting your path to cross streets or take alternative routes to avoid being killed.
• The taxi drivers, who have an amazing ability in terms of memorising streets and knowing every possible and alternative path to get you from point A to point B, are all insane. Many a time I have been treated to tales of how the driver's family was in the drugs business, or how the coppers have been round recently, or how they know someone who has beaten up someone or been beaten up recently whilst on a 900mph ride back to Paddington station. One such trip consisted of the driver literally flooring it all the way and doing nothing but cackling madly, only subsiding into silence when working out the change he owed me for the fare.

Compare that to my little town where I can park. I have clean air. I have a bit of choice (or at the very worst I travel for 15 minutes to another little town) over anything be it food, clothing, household goods, electricals, restaurants. Where people lazily wonder around even during the week, not in a rush. Where people actually look at you and return smiles - even initiating conversation of all things. Where you don't feel threatened at all, even if you're in town in the middle of the night; walking past a group of teenagers the most you have to worry about is one of them - having not seen you - wandering into your path.. and then apologising for doing so. Where the nearest Police force is based 20 miles away, as it is hardly ever needed.

I feel relaxed where I live, and it's not just because I'm used to it. In London I am almost constantly tense, only ever relaxing when I start to see green things outside of the train windows.

I love visiting London - it's great for big shopping trips at seasonal times of the year. It's great for a weekend break - treating myself and my wife to a nice hotel, with good food, and maybe catching a theatre show (-10 man points). It's somewhere 'different' but not in the middle of nowhere. So visiting, fine. I get that. I like that. I understand that. I just couldn't live there. It would drive me mad and I think that within a very short time-frame I would just not want to converse with people. Not want to smile at them. Not even want to make eye contact with them. If I had to venture outside, I would get from A to B as quickly as possible without taking any further note of the people or anything else around me. I can see a pattern here.

In my opinion, London living is for people who want to maximise their contacts in terms of business acquaintances so that they can 'do lunch', and 'network', and/or for people who love the night-life, taking 30 minutes to get served at a busy bar, shouting to talk to anyone, drinking until the small hours, maybe looking for quick, no-strings-attached relationships all the way through to their forties and generally spending most of their time either stressed out or in a busy bar.

To me, all of those people absolutely have their priorities wrong. But, as always, this is just an opinion.

If that's what London is all about - they can have it. 

I'll be on my Tra-errr.

Destroy It Yourself? Not yet, at least

Hello there.


Back in the office on yet another Monday. I'm feeling good though and this is not just due to the several cups of coffee I've had.


My wife and I went to our 25-week midwife appointment this morning at a local surgery. It was all very normal stuff, a few more forms to fill in etc, but came with the customary listening to the heartbeat piece.


Now, my wife made a fantastic investment recently and purchased a decent doppler to allow us to listen into the baby's heartbeat ourselves whenever we want. This has resulted in a lot of fun, essentially with our little girl intentionally (or so we believe) playing a game of hide and seek whenever she detects the machine near her!


Eventually, inevitably, we do find her though and sit there with smiles on our faces listening to the little train-like heartbeat go for it, and we're quite content to do that for 5-10 minutes at a time. Even if it means covering my wife's belly with a cold, strange, gooey, ecto-plasamy gel-like substance. So although listening again in the surgery this morning was not exactly a new experience, it has lost none of its originality or ability to create magical grins on our faces when we hear it.


The fact we're going to be parents soon still scares the crud out of me, but it's getting more and more exciting and I'm catching myself thinking about meeting my little girl for the first time more and more, and getting more and more excited by it. I'm like a kid at Christmas who is convinced that this year he is going to not only see Santa Claus but trap the slippery rotund fellow, adopt Rudolph as a cool pet and have all the presents in the sack to himself.


Update on the house Destroy It Yourself - 

• Spare room now almost empty (apart from a box holding 'stuff' for the baby - little toys, colourful pics to put on the walls etc)
• Little 4-ton skip hired, deployed smack-bang on the driveway. Operation "Fill-It-Up-With-Our-Stuff-Before-The-Neighbours-Sneakily-Use-It-Too" was successfully accomplished by late Saturday afternoon. Weasels. (+10 man points)
• Tidy up garage after recent spring-clean to actually be able to use the space a bit more effectively - done. (+5 man points)
• Tackle the fabled "Storage Cupboard Under The Stairs". This was not a mission to be taken lightly - even opening the door rendered you at risk of being crushed by approximately ten tons of "other stuff", most of which we had not used/wanted/worn/glimpsed for years. Seriously, it is like a black hole in there - I emptied it out and I would have put a whole year's wages on the fact that had I just come along and seen all this crap everywhere, I would be convinced that there was more chance of finding my cat riding a Harley than getting it all to fit into this little space.
• Three separate trips to local DIY store - complete.
• First - To purchase chipboard, shelves for new cupboard space, three tier storage trolley and to spot some bathroom tiles we wanted for our new bathroom (purchased a YEAR previously...) but not knowing how many we needed
• Second - to purchase said tiles post returning home and measuring up (utilising my maths skills and hoping that this tiling experience is not going to match the previous "Tiling Incident" from a few years back). The amount I bought actually buckled the front wheel of the trolley I used... grrrrr (+5 man points)
• Third - to purchase drill-bits in order to be able to set up shelves purchased in the first trip for the storage cupboard... and to get a new power drill. Cos I could. And it was red (+100 man points). Couldn't find a suitable holster though so I could pretend I was a cowboy when my wife isn't looking (-95 man points).
• Complete conversion of "Storage Cupboard Under The Stairs" to "New Walk-In Larder" via trolley and putting up aforementioned shelves. The rest of the larder is a little bit grotty and only lit by a couple of LED wall lights, but it's space that can now be used as my wife intended, and she happily went to and fro from the kitchen and loaded up the shelves with all sorts of things. This felt good.

So basically, what I have so far accomplished is some quite big stuff - but nothing that is immediately visible to someone just coming into the place! The house is still a bit of a tip from all the moving about and shifting of "stuff" we've been doing, but at least now the final sort of tidy-up should be easy and have a longer-lasting effect.

Then we just have to arrange for the new carpet in the nursery and finally, at last, I can then unleash my wife with her debit card onto the internet and into the near-by baby shops to start kitting it out and generally blinging it up :)

I'm looking forward to that, should be fun :)

In summary then, so far my major achievement is the shelves I put up - which as of writing this have not fallen down yet. This is a new DIY experience, but one I am not yet 100% comfortable in believing... if they're still up after a week then I will admit I might have done OK.

Then again, there's still possibility for disaster - I've just remembered that I have two shoe racks to build for my wife tonight.

Flat-packed shoe racks are, as I'm sure you appreciate, lethal in the wrong hands and there is every chance that I could still end civilised life as we know it with my DIY skills.

We'll see, eh?

Big Brother? Big Trouble.

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit's me!


**Hooray!**


Note to self - must watch Blackadder again soon. All series. Although my votes go to Series 2 and 4 for the best ones!


Just thought I would drop another note onto here considering it's been a few days since I last did.


This is not, amazingly, through being bored of this blog thing - quite the contrary, I'm really quite enjoying it - but simply because although I actually set aside time in my work calendar to post something new on it, this past week has resulted in me being out of the office a lot and by the time I get home I have either completely forgotten, or I have been distracted by more important things (like food omnomnomnom... and of course my wife :)  )


So, busy little bee. nothing really super exciting though. My boss at work has decided to hand his notice in after a relatively short spell with us, so we will be leaderless again for a little bit.


He's a nice guy, but I don't really mind that much about all this at the moment - my concentration lies elsewhere, namely in the amount of home preparation I will be doing in my spare time in readiness for our little girl. Keep thinking I have loads of time and not really appreciating that actually, she could arrive at any moment now. Have I mentioned this before? Probably. Sorry if I have.


Anyway, the only thing of note really since my last post has been an interesting but insanely horrifying story a friend of mine brought to my attention via the Book of Faces.


Quick link here...


Now, I'm someone who absolutely values privacy. Everyone is entitled to it - basic human right. However, I will stretch to acknowledging why some security measures are in place, and I will even go as far as saying that most of the time I have absolutely no issue with most of what's going on. Take the airport body scanners for example. I'm in the camp that thinks these things are a good thing rather than bad. I can understand why people are concerned, but I can also see what our authorities are trying to do here - which is essentially to protect people. I'm not wanting to alienate anyone who happens to stumble across this who might have a different opinion, as I'm well aware that what I have written here is just that - an opinion. As long as you are :)


Anyway, back to the linked story. This is where I will stand up along with (I anticipate) anyone else who has read or heard of this story and in one, strong, undeniable and unified voice scream out loud enough for the clouds to burn;


"Now, c'mon, this really isn't on." *


*OK, so the reality is a lot stronger, and a shit-load ruder. I just don't like fucking swearing. In fact, sod it, in this case it's worth it - this story is fucking disgusting and wrong on all levels.




I cannot for the life of me see how the measures this school has taken is even remotely justified in any sort of acid trip let alone dream world.


Wrong wrong wrong.


I love technology, and I like the feeling that I live in relatively safe times (or at least in potentially less safe times but with much better security measures) but this is just plainly not right, however they try and spin it.


The only thing that comes close to this story when looking at the amazement factor is the fact that this story has - so far - remained so damn quiet. Why isn't there a bigger noise about this? It brings up some serious discussion areas and moral questions.


Where is Twitter when you need it?


Probably still full of tweets informing millions of followers of thousands of people that Generic Celebrity A is expecting guests for dinner at any moment.


Unfortunately, we seem to live in a current age where beauty products or whatever random celebrities' unfaithful partner(s) has/have been up to over the years qualifies as "huge news" and takes up all the air-time.


Anyone see anything wrong with this picture?


I truly hope so.

Jealous? Me?

Happy Monday!

Didn't actually get the time to post anything on the Friday - annoyingly, some colleagues thought that I too deserved to do some work, so was taken up with a few interesting requests and then dragged to Wales for a meeting to talk about exciting technologies... ZZzzzZZZzzz...

Sometimes I really think I am in the wrong career. Mostly, it's when I realise that I'm boring myself when talking about this sort of thing that I think I need to look for something else!

I had a nice weekend break. Some of it was spent in a dark and dank garage (+1 man point), avoiding behemoth spiders with fangs the size of harpoons or at least trying not to scream like a girl (-2 man points per shrill scream) and piling years' worth of cardboard boxes, an old mattress and an intriguing chest of drawers - one that I had built myself and therefore had a Leaning Tower of Pisa effect - onto the back of my father-in-law's flatbed and off to the tip. A tip, by the way, that you now have to make an appointment to attend. Oh, and bring some ID. Including photographic, and a household utility bill showing your address. I swear you need less to open a bank account.

All of this in an attempt to create space in there, only to fill it up again with stuff within other areas of the house and get our spare bedroom magically transformed from somewhere a guest could stay (approximately 4 times in as many years so far) into the colourful, creative and imagination-filled world of a new nursery for my daughter, due early June.

Luckily, I rely very much on my wife to choose schemes, colours and content - she has happily spent hours on the internet looking at all the different potential designs and sent some choice ones over to me to look at as well. They all look great, and it's yet again another step that we're taking that makes everything feel like it's getting more and more real.

Add to that that over the weekend and only for the second (and third) time, I felt my little girl kick. The difference in the proud parents' faces was something to behold - mine a sense of wonder, amazement, pride and love, and my wife's an agonised look of pain as the kick had apparently "almost come through and split me!". Quite a big kick, then. But I guess it's always possible - my wife constantly regales me with stories from other pregnant women who have had serious organ injury or broken ribs or even excruciating and agonising injuries leading to death (apparently, so I'm reliably told...) due to the powerful little thing within that's just testing out some limbs it has suddenly become aware of.

My wife now claims that our beautiful little girl (which she will be, everyone's daughter always is) has got monkey legs. How this will affect her later in life if true is somewhat debatable, but as always I can put a positive spin on it - either she will be a great jumper or sprinter and have a fantastic athletic career ahead of her, or at the very least prospective boyfriends will be put off for a few more years. The fewer I have to chase away with the shotgun that I will have by then, the better as far as I'm concerned :)

Valentine's day was the first in all our time together where we did not get each other anything. And we were genuinely OK with that, it seems. I did have my doubts - only once, a few years ago, did I get the suggestion from my wife to "not bother with a card of gift" that year. I then proceeded to make a huge mistake that men all over will sympathise with and, quite literally, did not get her either a card or a gift. Boy did I pay for that one. It seems so obvious now - but every guy will make the same mistake once. Probably not again, but definitely once. 

It was because of this that I had my suspicions that this may be a similar trap being deviously set-up by my delicate little flower, to see if I still correctly recalled that particular lesson. But eventually I took the risk, as the reasoning this time was of course we would have better things to spend our money on in a few months' time. Turned out OK. I passed. Ironically, I think I would have been in deep trouble if I had ignored the agreement and bought her expensive stuff.

So there we have it. That pretty much sums it up.

Oh, apart from the news that a couple living within the same small town as us managed to scoop half of the Euro-Millions jackpot, netting approximately £56 million. This, overnight, makes them richer than Guy Ritchie.

I'd love to say I wasn't jealous - and to a large extent I'm not. I wish them every happiness and hope they enjoy their new found wealth. But I think the fact that it was so close to home makes this one a bit harder to swallow somehow - as if it has a bearing on the chance of anyone else from our town winning the next jackpot. The reality of course is that the chance is the same - it just doesn't feel like it.

I have spent the majority of this morning thinking about how it would feel to suddenly become that wealthy and what it would mean. I would be able to quit my job. All financial pressures would instantly disappear, allowing us to volunteer for things we genuinely would like to help out with, but couldn't because of the lack of financial reward. Our family, both direct and slightly extended, would have all their mortgages paid. True friends would also benefit. We would be able to start our own little venture if we wanted to. Our child(ren) and generations beyond would have no financial worries either (assuming none of us went stupid with the cash).

Then I remind myself that it is sheer luck, that regardless of how frustrated and tired I become of my job (and pay package), at least I have a job (and pay package).

I own a house (OK, there's the slight matter of the mortgage) but it's within our means. My wife and I own a car each. We have loving families around us and some great friends.

Basically, we're doing more than OK and I'm forever thankful for that.

I've no doubt £56 million would make things slightly easier and allow us to treat families and friends, but I have absolutely nothing to complain about.

I won't go as far as saying "Money doesn't make you happy" though. I'm sure it can contribute a hell of a lot, if wisely invested or spent.

However, I will say that contrary to what a lot of people think, money is just not the most valuable thing in your life.

Well, I'm back

So.


I'm back.


I'm not even sure if I'm surprised or not. I guess since I have invested a good hour of my time so far in this (including agonising over all the different colour schemes, layouts, themes etc) I didn't want to waste it - at least not yet.


Plus, I found the little gadget that allows little fish to swim about at the top of the page. Swishy swishy swishy. Please, as I politely request in a little statement above them, take the time to drop a bit of virtual fish food in there. They like that. Omnomnomnom. 


This little gadget alone was worth at least a second post :)


So, how have I been since the last post? Well, a mixture of feelings have flitted across my tiny little mind.


1) Happy and Full. My wife had cooked my favourite meal - spaghetti bolognese. Absolutely love it. Unfortunately, I eat far too much of it and always forget to take into account its fabulous expanding-whilst-in-the-stomach properties.


2) Uncomfortable, but still strangely happy. See point 1, but add the fact this was post-expansion of foodstuffs.


3) Angry. Annoyed at myself for having a moment of madness at about 11pm last night, involving checking work email (why? WHYYY? Never a good idea... ) and volunteering to help someone out in the morning in an area I have no particular expertise in, and that would probably cause me immense pain and emotional trauma.


4) Elated. I woke up thinking it was Saturday, and that - silly me - I'd forgotten to turn my alarm off. All I had to do was switch it off and drop back into blissful sleep.


5) Emotionally Destroyed. See point 4, add 5-10 seconds to the end of the story.


6) Frustrated. See point 3. Whilst attempting said help, true to prediction I confirmed the ever-present theory that my company's multi-million pound investment (cough) in a decent ERP system cannot appear to cope with anything more taxing than a MacDonald's Drive-Thru order.


7) Resigned. Yesterday, I attempted to inject a bit of humour into my team with some comments around some of the stupid phrases large global powerhouses are trying to tell everyone else that CEOs will absolutely listen too without bursting out laughing and thinking you're a complete muppet. It was well received by everyone - except one, who this morning took the comments seriously and started going off on a tangent about how the rest of the information was good. Fail. Although on whose part, I don't know, as to be honest this particular individual has a habit of appearing to have little sense of humour or social skill, but altogether impressive skills at inserting himself up the rectum of the nearest senior person of Management level or above.


8) Happy. Lunch time! Shared a laugh or two with a colleague.


9) Really Happy. Found the fish gadget for the blog.




So yes, a bit of a rollercoaster, but not too different to any other day. I'd like to pick up on point five though and record the thoroughly stupid phrases for your amusement, or (more likely) posterity as I'm still pretty sure no-one is ever going to read this other than me.


Here we go :)

• "The Dawn of Standards"
• "The Zenith of Industrialisation"
• "The Dusk of Obsolescence"
• "The Trough of Disillusionment"
• "The Peak of Inflated Expectations"
• "The Slope of Enlightenment"
• "The Plateau of Productivity"

I wasn't going to name the companies responsible but sod it - I challenge anyone who doesn't work at IBM or Gartner - no, you know what, they can be included - to try and utilise these phrases you have coined whilst on some form of acid trip in normal conversation (even including normal business conversation, if such a thing can be defined) and still be taken 100% seriously. Office jargon at its very, VERY worst. Unfortunately, I can only see it getting worse still.


But who cares. As long as I have my wife's spag bol, I'm happy again :)

Testing the theory...

OK. So after years of seeing, reading and hearing about other blogs, I've finally decided to try one myself.


Why the delay?


Well, to be honest, it's only recently that I have realised I am not the extroverted, life-of-the-party guy I thought I was all through my teenage years, and probably most of my twenties.


No, I am not the guy that lights up the room, or where all humans and animals alike in the near vicinity gaze at me with sheer adoration and awe.


Why did I ever think I was? I put it down to sheer confidence gained (at the time) by constantly being around a large group of friends during my adolescent and teenage years, some of which I am still in close contact with today. If you have your own social support group constantly around you, of course you are going to feel on top of the world and think you're the one of the most popular guys around - or at the very least, that you fit in. This is not a bad thing.


And I do fit in - I'm not trying to put myself down here - all I'm saying is that things have changed. It's just taken me a while to realise I'm not this extroverted guy, as things have conspired against me to hide the reality of it all.


I'm in full-time office employment and have been for coming up to 15 years (yes, I'm still a relative young'un). Anyone familiar with office politics, however, will relate when I say that "Office You" and "Real You" are two very different people. I'm sure the same goes for any other role outside of office work, but I won't pretend to be sure.


"Office You" - whomever you are - is to some extent confident, able to stand their ground, communicate with all levels of (alleged...perceived?) hierarchy, put across opinions, take on responsibility, take and use constructive criticism, perform above and beyond your job role whilst simultaneously making and drinking enough coffee to re-animate a cadaver, manage people, be the hero (or even the villain!) and essentially socially interact and successfully adapt to all sorts of social situations and challenges. 


You literally live in a different world to "Real You". In Office World, you may be the King of the castle, the court jester, or a mere peasant. Wherever you lie within this gradient, it is completely different when normal office hours finish and it's time to go home.


"Office You" then steps aside for the remainder of the day and returns control to "Real You". The result this has of course differs depending on who you are. To quote the Messiah, Brian, from the classic Monty Python film - "you're all individual!"


For me, I'm still the same guy I was before the grown-up responsibilities of adulthood (which includes employment) bore down with mighty force. I'm just slightly more repressed. Sensible. Calm. I think the best possible word is realistic. 


I have also realised that deep down (this is the beginning of the hidden truth I referred to earlier) I am a very quiet person. I keep my thoughts to myself. In a social Real World situation, Real Me prefers to observe the dynamic of it, rather than try and immediately contribute to it. The thought of trying to become the centre of it literally makes me shiver. I am likely to contribute to the discussion, but only when I want to, when I am comfortable, and if needed or if it actually serves a purpose.


I find it difficult to express the 'normal' emotions that everyone goes through each day - simply because I don't feel that I need to. That's the very definition of 'normal', isn't it? I can liken this to yet another social networking tool - Twitter. Brilliant concept, an amazing tool that has helped to move global communication into the quick and easy stage. (Now they just have to take care of 'accurate', but I guess that's part of the fun!) Do I have a Twitter account? Yes. Do I use it? Not really. Why? Well, I'm just one of those people that doesn't feel the need to update everyone who might stumble across my tweet on exactly what I am doing in that moment of space and time, regardless of how relevant or interesting it is.


Do people need to know I'm on the loo? Or cooking a meal? Or about to read a book? Or am walking from one room to the next? No. More to the point, why do people who DO tweet this normal stuff actually bother? Is it just an inherent part of the addiction?


So yes, the same laws I apply to my Twitter usage, I apply to myself. Do people need or want to know exactly how I am feeling about everything normal at every normal moment of the day? Do I feel the need to offload this useless information? No. So I don't tell them.


It's got to the stage where I've realised that if I have nothing specific to talk about with someone in Real World, then Real Me finds it very, VERY hard to hold conversation with them - be it face-to-face or on the phone. The only exception to this is email - but then I am given the luxury of my own time to decide upon what to say and think of further things to enquire about. A lot of people do not favour email conversation due to the perceived lack of emotion it puts across - this can either work for you or work against you, and comments within the email can, if you're not extremely careful, be mis-interpreted.
However, I believe that that is only a problem or potential risk worth bearing in mind when the email in question is being written by "Office You" in Office World. At a personal level, email works very well and often I find relaxes me in what I say (or rather, write) when initiating or replying to a meaningful conversation.


In terms of face-to-face or phone conversation in Office World, none of these problems exist. Because for me, whenever I am on the phone or in a meeting, there is a specific purpose (OK, arguable for some meetings we all come across from time to time) and there is a specific requirement or requirements for Office Me to make specific contributions to the communication that is happening.

In Real World, I no longer have a massive group of friends (although my Facebook page apparently begs to differ. That's another topic in itself.). I maybe have 7 or 8 good friends - and that's good enough for me. Quality over quantity always wins. I have a lovely wife, whom I love with all my heart, and I have our first child on the way.

I'm happy with my "Real Me", happy with who I have around me and the company I keep.

I guess, at the end of the day, that's why I'm giving this a go. I've realised that I am to an extent relatively adept and socially skilled - but only in Office World. I'm not too hot on the Real World piece, and that's a shame. 
What's also a shame is that I blame this entirely on Office World and "Office Me". There's a lot of material here, so this may come out more over the next few blog posts.


I'm not expecting anyone to actually read my blog - but somehow being able to offload some thoughts and feelings feels good - even if it is to no-one in particular. I've taken my time over it. I've been able to change and amend it before making it public (something you cannot do with vocal communication - or at least not without looking like a bit of an idiot sometimes). In short, it suits me, whether anyone else sees this or not.


I'm not even 100% sure whether I will continue to use this. I'll see how I feel tomorrow!


If, however, someone whom I don't know has stumbled upon this and has read this far, then I can only say this.




Hello. I'm pleased to meet you.