The Office Summer Party

I am writing this at half past eleven at night on the train home a little worse for wears. I have just attended my first office party...in the office. It wasn't like 'The Office' where you are literally partying around your desks and photocopying private parts. It was held in the atrium which when you look up at the surrounding offices reminds me of a cross between a cruise ship and a shopping centre.

The theme was Carry on Camping. Suggestions please for possible costumes as nobody dressed up. We were all slightly confused by that one. I didn't feel that I had been there long enough to don a Barbara Windsor green bikini.

(I am now resuming this blog at 8:30 the morning after the night before.) The atrium was decorated with 2 open tents, some chairs, sun loungers, a few open umbrellas... and bunting! More village fete/queen's jubilee methinks? Still free food and drink was in abundance as the ground floor cafe was transformed for the event. It amused me no end to see the 3 floor to ceiling fridges - usually filled with healthy (ie, rabbit) food such as cucumber sticks wrapped in leaf of lettuce or selection of dried fruit on a bed of dried muesli and other such mouthwatering snacks - replaced with bottles of Carlsberg!

I don't think I embarrassed myself too much and I definitely didn't photocopy anything that shouldn't be photocopied. Perhaps my most cringeable moment was when I revealed to a large group of people my bitter disappointment at not having won the 'Name Jason Donovan's autobiography' competition after having thought about it all weekend and submitting about 20 possible contenders. My boss felt he had to give me a hug as the rest of the group fell about laughing. There's no need for that.

Flat out

It's been a crazy week. I am the most stressed I've been since I was teaching. The reason....our grand plans to be property tycoons.

Rhod and I decided that we would try to buy a second property - a flat in London that we would live in for a couple of years then sell on and make a fortune!? (Hmmm.) Rhod trusted me to view the flat on my own last Monday and going on my description over the phone gave me the go ahead to place the offer the following day. After some skilful bartering (gained from haggling over books with customers all day every day) we had our offer accepted on a flat in Southfields.

That was the fun part. What follows is the stressful part. Since last Wednesday I have spoken to 5 different solicitors, 1 patronising estate agent, 3 different financial advisors and approximately ten different people from the bank. What a delightful group of people to have to speak to everyday.

I think my conversations with various employees from my bank in a Birmingham call centre have been my favourite. On Monday it took phonecalls from 9 til 5 to find out the fax number to which I needed to send letters from our employers stating our salaries and subsequently to get a confirmation that they had been received. I never actually got to speak to the lady dealing with my application but I was told that she would be phoning me first thing yesterday. After refusing to put the phone down until I spoke to her I was on hold for 51 minutes while she was on another call. One of her colleagues then came on the phone and told me that she had just signed off her computer and was going to lunch. I flipped. I demanded her manager's number ("We can't give out that information madam") and that if she hadn't phoned me by 2 o'clock I would create merry hell. At 2:20 I gave in and phoned and miracle of miracles actually got straight through to her. "Oh hi Miss Finn, how are you?" F#*@ing livid is what I was but I resorted to a pathetic "Why didn't you call?" and continued in a frosty sarcastic tone throughout. I could have throttled her. She then had the audacity to say that she was posting me forms today but they might have missed today's post. I ended with "Well considering this phonecall should have taken place at 9am I expect to see it on my doormat tomorrow morning!" AAAHHHHHH!

Solicitors are just vile full stop (apart from my godfather who seems to have escaped the smarmy deceitful mercenary circle that most of them fall into.) It's the 2 hour lunch break that really gets to me though - enough time for a quick 9 holes and a good lunch. Never speak to them in the afternoons as they are either in a foul mood at having had a poor round or are even more smug at having won. It sickens me to see the breakdown of fees - as if they aren't charging us enough already they also want 35 quid plus VAT for a bank telegraphic transfer fee! What's wrong with a cheque I ask you? Sickening.

I am actually going to have to stop writing now as I am on the train on the way to work and I can already feel my blood pressure rising and am experiencing mild palpatations!