Dry Run

I've been on the train up and down to London for a couple of days, which has been an interesting dry run for the new job.

Getting to the station on time is now mastered, barring accidents.*

I have bought an annual parking tickets (320 quid! gah!) for the station so I don't need to fret about finding the correct change each time.

I have picked up an application form for a season ticket so I can take advantage of the fantastic savings on offer** by buying in advance.

I walked from the office in Whitehall to the new office in Victoria after my meeting to see how long it takes*** and managed to find the place without a map. Yay me.

So, all begins to take shape.

I met my new boss and some of the new team. I feel OLD. They all look about 19, and are frighteningly keen. I honestly think I will be the oldest person in that office. Gah. GAH.

I had an hour with the new boss, who seems to have a brain the size of a planet, was given reams of scarily detailed complex paperwork to read next week, and then went to Wagamama's to have a team lunch.

Which was nice.

They all asked "So why did you apply for this job, exactly?" I can't decide if that's good or not.

After lunch, I started walking back to Waterloo from Victoria, but, having no map and no sense of direction, ended up outside the back of Buckingham Palace, whereupon I hailed a black cab and took the coward's way out back to the station. It was raining quite hard, in my defence, and I was carrying a heavy carrier bag full of aforesaid scary paperwork.

I was amused to see several smartly-dressed and otherwise sensible business types on the train devouring huge amounts of chocolate. One chap had four (yes FOUR) bars of Marks and Spencer milk chocolate which he ate one after the other at great speed. I bet he gets home and tells his wife he's starving and hasn't eaten since 10am.

Another chap sat quietly doing the Sudoku and demolishing a family-size bar of Dairy Milk all on his own. Git. He never offered me any. I'd have refused, obviously, but it would have been polite to ask.

Bloody South West Trains! Yesterday I had a ticket for the 1520 train, with a reserved seat. As it happened, my meeting finished earlier than expected so I was able to get on the previous train, half an hour earlier. Excellent, I thought.

But no.

The ticket bloke came round and I showed him my ticket. He glared at me and asked to see the reservation ticket thingy too. I showed him that.

Ticket bloke: "You're on the wrong train."

Me (cheerfully): "No, this one is going to the right station."

Ticket bloke (increasingly grumpy): "No. It's the wrong train. This ticket is not valid."

Me (still cheerful): "Oh. So, do I have to get off the train then?"

Ticket bloke: "You need to buy another ticket."

Me (astounded): "Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? Are you serious? I already have a ticket, look!"

Ticket bloke (by now expecting trouble, and aware of the audience of commuters all pretending they're not listening): "You need to buy another ticket. That'll be £67."

Me (muttering): "Bloody hell...."

So. South West Trains got an additional £67 out of me, despite the fact that my reserved seat on the next train was going to be empty, and therefore available for another traveller. It's not like they even put the reserved labels on the seats anyway.

Bastards.

Mr WithaY still hasn't sent them his letter of complaint, by the way. I have told him that there is an increasing need to know the outcome**** but he is being far too laid back.

Other news: Am officially winding down from my job. Apart from writing the final reports for my team, I am clearing the decks and passing stuff to everyone else. A remarkably nice feeling, I have to say.



*And tractors
**my arse
***bloody ages
****Mr Farty

Glorious Victory

Hurrah, I feel much better.

Just as well, because I was starting to worry. Stomach upsets usually only last 36 hours at the most, and this one has been knocking around since last Friday.

So, I ate some food today. So far, and I am aware this is probably too much information, it hasn't made a reappearance of any kind.

Other news: Made lemon curd this evening, whilst cooking the aforementioned food. It worked very well, and I am planning a toast and lemon curd bonanza for breakfast tomorrow.

Also, it seems that the fantastic WithaY Angler Fish has swept the board in Belgian Waffle's Village Fete contest. I am eagerly awaiting the prize to be delivered to my door. I hope it's a pony. Made of gold.

On a slightly, but not very, different tack, I spoke to my new boss today. I am being released back into the wild to take up my new job at the beginning of October.

I need to find out about getting a season ticket for the train, also a long term parking ticket for the station car park. I need to learn the best walking route from Waterloo to the office. I know that it is 1.4 miles, according to Google Maps, so it should take me less than 30 minutes to walk it.

It seems that my new colleagues are already scared of me. Excellent. There is something to be said for coming from an environment where we have shitloads of guns.

Butterflies

I've accepted that job. I negotiated a flexible working deal and a pay rise to cover the cost of a commute into London, so I will take the post.

Bloody hell it's scary. I've been in the same area of business for 20 years, come November, so this is a huge leap into the unknown.

Working in London is going to be interesting. I've never done it before for more than a couple of weeks at a time, so it will take a bit of getting used to.

Other news: I have picked up a horrible stomach bug. Bleugh.