It’s just gone 6am and as I start writing this, I’m sitting on a train that will leave Preston – to take me to the fabled land of Bur Mee NG Ham, land of curry, home grown jihad and mangled vowels.
It’s an ironic sort of visit today, I’ve called a meeting of Commercial, Finance and Bid people to look into whether I can change our delivery model for this new account.
Here’s the best bit.
If I fail, people will hate ME as the public face of my company in this thing.
If I succeeed , other people will be looking to take me down as it’ll expose some wooly thinking internally – so I’ll make an enemy or two.
More of this joy later.
I’m now settled into my new house for the next year or so, it’s a nice place on the oustkirts of Preston, a town that isn’t quite as horrible as I feared; and in truth is quite pretty is some areas.
People are friendlier than down South and I haven’t been punched for being a foreigner yet.
I’ve managed to fuck things up quite beautifully (and finally) in my private life, so I have lots of time to devote to my new job and it IS taking around 12 hours a day for me just to maintain any sort of momentum in taking a brand new service on.
We’re taking close to 100 people and they’re understandably nervous about what the future holds.
They mostly seem like a nice, professional bunch – there’s at least one person who is actively working to fuck us all over, but we know what he’s doing and he’s too clever to even consider that we know, so all’s OK there really.
The new house comes with a staggering set of restrictions in the lease – no loud music after 1030 pm is one example (it’s a detached house ) – and I can’t run a brothel.
Which is a shame, because I have spare rooms and NO PETS EVER are allowed.
I’ve done a bit of snagging for the owner, the boiler has never worked properly as it was on full blast all the time with no way to contol it from the thermostat.
The upstairs toilet cistern was leaking (an easy spot as it came through the ceiling in the kitchen)
Blocked gutters, fucked hoses on the washing machine, overgrown trees on the roof, a badly fitted vent. The list goes on.
At least I haven’t bought it.
I’ve brought my bicycle up with me and if the weather ever clears up from the permarain that seems to be a climate ‘feature’; I can cycle to the coast -it’s only 10 miles away and the beaches actually look quite nice, or would do if you could actually see them through the rain.
There’s even a marina (see header) although I suspect that the photographer waited a long fucking time to get a photo that wasn’t grey.
I stil need to join a gym but will likely do that nearer the office in Manchester as I leave too early for most gyms in the area to open and just don’t feel like it after 12 hours. I’ve narrowed it down to a list of one and will likely join tomorrow and start whinging about aches and pains next week.
All in all, it’s better than being in India. It feels as far away in some ways (a round trip back ‘home’ will take around 10 hours travel) and it’s meant that I don’t get to see my Dad as often as I used to – I’m trying to get him to schedule a visit but.. comfort zones, long travel etc.
I’ve been to a few ‘local’ bars, some quite awful, one or two that are actually OK and there’s a weekly ‘team beer’ (group cry) in Manchester that’s found us a few places close to the office that are OK.
And yesterday we booked one of those places for a ‘meet the new company’ drink next Tuesday.
We’ve invited close to a hundred people to come and drink with us a month or so before they transfer – and this is where I started this little post.
Our financial model for the account offshores some roles quite early on and I’m both uncomfortable at the timing & approach and unconvinced of the benefits, financial or otherwise.
It’s now 7.15, I’m still on the first train of the day.
I’m off to try to save the jobs of people I haven’t met apart from a ‘hello’ in the corridor.
If I succeed, they’ll never know.
I I fail, they’ll hate me..
Welcome to the real world.
Maybe I should have taken the blue pill.