A friend of mine who is an employment barrister has advised me not to blog about work. I feel that this is good advice but here I am ignoring it. I suppose that this is what good advice is for.
But surely, it’s alright, if I want to say good things? On Sunday, Mr. Waffle said to me “hang in there we go back to work on Tuesday” and I smiled feebly.
The other day I got a call from a friend and former colleague.
Him: You’re back at work then.
Him: How are you finding it?
Me: It’s great actually.
Him: It’s grim here.
Me: My boss is fantastic.
Him: I’m up to my tonsils.
Me: And my staff are bright, hardworking, pleasant and (very important this) obliging.
Him (suggestion of gritted teeth): Good for you.
Me (sunnily): And I have just the right amount of work, not so much that I am stressed, not so little that I am bored.
Him (definite gritted teeth): Marvellous.
Me: And I got a call from one of the boss of bosses today and she said that a) she was delighted I was pleased with the flowers she sent to me on the birth of the boys and b) she had the picture of them that I sent with my thank you card on her desk and c) she is in Brussels in a couple of weeks with the top boss and perhaps we could all go for a nice lunch.
Him: Lovely for you. (Reflective pause) You know, it should always be like that.
Me: But it isn’t, I feel as though the gods have conspired to make everything in my working life perfect.
Him (maliciously): You working mothers hate your children, don’t you?