The Fall and Rise of Sazz

I was freaking out a bit last night. I had that 'funny feeling' in my tummy, and not the good kind like you used to get climbing the ropes in gym class. The bad kind where it feels like you swallowed a hunk of lead for a laugh, only to realise too late that you're so-called mates are laughing at you and not with you, so a hilarious prank becomes an embarrassing example of your royal dumbassness. To try and alleviate the lead stomach feeling I sat at my computer and rewrote the beginning of my 'opus' (please note: the use of quotations makes this name for it somewhat ironic instead of me coming across as a hideous egomaniac). I managed to discard 15,000 words of what I'd originally done (some of which I hope to salvage at some point) which sounds bad but I was really struggling with what I had. It felt constricting rather than liberating. Normally I get a sense of having unloaded a big bundle of tension after a writing session but I never felt that with those words, all of the words I had on those pages were jarring and inelegant.

Part of the problem, I think, is that for some reason I need to feel a little conflict to write well; not so much that I'm endlessly weeping into a pillow and indulging my self-pitying urges but not so little that I skip around humming S Club 7 songs and making small talk with kittens. Truth be told that latter version of me freaks me out a bit, I feel uncomfortable being comfortable, so, in some weird way, having spent the last few weeks feeling part of a team - both at work and in my social life - it was a relief to start this new job. I knew even before the interview that the new job was not going to be a good fit. Slightly too long in the legs and too short in the arms for it to feel like 'me' when I was (metaphorically) trying it on. The interview was fairly horrific (as regular readers will know) and I'm still *still* slightly incredulous that I was offered the job at all. I accepted the offer as it's the most money I can earn in the next six months without having to get my baps out. Although I'm not nearly attractive enough to be a high-class prostitute so possibly this current job will earn me more than I could get playing out my Billie Piper fantasies.

Anyway.

There was no-one there that made me giggle my stupid giggle today (which is all I've done for the last few weeks at the call centre - of course, only in between the times I was getting all of the 30 phone calls per day . When the phone calls were taking place I had just started to perfect the art of sounding bored enough so the caller knows you hate them but polite enough so that they couldn't take offense). I doubt there will be anyone at my new job that manages to elicit that giggle. Everyone is nice but in that friendly-yet-cold way, so I'm not holding out hope for becoming BFF's with any of the middle-aged ladies who populate the office I'm working in. That's ok though, I didn't realise quite how much I'd missed being the odd one out. It was a relief to be able to sit there reading through stuff I'm not interested in and listen in to conversations that don't concern me one iota. I feel a lot safer operating within those boundaries.

Apart from a return to the safe cocoon of social ineptitude, the other thing I love is the aesthetics of the office itself. It's pure Reginald Perrin. Beige, brown, and orange goes the colour scheme, narrow corridors, and plants on the desks. The canteen is just a sideboard with a hatch for chrissakes (AND a tea lady comes round every morning at 10.30! I mean, really, COME ON!). I adore it. I mean, it's horrible but horrible in the way paisley is horrible; ugly and impractical for almost every occasion but ultimately irresistible.

Anyway, to give you an idea of what I'm talking about take a gander at this (I know, I know, it's from a clip show but was the only thing I could find that illustrated the idea I carry around in my head of Reggie's office. Plus, you can always ignore the talking heads if you wish but you could do worse than listen to Lucy Porter, Steve Furst, and Mil Millington):



It's uncannily uncanny to where I work. Seriously.

What I liked were the reactions two of my friends had. When I told Farr she replied with; 'dont get takin your clothes off and disappearing into the sea reggie' and has subsequently decided I should now be honoured with the nickname 'Reggie' for evermore. I think a nickname update is in order so am more than happy with this, for a start I have the misanthropic and curmudgeonly personality down pat and it also means that I possibly will end up taking my clothes off and disappearing into the sea, only to reappear at a later date with a multi-million pound empire that sells useless tat to idiots. Something to look forward to.

Nick's suggestion was that I start dressing like Margot Leadbetter.

I think it's fair to say that I'd be doing myself a huge disservice if I didn't take his idea under advisement.