January Inertia... And my buddy the entrepreneur

I'm Over It

Well, that was a useless pantload of a week. Without exception, the British workforce appears to have descended into an utter torpor of disenchantment. We are tortured to be back in the office, and equally ruffled to reflect upon the mundanity that even the festive sofa hours had dwindled to.

Yes, regardless of whether you work in radio, bomb disposal, a dry cleaners, drain-cleaning or a pie shop, this is the month for being entirely and appropriately devoid of interest in life... or one's job. We all recognise we've had too much indulgence, got sick of it, and need to have a little less of everything for a while. Although I'm secretly hoping we don't stay sick of sofa marathons and heavy pastry-based, alcohol-laced nourishment for too long, for to be sick of Christmas is to be sick of life... the unhealthy kind, that is.

A New Beginning

It seems like a fabulous time for a new start. As I trample through the grey, concrete vista of central London, dodging tourists and patiently shuffling behind old people with walking sticks, shutting my ears to the unrelenting howl of traffic, I think a change would be really great... if only I had the bloody energy.

Somebody who does, is a good friend of mine - a primary school teacher who took her last class before Christmas and in about a week's time will be opening the doors to the tea room she's always wanted to run. Accompanied by her Croydon-commuting boyfriend, they've rented out their cottage and migrated even deeper into rural Sussex, to live and work in a tiny village of which their establishment is the sole and vital social hub... or at least it will be when it opens and they can sell booze.

Naturally, I'm swept away by the idyllic picture in my head, of hazy summer days filled with flocks of families, eager to fill their lungs with good, clean, country air, take on board a feast of cakes and elegant teas, and generally revel in the fantasy of traditional country living... 

Yet the reality is, the little lady is opening a tea room in January. JANUARY. In the middle of nowhere. Credit to her, she's always had an entrepreneurial streak, and she's savvy enough, but that is surely going to be tough? Yes, she agreed, when I pussyfooted around such concerns. She's fully aware that for the next two or three years she and her boyfriend will be rising at 5am, getting to work, he off to Croydon and she in the kitchens, spending their evenings and weekends on their feet cooking, baking and serving, not to mention running the small petting zoo out back (I kid you not) But they're happy about it, and excited!

Which is more than I can say for a lot of people who essentially enjoy their jobs, but find working under the grindstone of another authority more than a little trying. Today, it was announced that the government Start Up Loan scheme would have £30 million poured into it over the next 3 years, and the age limit raised, which led me to wonder, even without the incentive of support, why this streak of entrepreneurism was a growing trend amongst young professionals. 

We've been bobbing in and out of recession for long enough, and some even predict another's round the corner. The gradual wear and tear of this has made company perks scant and payrises scarce. A job is something you hold onto, and the market has slowed down as people stay put. No wonder a rising number of young, independent people are turning their back on this and choosing to take the leap at this slow glimmer of economic recovery, by going it alone, and what's more, we're celebrating it. God knows, two of my most talented colleagues have just announced their intention to go freelance after more than a decade in the business. One of them even has a baby. There is risk, but there is respect for the risk-takers, and it seems, a good, old-fashioned work ethic about it.

The national spirit of these past two years is something I sense will be reflected in 10, maybe 20 years time as "the era of stiff up a lip, tough economic times, but a good dose of British spirit, of street parties and celebrations, Olympic spectacle and royal processions. Let them eat cake! And let's expose phone-hacking press corruption AND Jim'll Fix It as a sex offender too!"

I can just imagine it now, when some (currently 2 year old) moron is in a hurry to compile something for the 'in this year' radio show, featuring the songs of timelessly enduring, great artists such as 'The Wanted', ' Rihanna' and 'Nikki Minaj'. He happens across a webpage and lifts this rose-tinted precis of a period that was undeniably, never as exciting in reality, and sticks it on the air, bold as brass. That prediction, naturally depends on the existence of radio in 20 years time. Or music in general. OR the internet. I'm sure it will have been replaced by something much simpler and flashier. Perhaps just instantaneous mental information, programmed by the government or something?

Anyway, I diverge, but the point I was meandering towards was the fact that all this gloom has led to an inevitably defiant swell of optimism, in my immediate communities at least. It feels like a pocket of renegade young people are taking a gamble and  bloody well starting out again, because what have we got to lose anyway?

What the Fuck is 'ME time' anyway?

In the personal sphere, it's definitely a trade-off. Our expectations of a balanced, healthy and happy lifestyle are contradicted daily by overcommitments, the pressure to achieve all of these things, and the busy reality of just earning enough money to keep a roof over your head and feed the bloody children.. let alone fund a 6 week 'find yourself' course in Upside Down Yoga, or a mind-blowing toenail massage.

I've truly come to realise that 'me time' is a modern indulgence, something that only brings you dissatisfaction when the distractions of living prevent you achieving it. Which is why I think my friend might just be balanced enough to make it through the hard times with her new business. Not only does she have a supportive partner who has the same attitude, but she fully recognises she's tied herself into a few years of potential, utter drudgery. So in being her own choice, I guess it's a form of 'me time', probably the healthiest, because I'm pretty sure that people are always happier when they feel the course of their life and their responsibilities are not imposed, but a matter of their own free will.

I suppose, in that case, we're lucky to have chosen to come back to work after Christmas, sulk about it, do the job, go home, snatch a little sofa time, and have the fortune of being able to change it all tomorrow. If we'd only get off our bottoms and write that CV.

Oh look, Homeland's on.... maybe tomorrow.

Scented Candles fill my World. Or at least mask the stench of poverty...

If you're 27, female and have a problem with 50% of Christmas gifts received being of the scented candle genre, you clearly don't have neighbours like mine...

In real time for a moment....2013 really gets into it's mundane style for me with... another day at work, a dawdly run home along the Thames (see this shit foggy image of cloud shrouded Shard) and an unsurpassed bout of wretching when I arrive home to my flat, pass through the hall, and am forced to inhale the stench from my neighbours flat whilst I struggle with the keys. 

I kid you not (much), there are about a million adorable, glassy-eyed children in that place, with it's papered-up windows and filthy walls. God knows what they've been doing today but if you imagine a combination of soiled nappies, burnt chicken nuggets and the worst sodding body odour this side of the equator, then multiply it by ten, you're pretty much on the money. Two doors later, I'm in racing in panic for a lighter and one of Glade's finest before I can control my gastric instincts. Christ, this is the life. Now, as I speak, I hear a pattering, which confirms my suspicions. When I heard the children shouting 'kill it Daddy, kill it' last night, I knew they weren't really talking about a spider. Might put the search for mouse poo off til after dinner, There's a damp problem here I need to deal with too, and a disinterested landlord, all for £625 a month. God this is the London dream isn't it.

So ahead of a January confined to my flat because I've spent all my money on a) rent and b) Christmas presents, I'm pretty bloody glad everyone gave me scented candles and bubble bath. What more could a female need eh?*

*(Just in case you thought that was a rhetorical question, it's not. I would recommend regular sleepovers, preferably sexual ones, preferably at someone else's house, preferably excluding any sort of damp problem or odd neighbours)