Today is my last day at the office. I am leaving the firm. It is time to reminisce on days gone by whilst stuffing memories into boxes, side by side with my long-time secretary. Is that a tear blinking in the corner of her eye?
We have seen how the ladies loos in the workplace can quickly become a complicated arena. Men’s toilets, on the other hand, are simple in their Division and Sub-Division, and have an easy to use set of rules which should be innately understood and strictly adhered to by any professional male.
In this, the Chinese year of the Tiger, London continues to take a mauling.
I am on vacation on paradise island. It is incredible here. And just like any other visit to an exotic place, after a few days, I never want to leave. I want to live here. Grow my own mango trees. Keep some chickens and be happy for the rest of my life.
After 10 years in banking, having accumulated knowledge, networks and non-vested shares, I realise: I am unemployable.
Surprising how many of those who had left banking (mostly unwillingly) in order to do what they always wanted to are trickling back into the industry now.
There is a partner in my firm who finds it really hard to keep his pants on.
Going back to work - outside the City - after almost a year off, I wasn’t too sure how realistic my work/life balance goal would be. All I knew was that this time I only wanted to work as hard as need be.
With all the opportunities that the ‘bulk redundancy’ era of the credit crunch presented, I took mine, and decided to see if I couldn't change more than just my job.
The office is a curious place, with its warren of desks, break-out areas, conference rooms occupied by cabals and cliques of various shades. But none is so curious as the office loo.