Posts Tagged ‘office’

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Tube update extravaganza: Royal Oak, Lancaster Gate, King’s Cross St. Pancras and Euston.

February 20, 2012

So I feel like a have a lot to share about both what I’ve been up to, and about my emotional ups and downs as of late. This post however is a picture-heavy one, so it’s going to be light on the details! I have been keeping up my lunchtime walks to allow me some precious time out of the office and enjoying the fresh air, as well as see new parts of London. So I have now added Royal Oak and Lancaster Gate to my collection of tube stations visited and snapped:

Then on Saturday, I took a trip up to Peterborough to see Toby’s family. So I caught the train from King’s Cross:

But the train was cancelled (thank you East Coast!), so I took my additional half-hour waiting time and walked to Euston and took a picture of that station too!

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lady gaga – bad romance. (video treatment)

February 1, 2010

Lady GaGa’s new album The Fame Monster is an album I took a long time to come around to, but I have finally learned to appreciate its merits and its songcraft a lot more than that of The Fame.  I still think that Lady GaGa is somewhat gimmicky and repetitive, but the talent is evident in the music and I really like even “Speechless” (which I couldn’t stand to listen to for the first couple of months).  Lead single “Bad Romance” may repeat elements of “Poker Face” and “Paparazzi”, but I love the song and there’s a certain cinematic element (I’m talking beyond that of the Hitchcock references in the lyrics).  So when I am listening to / singing along to the songs, I imagine performing it and slowly but surely, a whole storyline began to unfurl in my head – so I thought it would be fun to get that down on this blog for you all so you can get a little taste of how my creative brain works 😉

Intro

Video fades in on an office scene for some sort of Soviet / Eastern-European corporation.  Two very big, very important looking men are sat at a conference table in the centre of the screen having an argument and barking into mobile phones in Russian.  In the back left corner of the screen sits a handsome man behind a desk, wearing a grey designer suit and thick, black-rimmed glasses, reading a set of papers intently.  In the back right corner of the screen sits Me, also in a black designer suit and glasses, typing furiously on a desktop computer.  After an intense conversation, the big-wig sat on the right of the table stands up, clearly frustrated, and walks over to me and barks a string of orders at me.  I stop typing, exasperated, stand up and look my boss dead in the eye.  Without another word, I pick up my Gucci shoulder bag from the floor, take off my glasses (never breaking gaze with my boss), put on a set of huge black Prada sunglasses and walk out of the office – I have apparently quit.  As I walk out, the other secretary-guy looks at me in shock / awe.

Shot of me walking out of a faceless skyscraper, half-running as I hit the street.

Back to office, the other guy frantically grabs his papers, collects his back and runs off after me.  Both of the Russian CEOs look on in shock, then after a beat begin barking into their phones once more as servants bring them tea / vodka / some unidentifiable drink in a steaming clear square glass mug.

Song starts / 1st verse

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Caught in a bad romance

Ra Ra-ah-ah-ah
Roma Roma-ma
GaGa
Oh la-la
Want your bad romance

I want your ugly
I want your disease
I want your everything
As long as it’s free
I want your love
Love love love
I want your love

Shot of me walking purposefully down the street as music begins to play.  Cut with shots of my peer trying to catch me up, running after me, dropping papers and having to stoop to pick them up as pedestrians crowd around him.  Slow motion – a tear begins to fall from his eye.  Intercut with me running up the stairs to my flat, getting changed, putting on new clothes: shiny, black, designer, silver jewellery. As I turn around to go out the door, presumably for drinking and dancing, my colleague is there. We look at each other: close up on his face, on my face.  Another tear falls from his eye.  I close my eyes slowly.  He kisses my cheek.  I move my lips to his ear and whisper something.  Fade out…

2nd verse

I want your drama
The touch of your hand
I want your leather studded kiss in the sand
I want your love
Love love love
I want your love

You know that I want you
And you know that I need you
I want it bad
A bad romance

The camera spins around disorientingly to reveal a dark mirrored ceiling, green laser beams shooting here and there, people in various states of undress and sobriety dancing, drinking, shouting, kissing, fumbling, conversing.  Slow motion of a cocktail that contains coke falling on the floor intercut with my colleague / boyfriend standing by a booth, looking anxious.  As the glass hits the floor and the liquid spills out, cut to a scene of me in a bathroom staring hard at the mirror in an accusatory manner.  Close in on my eyes (wearing blue contacts).  I lip synch the words “I want your love”, then strut out of bathroom and grab boyfriend’s hand, who smiles.

1st chorus

I want your love and
I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
I want your love and
All your lover’s revenge
You and me could write a bad romance

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

Caught in a bad romance
Ra ra-ah-ah-ah

Roma roma-ma
GaGa
Oh la-la
Want your bad romance

We make our way through the club, pushing our way through the crush of people unwilling to give way. Close up on our linked hands, my set lips, his eyes looking to me.  As we walk past, slowly each member of the crowd’s head turns to watch us pass by.  We stumble out of the club into the cool night air, the sky pitch black.  Limousines line the pavement and there is a queue of important looking businessmen, all in shades Karl Lagerfeld-style, all pouting and puffed up in their suits waiting to get into the bar next door to the club we have exited.  As we stumble drunkenly past, laughing and holding onto one another, the camera focuses behind us as one of the businessmen, in an Armani suit and black fur overcoat, leans out of the queue and raises his sunglasses so that his eyes are visible.  He looks in shock, then automatically whips out his iPhone and taps furiously on it.  We go on, laughing deliriously as we smoke our cigarettes and totally oblivious to what has just happened.  The camera cuts back to the man, who raises the phone to his ear, begins to talk, and slides the sunglasses back down to hide his eyes, puffing on a cigar.  Fade out as the screen spins and we wander back into the block of flats where I ran to after quitting my Soviet secretary job.

3rd / 4th verse

I want your horror
I want your design
‘Cuz you’re a criminal
As long as you’re mine
I want your love
Love love love
I want your love

I want your psycho
Your vertigo shtick
Want you in my rear window
Baby you’re sick
I want your love
Love love love
I want your love

Some time appears to have passed.  Back outside the club, same line of limousines, same pitch-black sky, same drunken revellers falling out of the nightclub.  An identical queue of identikit businessmen line the streets waiting for the bar.  A limousine pulls up in front of these businessmen, and the door opens as the man in the fur coat from the queue prior steps out.  From nowhere, paparazzi and a multitude of flashing lights appear as microphones are thrust towards the door of the limousine.  A beat, and then I climb out in skintight black jeans and a leather trenchcoat and dark sunglasses with leather cuffs.  I smile dazzlingly for my entourage as minders, having appeared from nowhere, clear a path through the paparazzi for me.  Freeze frames as flashing lights illuminate me shielding my eyes, signing an autograph, waving to the surrounding crowd.  Behind me, my boyfriend gets out of the car, a serious tight-lipped expression on his face, and he lunges forward and clasps my hand to pull him through the crowd, but I get knocked over and our hands come apart (close-up).  Cut to the VIP section, purple velvet ropes cordoning off us from the rest of the club: within the area is a giant plush black leather sofa in front of a table piled with bottles, cocktails, glasses of unidentifiable substances, a smear of white powder.  Sat on the sofa is me, my boyfriend (sat apart and not engaging in eye contact) and a heavy-set, stoned-looking bodyguard half-asleep.  Businessmen talking into phones mill around while the crowd dances, lights flash and I stare into the distance.  I fumble for a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, and I reach over to whisper in my boyfriend’s ear, but as he is about to respond (a smile flickering across his face), one of the businessmen reaches over and shakes my hand and begins to talk.

2nd chorus

You know that I want you (’Cuz I’m a free bitch baby)
And you know that I need you
I want it bad romance
Your bad romance

I want your love and
I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
I want your love and
All your lover’s revenge
You and me could write a bad romance

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

Caught in a bad romance
Ra ra-ah-ah-ah

Roma roma-ma
GaGa
Oh la-la
Want your bad romance

Exasperated, my boyfriend gets up and stalks out the back of the VIP area; concerned, I brush aside the businessman and go after him.  Walking to the smoking area, I fumble to light my cigarette as I walk through a walkway framed on either side by barbed wire.  Camera flashes go off continuously, hands clutch excitedly at me through the gaps in the barbed wire; one of them grabs my shoulder and I fall to the ground, dropping my cigarette.  I scrabble around on the ground for it and look up.  The camera pans up from the ground (my line of sight) and a Gucci shoe trails upwards to a shin, knee, leg.  The camera scrolls up to reveal my boyfriend looking down at me.  Close-up of his disapproving gaze.  I gather myself on the ground, a tear forming in my right eye, and begins to roll down my face – the camera does not pull away.  He walks past me as I kneel on the ground, bereft and lost, puffing desperately on my cigarette, and I begin to crumple and cry.  Eventually I go to run after him, but I can barely hold myself upright.

Bridge part 1

Walk walk fashion baby work it
Move that bitch c-razy
Walk walk fashion baby work it
Move that bitch c-razy
Walk walk passion baby work it
I’m a free bitch baby

Hands clutch through the barbed wire as I start to run, and this time the walkway seems to be interminable.  Intercut with footage of me running is a shot of a police car parked stationary; a black police hat, a set smirk on an unidentifiable male face.  From nowhere, policemen rush through the walkway at me, the hands retreat and the camera flashes stop.  Beating me with truncheons, I crumple once again to the ground, my sunglasses and hair askew, my clothes slightly torn.  One of them handcuffs me, and as I lie on the ground, cuffed, hands start to creep back through the wire to grope at me.  Fade out.

Bridge part 2

I want your love
And I want your revenge
I want your love
I don’t wanna be friends

Je veux ton amour
Et je veux ta revenge
Je veux ton amour
I don’t wanna be friends
(Want your bad romance
I want your bad romance)
Want your bad romance!

A television in the corner of a mystery white room flickers on and off with footage showing “Alan has been arrested” ; “Star meltdown” ; “Dumped and detained!” among other headlines.  Close up on my face, clear and almost angelic, mouthing the song lyrics. My eyes are a liquid electric blue, my skin is pale and sunlit.  The camera pans out to reveal that I am in a straight jacket in a white, padded room with just a television in one corner, and a fold-out bed / sofa in the other, all white.

3rd Chorus

I want your love and
I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
I want your love and
All your lover’s revenge
You and me could write a bad romance

Caught in a bad romance

Grief-stricken, I throw myself around the padded room, bouncing off walls, pounding the floor, tearing stuffing out of the pillow with my fingernails.  The camera retreats further back to show the room with a giant glass window looking in; doctors pace outside tapping pens against clipboards, looking unconcerned and business-as-usual. Tears roll down my face as I sing pleadingly into camera.  At the phrase “Caught in a bad romance”, the music stops, and all that can be heard is the sound of my breathing as I look full-face out of the screen.  The camera switches to my view, and outside the cell stands my ex-boyfriend, looking in at me.  A smile of sympathy plays across his lips, and at the same moment we press our hands together, regretfully, against the glass.  A doctor then comes and escorts him away, and I follow his gaze as he is shepherded down the corridor, looking back at me.  The camera zooms out further to show that in the two cells either side of mine are the two Soviet big henchmen from the intro office scene, barking Russian into their phones just as they were in the office.  The whole scene fades out to white…

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gift.

October 10, 2009

So my birthday is coming up, and literally just now my mother asked me whether I still wanted a flat screen TV.  Originally, I was after one so that I could better see the graphics (and actually be able to read the on-screen instructions!!!) when I’m playing my Playstation 3.  But I was going to move my current TV into my ‘office’ area (where I have my printer and filing set up for uni) and according to plans my mother has to put a wardrobe in there, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.  And I don’t really play PS3 enough for it to be worth just buying a new TV.  So I’m gonna nix the gift, and now I have to think of something else!

And it’s hard but I almost got a little bit tearful for a moment there because if I could choose another gift at this moment, I just wish that my parents would stop fighting.  This last couple of weeks, it’s been really really bad, alternating between silent treatments and raging rows.  I’ve just tried to get out of their company as soon as I can after dinner, and work by myself in my bedroom / the spare bedroom / the hallway, because it’s just traumatic.  I remember when I was 8 years old, and I used to listen to them fighting upstairs and just cry and wish for it all to stop – well, I react differently now (I go and have a shower to drown out their voices; I contemplate going downstairs and telling them to grow up) but I still feel like I’m 8 years old again and a little child listening to the world falling apart.  I don’t know what to do.

Maybe this is why my little crush at uni isn’t really a crush.  I just want somebody to protect me and hold me tight and for everything to be ok.  I try and maintain the façade of having everything together as much as possible, because I don’t want anyone to know that I am actually feeling quite vulnerable, but I think I’ve let a couple of things slip that maybe betray the fact I’m quite upset about it.  When I daydream (or night-dream), it’s not really a sexual thing but more a protective thing, that somebody will hold me and not leave.  I have made my friend Mike promise that as soon as he has a decent flat available and my bursary comes through, I am going to move out because I’ve just had enough, and also I really need my own space where I can just be at ease and have my own privacy and invite people round and come and go as I please.  I don’t get on badly with my parents (after all, they’re not shouting at / being silent with me) but maybe it’s just being 23, nearly 24 and still living at home is a little constraining.

So I now have to deal with the conundrum of what to ask for as a birthday gift from my mum. (I haven’t asked if this is going to be on behalf of both of my parents, as my dad usually remembers my birthday – he didn’t buy me a birthday present once and a Christmas present another time, but that happened in the past so I don’t know if he would still forget these days.) Although I want a Gucci necklace, I don’t think I am going to mention it.  I may have a window shop today and see if I find anything that tickles my fancy, but other than someone scooping me up and telling me everything is gonna be alright, or a place to call my own (both things I can’t exactly ask for!), I really don’t know what I want.

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run this town.

September 2, 2009

On a day like today, despite having less than 5 hours’ sleep and nearly 30 pages of spreadsheet to type up onto the computer at work, I was feeling fierce.  I got up earlier than usual so that I could get to work early and make my hours & fit my social breaks in too.  I had my new top on from Zara and I looked pretty nice, if I do say so myself. (There’s nothing like wearing a new purchase for the first time.) As you might know, at times my self-esteem can be a little bit low and I can feel vulnerable and insecure – as much as I would like to pretend to be invincible, I’m only human.  But I also think it’s important to acknowledge and document when I’m feeling up and strong and good.  For every negative, sooner or later there comes a positive.

Looking at another unemployment report on the news, and recognising the jobless state of 1 in 6 UK young people as myself only 6 weeks ago, I felt that if I could find work, these people will do too.  If you really want it, there is hope, even though you might feel hopeless.  Just don’t give up.  Everyone is down sometimes – as much as some vindictive people might want to make you feel low, it doesn’t make you a failure or any less of a human being.  You just have to take a moment, acknowledge your pain or mood, regroup and come back swinging.  After a summer where I left my job at the Perfume Shop in full faith that my new job was going to be better paid and a better standard of work, I had to wait around for 2 months before I even got a start date.  Now that I am working, I am pretty happy with my job – my office is comfortable, the people I’m with are nice, my boss appreciates and respects me, the pay rate is higher than what I was on at the shop and I don’t have to bust a gut, while I am treated with more respect and my brains and skill generally is more appreciated.  I don’t feel like I am fighting against anyone just to get through the day – I feel like I am generally being helpful and other people want to help me too – it’s constructive and not an uphill struggle.  Looking back, although I loved working with perfume and some of my colleagues at the Perfume Shop ended up being good friends to me, I dreaded going to work more often than I should have, and I ended up feeling bullied and harrassed at work by people who wanted to wring every last drop of blood out of me.  I was worth more than that, and it took me too long to realise.  The limbo of being unemployed in between that job and my current work at the hospital only exacerbated that feeling of helplessness and worthlessness, when I had unwittingly pushed myself into that limbo precisely because I thought I was worth more.  It was a hard period, and I felt somewhat embarrassed and stigmatised to be in that situation, because I didn’t want to be judged as somebody who was “on the dole” or “too lazy to be in work”, because that is the farthest thing from who I am or ever will be.  But I didn’t give up and everything is turning out right – I like my job, they like me, and I got funding for my university course starting in 3 weeks (!!!) and I hope that that will lead me in a direction I want to go.  I feel optimistic about my future.

Which is why I don’t understand the attitude of some of my old colleagues who practically blank me when I walk past them in town.  It happened today, and it’s not the first time.  Despite the hugs and best wishes everyone gave me when I left, apart from the times I’ve popped in to visit them, I’ve heard nothing.  What happened to friendship? What happened to all the hard work? What happened to all the favours I did, conversations we had, presents I bought, music I bootlegged for them?  Did it really mean nothing?  I mean, surely a friendship should go two ways, so if they want to speak to me, they can contact me.  I grew tired of making the first move and initiating conversation by popping in to see them.  It makes me question whether their friendship was ever true.  Like I said, some of the people there I’m sure were genuine friends, and we don’t have to talk all the time for that to remain true.  But to be ignored in the street, to be judged and hear gossip about me that not only is untrue, but is damn unfair considering how much I bent over backwards and did so many favours for some of them – it does sting a little bit.  I guess it’s “c’est la vie”, and I have to remember that I am in a better place now.  I made the decision to break free, and I guess that their reaction is part of the whole reason why I was so dragged down while I worked there – perhaps they don’t like that I found somewhere where I feel more valued (and paid)?  Perhaps they decided to villify me once my back was turned because it makes them feel better about the fact that there is nobody to be their workhorse now that I’m gone? I don’t know.  I wish them only the best, and I hope that some of my friends realise that they too are worth too much to be downtrodden and worked to the bone at a young age there, only to never get the prime position because there’s always someone new who swoops in and pushes them back down.

If you’re wondering why there is a fly picture of Rihanna at the top of this post (not that I need a reason 😛 ), check the title – it’s taken from the “Run This Town” video from Jay-Z’s new Blueprint 3 album (which I am really feeling).  The swagger of the song, epitomised just by the title, is something that I was feeling today in my nice clothes with my nice friends and in my nice job.  I’m working hard, I’m moving up after a brief (but long enough thankyou) period of stasis, and I am determined to achieve my goals and “run this town”.  I hit the gym to look fly.  I socialise to enjoy myself.  I make music to achieve my dreams of being a singer (once again, check Touch Me and enjoy it – there’s plenty more where that came from!) and also to push my artistry forward and entertain my friends.  I make money to hit the gym, buy my labels and keep everything easy.  I am close to friends and family while also pushing forward for my own independence.  I want, more than anything, to be a success and to be happy.  Isn’t that what we all want?  So this is more than anything, a motivational post because I’m feeling good and want to share that energy with y’all – I can “run this town”, and so can you.  Never give up!!!

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hoax.

August 12, 2009

I remember a quote from Cruel Intentions which is a great place for me to start today.  At some point, Sarah Michelle Gellar’s character says to Selma Blair’s character re. sex (I think), “Everybody does it, but nobody talks about it.”  I feel that I am on to discovering something about office work.

Largely, people sit around doing nothing.

Ok, you can all feel free to say “duh”, but let me walk you through my day at work today.  It is not very long and not particularly exciting.

08:50 Arrive at work, open up my laptop and discover my boss is not going to be in at all this week.  (I only work Weds – Fri)  So much for needing to be “supervised”!  Ever since the first two days of my job, I have worked unaccompanied and contact my boss (who works from home) via email.  Mine are full and courteous and punctuated and friendly, his are one-line responses which suggest he doesn’t really like using the computer.  I won’t take it personally though, because this appears to be how everyone communicates at the hospital.

09:00 I set about delivering the small amounts of stock that need to be distributed to wards.  At the dental hospital, I encounter an intercom that nobody appears to answer.  After 5 minutes, a man walks up to me and informs me that he can’t let me in because he “doesn’t know who I am”.  I show him my clerical NHS badge and he decides to help me.  Once inside the building, I find all the admin desks are manned, so why nobody was answering the intercom remains a mystery to me.

11:15 I attend a Swine Flu Information presentation for half an hour, which involves watching a Powerpoint Presentation while a nurse delivers incredibly obvious statements such as: “Swine flu is different from seasonal flu, because you can catch swine flu all the year round” (I nearly raise my hand and respond “yes, this month is August and therefore not the winter”, but restrain myself) and “if you think you might have swine flu, go on the swine flu website”.  Nevertheless, I stay awake.

12:30 After returning from the presentation, I start doing some more Health & Safety online training (which I’m supposed to do as part of my induction, just as I am supposed to be “supervised” at the start of my placement).  Halfway through a module, it decides to not work, so I go for lunch to McDonalds.  The queue is ridiculous, especially considering that there is another McDonalds about 5 minutes’ walk away.  Obviously it’s the eating venue of choice in central Bristol.  I haven’t been for a couple of months in the interest of my health, but I indulge today and my burger and chips and dips are suitably yummy.  I read some more of Glamorama, which I am thoroughly enjoying.  Bret Easton Ellis is my authorial discovery of the year methinks! (I know, I am late)

13:30 I return to the office, making small talk with one of the nurses and encountering no success with running my Health & Safety tutorial.  I do a couple of other tasks, then return and call the IT Helpdesk for the third day running on this job.  (I have worked there a total of 4 days.) I inform them of the problem, and the guy valiantly tries to fix it through remote access to my laptop.  Of course, he fails.  I am promised that an engineer will contact me and come to fix the connection issue.  The nurse in the adjacent office tells me just to use one of the vacant computers at a nearby desk, and I finish my tutorial.  I “learn” how to roll my eyes, shrug my shoulders and wiggle my fingers, all in the interests of maintaining flexibility in my limbs and avoiding RSI.  I also defiantly slouch in my chair, rather than obeying the rigid recommended posture (with a picture of a spinal column for my reference).

16:15 I call the IT helpdesk for a third time to inform them that I will be going home, as the engineer hasn’t called and if he were to call now, I wouldn’t be there.  The man on the other end of the phone believes that I am implying that the engineer did not come fast enough, and begins to get huffy with me.  Those exercises came in useful after all: I copiously roll my eyes.  I am promised that somebody will call tomorrow.  I go to the nurse next door, Julia, who has kindly volunteered to sign my timesheet in my boss’ absence, except nobody knows what band or code I am supposed to be entered under.  We go down the corridor to the temp bank office, who inform us that “it doesn’t matter, they can fill it in”.  Julia is as bemused as me, and I go home.

My day seemed to be a battle to find things to do.  I spent quite a lot of empty periods smoking, texting, on MSN on my phone, playing Minesweeper on my laptop, and although I perhaps shouldn’t be complaining, I really am not stimulated!  I am slightly warmed by the fact that I am getting paid for this.  My boss constantly reminds me to “take my time” because I apparently complete his tasks too quickly, but I don’t exactly rush.  Being unsupervised and left to my own devices, and considering that my job involves walking all over the hospital, I could quite happily walk to Starbucks for an hour and have a coffee and read my book, undiscovered and getting paid for it all the while.  I’m not sure if I feel audacious enough to do this, but considering that my boss already emailed me saying “tomorrow will be a light day” (as if today were a heavy one!!!!!!!11), the fact I’m considering it doesn’t bode well.  Well, it does for Starbucks’ pockets and for my caffeine intake, I suppose.  But if this is the working world, and if this is how most people work (I reiterate that I work in a hospital, where time is usually of the essence and in principle, lives hang in the balance) day to day, I am going to need more stimulation.  I dream of working for Gucci, for Armani, for Prada and shaping the whole world through fashion while rushing from place to place, flanked by fabulous forward-thinking fashionistas and speaking into 3 different cell phones in 3 different languages.  I dream of being a famous singer and travelling day and night from country to country, singing and dancing my ass off and making hordes of people smile and laugh.  I don’t particularly dream of daydreaming (how meta) as I sit uninterrupted at my desk, typing emails and maintaining spreadsheets, but I guess it is better than the Perfume Shop! It’s certainly easier work for better status and pay, but I just feel like I am uncovering a big hoax, that the people who do supposedly vital or important jobs aren’t really any brighter than you or me (often, less so).  I guess that I should have known all along. *rolls eyes*