Monday, 20 April 2009R.I.P. JG Ballard - I'm sorry I thought that your novel "Crash" inspired the 2004 film about racial and social tensions in LA of the same name. I'm going to purchase Empire of the Sun just to make up for it.
Get better Stephen Hawking - this fucking world needs you, please stay for one more decade, maybe you could solve global warming or something.
I went house-hunting today - ever since hearing the news at work I have been stressing and crying and moaning about how i'm going to make this all work. Sure, it was time to leave Portsmouth, but London had always been the next logical step (or Canada - make lots of money). The two original choices for life were: Plan A - Work in current job for a little bit, then magically get picked up to do a masters in Health Policy and live out my hopes and dreams helping kids in Africa get adequate health treatment by telling the governments to stop buying guns every 2 weeks.
Plan B - Work in current job for a while, sell soul and moral fibre to the regulatory world. Become director of Reg Affairs in 10 years. Earn six-figure salary and have a house in Wiltshire. Live with ever increasing guilt at selling my dreams for a quick buck.
It seems that an unmistakable Plan C has cropped up: Carry on with current job, embrace new responsibilities. Move house to accomplish new responsibilities. Work harder that I have ever worked before in my entire life. Try for an executive position. Get told no due to budget cuts. Lose will to live. Plan to move again. Plan to work even harder for the next year. Try to attain a position at head office. Work for 3 years in the most stable and profitable pharmaceutical company in the world, and scrimp and save to get £12,000 to do masters in Health Policy and live out my hopes and dreams helping kids in Africa get adequate health treatment by telling the governments to stop buying guns every 2 weeks.
Plan C it is. Moving to Guildford in six - eight weeks. Hoping for some medical affairs experience at Royal Surrey, for sure getting some exposure at Head Office Frimley. On Weds, my deposit should go through for a room in this house:
my room is the box room but I don't care. I met the other housemates today: one's a sociologist and a Prison Welfare Manager, one is the HR Manager for top 3 investment bank Bank of America (formerly Merryll Lynch), and one is aTechnical Operations manager for her brother's company in Guildford. I am the manager of organising my converse in my cupboard. I felt a little out of my depth. After what felt like the Spanish Inquisition, I decided they were nice enough girls - even though they are 29/30 and holiday in places like Dubai. Center Parcs will do for me. They were really impressed that I went to Fabric at Easter though, said I had to take them one time. I think that swayed it. Within the hour I had the landlord phone me, offering me the room.
Afterwards, I rang (in this order); Taxi, Sam, Sam again, Mum, Dad, Mum again, Emma, Phil, Phil, Phil, Mum and Molly. On the most part I was blubbering about being scared about moving away on my own. Comments recieved: Taxi - "That'll be 7.40 please", Sam - "6 hours and no break, that's illegal right? I'll be having words", Mum - "Have you sorted out an action plan yet? What do you mean you haven't?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?", Dad - "Er, I gotta go.", Emma - " What a fucking prick, come have a beer", Phil - " I have 40 kinds of Helveteca on my computer, good times. I almost bought a HEALTH t-shirt, but I bought a milkshake instead", Molly - "STILL HAVEN'T GOT DAMN INTERNET!".
Sat again on my bed, I looked out the window whilst denying various requests of social activity on my mobile (I have a 6.20am train to catch to the Danubuis Hotel in Regent's Park - Life Cycle Management training - maybe I get to be a 'management' after all) and listened to HEALTH (easily influenced). I really hope this goes well because I need for this to go well. I am pretty scared, and there is nothing I can do... except warn everyone - corporate life is the most ripplingly terrifying in the world. Hello Surrah, Goodbye Ampsheer.
Plus I need to start driving or I ain't going nowhere!