A Little Wobble

Aw crap. I thought I was doing ok. I really did.

I thought I had managed to detach fairly efficiently from the things which don't matter. I thought I was coping well with my work, that I'd found lots of new and interesting things to do, and that I had reconnected with my fellowship.

And indeed all these things are true.
But. But.

New Boss has convened a meeting of all staff. It's the second one of these he has overseen, and ironically I chaired the first one back in March. It didn't seem to present me with too many problems at the time, even though I had not long returned to work after my Mental Health Episode. I realise now that I coped because I had plenty to keep me occupied. However, I have to confess that I found yesterday weirdly and unexpectedly difficult.

The meeting is held off-site, in a venue unfamiliar to me. And it is while walking towards it that I start to experience the onset of the same kind of peculiar anxiety that began to descend upon me 18 months ago whenever I had to enter the main office. An irrational dread, and sense of impending disaster. I try to ignore it, but when I enter the room and see The Jackals sitting in a pack on one side, the feelings return. So even though a few people I like are strewn among the pack, I sit on the other side because that is the only place I feel safe.

These meetings are totally pointless. New Boss has at least brought in one change for the better - he has put an end to individuals talking about what they are currently working on! So no more ghastly "show and tell" monologues, with people bigging themselves up in the manner of Britain's Got Talent entrants. But of course there is still the other competition - New Boss Factor - to take into account, and there is no way that some of my colleagues will allow this golden opportunity to IMPRESS to pass them by.

I have absolutely no desire or need to impress New Boss. But as the meeting progresses, I realise that oddly I seem to have lost the power of speech. I am simply unable to open my mouth and contribute a single word to the discussion. Is it anxiety? Is it fear? Is it just extreme detachment?? I don't know - but it feels very VERY strange.

New Boss has met me both in Real Woman guise, and as Stepford Employee, and as neither of these two personalities are inarticulate, he keeps glancing over in my direction with an expression of vague annoyance, as if I am doing it on purpose. But I'm not. I just can't produce an utterance. I don't show how I feel inside, naturally. I sit there doing my famous impersonation of someone who is listening - but the truth is that my brain has turned into a washing machine. A noisy rattling one.

To try and stay calm, I think about people I know in trouble to try and give myself a sense of perspective; and when I have finished doing that, I run through all the lines I have in Acts 1 & 2 of the play I am currently rehearsing. (Thank God, I think to myself, I have a rehearsal tonight which is going to take me out of myself). When all these strategies are exhausted, I glance out of the window at buses going past and imagine myself upon them, being transported to anywhere other than my current location...

At 4pm we finally reach Any Other Business, and New Boss announces that we are all invited to stay behind for a general discussion, but that this is purely voluntary and that anyone who wants to, can leave.

No-one moves.
No-one except me that is.

I pick up my bag, head for the exit, and it takes all my willpower to stop myself breaking into a run before I reach the door.

Mediation

Email from Personnel this morning. The mediation session between myself and Line Manager is not, now, going ahead this week as I had been led to believe. I delete this email without responding.

It's not that I am unable to work with Line Manager - not at all. We are already liaising about work matters (albeit in New Boss's presence) and within the main office environment are both endeavouring to behave as normally as possible. Only yesterday he brought over some papers which I had sent to the printer! He has also twice emailed me a thank you for matters I have attended to!! (I would not normally think the latter worth mentioning; except for the fact that thanking his staff is not Line Manager's strong point, and indeed I can't think of many occasions in the last twelve years when I have received such acknowledgements from him).

Line Manager is clearly making an effort. It's all "too little, too late" - but I nonetheless appreciate his gestures and am happy to reciprocate in return.

So today I actually smile at Line Manager as he enters a meeting (late) which I have organised; ask him to present on a certain item, and thank him for contributing helpfully at one point. I consider all these things to be appropriate, polite and professional responses - and that is all the organisation requires from me.

But at the end of the meeting, Line Manager does his "hovering" thing. He did this yesterday in the main office, picking up an envelope addressed to a former colleague Jamelia which was lying next to me (aaaaargh, I hate it when he fiddles with things on my desk) and trying to talk to me about our shared memories of her. I replied monosyllabically, because what I actually wanted to start screaming is "you're not my friend! What part of this statement do you not understand?? YOU ARE NOT MY FRIEND".

So when he starts "hovering" today, I instantly gravitate to others in the room. This is not difficult, because - joy of joys! - the room today is full of fabulous women. My glamorous pal Lynn is there, not giving away by look or gesture the fact that she knows all about my problems with Line Manager. A female police officer has just joined our team - a straight talking kind of woman one knows one can do business with. There is a lively women who has come along to talk about an event, the CEO of a local charity - oh, even unceremoniously retired Senior Female Colleague is there (albeit in another voluntary capacity). I am spoilt for choice ! Everywhere I turn, I am falling over intelligent, capable, inspiring, lovely women.

Line Manager eventually has to admit defeat, particularly when I twig that he is intending to help me carry meeting items back to my office and cunningly rope in two other attendees to assist me with this task. Line Manager heads for the door. I am not entirely heartless so as he passes I politely thank him for coming. I then turn back to continue my conversation with people I am actually fond of.

Mediation? Yes, I have agreed to it but only because it is going to cost the organisation a LOT of money. And this particular debt isn't one I feel like waiving.

Stepford Employee takes Centre Stage

At the exact moment today's (recently established and bi-monthly) management meeting  is due to start, Stepford Employee glides into the main office wearing a summery dress accompanied by an equally summery smile. She taps discreetly on New Boss's door and disappears inside, shutting the door in the faces of Big Ears and Noddy and their other little chums (it drives them crazy with thwarted frustration, particularly when Stepford Employee lets out bursts of happy animated laughter which is the only thing they can hear through the door...)

New Boss summons Line Manager to let him know Stepford Employee has now arrived (she could have collected him herself en route, but she took care to enter by the side door, thus avoiding his office.) When Line Manager enters, Stepford Employee makes sure she thanks him prettily for kindly agreeing to a slight alteration in the start time of the meeting.

Yes, there is "history" between Stepford Employee and her Line Manager - a painful saga of mis-management, lies and discrediting (oh - that's just him, you understand. Stepford Employee merely asserted her right not to be bullied). But on this lovely afternoon, with the air-conditioning gently humming, the sun streaming through the window, and Stepford Employee softly sharing information about her area of work, one could almost be lulled into thinking that these two people have a positive and productive working relationship.

Things are going swimmingly when, as the meeting is drawing to a close, New Boss mentions the report he emailed round last Friday. Yes - New Boss has written a report! A report which seeks to strategically alter policy !!

Ah. Ho hum. Deary me.

There is nothing intrinsically wrong with New Boss's report, other than the fact it is takes absolutely no account of the reality of Stepford Employee's particular area of work. It seeks to impose a solution which her many years experience tells her will not succeed. And he wants to know what she thinks about it.

Therein lies the danger.

Real Woman would be happy to tell him what she thinks, but her views would be blunt, her concern palpable, her warnings unedited, and her alternative solutions detailed. Real Woman would do all these things because she cares about what happens and doesn't want anything to go wrong. Real Woman would invest her time, energy and passion into trying to get the best result for the organisation.

However, this is exactly the kind of thing which made Real Woman deeply unpopular amongst certain members of the Hierarchy as well as colleagues, and led her to the point of a nervous breakdown (old-fashioned term for her Mental Health Episode). So Real Woman peeps out of the closet, sniffs the air, scents danger and quickly slams the door shut again.

Stepford Employee seizes her moment to take centre stage!

"I haven't had a chance to look at your report in detail yet" she murmurs softly, "but I thought your matrix looked very interesting. And I'm really looking forward to reading it all properly this afternoon".

New Boss develops a slight swagger (quite a challenge for a man who is sitting down) and regales Stepford Employee with a five minute monologue, explaining how he managed to drive his report through resistance from both officers and politicians. It is an account which reeks of macho Northern sweat. Stepford Employee has to resist the temptation to murmur "my, you're so MANLY and BRAVE !!"

The best she can do is lower her head, peep up through her lashes (Benefit's "They're Real" - brilliant product....) and gaze admiringly in New Boss's direction.

Line Manager, who has known Stepford Employee in her previous guise of Real Woman for over a decade, says nothing but looks thoroughly unnerved.

As well he might.

Collateral Damage

There is a peculiar imposition upon me which "management" is now seeking - that things can go back to how they were.

Now really. This is just bonkers.

A marriage which has endured infidelity will never go back to how it was. A friendship which has suffered betrayal will never go back to how it was. Anything which has been damaged will never go back to exactly how it was.

It might endure, it might even become more positive and rewarding, but it will become something different.

The Hierarchy's merry assumption that consequences can be ignored is frustrating. But to some extent, I understand, as there was a time when I disregarded the consequences of my own actions. So I will be forever grateful to the people who forced me to confront them. When I didn't turn up yet again for a university jive class, and my dance partner promptly dumped me and started dancing with someone else. When I swore on the phone to a utility company and they subsequently refused to come and attend to my problem. And when I did something to vex the company director, and I was given a month's wages and asked to leave that very day (these things were a long time ago, you understand....)

All these things were painful and taught me to change.
I really really needed to change.

I don't know or care if the people at work who have behaved so badly towards me need to change. That's their business. But the Hierarchy has to accept that the behaviour of The Others has had consequences.

These people have caused me damage.
And so now things are - inevitably - going to be DIFFERENT.

Schadenfreude

There are lots of small children in my life, but none are actually my own. My default state is constantly one of mild anxiety, and if anyone I care about is in distress (hell, even anyone I don't care about), it ratchets up even higher. I really cannot comprehend how parents are able to cope with the day-in, day-out, endless worry about their children.

My overnight anxiety is only alleviated when my troubled friend Leslie rings me at 11am. I suggest that we meet that evening at a meeting of our support group. I identify with Leslie's fears and shame in not wanting to face other people, and I don't know if Leslie is going to be able to muster the nerve to come. I can only offer the reassurance that I know to be true - that those present will feel nothing but compassion and understanding. 

In stark contrast, some of those I work with prefer to glory in other people's misfortunes. Indeed I never really knew what the word Schadenfreude meant until I saw The Others operating up close. 

About six months ago, news emerged which impacted seriously upon one of the department's projects. I had arrived in the office early to find Ex-Army Man agog with excitement, because he had opened the relevant email and was hence the First To Know. The glee with which he imparted the unfortunate news to each member of the staff entering the office was depressing to behold. But these were as naught compared to his real prey - the project manager himself ! Ex-Army Man was on him like a rash, regaling him with the disastrous news before Project Manager had even taken his coat off. Project Manager has treated Ex-Army Man with distinct froideur ever since. Not that Ex-Army Man has noticed or cares....

Illnesses, redundancies, failing projects, Things Going Wrong, are veritable feasts to The Others; who gorge themselves on them; not until they are sick, but until the Decent People around them feel like throwing up.

(Call me weird, but it is a complete mystery to me how anyone else's distress can ever be a source of satisfaction).

Conversely, of course, news of co-workers' success, joy and happiness provoke in The Others bitch-fests of gargantuan proportions! Life Coach Colleague twigged this a long time ago, and takes great amusement in loudly proclaiming his achievements/accounts of his wonderful holidays simply so he can watch the subsequent flurries.

Two years ago, I went to the other extreme and began to conceal, minimise and underplay success in the manner of a small furry night creature trying to avoid the attention of rapacious owls.

A fat lot of good it did me.

I still became a target.

When I arrive at the meeting this evening, Leslie is already sitting there.

Such determination. Such courage. 

It is a wonderful moment. 

And it makes my day.

This is life, not a dress rehearsal

It's been a week since I met up with the cast of the play I'm appearing in, due to my disappearing off to Spain for four days. I arrive at tonight's rehearsal early, and am shortly joined by Pat. He's an open friendly guy, and I enjoy chatting to him. The others stroll in - mainly young sassy women wearing terrifyingly short dresses. They are, without exception, delightful company.

One of them - Charlie - has already asked me to be her Facebook friend; and I have had to tell her that despite being on Facebook, I have yet to accept a single friend request and indeed now have 20 waiting (mainly old school friends). I am scared of Facebook - it's that simple.

Charlie tells me I am a complete wuss.

She's absolutely gorgeous and only 25. I can't imagine why she seems so keen to hook up with me as I am - ahem - "somewhat older". (Later she asks me if I will play a part in a short film she has written and directed, and I say yes because I have decided to start saying YES to life more often....)

I have a bigger part in this play than I intended to have, given that this will be my first treading of the boards following a rather long sabbatical (long = quarter of a century....) So nervous was I before the first read-through, that I turned up having learned all my lines. This is now standing me in good stead, as it is allowing me to focus all my attention on giving what is hopefully a half-way decent performance.

Immersing myself in this experience is proving intensely therapeutic. I am part of a group of people all working together to achieve a common aim. Oh - we are the very thing that my work configuration suggests I am a part of! We are a TEAM !!

It's been so long since I was part of a team - one where one's contribution is valued, no matter what it's size or profile - that I have forgotten what it feels like.

This team is benefiting from a generous intelligent director, relaxed attitudes, and an absence of egos. It's a fab team. I am loving being a part of it.

My Comfort Zone

Unexpectedly, I see my lovely GP today. We are both attending an event in our work capacities. I don't approach him, figuring that this might inappropriately transgress boundaries; but he demonstrates no such sensibilities, calling out my name when he sees me and making sure that I speak to him.

There is something slightly surreal about standing in the middle of a busy room chatting about the event we're attending; when only a short while ago I was sitting in his office crying so hard that I could barely breathe. Naturally, neither of us alludes to this incident (there are some boundaries which must never be breached...)

He thinks I look well. I tell him feel good because I am in my own environment, where I am completely safe. He jokes that he is outside his own comfort zone. God, he's gorgeous. If he was not my GP, he would be the easiest man in the world to flirt with. But he is my medical advisor - and an exceptionally good one. I am incredibly lucky to be on his patient list.

He is not the only person at the event who knows me. There are some local politicians there, community leaders, and Council colleagues from other departments. Some of them kindly compliment me in public about the work I do. The atmosphere overall is cheerful and upbeat. I have lots of interesting conversations and find myself laughing a lot.

There is an older lady sitting on a chair to the side and I suddenly recognise her as Jamelia - a former work colleague who retired about six years ago. She is with a friend so I hover until a suitable break arises and I can introduce myself. Jamelia greets me with touching warmth, holding my hand for ages and asking if we can have a photograph taken together. She asks me for news of our department, and I tell her what has been happening in the past few years, most recently Former Boss's retirement, and the arrival of New Boss.

I don't tell her about the orchestrated bullying, about the behaviour of Spiteful Manager (her former line manager), about the horrendous schism which has arisen between the Decent People and The Others, or that the senior management team abandoned any pretence of proper leadership the day Senior Female Colleague was unceremoniously shunted into retirement against her will.

Why upset her? I tell her everything is fine.

She gives me a hug. "You are a lovely person" she says. "You were always very kind to me. I think you are really lovely".

I endured the behaviour of The Others for months without being reduced to locking myself in the loos and crying, but when Jamelia says these words to me, I really don't know how I manage to stop myself from bursting into tears.

True colours

It is really very useful when someone shows their true colours.

Yes, it can come as a wee bit of a shock (this is particularly upsetting if one has misguidedly assigned people into the "Decent People" class) but just think of the time and effort which can now be put to more productive use!

- No more wasted hours chatting by the kettle, hoping that this person likes you (They don't, so feel grateful for this clarity) 

- No more confiding of your money/health/relationship concerns (this person has proved themselves untrustworthy so you need never tell them anything about yourself again)

- No more believing a single thing they say to you (because you now have proof they are a mendacious slimy little scumbag)

This week I go along to a work "do" - which is a very rare occurrence these days, as strangely I always seem to have something better to do than schmooze up to New Boss, senior officers, and politicians. But - dammit! - the subject of this work event is one which piques my interest. I make appropriate preparations and ask three non-work friends to accompany me, meeting up with them beforehand for a beverage.

Despite all this, when I walk into the venue and see the Jackals waiting in a pack in the centre of the room, I feel a sudden irrational upsurge of anxiety and realise why I have not been feeling quite right over the past few days. Thank God I am not on my own. Really, I feel like a little baby giraffe I once saw on a safari (it had a broken leg, and when I asked the guide what would happen to it, he just shook his head....)

My little group peels off to the side and is generally left alone for the evening (which is an enjoyable one). But around halfway through the event I have to go to the loo and am temporarily unguarded.

At this point, I am approached by one of the pack, who adopts an expression of feigned concern and asks "how are you?" as if she hasn't seen me for months. She is clearly forgetting (or possibly not...) that she saw me on my return to work following my Mental Health Episode and asked me exactly the same question! In exactly the same tone of voice !!

"Absolutely fantastic" I say (naturally I have attended to my appearance meticulously prior to arriving). 

She looks disappointed which is of course the effect I was aiming to create. 

"How are you?" I add incuriously, then (thank God) espy one of my friends/bodyguards approaching. 

"So sorry, I have to go...." I add, before my interrogator can answer.

Because let's face it - I don't actually care how she is in the slightest.

My friend Cleo was once talking about a neighbour she disliked intensely. She said "when I see her, I really want to tell her to **** off, but I know that would be wrong. So I just say HiYA!..."

Cleo is tough, incisive and hilarious. I've learned a lot from her.

So rather like the vodka advertisement, which shows the viewer a different reality when seen through the bottle; as the evening progresses and people pass by, I see a different reality to the one they portray. I see their true colours. And like Cleo, I make frequent use of her mantra.

"Hiya!" I say to Spiteful Manager. "Hi!" to Remora. "How are you?" (New Boss). "Nice to see you!" (Poor Performer). "Hi! Hiya! HiiiiYYYYAAAA!!"

And that's all I say.

But why didn't you go and talk to the Decent People? I hear you ask. Those Decent People you work with, because you think they are hard-working, kind and compassionate. Why didn't you talk to them?

There is a simple answer.

They weren't there.

They were all smart enough to stay away.

Reconnecting

Some years ago, when friends used to ask me how I was feeling, the best response I was able to make was: "I don't know but I don't feel right".

These words have been floating through my brain for the last couple of days. I don't feel quite right at the moment. I am suffering what I would describe as low-grade anxiety - sense of unease, slight constriction in chest, poor quality sleep, a degree of fearfulness. It is the kind of anxiety that up until recently I just accepted and tried not to give too much attention, but I am more careful now that I have experienced this sensation escalating into a full-blown panic attack. (I have discovered it is really quite hard to subsequently hold a poised conversation with someone who has seen you carted off by paramedics....)

So I run through the standard checklist:

Am I hungry? No.
Am I angry? No.
Am I lonely? No.
Am I tired........?

Ah.

I do seem to be more than usually tired at the moment, possibly because I am trying to do too much. Not on the work front, I hasten to add. Just burning the candle at both ends (learning the lines for the play I am in, singing with the choir, going to meetings of my "support group", and writing on a regular basis). Also, there are now a few things Going On which are dragging me back into an environment I have decided is not good for me (I have - after long contemplation - emailed Personnel agreeing to enter into formal mediation with Line Manager).

I am wondering, though, if this anxiety is not simply the aftermath of spending four solid days in the company of committed drinkers during my recent break to Espana. After all, when I asked my youngest sister the time at one point, she replied: "it's Sangrrrrrrrriiiiiiia time !!!"

I think that sums up the situation nicely.

Both my sisters are adorable, but my youngest sister is a particular hoot. She also said things like "not a good look" every time I donned my sunhat; and "ooooh, that must be one of your DEMONS!" when I said anything about work, having been particularly entertained by my account of New Boss's attempt to engage in psychoanalysis (or should that be exorcism...?). Middle sister has a more equable and relaxed temperament, so it is strange to recall that we used to fight a lot. One particular reminiscence consisted of the following exchange:

Middle sister: "that was the time you were trying to hit me with a hockey stick"
Me: "no, that was the time I was trying to kill you..."

Despite having a wonderful mini-break with them, I still get some mild after-effects when removed from my comfort zone. It is this which ensures that I head off to a "support group" meeting with my husband one evening this week. On arrival, we are told that the speaker hasn't turned up - will one of us stand in? My husband looks at me meaningfully.

It's a great meeting, and it's greatness has very little to do with me. It is ninety minutes of connection, humour, poignancy, and love. I spend the twenty minute walk home listening to someone who needs to talk while my husband walks on ahead. And when I get in, I can feel that the anxiety has already begun to lessen.

Hot and bothered

Out tonight with my friend Sue. We go and see the new Johnny Depp film "Dark Shadows", managing to eat an entire bagful of jelly snakes before the film has even started. Sue is also a public sector employee, from the same type of environment as my friend Lynn. Sue and I have several other things in common, most notably that neither of us has drunk alcohol for some years.

Sue possesses the rare ability to remain calm and good-humoured under duress. In fact she has many admirable qualities which I feel would greatly enhance my Stepford Employee role, if only I could mimic them convincingly. Even when we are forced to queue for ages to pay for our jelly snakes, she is able to joke in a friendly manner with the chap serving. I, on the other hand, can feel myself getting increasingly irritable at the long wait we are enduring (when there are all those commercials and trailers to watch!)

Come to think of it, I have felt lurking irritation for much of the day. I blame the heat, but in fact it is my twin character defects of impatience and intolerance rearing their ugly heads. Only this lunchtime, an exceptionally voluble Lithuanian tried to jump ahead of me when I was waiting to order my coffee; and I felt my inner Lady Bracknell coming out ("do you mind....?????" with voice rising incrementally in pitch and volume, and at least three non-existent vowels incorporated into the last word).

At one point during the very helpful counselling prescribed by Occupational Health back in February, I came to the conclusion that work was the only place I felt I could never truly be myself. I felt so constrained by the impossibility - on pain of being handed my P45 - of saying what I really wanted to say, that I believed it was this very bondage which had actually made me ill. Outside work, I think I am far more relaxed, frank and consistent.

But now, armed with my new Coping Strategy, I am learning to do what the rest of my co-workers do. (I admit I have some way to go before I become proficient at playing a two-faced, back-stabbing, hypocrite but hey - give me time!! I am still comparatively new to this Stepford game...)

When the film ends, Sue and I go for a coffee and catch up with each other's news. I tell her that Personnel have finally sent me through some dates for the mediation session with Line Manager but that I have not yet responded. It's a tricky one. Do I, don't I..? Should I, could I...? He loves me, he loves me not...?

I have many reservations about mediation now, doubting Line Manager's ability to maintain confidentiality (crucial, if this is to work) but mainly because I am starting to get more and more used to "not truly being myself". Mediation will challenge my Stepford Employee persona, because the temptation to say what I really think might prove to be overwhelming.

I'm keeping a lid on things at the moment. But if the temperature rises unexpectedly, things might suddenly explode. And Stepford Employee might vanish in a puff of smoke...

British Gas Theorem

Before disappearing to Valencia, I made arrangements to have lunch on return with Lynn - someone I have met through work, and who works for a similarly structured organisation. Lynn is one of those women who looks fantastic, despite appearing to wear no make-up bar a slash of eyeliner and some lip gloss. She is funny, insightful and sensitive. I wish she was one of my colleagues.

On checking my Blackberry before I leave to start work, I see an email asking for information about a currently sensitive situation within my particular patch of responsibility, and manage to obtain this - plus photographs! - while walking towards my rendezvous with Lynn. I send through a detailed report to the Hierarchy from their Reporter on the Spot. Within five minutes I receive a thank you from the Chief Executive for my "helpful update".

Now there would have been a time that this kind of communique would have given me a nice warm inner glow lasting the entire day (not for nothing does my husband call me Lisa Simpson, making comparisons between that cartoon character's pitiably eager thirst for praise and affirmation and my own...) But today, all that the CEO's email represents is Freedom! The Hierarchy now know I am out and about, busily working. I suspect that this means I will not hear from anyone for the rest of the day, and this prediction proves correct.

So Lynn and I enjoy a leisurely lunch during which we swap a number of Line Manager stories. Oh - the relief of finding one is not alone! And why do these insecure, neglectful, and easily threatened Line Managers always seem to be men?? I know there are some wonderful men out there, so how come we've ended up getting total dorks over-seeing our lives between the hours of 9am - 5pm? Another of life's Great Unanswered Mysteries.

Our lovely lunch over, I pop in to see another couple of work contacts before finally heading towards my own office (a little haven of tranquillity, where The Others have never trod). En route I buy a big coffee to see me through the ordeal of switching on my computer and actually doing some desk work. I chat to some of the other inhabitants who are hovering about in reception. I get into my office at about 3pm, and start booting up my systems. Sigh. It is taking ages today. 

I shuffle a few papers around, stifling a yawn. Am feeling a wee bit tired. The advantage of having my own little space with a lockable door becomes apparent when I work out that by pushing two armchairs together I can make a very neat little bed! (I am quite small, you understand). And it just so happens there is a comfy cushion and a blanket to hand...

Half an hour later I wake up feeling much MUCH better.

My computer is humming encouragingly, and all systems seem to be go.

I work very hard and fast for two hours, managing to complete all the tasks on my list.

I once received a vast bill after an engineer had spent no more than ten minutes twiddling with a couple of knobs on my problematic gas boiler. I wrote to Head Office politely querying the extortionate charge, and in response received an equally polite letter advising me that I was not paying for the time the engineer spent on the job; I was paying for "his ability to solve the problem". Hmmm. Hard to argue with that kind of logic. In fact - I rather like it!

So today, my employers paid not for the time I actually spent working, but for what I achieved.

It's just that I am not intending to draw this to their attention... 

Operating Systems

New Boss thinks I am "over-reacting" to Line Manager's past treatment of me, and helpfully advises me "you'd have done the same".

It is illuminating when people make this type of sweeping generalisation, as all they do is reveal something about themselves. So when New Boss makes that comment to me, of course what he actually means is "I would have done the same".

My laptop is fading at the moment, and I am having problems connecting to the internet. I keep asking IT-literate friends what type of laptop I should buy as a replacement, and the usual discussions are kicking off about the respective merits of Macs and PCs. I am unable to follow the intricacies of this particular debate, so all I really manage to glean is that although they appear to perform similar functions, they have different operating systems.

Oh - exactly like some of my colleagues!! I think to myself. They look like all the other members of my department, they appear to walk and talk in a similar manner - but there are distinct but crucial differences. Without making any kind of value judgement, it does appear that they too have alternative operating systems....

So when New Boss pronounces that I would have done the same as Line Manager, I reply "you're wrong. I wouldn't have". I don't go into the detailed explanation, which is that my operating system was hard-wired into my brain about two decades ago. This requires me whether I want to or not to do the following:

- tell the truth
- admit when I am in the wrong
- put the needs of others before my own
- make amends where necessary, and
- try to live a decent and honourable life.

Not being a saint, I operate very imperfectly (bit like my laptop...) I have particular struggles with: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive others who trespass against us".

But my only hope is to keep trying.

Thin Slicing

There's another email awaiting me on my return from Spain. This one is from Personnel - she is trying to set up a mediation session between myself and Line Manager - am I available on certain dates...?

Wow - depressing! Because mediation is something I asked for as far back as September 2010, when my relationship with Line Manager was already plummeting into the abyss. At that time (in desperation, because I was so concerned by what was happening) I researched options myself and presented them to Former Boss, Personnel and Director. But they said no.

I am fairly convinced that if they had agreed to mediation when I first requested it, the relationship might have got back on track. But the public sector view was that mediation was too expensive - and also it might involve feelings (eeeek!!!). So nothing was done, and inevitably things got worse and worse. Worse as in (from him) sarcasm, undermining, siding with others and shouting at me; and worse as in (from me) standing up for myself, asserting my right not to be bullied, and taking out a formal grievance which took six months to be heard. As you might imagine, the economic impact of all this far exceeded the paltry £1500 cost of formal mediation.

When New Boss came to see me back in March, and helpfully informed me that he felt the relationship could be mended, I picked up a sheet of paper, tore it in half, and said "that can be mended". I then tore these pieces across over and over again until hundreds of scraps of paper fluttered down on the table and added "but that can't".

I tend towards explicit Blue Peter-type demonstrations at moments of extreme stress.

There's a brilliant book by Malcolm Gladwell called "Blink". The concept of thin-slicing - the incredibly rapid and unconscious processing of information - helped me to understand why we so often experience strong reactions, both negatively and positively, towards certain situations and people; and why we should always trust our own instincts.

The book delves deeply into many areas of life, and unsurprisingly there is much focus upon relationships. Gladwell particularly cites a scientist called John Gottman who has made a life study of married couples, and can predict with 95% accuracy whether a couple will still be together in 15 years time. He analyses every conceivable emotion which a couple express during the course of a conversation, and creates complex equations which act as predictors.

But this analysis reduces down further to a single classic "thin-slice" interpretation. Gottman figures that there is one single emotion which is indicative of the deteriorating state of a marriage, and that is contempt.

It is not a nice emotion to experience or to feel. I hate feeling this emotion in relation to any human being because it is so negative. It is judgemental, rejecting, but above all things it is irrevocable.

When I muse on everything Line Manager has done over the past year - lie about me, discredit me, range others against me, spread gossip, take sides, exclude me, and deliberately drag other members of my team into our dispute - I feel many things. I feel sad; I feel angry: I feel disappointed; and I feel frustrated. But underlying all these feelings, I am conscious of a deep-rooted contempt for Line Manager which nothing is ever going to be able to alter.

Against this painful reality, mediation is starting to seem like a terrible waste of everyone's time.

The Stepford Employee returns...

My husband very kindly meets my sisters and I at the airport and ensures that everyone gets home safely. We ourselves arrive back home around 5pm, but it is not until 9.30pm that I finally bother to scroll through my work emails to see what has been happening during my two days absence.

Oh deary me! There has been a wee bit of a flurry. Apparently I am in possession of a crucial set of keys which are now Urgently Needed, and this has actually prompted Line Manager to send me a text on a Saturday (unheard of) requesting my immediate response. Lest he be accused of inappropriate "weekend harassment", I notice he is very quick to make clear that New Boss has sanctioned this intervention.

Only thing is - I don't think I happened to mention that I was going to be out of the country...

Provision of this information was not mandatory, given that I had official permission to be away on annual leave, but I suppose that once upon a time I might have artlessly chatted to Line Manager and New Boss about my plans for a delightful city break to southern Spain. As it was, I merely set my out-of-office and vanished; and I think only Life Coach Colleague from my own department knew where I was heading.

Several emails are now falling over each other, requesting politely that I make contact first thing Tuesday morning so the grand key-handing-over ceremony can be arranged. I could delay my response until first thing in the morning, but of course I recognise that a splendid Stepford opportunity has presented itself! So at 10.30pm at night I nobly respond by both email and text, advising the hierarchy that I will personally be on site at 10am the following morning to enable access to the building in question.

I am so willing! So helpful !! So apologetic for being out of the country !!!

There are several other directives from New Boss on other matters, but I shelve them because they are neither urgent nor important.

Stepford Employee has returned. But only strategically.

What the doctor ordered...

It's not that I want everyone around me to placate, mollify, and flatter. In fact, that is the last thing I want or expect them to do - which is probably why I was so susceptible to someone setting out to be strategically manipulative. Hopefully I am now a lot wiser.

Spending time in the company of both my sisters means we are all constantly challenging each other's perceptions of what is fair, and true, and important. It has been instructive to discuss some of my "workplace issues" with them, and get alternative perspectives. These tend to be refreshingly blunt and incisive.

I am reminded of the time recently when I told my friend Jo about something Remora had done (it was another instance of her weirdly random "stalking" behaviour) and I said to Jo "why do you think she would have done that?"

Whereupon Jo responded without missing a beat "because she's f***ing nuts??"

There have been many moments over the past two days when my sisters and I have all cried with laughter; just as I did when Jo made her definitive pronoucement.

We visited Valencia's Botanical Gardens this morning, and meandered into the Medicinal Garden, sniffing leaves of rosemary, verbena and lavender; and reading about the nasty overdose effects of belladonna, laurel and holly. Medicine constantly advances and recedes in complexity and effectiveness, but nothing has ever done more to help me detach from the miseries of my working environment than finding something to laugh about.

So I am grateful to all my friends and family (and let us not forget my doctor) who help me recognise the sheer bloody absurdity of what goes on around me every Monday to Friday between the hours of 9am and 5pm; and who have assisted my spectacular transformation into a Stepford Employee.

Back into the role tomorrow! Mmmm. Can hardly wait.

Marine Biology

After wandering miles through the Turia park, we find ourselves at the stunning series of buildings which makes up the Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias. It's now 2pm, so we have an intense sisterly discussion about the best way to spend our afternoon, and Oceanografic wins out. It's my absolute favourite kind of place - close-up encounters with weird and wonderful living things. The only difference between this and my workplace is that these particular beasts cannot harm me, as they are encased in glass which appears to be at least six inches thick.

We save the shark encounter tunnels until last, fortified by tea and muffins at one of the cafes nearby. The noise levels in these underground channels are considerably higher than anywhere else on site, as children, their parents - heck, and us too! - squeal with alarm when these predatory machines zoom towards us with apparent malevolent intent.

One of my sisters sees a shark with a slender fish seemingly floating immediately above it, and asks me what it is doing. I glance across in the direction she is indicating. "Oh, that's a remora" I reply. "It's a parasitic sucker fish which attaches itself to sharks". "Why does it do that?" she enquires, interestedly. "It's a relationship of mutual benefit," I explain. "The remora is protected by the sleek, powerful shark, feeding off scraps of food from its kills; and in return provides some basic maintenance and grooming functions".

My sister is impressed. "I didn't know you knew so much about these things!" she says. "You sound like a marine biologist". "Ah. Mmmmm. It's an area of particular interest," I reply.

I became an expert on shark sucker fish about four years ago, when I finally realised the true nature of the relationship between myself and a female colleague - that she had parasitically attached herself to me, relentlessly grooming me without actually even liking me. Realising what she really was came as quite a shock...

Giving her a name which better reflected her personality helped me to finally detach myself from her influence. I still avoid saying her name out loud to others; and in this blog I refer to by Another Name (the challenge is to guess which one.....); but in my own mind she is, and will always be, known as Remora.

Spanish Practices

Yesterday at 4pm I set my "out of office" email notification, managing to overcome the temptation to advise enquirers that they can all go and take a running jump into infinity and beyond until next Tuesday. True though this would, of course, have been...

My sisters and I are off to Valencia for a long weekend - just us - no husbands, no kids, no mother. Despite an initial early set back this morning (when I go to check they are up and ready to leave for the airport, I find they are both still asleep?!*?), we have managed to get here without undue incident and are now checked into what is described as a "boutique" hotel in the centre of the historical quarter.

We all adore Valencia! It's compact, buzzy without being too busy, and full of interest. Best of all, we enjoy almost constant sunshine, and find a Zara with some nice items on sale! We spend the whole afternoon wandering around and listening to each others' news.

My sisters, like most normal people, enjoy drinking when they are on holiday; and as the day wears on beers, sangria and a bottle of wine disappear in rapid succession. The fact I don't drink places no constraints on them at all, which is exactly the way I like it. I wonder, not for the first time, why my not drinking appeared to present such a problem to certain of my work colleagues. We sit at an outside table for about two hours, watching the light fall, the streets fill with young, stylish people, and nibbling on a variety of tapas. Sometimes the conversation turns to anecdotes about work; but given that we spend most of our time laughing hysterically, none of us appear to be overly traumatised by our experiences. Not even me.

A few years ago one of my sisters also suffered severe stress thanks to some vile work colleagues, and as I sit with her now - confident in her own skin, and contented in the new job she eventually moved onto - it is fantastic to be reminded that work does not, and never shall, define us. This evening, as we wander back to our hotel, treating ourselves to a mango icecream on the way (no, hang on, that was just me....) we are above all FAMILY. And one I'm proud to be a part of.

"Happy is What Happens..."

Lulled into a false sense of security (when I popped in the other day, there were some nice people there!) I spend a whole day in the main office, primarily because the systems in my own office are crap, I am facing some nasty deadlines, and I need to download some image files. Despite this, on the point of crossing the threshold, I feel my happy high spirits start to droop - and luckily at that very point my tender-hearted friend Sue rings me!

I hover on the landing outside the office for some minutes chatting to her. We are in the middle of an animated conversation when the door opens and Line Manager emerges. I instantly stop what I am saying and nod in his direction, remaining silent as he makes his way down the stairs.

"Katharine? Katharine??" Sue imagines that I have been cut off, and so I hastily explain who has just passed.

"Aw" says Sue.
"Don't start all that again" I reply.

Two minutes later the door opens once again  - "it's like living in a public park!" (line from another character in the play I am currently rehearsing). This time, New Boss emerges. At that precise moment, I am giggling uncontrollably at something Sue has said, and it is quite hard to stop. But I do.

New Boss looks almost annoyed as he passes. I suspect it is because his pet theory - that I am a friendless sad little person haunted by DEMONS - has just suffered a severe set back....

Eventually making my way into the main office, I see that it is populated by The Others. Weird. None of them were around on Monday. I exchange the usual silent glances with the Decent People because The Others are already engaged in one of their favourite exercises ie slagging off some poor hapless victim behind their back. Suddenly I hear their leader behind me  - yes! Remora herself has arrived. There is an instant ratcheting up of the decibel levels as her screeching is added to the general cacophany.

I instinctively reach for my iPod.

Disaster. The battery has run down.

Life Coach Colleague, seeing my acute distress, opens a drawer and produces a life-saving piece of equipment. An iPod charger. I can actually charge my iPod and listen to it at the same time !!!

I feel a burst of quiet and intense gratitude.
Thank You Lord for giving my colleague foresight.
And thank You too, for making Steve Jobs so very very intelligent.

Without thinking, I select the musical "Wicked" which I went to see last year with my family. From the very opening words - "Good News! Good News!" - I realise how apposite a soundtrack it is to public sector existence ! I listen to the whole album four times, which sees me through most of the day, helps me get all my work done, and at several moments puts me in the dangerous position of laughing out loud.

I am oblivious to the activities of The Others, but occasionally looking up I observe their silent movie antics while ringing in my ears are glorious lines like: "No-one mourns the Wicked", "Loathing, unadulterated loathing", "Something has changed within me. Something is not the same...." and "Happy is what happens when all your dreams come true"....

It's sheer genius. It should be made available on prescription.

Prosecuting Counsel

I mentioned to Line Manager and New Boss the other day that a Senior Manager from another department had sent me a very aggressive email because I had responded to an enquiry from the Chief Executive in a manner he resented. "Why would he do that?" I mused, whereupon New Boss (never one to hold back from  An Insightful Psychological Assessment) said "because he feels he can".

Me: "I'm not sure what you mean?" (feigning stupidity is always a good way to get people to expand upon their statements....)
New Boss: "Ah, well, he couldn't have a go at the people he wanted to have a go at, like his Director or the Chief Executive, so he had a go at you instead"
Me: "mmmmmm. I see. Thank you. The thing is that I really hate being being bullied".
New Boss: "I wouldn't call that bullying".

Wha.......?

At this moment I realised the answer to why New Boss appears incapable of doing anything about bullying. New Boss does not define this term in the same way as other mortals; or even our own ludicrous Code (which helpfully gives as one definition "the abuse or misuse of power"). New Boss is - in fact - created in entirely the same mould as all other senior male officers in my employing organisations; and thinks that he has the right to do entirely as he pleases without reprisals.

To wit, New Boss believes he has the right to:

-  summon me into his office when I am on the point of going home and embarking on a lengthy conversation with me regardless

-  make comments about what he perceives are my deep-seated psychological problems

-  refer disparagingly to the way I speak (I am "posh")

-  tell me to be "friends" with colleagues who have treated me like dirt

Two minutes after making the throwaway comment above (to which Stepford Employee did not respond, naturally, but merely raised an eyebrow a millimetre...) New Boss came out with the following:

"I need a PA. I can't cope with doing all this admin on my own - it's crazy. I'm going to bring in my old PA from  my former workplace to help me. She's great. I can ring her anytime, Saturdays, Sundays, she's always on the end of the phone".

Whereupon I said faintly "don't you think that's rather exploitative of you, calling her at the weekend?"
And he said "oh, she doesn't mind"
And I said "that's not really the point is it?"
And he said "I told you, she doesn't mind"
And I said "Well anyway, I think you might find that you will asked to consider our redeployees first....?"
And he said "**** that, I'll just use whoever I want".

Case rests m'lud.

"Singin' in the Rain.."

I have nobly given up my plans for the evening in order to accompany my husband to hospital where he is to undergo a "minor procedure". We arrive at 6pm, only for him to be told that he should have been there at 4.30pm. I suspect this might be deliberate confusion on his part, as he has not been looking forward to the prodding and poking his "procedure" will necessitate. He is given an appointment for the following week instead.

We head off in the rain, and pop into an attractive Mediterranean-style cafe to review our options for the evening. He thinks he might just stay in and phone a few friends, whereupon I say "um, well in that case, do you mind if I go to choir practice after all.....?"

His blessing having been bestowed upon this suggestion, I skip across the common, heedless of the fact my hair is getting all wet, meeting an adorable little dog en route and pausing to watch a few hardy lads playing footie. The walk to the practice hall takes about twenty minutes, and on the way I listen to our new songs on my iPod. I joined this local community choir six weeks ago and since then I haven't missed a rehearsal. There are about 25 people gathered there this evening, but it is a very moveable feast - the whole point of it is that one can dip in and out as one pleases.

The fabulous woman who runs the choir on a voluntary basis comes over to me for a brief chat, apologising humorously for the haphazard nature of the enterprise. I shake my head in demurral. Attending her rehearsal session is one of the highlights of my week. It has the same effect on me as meetings of my "support group" - 90 minutes during which I feel a total absence of pressure, stress or responsibility.

"This is my therapy," I tell her.
She laughs.
I don't quite know how to explain to her that I am not kidding so I just laugh along with her.

Amazingly, this wonderful person - funny, dynamic, inspiring - is employed by the same organisation as myself! Just (sadly) not within my department. I wonder, idly, what it must feel like to work alongside such energy and commitment - but have no time for further musing because the rehearsal is starting.

Thirty minutes later we've learned a whole new song and manage to sing it all the way through in perfect four part harmony. It sounds FABULOUS! I mean "hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of your-neck" fabulous. The choir leader tells us we've been asked to sing at a local community event for the elderly in a month's time and it would be helpful if we can let her know if we are free that night.

I immediately put my hand up.

Demonic Possession...?

All this crap from Personnel has somewhat distracted me from the main matter in hand - my tour-de-force Katharine Ross appearance in front of New Boss and Line Manager!

Except that I don't think I'll be picking up an Academy Award any time soon...

It's all Real Woman's fault. She just keeps popping out at the most inopportune moments, and completely undermining the character I am so carefully constructing. So at some point during our cosy tete-a-tete I manage to ask New Boss why he isn't transparently communicating with the team as he promised he would, and when he says (generously) "well, I was going to email you yesterday to ask you a question but I didn't", I respond "I wouldn't have replied to you anyway, as I've stopped looking at my Blackberry over the weekend".

I don't really know what these "management meetings" are meant to be achieving, other than ticking boxes on some kind of departmental action plan which only exists in New Boss's brain. Line Manager and I have never spent so much time in each other's company, and rather like a marriage which has long since fallen apart, we really have nothing much to say to each other and sit for long periods staring at the wall (me) or eyeing the other nervously (him). It is a relief to all concerned when I bring the meeting to a close after 45 minutes.

Still, I suspect I haven't done as badly as I could have done. In one former workplace they used to call me The Rottweiler because if I was thrown a bone (aka An Issue Affecting The Staff) I would worry it to shreds before I let go of it. At least today I laugh enthusiastically at New Boss's jokes; and at one point say gently "I certainly don't intend this as any kind of criticism...." while playing with my hair.

I am tidying up my papers at 5pm when New Boss calls me back into his office to ask "a question". We discuss a trivial work issue for a couple of minutes before he steers the conversation  into yet another of his Unsolicited Psychiatric Assessments. Yes - of none other than moi.

Really, the GALL of it ! I mean - how would he like it if I came out with one of the following:

(a) "your frequent barbed comments about "posh people" indicate an extraordinarily large chip on your shoulder"

(b) "do you think you constantly play the clown because you have very low self-esteem?"

(c)  "I've noticed that you are starting to display alarmingly paranoic tendencies about the Policy Unit and I  think medication might help you cope better".

But apparently it is perfectly OK for him to say to me (as he does at this point): "well, I think you just need to deal with your demons".

As you might imagine, this presents a challenge for Stepford Employee. But strangely, at this moment of extreme provocation, Real Woman takes a gratifyingly distant seat and I hear myself laugh with what sounds like genuinely relaxed enjoyment.

"I'm so sorry to disappoint you!" I trill "but I haven't got any demons".

"We've all got demons" he responds (by which you can safely interpret "I have some very dark and scary ones, and the only way I can make myself feel better is by pigeon-holing you as one similarly possessed").

I smile beatifically. "No, sorry! I don't have any demons at all !"

I don't tell him - because it is none of his fricking business - that in fact my demons were all exorcised about 18 years ago. At around the same time, it just so happens, that I finally killed The Rottweiler...

Stepford Employee Suffers a Slight Setback

Happily plodding along in a cosy little Stepford world of my own, when I suffer a slight setback. Personnel are now ordering me to maintain strict confidentiality about a matter they do not deem worthy of disciplinary action; to wit - the ghastly behaviour of Spiteful Manager (a man who consistently behaves like a spoilt, temperamental brat....)

Apparently I am not allowed - under threat of dismissal !! - to take "any action seriously prejudicial to the interests of any individual or the Council" under para 5, sub-section d, to the power of x squared, of our Disciplinary Code.

Are these people having a laugh ?

I actually do laugh out loud when I read this email. I am in the main office at the time - an environment I usually inhabit in a state of head-down, iPod-wearing silence; so I notice a couple of colleagues looking over in my direction, checking I am not on the point of a nervous breakdown.

Time to disappear to Costa Coffee for a leisurely lunch break, where I enjoy a Flat White while reading the Culture section from yesterday's Sunday Times. Only when I have perused it from cover to cover do I start to ponder my next move. Now I could get into a lengthy ding-dong with Personnel at this point. I could - but really, I value my peace of mind and emotional well-being far too much to even go there. As a Stepford Employee, I know I should simply meekly submit to the unambiguous directive I have been given; but I am unable to restrain myself from sending Personnel a brief email from my Blackberry in reply; politely pointing out that I did rather consider being bullied as "an action seriously prejudicial to MY interests".

I ignore their next communique as it is some farcical gush about our Policies. Lordy, woe betide anyone who puts their faith in local authority policies! From now on I will encourage others to solve their bullying and harassment problems by asking large, fearsome men of their acquaintance to "bump into" the bullies outside the building, and take them off for a "quiet word".

Far quicker and infinitely more effective.

By the day's end I have - oops! - shown three people how I was treated by one of the highest paid members of our department, being careful (naturally) not to leave the email evidence in their hands. One of them, interestingly, reveals that they themselves have lodged a complaint against Spiteful Manager in the past. Vindication at last !! I leave the office feeling almost chirpy.

Stepford Employee I might be, but I am buggered if I am going to be gagged.

Hiding among the Undead

Feeling a teensy bit apprehensive about the morrow, as I have to attend another "management meeting" with Line Manager and New Boss. And I'm not entirely convinced I am going to be able to stay in character....

(Stepford Employee is, you will recall, merely a Coping Strategy I have embraced to help me get through each day).

I've spent all afternoon rehearsing with members of a local drama group for the play we're shortly mounting. In these circumstances, I don't seem to have much difficulty adopting a radically different persona from my own. I suspect this is possibly because I am surrounded my like-minded souls, who are all as eager to ensure suspension of disbelief as I am.

But tomorrow? I will be appearing on a stage populated by The Others - people who are not appearing in quite the same production as my own. Recollections of numerous bad horror films flash through my brain - the ones about an Evil Virus which has caused the population of the entire planet to mutate into zombies, leaving me in the role of the mysteriously unaffected survivor. Who has to shuffle through the streets making groaning noises, so that the real zombies do not rip her to pieces with their teeth....

How to achieve a convincing Stepford performance, when I am going to be under the eagle-eyed scrutiny of Line Manager and New Boss; two people who have already seen Real Woman bare her teeth on several occasions, and are going to be very VERY hard to fool...?

I realise I must prepare for this role more carefully.

Unthreatening feminine frock - check
Hair soft and wavy - check
Make up girlish and meek - check

But I know what the movie's director will be monitoring - the two constant betrayers of how I am really feeling. "Eyes and voice ! Watch your eyes and voice, Katharine !!"

Both must be lowered or Real Woman shall surely give herself away....

"Just not that into you...."

It's ten o'clock in the evening and I'm once again having my "usual" (chicken tikka, vegetable karahi, a massive nan and a salt lassi) with my friend Sue. I tell her that this morning I received an extremely unusual email from Line Manager apologising for taking so long to thank me for the minutes of the team meeting I helpfully sent through to him three days ago. His dilatory response is entirely normal; it is the addition of an apology which has made this communication so very singular. It's the first time he has sent me an email like this during our entire twelve year working relationship.

"Perhaps he's making an effort...." says Sue.

I tell her about the time recently when Line Manager and I were heading off to the same meeting, and in order not to walk across to the other building with him, I suggested that he go ahead while I detoured into the safety of the ladies loo. I deliberately took my time over the hand-washing, hair-brushing, lippie-applying procedures only to emerge and find he was waiting for me outside. Yikes.

"Aw," says Sue. "Poor man." (Did I mention she is a tender-hearted creature?) "Don't you think you're being a bit mean to him?"

Hmmmmm.

Sue - like all my friends - has my full permission to challenge my conduct on a regular basis, so of course I am unable to entirely dismiss what she says. Which means I have to pause in the middle of stuffing my face and consider if what she is saying might be true.

Am I being "mean" to Line Manager?

I review the events of the past few weeks. His tentative attempts to discuss someone's recent leaving do with me. His "hovering" by my desk. His occasional phone calls to my office when he could just email me his query. And the fact that he has started adding little jokes into his emails. And yet if he reviews my behaviour in turn, he must surely note that I avoid him as much as possible, only engage in conversations about work, do not respond to any "friendly" overtures, and keep things on a totally neutral footing.

It reminds me of that book about women who pursue men unrequitedly: "He's just not that into you". I am Just Not That Into Line Manager.

Sue adopts an expression like a puppy which has just been kicked by its brutal owner, and makes authentic whimpering noises, causing the guys behind the counter to look quite alarmed. "Poor Line Manager" she says again.

"Traitorous cow!" I shriek. "Have you forgotten everything I have told you about Line Manager's former perfidy? The fact he humiliated me in front of two new colleagues and an intern? That when I finally challenged him about his bullying behaviour and appalling management, he lied, did everything he could to discredit me, and ensured that I was isolated and ostracised by members of my own department? That I suffered months of stress and difficulty and as a result became so unwell I was actually signed off work? Have you forgotten all these things??"

Sue shrugs. "No," she says, "but I thought you said you'd forgiven him. It seems to me you still want to punish him".

I think about it for a bit.

"You may be right," I say. "But to be honest, more than anything else in the world, I just want him to leave me alone".

Rapping at the Door

An email from Personnel pops into my inbox. Would I spare some time to discuss the letter I sent to New Boss recently. Letter to New Boss? Wha....?? I rack my brains for a few seconds, before recalling the short missive I sent New Boss following his formal notification that he wasn't going to do anything about Spiteful Colleague's ghastly behaviour towards me.

My letter yabbered on in Stepford fashion assuring him of my continuing support, la la la. But buried within was also a statement to the effect that despite his decision, my view of the matter would never alter. And since handing this letter to New Boss, it just so happens that I haven't set foot in the main office.

Darn ! Just when I thought they had forgotten all about me, it seems they are determined to come rapping at my door.

Personnel is personified by a woman whom I would probably like enormously if I met her at choir, or shared voluntary work with her, or even got chatting to her on the bus. But given that her sole function over the past six months has been to slavishly protect the organisation, I am feeling just a tad disappointed with her right now.

This is not helped by some of the statements she's come out with over the past six months. Here are one or two of my hot faves:

- "You are not the only person in that department who has complained about bullying"
- "Of course, it's all Former Boss's fault. He's never done anything about the problems in his department"
- "Well, I've been shouted at too. Everyone in this office has been shouted at."

???
I think the last one really did it for me.
(Call me old-fashioned, but as far as I'm concerned one does not come to work to be shouted at).

For a moment or two I am on the point of accepting her offer of yet another meeting. Another opportunity to express my feelings! A chance to explain the irreparable damage which has been caused !! Insight into why the department's top performer (that's me, according to Former Boss....) spent last weekend honing her Linked In profile and therapeutically blogging her disillusionment into the ether !!!

But then Stepford Employee takes over, saving me a half hour journey each way to the Town Hall and back, and a wasted 90 minutes of my life in a totally pointless tete-a-tete. I feel thankful for my recent intensive training which enables me to write Personnel a very short email saying "hello" and "all best wishes". (The middle bit explains how I don't feel a meeting is necessary and that I would just like to get on with my job).

I press send.
I look out the window.
I feel quite cheery as the rain seems to be holding off.
I start to fancy a Flat White and a panini.
I remember I have a letter to post and I want to get some keys cut.
I leave the office.
I have a lovely lunch break.
An unusually looooooong one.

Preparing for Retirement

There are two types of retiree I bump into occasionally. Type A is radiant, glowing, exuding contentment and happiness, and buzzing with the things they now have time to do.

Type B is obviously struggling to make the transition between the World of Work and Real Life; and this transition seems particularly difficult if they were employed at a senior level. Type Bs ask me repeatedly for information about projects and gossip from the Town Hall, desperate for any crumb of news. I don't have the heart to say I neither know nor care, and sometimes have to fight the temptation to make things up...

Former Boss came into the office for a brief visit a week after his official retirement date. Life Coach colleague said "oh look, Former Boss is here" and I said (jokingly?) without looking up from my screen "Who? Sorry, I've moved on..."

It is fascinating - and not a little scary - to watch power sliding away from those who once had it. The process begins well before they have left the building - at the point, in fact, when their successor is appointed. In meetings, attention and focus upon the retiring officers visibly wanes; they start being dropped off email circulations; people "forget" to tell them things; and it becomes increasingly obvious that everyone just wants them to disappear! But, rather like those who three years after graduating hang around their university town unable to leave, these officers keep popping up well after their leaving dos - on Boards, and Partnerships, and Trusts, each with some tenuous connection to their beloved Alma Mater.

"Don't make the same mistakes I did, will you my dear?" This from one of the most delightful, warm, impressive ladies in the organisation - another to be unceremoniously "volunteered" for early retirement long before she felt ready to go. "Don't work every hour God sends, and neglect your husband and family, and forget to have a life - because it will all be for nothing".

Whereupon I had one of my goosebump prescient moments, seeing an all-too vivid vision of myself unexpectedly cast adrift, and hence totally unprepared for Real Life. Unprepared to join that drama group, sing with the community choir, write poems and novels, travel to all the places I have ever longed to visit, spend time with my family, go to exhibitions and plays, make my quilt, read a book a day, and join the University of the Third Age....

"Don't worry about me," I said. "I'm starting to prepare for retirement RIGHT NOW".

Wardrobe Cull

Interestingly, now I have started leading a "normal" life (ie not taking on piles of extra work, leaving office at a civilised hour) I am starting to notice things I never remarked upon before. It's a bit like clearing out one's wardrobe. Out goes the jacket with too long sleeves which one has been intending to shorten for three and a half years. Out goes the blouse which drains all the colour from one's face and makes one look consumptive.

Out, out, out go the jeans which fitted when one was two sizes smaller, the peculiarly bouffant skirt, and the shoes one purchased because they were an incredible bargain (despite the fact that they caused such excruciating pain to the balls of one's feet, that tears periodically coursed down one's cheeks when one was wearing them).

So I have cleared my desk, bagged up approximately three kilos of redundant and mouldering paperwork, dumped the emails which have been sitting in my in-box for more than two months, stopped "volunteering" for extra responsibilities, and lost interest in chasing managerial pats on the back.

I can work off-site most of the time (hooray!! Lucky lucky me). So I am enjoying getting on with my work with members of the local community, and am feeling amazingly happy, all things considered. I am still busy, although manageably so. But it is peculiarly and unnervingly QUIET.

Last Friday afternoon I scrolled through my emails and it gradually dawned on me that most of the messages were from external agencies or automatically generated "reminders" about things. And it further dawned on me that the previous Friday had been the same, and - come to think of it - the Friday before that. And then I woke up to the sudden realisation that on Fridays I appear to be the only person in my entire department who is actually doing any work!

Line Manager never communicates with me at all, Fridays or any other day  (nothing much new there). New Boss ditto; whereas Former Boss used to send me a barrage of emails at 7am, exploiting my pitiful addiction to work. But now - no-one seems to be monitoring or chasing me! No-one seems to care!! I could probably take whole afternoons off, swanning around art exhibitions or seeing films, and I wonder if anyone would even notice..

I don't, of course. I just carry on plodding through my list of daily tasks, and maintaining standards befitting a local government employee. And on the rare and surprising occasions when I receive a communique from "on high", naturally I make sure I respond in exemplary Stepford Employee fashion.

Meekly, politely, and doing absolutely nothing to draw unwelcome managerial attentions down upon myself....

Starvation Diet

A couple of years ago, the then senior female officer in the department (that's before she was unceremoniously "volunteered" for early retirement) came over to my corner of the office and proceeded to ask my neighbour about her many and various health problems. After listening to all I could stand (I mean, there is only so much I want to know about someone's gastro-intestinal difficulties) I politely asked if their conversation might not be more appropriately conducted in Senior Female Officer's cubbyhole?

Senior Female Officer: "Oh, she doesn't mind".
Me: "But I do".

I am unbelievably familiar with the lives of my co-workers. It's like watching a public sector version of TOWIE playing out in front of me on a daily basis. I know about their families, marital rows, their health, their financial difficulties - everything. This process is assisted by the many and frequent telephone conversations they conduct in the open office - Ex-Army Man engaging in lengthy discussions about his car (undergoing diagnostics and mounting up ever-increasing bills), Politician's Daughter organising her child's birthday party, Remora screeching loud plans for the evening in her desperate efforts to persuade all and sundry she is a mad social butterfly. I am surrounded by people suffering from verbal incontinence and absolutely NO boundaries.

I wouldn't care - but all these conversations are conducted using the office telephone system. Which means that I am in the uniquely fortunate position of seeing at first hand what my Council Tax is being spent on ! Lucky old me.

Some years ago I made the mistake of getting too friendly with a female co-worker - Remora, to be specific. I thereby learned the hard way never again to commit such a grievous error of judgement. But of course, one is repeatedly lulled into a false sense of security; and lets slip little snippets of information. What one did at the weekend, where one is going on holiday, who one thinks should win "Strictly Come Dancing". Inoffensive and innocent this information may seem - until one watches it being filtered through the warped brains of some of my colleagues.

As a result I have completely stopped telling anyone anything - even the people I like (and despite my recent disillusioning experiences, many decent people do still inhabit my working environment). Why? Well, it amuses me to deprive those hungry for Things to Bitch About of a single crumb of sustenance. Because - unbelievably and most bizarrely - it would appear that the most trivial incidents are considered Fair Game for a hurried exchange of emails between the Jackals. And - unable to help themselves - they cannot resist frequent little barbs aimed in my direction (barbs which, naturally, I feign not to register!).

I go for lunch with Senior Male Colleague from another department = I am having an affair.
I get summoned into New Boss's office = I am being given special treatment.
I go on holiday = I must have been given a raise.

But now - I represent utterly barren landscape. Total drought. My watering hole is all dried up. Just a few vestigial puddles linger; the rest has become cracked earth and encrusted mud....

With luck it won't be too long before the Jackals head off to seek new prey elsewhere . They ain't gonna feed off my carcass for another second.

Stepford Employee Unadulterated

Cripes. I might be a better Stepford Employee than I think I am! Because my ability to think one thing, while manifesting another, is already pretty damn good it would seem.

To wit: New Boss commented to me that he could not believe I felt any dislike of Spiteful Manager (someone whose ghastly behaviour towards me is proven) "because you have sent him quite friendly emails in the past".

This reminds me of the time before Christmas when Former Boss said to me "I can't believe you feel uncomfortable under Line Manager's command, because I have seen you both together and you seemed fine."

Sheesh. What do these people actually expect?
That I am going to utter the words running through my brain completely unedited ????

Do they really imagine that when I send Spiteful Manager an email, I am going to preface it "Hi Bitch" ?

Or that when Line Manager starts speaking to me, I am going to run out of the door screaming "I can't endure another second in your feckless hypocritical presence"?

Of course not, you blimmin' eejits. At work, I try to conduct myself with a modicum of professionalism and self-discipline. But (as I used to attempt to explain to Former Boss) this does not mean I am an automaton.

Yes, when things got particularly distressing, I foolishly and fruitlessly used to try and explain to "management" that my professional cool exterior was not - extraordinarily - an accurate reflection of what was going on inside me. It was a bit like trying to explain how a mobile phone works to my mother...

Herewith today's lesson. MANAGERS ARE NOT INTERESTED IN HOW YOU FEEL.

So from now on, it will be pure unadulterated Stepford Employee. Maintaining a friendly, professional, unemotional facade; and resisting any efforts to entice Real Woman out of the closet.

Real Woman likes it in the closet.
Real Woman wants to stay there.
Real Woman is locking the door.

Forgiving is not Forgetting

So about a year ago, I was working late when the phone rang. It was 7.30pm and I was the only person in the entire building. "Outstanding Work Ethic" or "Sad Person Without Much of A Life"?

You choose.

Short Round Colleague - for it was she on the other end of the phone - barely said hello before launching into a saga about standing outside the locked door, and could I bring down the pizzas she had accidentally left in the office fridge.

Now did I keep at the forefront of my mind the time she was a  TOTAL bitch to me, and pick one the following options:

(a) "why don't you whistle Dixie, moose-face?"

(b) "have you thought of having some carrot sticks instead? far fewer calories"

(c) "I hope your catching skills are in order, as I am lobbing them out of the window right now, hoping they will connect with your head".

Did I say any of these - I feel fairly justifable, in the circumstances - things.........??

No I did not. 

I said "yes, no problem! Of course I'll do that for you. Coming right down".

And thanks to me, she had her paws on two ginormous Meat Feasts within thirty seconds.

Short Round Colleague has moved on now, so strictly speaking she is an Ex-Colleague. But the incident still serves to demonstrate that I am entirely capable of being a reasonable, forgiving and adult human being - and that is what I endeavour always to be.

But this time it's different. What I have been subjected to is months of childish spiteful bullying, orchestrated by Attention Seeker. The only motive behind all this appears to be jealousy! Wow, it's been just like being back at school - and not in a good way.

 It's one thing to "forgive" the colleagues involved, in a necessary, spiritual, "liberating for oneself" manner. It is quite another to engage with them. After all, the classic definition of insanity is "doing the same thing and expecting a different result". So I still regard Certain People in the same way I would reptiles in a zoo.

Pop in to view them occasionally. Peer at them from a very safe distance. But Do Not Touch, and Never Attempt to Feed.

God's In His Heaven..

It's dawning on me that not only have I spent the last three years working a 50-60 hour week for an employer who distanced itself from me as soon as I needed their support; but that I must have allocated at least another 10 hours a week through "hidden" contributions. The bus journeys when I did nothing but tap away on my Blackberry or read Committee papers. The completion of my time sheets over the weekend, because I never had time to do it at work. The hundreds of times I sat eating a sandwich at my desk, thinking of nothing but how I was going to solve a particular problem.

No more.

Now, when waiting for buses, I am humming the harmonies to a beautiful Nigerian song the choir has started practising. My play script is always in my bag, so I can commit a few more lines to memory before the bus arrives. I have started writing again on a daily basis, feeling long-dormant creative sinews and tendons start to uncurl and flex themselves joyously once again. The discovery that one can pray anywhere (including on public transport and in the loo) brings more serenity into my life. And to my relief and amazement, I find I am enjoying every aspect of being alive.

Naturally, this is having the effect of diminishing any lingering resentment and sense of injustice I have regarding the World of Work, because how can I feel dissatisfied when life is so much fun? Last night, for instance, I went to see a play (on my own, because my husband had another commitment), and for two hours I was convincingly transported back to the 1950's by a stellar cast and imaginative direction. Work never entered my head for a second. It was great! 

The effect of this life work balance is a genuine softening of my attitude towards New Boss. I accept that it is not his fault that some of my colleagues are C***s. (note to reader: insert the word beginning with C which is not "Cow"). I wrote New Boss a letter in response to his disappointing "am taking no action against Spiteful Manager" one, assuring him of my continuing loyalty and support - yes, it was a classic Stepford Employee missive! - but I suspect that I will genuinely support him. Unless/until he proves as mendacious as Former Boss.

He is new enough not to be tarnished. The others are a different matter...

Family Matters

What is this managerial obsession with FAMILY ??

If I had a tenner for every time a guv'nor has said to me 'we're just one big happy family here,' I would be on a road trip across America right now...

New Boss revealed his allegiance to this managerial myth the second time I met him. My first encounter, remember, was when I sat with him and Former Boss on the first day back at work after my Mental Health Episode. That was when I picked up a plastic cup of water - sensitively provided to help me get through the ordeal - and I had to put it down again because my hand was shaking so badly. When my breath kept catching because of the anxiety rising up in my throat and threatening to choke me. And the very same momentous occasion when I asked Former Boss if anything was going to be done about Spiteful Manager's ghastly behaviour towards me, and he replied without turning a hair "that's the first time you have ever mentioned that person's name to me". 

!!?!**!?*

(yes, Personnel Officer nearly fell off her chair when I told her that one).

So now here we are in my office, and New Boss starts saying things like:

 "You need to move on". (translation: "I want you to move on because I can't be arsed to deal with this shit when it's only my second week in post"); 

"I think you may have been imagining some of these things". (translation: "it's easier to label you a basket case than to admit that we have some deep-rooted personality problems within the department"); and 

"Things are going to change under my watch". (translation: "I will do exactly what Former Boss did ie hang around until the early hours drinking with the poorest performing members of the department and bitching about you!"):

This is all taking place before my transformation into a Stepford Employee, so although I would love to frankly opine on his helpful psychiatric assessments, I hold back in a manner appropriate to a member of staff meeting her new HoD. I hold back - until New Boss finally comes out with that fateful phrase:

"I WANT US ALL TO BE A FAMILY".

I rise. I indicate that he should follow me. I take him across to the other side of my office and the huge cork-board upon which dozens of photographs have been neatly drawing-pinned. The smiling faces shine upon me. My wonderful husband; the rock and mainstay of my life. My beautiful, hilarious sisters. My mum (deaf as a post, but the best dressed eighty year old I know). My three delightful nieces (yes, even the one who has mutated into a Gothic moody teenager looks adorable in her ripped T with skulls on it!). My three nephews - variously playing the guitar, running around the rugger pitch, and dressed up for the lead in their school productions. My two brothers-in-law - both terrific dads. I look at this array of stylish, hard working, intelligent, amusing, loving, compassionate and deeply loyal people and I feel incredibly blessed.

"This," I say. "This is my family. I don't need another one".

Doc: 'What's Up?'

I hesitate just outside my GP's door, fighting the urge to do a runner. He is probably sick of the sight of me. He saw me more times this February than I think he did over the past two years (quite something, given that I am a chronic hypochondriac....) On one occasion I sat in his office for twenty five minutes - yes ! on the nhs !! - crying with shame because I had been reduced to a state where I was totally incapable of working even though there was nothing physically wrong with me. And I remember saying "I can't take up your time like this; there are people in your waiting room who are really ill" and he (rather sweetly) said "Ah, but the difference is that I know I can cure you, Katharine".

Which gave me considerable confidence at the time.

I adore my GP. He is highly intelligent, witty and attractive. Like my husband, he represents safety, security and sanity in a world which increasingly seems to be lacking all those things. When I went to see the doc in mid-January because I had woken my husband up by crying in my sleep, he immediately signed me off work. He also prescribed me anti-anxiety meds or anti-depressants or something. I am sounding vague because he knew perfectly well (because he is very familiar with my history) that I was never going to take them. I think I have put them in a drawer "for emergencies".

In the letter New Boss gave me the other day explaining why he wasn't going to take any action against Spiteful Manager (yes, I eventually got round to reading it) he concluded by saying that he hoped I could "move forward positively and with optimism for the future".

I'm going to make New Boss so happy ! All his hopes are being fulfilled.

I tell the doc about the headaches which still plague me on a daily basis, and he says "well, you've been through a lot, and the body and mind take time to heal". Probably true, I think. So then I start to tell him about all the changes I have made in my life as a result of having finally woken up and smelled the coffee.

I tell him that I am only working a 35 hour week. That I never look at my Blackberry between the hours of 6pm and 9am. That I have removed all the bundles of work papers from the flat which now feels like a home again. And that I try very hard never to discuss work matters with my husband.

I tell him that I have joined a local community choir and a theatre group. That I am waiting for the security clearance which will enable me to do more regular prison service. That I have a lunch break every single day, and that I regularly treat myself to a leisurely coffee while ringing or texting my friends.

I don't actually have time (because we are sticking to my allocated 5 nhs minutes) to tell him that over the weekend I went to three meetings of my support group, at one of which I gave the main talk; that on Saturday evening my husband and I went to Sadler's Wells to see the Scottish Ballet's amazing production of   "A Streetcar Named Desire", that I went to Mass on Sunday morning, and that on two separate nights I sat with different friends and ate exactly the same meal (chicken tikka, vegetable karahi, naan bread - mmmm). Oh - and I also did all the ironing and cleaned the bathroom. But on the way home I muse on all these miraculous things.

As I leave my GP's office, a thought occurs to him. "How are your colleagues treating you since you returned to work?"

I tell him that I  haven't really noticed.
And what is far FAR more important is that I honestly don't care.