Everything Flows and Nothing Stays

Towards the end of the week, I attend the annual Anonymous Council evening reception for local volunteers. It is always a very heart-warming occasion, and is also an excuse to wear a long dress and glittery earrings. I am quite enjoying myself chatting to the people at my table when I happen to notice that my former Head of Department is sitting at the adjacent one. Former Head of Department is the person whose Investigative Report was entirely skewed to protect Line Manager and sought to totally discredit me. (So lacking in neutrality was this report that it was eventually discounted, and the investigation was passed to a completely different department).

The obvious Stepford Employee response is to wave graciously from a safe distance. But during a break in proceedings, while others are moving from table to table greeting community members and colleagues, Real Woman slips into my frock and glides to the temporarily vacated seat at his side.

“Hello my darling”, says Former Head of Department, very warmly. His tone does not appear in any way sarcastic. He also seizes me in an embrace and kisses me enthusiastically on the cheek. I cast a discreet glance in the direction of his wineglass, but he seems surprisingly sober for this point in the evening.

“Can I call you ‘darling’ ?” says Former Head of Department, suddenly mindful of my preference for observance of appropriate boundaries.

“You can call me whatever you like now!” I tell him. “You’ve retired”.

Former Head of Department then starts echoing Union Rep's words.

“How are you Katharine? Really – how are you?”

It's a fair question because, now I come to think of it, during one of my last meetings with Former Head of Department, I spilt water all down my front because my hand was shaking so badly.

“I’m much better,” I tell him. “I’ve got a fantastic work-life balance now. I’m doing lots of interesting things. And I’m starting to reconnect with my work again”.

“That’s great,” says Former Head of Department. “I’m really pleased”.

I ask him how he is enjoying retirement, and what he is up to, and we have a pleasant chat for 10 minutes before I head back to my table. Later, Husband asks me how I managed to go over and speak to him, after everything that has happened. “It just seemed the right thing to do,” I tell him. “It felt - right”.

At the end of the reception, I find myself standing with senior colleagues from another department, a couple of councillors, and New Boss. I am feeling very at ease, so am chatting animatedly with everyone and making them laugh. This continues right up until the point the organisers start shooing us out of the building.

I go and get changed into my boots, as schlepping home on the bus while wearing strappy sandals doesn’t seem like a very good idea. I emerge from the building and bump into New Boss again, texting on the street. I pause to say goodnight, but he seems to want to chat.

“You look very nice,” he says. He sounds surprised, so I am not entirely sure whether to interpret this as a compliment, or a disparaging indictment of my usual appearance.

“Thank you,” I say.

“And you are excellent with the councillors,” he says. “You communicate with them very well. In fact”, he adds, sounding even more surprised “you are very good company! Yes, you really are extremely good company. When you are not in a bad mood”.

Mmmmmmmm.

I think this might be a classic example of A Backhanded Compliment….?

“I’m always good company,” I tell him. “I am always good company and in a good mood unless I am being bullied”.

We do not pursue this particular line of discussion; however we do stand on the corner of the street chatting for another 20 minutes. New Boss tells me some entertaining (and entirely appropriate) stories about his past career. I respond likewise. It is all quite civilised.

It is all quite civilised ??!!

We part amicably, and he heads for the pub in which the late crowd are gathered, while I head for the bus stop trying to process what seems to have been a significant evening in ways I can’t quite yet fathom.

But one thing’s for sure.

Life is subtly shifting.

Nothing stays the same for ever.

Thanks Where Thanks Are Due...

I am approaching our new office in the Town Hall from an atypical direction, when my feet take me past a familiar-looking door. I suddenly remember that this is where I came to meet with my union representative when I first raised my complaint against Line Manager.

My union rep is a hard-working and dedicated individual who, despite the usual strictures imposed by the fact that he is actually employed by my organisation, does his very best to protect the interests of the staff. He is a very decent bloke.

I tap gently on his door, just in case he is in the middle of a meeting with another of Anonymous Council's beleaguered members of staff (not for nothing does Union Rep have a box of tissues prominently on his desk). But he isn't, because I hear him call out "come in".

I peep round the door, and when he sees who it is, I cannot help but notice that he looks slightly perturbed.

"I'm sorry to appear unannounced," I say. "It's just that I don't think I ever really properly thanked you for all the support and help you gave me during the lead up to the disciplinary hearing. And on the day itself. I didn't get the chance at the time, because I'm not sure if you know that I was signed off work two days later". 

I can hear my voice is starting to wobble, and I fight to keep it under control.

Union Rep is nodding gravely.

"Yes, I did know that," he says.

"I was off for five weeks," I tell him. "And I know I should have come to see you as soon as I came back to work, but by then I was trying so hard to keep things together, that I couldn't face seeing anyone who had been involved with it all. I'm so sorry. I know I should have come to see you earlier. But I just wanted you to know that I am very grateful for everything you did for me".

I really am struggling to control the wobble now, and so I have to stop talking so that I don't suddenly burst into floods of unexpected and uncontrollable tears. Union Rep pushes a chair towards me, and with a gesture invites me to sit down. I make a few noises about him being too busy and that I must be disturbing him, but he waves his hands dismissively.

"It's nice to be thanked," he says. "I appreciate that. Not many people bother to come and thank me, to be honest".

I feel guilty that for months I have appeared to be one of the people who fall into the "ungrateful" category. 

"How are you, Katharine?" he says, searching my face. His expression is very kind. "How are you - really?"

"I've been back at work for months now" I tell him. "I still find it very hard sometimes, but I am just trying to get on with things. But ...(suddenly the truth is dawning on me) ....I think I came back to work too soon. I don't think five weeks was long enough. But I was in the middle of running a programme and I just felt I needed to come back". 

"How are things in the office?" he asks. "How are things with Line Manager?"

"We have put some new protocols in place" I say. "They seem to be working. He is always polite to me these days." 

"And your colleagues?" adds Union Rep. "How are they behaving towards you?"
"I have some lovely colleagues," I say in heartfelt tones. "They are very supportive towards me. The bullies are still there, of course. But a lot of the behaviour has gone underground now. And honestly - that's much easier to deal with. If I just focus on the work, and get on with things, then I can cope."

Twenty minutes later, I am still in Union Rep's office. He has told me all about the endless redundancy meetings he is having to sit through, how anxious he sometimes feels, about his outside interests (we know a lot of the same people, as we live in the same part of the Borough) and he even lends me a novel he has just finished reading. It is lovely to spend time with him as a person; rather than the pair of us pouring over Investigative Reports, and Policies, and Procedures. We part on extremely friendly terms and for the rest of the day, I feel very at peace.

I once asked a work experience student, who had been assigned to me, to type the words "thank you", joking that I was going to time her. She was a bright girl and so I didn't need to show her the results to gently make my point (her failure to acknowledge others' help had really started to grate on people), but the wonderful thing was that when she had finished her time with us and was asked what she had gained from the experience, she said that the most important thing she had learned was what Katharine had shown her - that it took very little time and effort to be polite.

I do feel a little ashamed that I failed to observe my own philosophy for so long, but better late than never.

Tis the Season to be Jolly

Opening my inbox is like stepping cautiously across a perilous minefield. What looks at first glance like an innocent clump of grass can turn out to be something which suddenly goes BANG !

The email from Line Manager, addressed to everyone in our office, starts: "this year we've decided to do something different with our Christmas lunch arrangements".

Oooer. I've only read the first sentence and already I have a sense of foreboding.

I read on. New Boss has apparently dictated that before our Christmas lunch starts, we will be holding our quarterly office-wide meeting (attendance: mandatory). This will start at 2pm and end at approximately 3.30pm. We will then all travel to the appointed restaurant in a different part of the Borough, which means that we won't be taking up our places around the tables until about 4.15pm. The underlying assumption is that we will all be happy to enjoy the sole yearly office outing in our own time.

I read this email on Friday afternoon. On Monday morning, I send an email to Line Manager and New Boss:

"I'm so sorry, I won't be able to join you for this. I have a personal engagement that evening for which I need to leave work at 5pm. I hope you all enjoy yourselves and have a great time".

My personal engagement is real. I have undertaken to sell raffle tickets at my theatre company's Christmas show. I have to be there at 6pm and I have no intention of cancelling. I'm not exactly turning down a free lunch, because of course we are public sector employees and always have to pay for our own. And forking out £25 for an orange juice (because, given past experience, the starters won't arrive until I am due to leave) seems like a poor deal to me.

Later in the week, we have our team meeting chaired by Line Manager. I sit around a table with my 5 immediate colleagues as we all run through what we are currently working upon.

Line Manager starts talking about our forthcoming festive celebration and repeatedly refers to it as "the Christmas lunch".

I feel that I want to say something, but am horribly aware that it will not befit my Stepford Employee status. As a result I endure a severely conflicted 10 minutes, but alas Real Woman wins out.

"May I say something?", I politely interject when Line Manager once again uses this phrase. "You keep calling it the Christmas lunch. But that's not really right, is it? Because it isn't a lunch at all".

There is a silence. The kind of silence which I am getting horribly used to.

"Lunches are usually held at lunchtime, aren't they?" I offer helpfully. "This event isn't going to start until well after 4. So it isn't a lunch".

Line Manager shifts uneasily in his chair. Past form dictates that he would very much like to go scarlet in the face and start making sarcastic comments, but fortunately his behaviour is now curtailed by the fact that six months ago he received a formal reprimand for bullying conduct towards me. So upon this occasion he just mutters something about me having a point, and that the alteration in start time is something that New Boss particularly wanted.

Ex-Army Man is unable to resist demonstrating his special closeness to New Boss.

"Ah yes!" he interrupts. "I was talking to New Boss a week ago about the Christmas lunch, and I told him that what has always happened in the past is that around 4pm some members of the department either go home or go back to the office, and then the rest of us carry on for the evening. And that sometimes we stay out drinking until midnight !!!"

Ex-Army Man obviously doesn't get out much.

"So New Boss said he didn't want people breaking up the occasion. He said that if we didn't start the lunch until after 4pm, then only those who were prepared to stay for the whole thing would come to it".

I can scarcely believe what I am hearing ! Not that New Boss has taken a decision which deliberately excludes a number of members of his workforce from our only (and I mean only) annual "treat", but that Ex-Army Man is being dense enough to give the entire game away in front of me and the other members of our team !?!

Line Manager is a bully but not nearly as dense as Ex-Army Man; and so instantly understands what the latter has done. However, it is too late. The truth is out there!

But Ex-Army Man has not finished. (Ex-Army Man rarely identifies the optimum moment to stop speaking, which can often prove extremely helpful...)

"Also we thought it would be easier for our former colleagues to join us if we started late," he adds. "We're going to invite some of them to come along and they wouldn't have been able to come if we'd had a lunchtime event". (He nearly says "a lunchtime lunch", but this is patently too absurd even for his ears...)

"Sorry, I'm just trying to get this straight," I murmur. "When it came to planning our office Christmas lunch, priority was given to the needs of people who no longer work for Anonymous Council rather than current members of the department? And I think perhaps New Boss may have forgotten that we have two colleagues whose contracted hours are between 8am and 4pm because they have child-care arrangements. So they won't be able to join us at all".

It is dawning on Ex-Army Man that he may have said a weeny bit too much. He starts doing his harrumphing thing, and says "um.....maybe we should have consulted the members of the department on whether or not they supported the proposed change in arrangements."

"Mmmmm," I say.
"Maybe you should have done......?".

But they didn't !
So that's that.

Deck the hall with boughs of holly.
Fa la la la la, fa la la la.

Joking Apart...

New Boss is in humorous mood.

Cripes.

After 2 hours in his company, I realise that I much prefer him when he is adopting his Mr Grumpy persona and not interacting with me at all.

I am sitting in his office, along with Line Manager, a personable young chap from Procurement, and a fairly senior female officer from another department whom I much admire for her professionalism, fairmindedness, and her effortless "make-up free" glamour.

We are deciding which 6 companies to invite to tender for a Council contract. I have used my spare capacity over the past week assessing 25 Pre-Qualification Questionnaires against a range of pre-determined criteria - a task in which Line Manager and Fairminded Colleague have been simultaneously engaged.

New Boss is in one of his bored and restless moods, fiddling irritably with his Blackberry and urging us to be "ruthless".

I remind him that we only have clear and unambiguous agreement upon 2 companies, which means that we need to carefully discuss all the other close contenders. New Boss grimaces.

"Look Katharine, we all know how this operates. We pick the people we want to work with, and then fiddle with the scores to make them fit".

There is a silence. No-one says anything. I wait to see if anyone laughs, but no-one does.
"But that's not how we do this," I say clearly. "We need to follow the correct processes".

New Boss rolls his eyes at my astonishing naivete.
"We just make the scores fit," he repeats.

"If we are going to do that, then why are we all sitting here?" I ask.
It is clearly regarded as a hypothetical enquiry as no-one responds.

"Why," I repeat tenaciously, "why have I, and Line Manager and Fairminded Colleague spent hours and hours assessing these submissions if we aren't going to observe the due processes?"

New Boss looks at me very carefully, realises I am serious, and throws his Blackberry down on the table.
"Right then," he says. "Get on with it".

Some time later, I mention the name of one of the sub-contractors cited in a particular submission. New Boss reacts as if he has stepped in something unmentionable.

"Oh God, not *******" he says (citing the MD of said company). "I don't like him".

"Have you actually worked with him?" I ask.
New Boss looks frustrated.

"No, I haven't worked with him, but I heard about him when I worked in (at this point, he inserts name of a certain city up North)

"So you have no reason to believe" I say patiently, "that he is someone with whom we would be unable to develop a productive working relationship?"

It is evident from New Boss's expression that he is deeply regretting having agreed that I should be the volunteer to assist with this exercise.

"No," he says deliberately. "No, I have no reason to believe that".

The company concerned has achieved one of the highest average scores and rightfully makes the shortlist despite their apparently reckless choice of sub-contractor and New Boss's efforts to consign their PQQ to the bin.

It's been an exhausting two hours, and for some minutes we all chat aimlessly about other things to give our heads a break. The certain city up North, mentioned earlier in dispatches, comes up again in conversation.

In a sudden spurt of apparent good humour, New Boss says animatedly "oh, I know a good joke about women from that city! But I can't tell it to you because Katharine would disapprove...."

He darts me a look of ill-concealed hostility, and then says (which strangely enough, I would have bet hard cash upon) "...but I'm going to tell it anyway".

Here is New Boss's joke:

*** WARNING - THOSE OF A DELICATE DISPOSITION, PLEASE STOP READING NOW ***

"How can you tell if a woman from Certain Northern city has a touch of class? Well, when she's drunk and she squats in the street to relieve herself, she at least has the decency to wipe herself with a McDonald's wrapper".

Now, please put to one side the question of whether or not this joke is amusing in any way, and look instead at the question of its appropriateness. Is it an appropriate joke for the most senior person present - currently paid approx £90k per annum from the public purse - to make in front of a gathering of more junior colleagues which includes 2 women and officers from another department..?

I'm not entirely sure that it is.

He tells the joke directly to me, and I look back at him.

Line Manager sniggers, but it is a perceptibly nervous snigger.
Young Procurement Officer looks embarrassed.
Fairminded Colleague looks slightly bewildered.

I smile, because it's obviously the last thing he expects me to do.

(Those who feel I should Take Some Action - sorry, but I've been there, done that, worn the T shirt, and had the consequent nervous breakdown.....)

Shortly afterwards, we agree to have a quick coffee break.
While the others are making drinks, I sit back down next to New Boss.

"My husband sends me lots of jokes by text," I say. "Would you like to hear one of them?"

New Boss can hardly say no.
I take my phone out of my bag.

"Here's a good one," I say. "I'll read it out to you:

SHAG! It's a funny word, isn't it? To a carpet maker, it's a long pile rug. To a smoker, it's a type of tobacco. To an American, it's a dance. To an ornithologist, it's a bird. But to you, my friend? To you, it's just a remote possibility." 

This time, it is my turn to look New Boss directly in the eye. He is about my age, balding and his shirt is stretched tightly across his tum. He is absolutely nothing like Viggo Mortensen (ah! be still, my beating heart.....)

I do not mention to him that I omitted one word from the joke I was reading out.
"Ugly".
The actual joke sent to me by my husband reads "to you, my ugly friend....".

I know. I'm just a sensitive kind of gal.

New Boss forces a laugh.
"Good one," he says.
"I'm so glad you like it!" I trill.

The others rejoin us. I am eating a packet of Snack-a-jacks and New Boss's eye falls on them with a jaundiced stare.

"You won't get fat eating those," he says.
"I don't want to get fat," I say politely.

"You want to eat some chips," he says.

Then as he turns away to put milk in the coffee Line Manager has brought him, an afterthought occurs to him.

"And lard," he says loudly. "You want to eat chips and lard".

I do not feel it necessary to reply.

I am not entirely sure how this match would have scored if due processes had been followed. In my fantasy, when the final whistle blew New Boss would have just achieved a spectacular own goal resulting in his team's instant relegation.

However, I suspect the reality is probably closer to a dismal 1:1.

"Do You Hear The People Sing?"

I have quite enjoyed the past week because I have been absorbed in an unexpectedly interesting project which has necessitated concentration and detailed analysis. The events of last year have affected several of my "skills and abilities", not least my ability to stay focused for long periods, so I am feeling very cheered by the fact that I manage to stick to a rigid timetable, getting all my tasks completed in good time and presenting the information in orderly fashion.

But just when I think it is safe to go back in the water (aka make a more lasting return to our Dear Little Department, as opposed to the sanctuary of my off-site office), I feel a sharp nipping at my toes...

I'm sitting placidly entering data on my screen when a series of ominous harbingers  - screeching from the corridor, noisy entry into the main office, bird of night hooting by day, lioness whelping in the street, that kind of thing - heralds the arrival of Remora (ah! Remora. Thereby hangs a tale etc etc).

She has the choice of four available hotdesks including the one directly beside Ex-Army Man, one opposite her bosom buddy Spiteful Manager, and one a little way behind me.

Does she sit at any of these?
No, she does not.

Remora elects to sit at the hotdesk directly opposite and adjoining my own. It is therefore impossible for me to raise my eyes and not get a full-frontal headshot filling my line of vision.

Really, it is almost more than the human spirit can bear - and is certainly more than I can cope with at the present time.

I experience one of my periods of head-swimming paralysis, when a great wave of anxiety, conflict and distress sweeps through my brain like a horrible tsunami washing all rational thought and logic before it, and leaving a jumbled mass of broken debris in its wake.

No-one is aware of this, of course. I have dropped my gaze to the document on my desk and stare at it unseeingly for long minutes, while Remora launches into her usual staged performance designed to let everyone in the room know how extremely clever and popular people think she is; augmented by ostentatious telephone calls to senior colleagues and external partners (we know who she is speaking to, because she repeats their names loudly and often).

It is while she is preoccupied with one of these that a very simple but life-saving idea pops into my head. I discreetly empty out a handy box file, shoving its contents under my desk with a slightly agitated foot so I can deal with it later. Then when Remora's back is temporarily turned, I lift my screen up onto the box file, achieving a subtle but transformative rearrangement of my work station.

Now, when I raise my head, I cannot see Remora at all, and what is even more important - she cannot see me. I feel instant relief, intensified when I take my iPod out of my handbag and don the headphones. By the time she sits back down at the hotdesk, she has been rendered both invisible and inaudible. And this is the only way I can cope with sharing my workspace with the Ringleader Bully, who has somehow managed to get a number of my hitherto amiable colleagues dancing to her tune....

Quite by chance I have selected "Les Miserables" from my playlist, but as the musical unfolds it seems to be strangely apposite. Indeed, when the chorus starts singing "Look down, look down, don't look them in the eye; look down, look down, you're here until you die" I very nearly break into loud song along with them.

By the time Jean Valjean has escaped from Javert's clutches and taken Cosette safely into his keeping, I am starting to feel calm and focused again, and have managed to so totally reconnect with my work that it is only at the start of "Empty Chairs At Empty Tables" that I look up and realise that's exactly what lies beyond my screen.

An empty chair at an empty table.

The Parisian barricades were not enough to protect a lot of brave people, but my makeshift little barricade does appear to have saved me today. Thank you box file. And thank you Victor Hugo, Alain Boublil, Claude-Michel Schonberg, and the Royal Shakespeare Company.

“Do you hear the people sing,

Singing the song of angry men?

It is the music of a people

Who will not be slaves again.

When the beating of your heart

Echoes the beating of the drums

There is a life about to start

When tomorrow comes......"

The Workplace Heroine

Recently, a woman I know has started to confide in me about her very controlling husband. Although she insists that he never hits her, I cannot help but feel that the way he treats her amounts to psychological terrorism. On one occasion he rings her mobile phone while we are sitting having coffee, and I catch a fleeting expression of fear flash across her face as she sees who is calling.

It's very hard to bite my lip and not start offering "advice" (because that is not what she is asking me for). But somehow I manage it. Instead, I privately vow to continue offering support as she goes through the painful process of coming to her own conclusions about her situation.

I am reminded of Scared Friend when New Boss enters the office. But it is not he who reminds me of Scared Friend, it is myself.

New Boss has an intimidating habit of stomping into the main office with a grumpy expression on his face and acknowledging no-one. So regular is this habit, that I try not to buy into the scenario - but on this occasion, I fail. He passes right by my desk at least 6 times, and despite not having seen me for over a week, doesn't bother to look in my direction or say good morning. And rather like Scared Friend, who tiptoes around her shouty, controlling husband, fearful lest she has done something to upset him, I start to believe that New Boss's behaviour means there is something wrong with me.

The logical part of my brain identifies this as a fairly typical reaction from someone who has been the target of bullies. But for at least 2 hours, I sit at my desk racking my brains for what I might have done to cause offence.

Coincidentally, that day I have arranged to have a coffee with Private Colleague. I trust and like Private Colleague so I end up telling her of my discomfort. She laughs. "I was off work ill for 3 weeks" she says. "And when I came back, he didn't even ask me how I was".

Oh...

Private Colleague then tells me of a recent incident involving New Boss. He happened to be standing in the main office when Administrator answered an urgent call for him. Administrator said his name 2 or 3 times until it occurred to everyone that New Boss (standing talking to Ex-Army Man) was simply ignoring her. Private Colleague politely attracted New Boss's attention, pointing out that Administrator was trying to put a call through to him. New Boss turned to Administrator and snapped "tell them to hang on!" before stomping back into his office.

Private Colleague smiles as she recalls what happened next.

There was a long silence, broken by Administrator - a quiet lady, who very rarely says anything out loud in the office. On this occasion, however, in her most melodious Jamaican accent she gave utterance to two extremely audible and well spaced words:

"Rooood baaastar..."

So there we have it!
From this incident we can safely conclude:

1. New Boss is a rooood baaastar
2. I don't need to feel intimidated by him
3.Nothing he says or does should ever be taken personally
4. And Administrator is, without question, my new workplace heroine....

Finding the Feedback Folder

"Well, thank you SO much for telling me how to manage my staff, Katharine. Of course you are such a good manager, aren't you? What a pity we can't all be as good a manager as you".

These words were uttered by Line Manager in September 2011. That very day, news had come through of a significant success for my organisation as a direct result of my work, and yet Line Manager had not said a single word to me about it. So at the end of a conversation about something completely different, I politely asked him if he had any comments to make.

Husband later asked me why I had bothered raising the topic. After all, Line Manager's total failure to offer me appropriate managerial support was nothing new. He had already spent 18 months engaging in a range of actions designed to undermine me and my work, including removing reports from my desk, going into my files to obtain photographs and documents without asking me, not passing on compliments about me from others, never EVER crediting me for my efforts, and regularly employing his favourite mode of communication -  sarcasm - to "put me down".

Now here I was, experiencing the full brunt of Line Manager's sarcasm! Which, if it had been hissed sotto voce, he would probably have got away with. Yet again..

But this time something different happened.
On this occasion, Line Manager was completely unable to restrain himself.

Scarlet in the face, and with the veins standing out in stark relief on his neck, he shouted the phrases cited above whilst towering over me. I admit it - I was scared. I immediately turned and left his office; whereupon he followed me out into the main office and continued shouting at me.

I said: "I am not going to have an argument with you in the open office" and turning away from him, sat down at my hotdesk. I did this, because for a few terrifying seconds I thought Line Manager was about to hit me and at that point I would have done anything to diffuse the situation. Line Manager blustered for a few more seconds then (thankfully) stopped shouting. Thankfully, because at this point the office contained not only a number of other members of my department, but a new member of staff who had only started the previous day, and an 18 year old intern. Both of whom were looking (unsurprisingly) shocked and embarrassed.

It was this incident which finally tripped a switch in my brain.
The switch which said "enough".

Over a year has passed since that incident, and I am now walking through a new landscape. Because despite The Hierarchy's repeated assertions that everything can go back to how it was before, I know that things will never be the same again.

As part of the process of psychological recovery from the incident (relatively easy) and Anonymous Council's protracted, inadequate and damaging grievance procedures (horrendously difficult), I undertake a huge clear out of my office, throwing away several years' worth of redundant papers, reports and project files. And suddenly I come across a folder containing research for my ILM Certificate in Management (Level 5) which Anonymous Council paid for, back in the days when they presumably imagined that I had potential for development.

As part of this, I was required to seek feedback from senior officers, as well as staff I had managed. I flip through the senior officers' feedback and remember that every single one of them gave me the maximum score for the statement "she bases her approach to others around honesty and respect".

I start to feel a bit weepy.

I then read through the comments from the staff I had managed up until that ILM submission, as well as the completed questionnaires I have given to all subsequent assistants after they have finished working with me. And here are some of the comments I see:

- "Really enjoyed working with you, thanks Katharine for keeping me involved and busy"
- "I was really impressed by Katharine's style of managing. From our first meeting, she made me feel like I was part of her team and gave me plenty of responsibility while I was working with her".
- "I gave a score of 4/5 for 'acts within limits of their authority' because in some ways I didn't feel like she was my manager - I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing though, as I feel I worked harder knowing she trusted me to get on with the work"
- "I really enjoyed working for Katharine. I felt very supported and appreciated in the role".
- "Katharine was good at taking the time to help me understand new tasks and introducing me to other members of staff. She was very professional, organised and efficient".
- "Overall, a lovely boss!"
- "I cannot sum up all that I have learned. This was my first work experience, and what a great experience! Katharine has been very supportive and empowering and I am thankful to her for gradually letting me do more and more'.
- "I will certainly not find in the future such a dedicated and helpful and great manager as you".

As I leaf through the pages, I let the guard which I have erected for the past year slip for a little more. If the truth be told, I sit crying on my office carpet for 10 minutes before I finally manage to pull myself together. And I feel huge gratitude to all those former assistants of mine, who took the time to give me such detailed and generous feedback. Because they didn't have to. They had already left Anonymous Council's employ.

Then I think about Line Manager.
And I wonder what I, or anyone else on his team, would say about Line Manager if he were ever to ask us for honest and constructive feedback?

But he never has asked us.
So I don't suppose he will never know.

How to Bring Out the Best in People

On Monday I post an entry on my Facebook page:

"I am at work. I do not want to be at work. I want to be back in ******" (the location of the play in which I have just appeared...)

My post seems to strike a chord with my fellow cast members, who during the course of the day post up a series of comments highlighting what they will most miss about the production.

- The performances themselves (well attended and well received)
- Their own particular props and costumes
- The staggeringly well designed set
- and - of course - the people!

For the past couple of months, I have been able to casually say "night!" to my colleagues at around 5pm, go home and have something to eat, and then hot-foot it to rehearsals where I have been able to enjoy long periods untroubled by thoughts of work. I haven't told a single co-worker of my newly regained passion for amateur dramatics, even those of whom I am very fond. I haven't told them because I have now learned the hard way that there is only one way to keep a secret.

Tell Absolutely No-one.

This doesn't apply to former co-workers naturally. One of the people I tell about the production is my organisation's former Chief Executive, now retired. And I feel enormously boosted when he comes along to see the play in the middle of its week-long run.

When the bullying campaign against me began escalating two years ago, Former Chief Executive had already  been pensioned off, but we have always stayed in touch (not least because he is one of my referees). Obviously he could not intervene in any way with the unfolding and ghastly disciplinary processes, but throughout he provided a kindly listening ear and gave me helpful guidance on the way in which the organisation would be likely to respond. He is waiting for me outside the auditorium as I scuttle out to catch my train, and offers me a lift home.

He seems amazed at my confidence on-stage.
Sheesh. I am pretty bloody amazed at myself.

"I didn't know you could sing!" he says, cautiously navigating his way through the back streets of Anonymous Area of London. "I couldn't believe it when you came on right at the start and sang the song which opened the show."

Hmmm. This comment highlights the staggering and depressing contrast between the World of Work and my Secret Life Outside. I am probably only a fairly average singer. But by a stroke of great good fortune, I was given a part in a show which happened to feature a professional musician among the cast. And he had lots of ideas for things I could sing, and interesting ways to accompany me on his guitar, and the upshot was that our play almost turned into a musical !

And this is the kind of thing Professional Musician used to say to me when we were rehearsing:

"That's a bit high for you - I'll lower the key"
"Try dropping your shoulders"
"Oooh - that really suits your voice"
"Why don't you sing that as if you were singing it to yourself?"
"You're doing very well"

All very light touch and casual, and constantly focused on building and boosting my confidence. It is plain that if he were transplanted to an office environment, he would be an outstanding manager of staff. Not like my managers. No, no. Nothing like them at all !

And all the other people in the cast were supportive, and complimentary, and funny, and loving. And no-one did the kind of things the Jackals did to me at work. No-one took away and hid my script, made snide comments, excluded me from social occasions, lied about me, sneered at me, did impressions of me behind my back, shouted at me, bullied me, or undermined me.

Because everyone involved in the production was doing it for the sheer joy of it; and because everyone felt secure in their own considerable talents and abilities. So it was easy for us all to accept and respect each other.

God, no wonder I feel totally gutted it is all over.

Last night I logged onto the theatre website, and wrote down all the audition dates for next year's shows into my brand new 2013 diary. One always has to have something to look forward to.

Stepford Employee Volunteers!

If I were to draw a pie chart of how I divide up my waking hours, I freely confess "work" would form a rather thinner slice than it used to. Scaling back from an insane 50 - 60 hours per week to my contractual 35 has left me feeling as though I am permanently on holiday. One day last week, I left work early to go and catch the 4.30pm showing of "Skyfall" and even though I had officially booked flexi time, I still felt vaguely uneasy throughout, and kept glancing behind me as though there was a Corporate Spy in the auditorium.

So when Line Manager sends out an email to my team seeking a volunteer, I am on the point of responding in my by-now-customary manner (Skim Read Then Instantly Consign to Oblivion) when I suddenly find my finger hovering over the delete key. I scroll back to the beginning of his email and read it through properly. He is seeking assistance with a specific and time-limited project; and the nature of the assistance is desk-bound, solitary, and therefore appears mind-numbingly tedious. Unsurprisingly, despite his urgent plea for help, no-one has yet responded.

I perform a rapid "pros and cons" assessment. There are only two pros as far as I can see, but they are weighty ones:

1. The project involves some liaison with Procurement. Not as ghastly as it sounds, because for some mysterious reason my organisation has managed to attract several personable, well-dressed, young male officers into this role. (Yes, Anonymous Council's Procurement Team is sexy).

2. If I volunteer, I will float about the Town Hall for a week or two being extremely busy, which means that when the project has finished I can disappear back to my satellite office for about 3 months before it occurs to anyone to question my commitment and dedication.

Frankly, it's a no brainer!

Within 11 minutes of receipt, I send Line Manager a polite email volunteering my services, which he receives and reads straight away. At this point it is 10.30am.

As the working day wears on, I check my emails periodically but no response pops up from Line Manager. Nothing, nada, zilch. In fact if a resounding silence can be said to emanate from a desktop computer, then the one emanating from mine is positively deafening...

I realise that my offer may have come as a slight surprise - nay, shock! - to Line Manager. After all, following his formal reprimand for bullying behaviour towards me, our relationship has been the teensiest bit strained. I am doubtless the very last person with whom he wants to undertake this project. But he needs a volunteer from our team, and I am the only one who seems to be putting their hand up. So he's in a wee bit of a pickle.

24 hours later, when I have forgotten all about my kind and generous offer, Line Manager emails me to "gratefully accept".

Yeah, right.

I make a start on the project a day later, reviewing dozens of documents and making notes, beavering away quietly by myself in a corner of the main Town Hall office.
And something completely unexpected happens.
I find myself very engrossed and interested in what I am doing.

It's been a loooong time since I felt this about my work. I stopped being interested in my work when it finally dawned on me that my employing organisation was headed up by bully boys who would stop at nothing to defend their way of life. And it's been so long since I enjoyed my work, I had forgotten what that feels like.

It actually feels quite good to go home after 8 hours work and know that one has fairly earned one's salary.

Yes, it feels pretty darn good.

I wonder how long this feeling is going to last.....?

"Ring the Alarum Bell !"

Most people eventually learn to heed a warning.

I was knocked down by a car when I was 13, so to this day I never cross a road without looking both ways. I know that if I am about to pick up my hair irons, it is quite a good idea to look at where my hand is about to land before I do so. And that if I am planning to walk any distance, I need to give careful consideration to my choice of footwear..

But Spiteful Manager, despite being investigated for his bullying behaviour towards me back in March, still appears determined to do whatever he can to make my life unpleasant !

It's all a bit bonkers. And very very childish.

He emails several members of our department advising them that they need to deal with the things they still have in the "overflow" room, following our recent office move - otherwise said items will be disposed of. Which is fine, except that I am one of the people who still has things in the overflow room. Yet I am the only person who hasn't been sent the email.

Instead, Spiteful Manager stomps around the office, making repeated references to "she" and "her" (that's ME, folks!) accompanied by a few unflattering adjectives, and complaining that I haven't moved my things. One of his team says politely "why don't you just email Katharine and remind her?" and Spiteful Manager says "she got the first email a week ago, so she knows full well she has to move her things." He neglects to mention that everyone else has warranted a reminder...

Spiteful Manager then cannot resist saying "I am going to throw all HER stuff away, first thing Monday". Maternal Colleague points out that some of "her" stuff includes some extremely important records pertaining to a bid. "I don't care about that!" snaps Spiteful Manager. "I am going to throw the whole lot away".

How do I know all this, given that I have been spending 90% of my time in the sanctuary of my off-site office, far far away from horrible managerial specimens like the one I am describing....?

Because Spiteful Manager's own team loathe him so much, that not one, but three of them contact me individually; to warn me that he is on the rampage !!!

I dislike playing games. But on Friday, I do what I was always planning to do anyway - except that I wait until 5.30pm to do it. I go over to the Town Hall, having been advised by my numerous confidants that Spiteful Manager has now buggered off for the day. And I spend the next hour moving all my items into a place of safety, leaving only empty crates - their flaps gaping wide to reveal the delightful vacuums within.

I forget all about this episode until I happen to have a chat with one of Spiteful Manager's team late on Monday. "He was in a very bad mood this morning!" I am told. "The first thing he did was go into the overflow office. I think he was a bit pissed off that you had somehow managed to move your stuff after all".

I appreciate that in the great scheme of things, this is not an example of unmitigated tyranny, but it IS an excellent example of Spiteful Manager's immaturity and malice. And also an excellent example of why I am never able to relax and feel safe at work for one single second.

And here's another thing.
Spiteful Manager is paid over £70,000 to behave like this.
Blimey O'Reilly.

The Cat and the Canary

I exchange some bantering emails with the Director of another department, which concludes with him suggesting he takes me out to lunch. I am fully aware that I shall be expected to "sing" in exchange for my food (in other words, impart some juicy titbits of gossip about my Dear Little Department) - in fact, so explicit is this unspoken assumption that I sign my final email "Katharine aka The Canary".

I've suggested the cheap set lunch place around the corner from the Town Hall which he dismisses as being unworthy of my presence (remember, rumour - albeit totally unfounded - has me down as "quite posh"!). I respond by asking if it can be possible he is actually intending to take me to the only Michelin-starred restaurant in the Borough, but we end up walking to a decent Italian place instead.

Director X is a besuited gentleman of advancing years, created in the same mould as every other senior officer at Anonymous Council. By this I mean that he believes he has the right to do whatever he wants. He is part of an ingrained organisational culture which has no truck with icky things like "feelings" (eeeeeeeek). Director X is more charming and affable than most (hence my acceptance of his invitation) but although he chats away with apparent incaution about his days at college and how he met his wife; and although I sit and listen attentively and laugh at his jokes, I am still feeling inwardly watchful.

Suddenly he decides to tell me an anecdote about a senior female officer on his team (I mean, very senior. She is one of only two women at this level of seniority in Anonymous Council's entire workforce...)

Director X tells me that recently he commissioned a greetings card for his Directorate's senior management team. He chortles as he tells me that it featured a large bed containing six people, with their heads replaced by those of the senior management team. He tells me that his female manager is "very angry" about it. She has been pictured in bed with 5 men, and as a female manager who also happens to be the only non-white officer on the team, she is outraged. I imagine Director X is telling me the story expecting me to shake my head and sympathise with him over his female manager's ridiculous inability to take a joke.

Instead, I am sitting there toying idly with my excellent fegato whilst feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

"Well, I suppose if it was just an internal joke..." I offer.
Director X laughs.
"Not at all ! We sent the card out to lots of external people".
"Oh," I say.

"It was just a joke!" expostulates Director X. "It was completely harmless. She's taken it totally the wrong way. She's just got no sense of humour".

These seven words - which have haunted me periodically throughout my life - descend upon the table like rain through a broken roof. They bring with them a chilly atmosphere, and I feel some of the relaxed spirit go out of our lunchtime sojourn.

"Did you ask her before you did it?" I say. "I mean, did you call her in and tell her what you were suggesting, and show her the mock-up, and ask her if she minded....?"

Director X rolls his eyes.
"No, of course not. I didn't ask the men either. She's just being ridiculous. It was a harmless joke".

"But it's not a joke if it's upset her", I say.
And then I add "I can see her point of view".
Politely.

Director X shrugs, looking unimpressed, and calls for a third goldfish bowl of red wine before changing the subject. It's almost 2.30pm, and he doesn't look like he's planning to move in a hurry. If I was still a dedicated, loyal Council officer I would be picking up my bag and heading back to my desk for some very hard work....

But I'm not.
So I order another coffee.

After all, he's paying.