Pong

Well, Ping Pong seems to be a recurring theme in my life lately. That kind of feeling of being hit from one perspective to another. This happened rather more literally than desired when I organised my first important meeting at the Large Media Corporation. Trying to foster a post-Greenpeace, relaxed feel, instead of booking a meeting room I opted for a set of couches on the top floor near the deck, to give everybody a view of the real world outside (and provide close proximity to the cafeteria for impromptu cappucinos). Unfortunately I failed to notice that the couches were also rather close to a ping pong table and an X-Box (thankfully disabled, which is more than I can say for the ping pong table). The meeting went okay for the first ten minutes. And then the ping pong players showed up. As the noise got louder and the flying balls closer to my boss's head, I wanted to shrink behind my ill-chosen couches. Charmingly, everyone resolutely and determinedly ignored the increasing racket going on behind us, until we were interrupted by one of the sheepish players asking if he could just retrieve his missing ping pong ball from between my boss's feet. I resolved to book a meeting room next time, preferably with retina-scanning and high security measures to keep rogue ping pong players at a safe distance. That is assuming, of course, that I can navigate the no-doubt mountain of paperwork required to book such a meeting room without giving four weeks notice and promising my first born - which, if my current dating situation has anything to do with, will not be a problem.

(Ben, who the corporation refers to only as Central Coder 01 due to his temporary position, comforted me by pointing out that according to Yes Minister, the British invented bureaucracy and I shouldn't let it get me down. Which is a good thing because this week I face the twin hurdles of getting a National Insurance Number and a UK drivers license.)

The week was downhill from there, and I'm feeling pretty unsure about my housing situation and whether my job is right for me, but I swing in a ping-pong like state from 'I'll stick them both out and they will get better' to 'Initiate emergency flat-hunting sequence and prepare escape pod for Sweden'.

On the plus side, apart from the fact that for the first time in several years I don't feel poor and can afford to have a decadent weekend on the beach with Ben and Erin, I have just spent a lovely weekend getting sunburnt in Brighton, going to a friend's gig and being woken up by a 3-year-old Batman impersonator (no that really is on the plus side, he was adorable). Considering that the weekend also involved a song that we believe is AC/DC doing drum and bass, sponge cake in a spaghetti machine (don't ask...or if you do, ask Andy), and a year's worth of saturated fat intake, life is okay from this side of the ping pong table.