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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Day two of New Job... can I start another New Job diary? So soon after starting and then suddenly stopping the last New Job? I think I can. It may well be a right of mine under some constitution. And of all the jobs I've had, this would be the one where I'd be most likely to find out which exact constitution. If indeed we have constitutions in Ireland. Could someone look that up for me? Many thanks.

So, New Job. I'm working for two underling style solicitors - they're not partners, they're not even associates. These two girls (who fill me full of dread and fear thanks to the fact that I think they may well be younger than me, and will be even younger than me tomorrow) both report to other people, and since I report to them, that makes me the bottom of the barrel, so to speak. But! I'm getting paid a heck of a lot more than I ever did in Edinburgh. So there are upsides. Plus, with the euro, it looks like I'm getting paid over twice as much. Which I'm not, but it looks like it. And if life has taught me anything, it's that looks are all that ever count. Judge by appearances. Don't be scared.

New Job is quite nice, really. I'm in an office with three other girls, I don't have the net but do have email, I have my own direct dial, they've got really nice coffee on brew all the time, and I don't start until 9.15am every morning! Which means that if I pretend in my head my working day starts at 9am, I'll never be late again! I can see that it will probably become stressful quite easily, but I've decided I might try to avoid being stressed out. I'm working just beside St Stephens Green, so I sat in there on the grass at lunchtime. I might go feed the ducks later this week.

Tomorrow, gentle folk, is my birthday. And in three days time, this here weblog will be two years old. I'm considering having some kind of party to celebrate the birth of the blog, or maybe just a quiet toast, or even a crafty fag. If you'd like to join me, please do. The email address is on the right hand side there. Send your messages of congratulations in to the blog, and I'll post anything and everything I get sent, word for word.

Someone - who we'll still call Helena - has been making mocking noises on her weblog (which I won't link to because I'm not sure I'm allowed) about my fear of flying. Her precise comments were: "She is scared of flying which is clearly wrong, flying is absolutely brilliant." Helena is actually the one who is wrong. Very wrong. Everyone, quick, make fun of Helena.


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