The secret diary of a single parent bloke
I don’t like where I work. I took the job 18 months ago because it was a step onto the management ladder, a great opportunity to set up a new department from scratch, and my previous job involved shift work. But I knew that if I spent more than a couple of years here, I’d begin to hate the place.
The good points: my friends Carla, Emily and Tim work there. Carla is an on-site supplier who I’ve worked with before, Emily is my one and only member of staff, and Tim is the IT manager whose office is the hub of all idle chatter.
The bad points: everyone and everything else.
Kat’s been increasingly complaining that my dislike of where I work is affecting our homelife, and she’s also sick of the area we live in: she hates the “fucking chav” neighbours, the house and the area. I do try not to bring my work-based frustrations home, but am willing to concede that I may. However, I do disagree about our neighbours: they are lovely, friendly people, and we’ve always got on well with them. In fact, I’m surprised by her outburst. The house needs a lot of work, I don’t think it’s been decorated since the 70′s, but the area’s nice enough (and it was Kat that wanted to move here in the first place).
But I think I may be able to overcome two problems at the same time here: if I can get another job, we should hopefully be able to afford to move. A fresh start. Maybe that would make things better.