Forty Weeks
Longer than it takes to make a baby...
It's forty weeks to the day since I started working for the Welsh Assembly Government. Way back at the end of May 2008, I was only meant to be filling in for a few weeks, helping them out of a crisis. Sure, the terms of the contract said I could be employed for up to forty weeks, but I never assumed I would be there that long.
For starters I was being employed as a Technical Support, which is pretty much the lowest grade you can work for the assembly. Without wishing to blow my own trumpet, my qualifications and skills would make me perfectly capable of holding down a job three grades higher, much like the Horse Doctor has. At one point the head of the division I was working in even suggested I apply for a permanent post four grades higher. But like I said, it was only for a few weeks, helping out. And I've never really seen myself as a civil servant.
Then there was last year's major tragedy, which not only threw my life into sharp relief, but also opened up many other avenues more interesting than beavering away in an open-plan office overlooking Aberystwyth marina. And yet months on, there I was, still at it.
Partly it was inertia, partly it was something to do to keep me sane. I think I might have suffered far more in the back half of last year had I been sitting alone all through the day, typing dark thoughts about murder and mayhem. And I stayed there because I liked the people I was working with - though not the work. I'll not make the mistake of naming the project, as I've had my knuckles rapped for doing that before, but it's not the best organised thing in the world.
But all that is moot now, since my forty weeks are up. As of four o'clock this afternoon I am once more a free agent, maker of my own destiny, pursuer of dreams, fantasist.
Or more prosaically, unemployed.
Long may it last.
It's forty weeks to the day since I started working for the Welsh Assembly Government. Way back at the end of May 2008, I was only meant to be filling in for a few weeks, helping them out of a crisis. Sure, the terms of the contract said I could be employed for up to forty weeks, but I never assumed I would be there that long.
For starters I was being employed as a Technical Support, which is pretty much the lowest grade you can work for the assembly. Without wishing to blow my own trumpet, my qualifications and skills would make me perfectly capable of holding down a job three grades higher, much like the Horse Doctor has. At one point the head of the division I was working in even suggested I apply for a permanent post four grades higher. But like I said, it was only for a few weeks, helping out. And I've never really seen myself as a civil servant.
Then there was last year's major tragedy, which not only threw my life into sharp relief, but also opened up many other avenues more interesting than beavering away in an open-plan office overlooking Aberystwyth marina. And yet months on, there I was, still at it.
Partly it was inertia, partly it was something to do to keep me sane. I think I might have suffered far more in the back half of last year had I been sitting alone all through the day, typing dark thoughts about murder and mayhem. And I stayed there because I liked the people I was working with - though not the work. I'll not make the mistake of naming the project, as I've had my knuckles rapped for doing that before, but it's not the best organised thing in the world.
But all that is moot now, since my forty weeks are up. As of four o'clock this afternoon I am once more a free agent, maker of my own destiny, pursuer of dreams, fantasist.
Or more prosaically, unemployed.
Long may it last.
Comments