Two Days Down - Three To Go !

Image via CrunchBase

It's been an eventful week already.

Last night, my lovely tenant sheepishly confessed she was moving out to live with her boyfriend and would I mind her breaking our contract?

Apparently she's been 'working' on her other half since before she moved in with me. It  appears her latest ultimatium to him has done the trick.

When faced with such uncompromising determination, I didn't have the heart to tell her that holding a 'gun' to a man's head, to get him to move in with you, isn't necessarily the best strategy or foundation for a lasting long-term relationship.

Her timing is of course pants, but compared to her predecessors at BB Towers, she's been a dream.

She's engaging, almost funny (it varies day to day and it's always gothically black in tone!). She hates cats, is mentally sane and is mercifully devoid of the strange disordersprevious BB residents distinguished themselves by as pill popping while drinking wine, overeating in their bedroom or persistent addiction to spending, extended amounts of time in fluffy or towelling dressing gowns !

Also in her favour is the fact that she's given me a decent notice period; which by previous tenant standards is akin to winning the spare room lottery.

On top of my tenant's news, today I was told my latest gig has been cut to a meagre week - yes, it's that same old chesnut 'lack of budget' I have heard all year.  It wasn't just me, two other contractors heard the same speech alongside me.

I felt quite sorry for my line manager who broke the news with considerable awkwardness; knowing that myself and one other person there, had taken the risk of leaving longer gigs behind, figuring the prestige of this one made it worthwhile taking a chance on.

I didn't want to make him feel anymore uncomfortable (one of the others launched into a spirited rant about messing with people's lives, but as an old hand, he should know the score and probably didn't do himself any favours!).

I simply smiled sweetly and said

"No problem".

I figure, just because it's now a mini-mini gig doesn't mean I won't still learn something while I'm here and at least I get the chance to be creative, something I've been crying out to do for ages.

I made a list of objectives for the week and am steadily working my way through them. First up has been a Twitter clean-up.

Because I'm a slightly enthusiastic connector, I used to followback (with the exception of adult naughty ones, super discounted viagra and incontinency tweeters) nearly everybody. But not anymore!

I am now Queen of the Twitter Culls, having despatched hundreds of 'followings' with my weapons of choice - my fingers :0 )

Since retail consoling therapy was out of the question, I went one better and treated myself to lunch at Pret. 

My guardian angel or that moment of serendipity that pops up on your shoulder every now and then; just to remind you in a surprising way, that smiling really can make you forget 'pants news' temporarily, came in the form of a heavy dose of eavesdropped laughter.

The table beside me was occupied by two young triple threats -dancers-slash-models-slash-actresses.

Listening to their brainless chatter - about who they thought was fat and who wasn't. Who looked rubbish in their audition showreels and just how many hours they should spend practising their monologues over the next week; I have to admit, it was pretty hard for me to stop laughing out loud.

Conforming to just about every model stereotype going, guess what the nutritional backdrop to this riveting back and farth between the ladies was?  Two tiny plastic boxes of salad each. It was all I needed to put the smile back on my face and to happily dive into my sandwich, coke and chocolate brownie :0 )