Everything is a bit up in the air at work at present.
The process of commercialising the company I work for has, inevitably, not been without its upset. Change is always unsettling. However, I'm more concerned about the middle distance. I don't see a long-term viability for the company in the form which is currently being proposed. This means that the new company will be forced to shed staff.
I suspect that the crunch moment will come in February next year as the economic
ramifications of finding new accommodation bite home. Simply they will not be able
to afford premises to house over 100 staff. At that time, the financial backers
will simply say that it is time to rationalise the business and make a tough,
commercial decision based on harsh economic conditions.
I would say that it is touch and go as to whether or not I make the cut. I doubt that the training function itself will survive. I may be kept on because of my wider portfolio of skills. However, do I really want to sit still and hang about waiting for the axe to fall?
In this respect, of course, Ross and I are very lucky. We don't have any great debts hanging over us. Mortgage is paid. Car is bought. It's a matter of food, utilities and then petrol and stuff. There are others of my colleagues for whom this whole process is a complete nightmare.
In the circumstances, I should be overjoyed that I've been told about a job that I could apply for. But even that, of course, would mean upheaval and change. And it is more money than I am getting at present which means that it is more responsibility and more pressure and, possibly, less time at home for me and Ross. So... Watch this space. I shall put in an application. Apart from anything else, I need to practice my CV writing and interview techniques.
News elsewhere has been equally as dismal. England lost to Brazil in the quarter finals of the world cup. This means that there will be far less young male bonding on our television screens.
In what other circumstances could Michael Owen stroke David Beckham's buttocks in front of the nation or David Seaman gaze so lovingly at David Beckham's chest and wonder if he really does have golden balls.
Since the defeat, it's been interesting to observe how quickly flags and bunting bearing the cross of St George have disappeared from shop windows and outside houses. No-one wants to be associated with anything other than success. And no-one wants to spend time reflecting on why things happen the way they do, learning from experience and making changes to avoid the same mistakes again. Commentators are already talking about Euro 2004 and The World Cup in Germany in 2006.
We've also lost the prettiest member of the team out of Big Brother. Spencer
was voted out of the programme. Firstly, his comrades put on a tactical display -
there's much more of that this year. And then there were a variety of text and email
scams leading up to a last minute betting frenzy which seem to show that external
influences are guiding the show's destiny. Even Ross has commented how little
obsessed with watching the show I am this year.
We took a little time out to go over to the Lowry in Salford to see
Opera North's performance of Stephen Sondheim's Sweeney Todd. It was a
good night out. David McVicar's production did the show proud and the company
rose to the challenge of doing a Broadway Musical. I make this point because
it certainly wasn't presented as an opera, operetta or singspiel - which
the company could have chosen to do.
And the major factor which announced that was the amplification. All the singers, chorus included, were miked. I found this very difficult. I'm used to hearing voices coming at me un-processed and from a specific direction. Consequently, I found the volume unrelenting and unnatural. I was confused about who was singing because the sound came from the direction of the sound system not the singer. I also developed a slight headache because their was some sort of edge to the sound reproduction. I should love to hear the show again but with natural voices.
That would mean losing one gloriously selfish star performance from Beverley Klein as Mrs Lovett. She's a singing actress rather that a singer who acts. Consequently, without the mikes, she would not be audible beyond the mid stalls. She also had all of the cliches of Broadway vocal production with the warbled top notes and vowels curdling under pressure. But it was a slick, barnstorming, crowd-pleasing performance which got the ovation it demanded.
For me, the best total performance of the night was Christopher Saunders as Tobias Ragg, the young innocent barber's apprentice who becomes an unsuspecting accomplice in the pie shop's horrors only to end up deranged when he discovers the truth. He sang his part and acted it through. I also liked Daniel Broad's ardent young lover and Gillian Kirkpatrick's steely-eyed Beggar Woman. Steven Page was excellent in the title rôle.
Things are coming on in the garden. Much is in bloom, red hot pokers, roses, clematis,
night scented stock, scarlet flax, Foxgloves, honeysuckle, marigolds, lupins and
so on. I have to say that it is here and in improving the house that I gain my most
satisfaction at present.
I like sitting out. Reading sometimes. Or just absorbing. Watching.
There's not been many occasions for eating out yet. But Ross and I do find ourselves both out there together when we can. We had one of those gentle, relaxed sessions recently. Drowsy. Calmly dozing.
But, as I sat, my reverie was broken by an insistent, tinny droning. Try as I might, I couldn't work out where it was coming from.
Ross caught my discomfiture.
"It's a bee," he said. "A bee in the foxgloves. The trumpet shape of the flower amplifies the buzzing."
For a moment, it was like being in a minor work by Alan Bennett.