Friday was the work picnic, which was mainly Prosecco. We had it on the all-weather track-and-field field and it was startlingly hot. That shouldn't be a surprise, but it had been pissing down cold hard rain most of the week. There were small children splashing and drinking the rainwater in the tarpaulin over the long-jump. Dogs likewise. I think I managed to get drunk and not offend anyone, which is always good.
After that I took round to my colleague her laptop, as she's been sick for some days. Due to her neighbouring-proximity we have become sort of friends. Perhaps if I'd stayed we would have become good chums. She was much perkier and we shared a bottle of wine in her startlingly hot garden. I attacked kalamata olives with gusto while she told me unrepeatable stories. I know there is probably an elegant way to eat olives, but I nibble all the flesh off, because I'm common.
Having spotted a job I really want, in the place I really want, I'm now getting the fear. What if I get it? What if I don't? What if I don't even get an interview? What if I'm actually shit? Last night I had a nightmare about the one essential part of the job in which I have no experience.
There is something about condensing your entire work experience into something punchy, sexy, and marketable that makes me want to remove my spleen with a spoon.
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