Unemployed

Well technically I am. Until Monday morning I no longer have a job. I'm unemployed. In a period of transition. Between jobs. Unfortunately it doesn't feel as wonderful as it sounds.

Thursday night was my leaving do. Despite my ex-boss F's tyrannical nature making me half an hour late (for my own party) I still had a good time. By the time I arrived at Guanabara D had initiated some rather risky 'out of phase drinking' method involving ordering your next drink the moment your current one arrived. Happy hour had definately spurred him on with that one. Trouble was, that in a very short space of time drinks started piling up and not even he could keep up with the pace, though he definitely tried. As for me, I was rather taken by the flashing ice-cubes you used to attract your waitress' attention. Really should've brought one back with me.

After a while it made sense to me to slow the drinking rate. Sneaky as I am, I switched to guarana. Of course none of them having a clue about anything Brasilian beyond caipirinhas, no-one was any wiser to the fact that I'd stopped drinking alcohol. Still didn't stop me (as well as P & R) attempting to dance samba as a class began.

When F arrived after 9 we moved on to another pub although by that point everyone's pace had definately slowed. Our taxi back to Waterloo took us a very scenic route almost as far as Tottenham Court Road and back to the Aldwych again before depositing us at our destination later than we would've been if we'd walked.

I was glad to see, the next morning, that I wasn't the only one hungover. K had managed to get a train back to Ramsgate instead of Orpington and D very nearly ended up sleeping in J's spare bed instead of making it home. Of course beer and burger at Wetherspoons was the lunchtime hangover cure. Except I couldn't face the beer.

The afternoon was strange. Emptying my desk felt odd, and saying goodbye to people for the last time weird. But it's done now. And, until Monday morning, I'm unemployed.