Broom (4)

BROOM (4)

'Dr Broom,' said the other, 'let me give some advice. The one thing we ask is, you're reasonable: nice. And by reasonable (nice) what we all have in mind is: you're compliant subservient yielding. Just, kind.'

I selected the speed on my Miele vacuum, plugged in the machine, began hoovering the room.

'Take me,' she continued above all the noise. (And, I have to admit that the woman had poise as the hoola-hoop span round her waist and her hips. So I switched off the Miele and considered her tips.)

'Take me, Dr Broom, I have but one desire; to not come to work, but stay home by the fire. After all, I have lectures I need to prepare and this open-plan office is driving me spare. Now, please, Dr Broom, pray don't get me wrong but the journey to work is both tiring and long and I've yet to appreciate what I can gain from colleagues who gossip and moan and complain. . . '

I noticed the hoola-hoop seemed to be slowing but, a quick change of gear, and she soon had it going - again.

'Yes. I've yet to appreciate what I can gain when the talk in the office is always the same.'

About to switch the Miele back on when - blurry-eyed sad - she gave out a groan.

'Dr Broom,' she beseeched, 'you must realise that we've lost all we worked for; we coveted and prized. We worked hard to avoid a professional life of ambition, achievement, convention and strife. Toiled long to escape the commercial rat-race. And, now, I discover I'm stuck in a place that requires I subscribe and conform. (All I want is escape from the norm.)

'So, to cut to the chase, I'm not cut out for working a full working week. I would rather be slacking.'

Broom (3)

BROOM (3)

Well, I've always found something particularly difficult about relationships and their concomitant commitment.

But it seems that, now, I am head of department I'm sorely struggling with the email attachment. 

As previously mentioned, timetabling's disabling. 

When, at last, I disabled the problem, I emailed my staff the new programme. 

But, I forgot to attach the excel sheet. (Wasn't long before they informed me of that.)

But what should a bachelor do, when commitment is what he eschews? Attachments are hard (they put you off guard). 

Perhaps I'll try texting in lieu.

Broom (2)

BROOM (2)

'Dr Broom', she said, 'may I give you a tip? It's meetings and things that we all like to skip. We've all read our Sennett. We endorse all his views on the pitfalls of teamwork; managerial ruse to ensure that the buck stops with us.'

I paused with my dustpan and brush.

'Indeed. Team meetings perpetuate the worst fallacy; that we're anything but a dysfunctional family. It can't be denied we're a kind of community but it doesn't include the idea of solidarity. It merely provides managerial immunity from accountability and blame'.

Contradiction, I knew, would sound lame so I carried on brushing as I felt my face flushing. (As for her, she was rushing for the train.)

Broom (1)

BROOM (1)

Now, I have to admit I find classroom timetabling a bit of a bore and just more than disabling.

But, perhaps, I am jumping the gun.

I must tell you, first, what has gone on. I've become the new head (when all's done and said) of a Fine Art Photography programme.

I am, that's to say, the new broom.

Yes.

I'm the newly-appointed head of department, and it seems that my staff is deficient regarding its want to appease and to please; to commit and collaborate with ease. Sure, I don't doubt its skilled expertise. But what's lacking is joie-de-vivre.

And, it scoffs at enthusiasm.

Hen's Basket

Hoola

HOOLA

I, Priestess (15)

I, PRIESTESS (15)

Garage clearance.

It seems my abode rests on sound foundations, so I'm burning my journals: melancholy meditations.  Thirty years of musing (for the most part bemusing). I've borrowed a brazier.

It's repetition that makes the diaries familiar; thirty years of reinterating thoughts all too similar.

Time to grow up and move on.

Four trips to the tip: I got lost the first time, but I threw away things that were and weren't mine. (The hoover was heaving from swallowing dust - and spiders and snails, cobwebs, paper-rust).

Now. . . .

De-cluttering a place mostly leaves me elated but, this time, I felt quite defeated, deflated. 

To throw things away is a sort of life-edit. (Keep what served you well and still does you credit.)

But you cannot ignore the alternative version: the irrational and messy illogical person (in boxes and plastic bags).

I'm so pleased that person's now gone.