Thursday 19th August 2010

All day yesterday, the news about the job offer sunk in. What it means, really. It’s not that we spend hours and hours worrying, but it is there, and we have put off numerous things, work on the house, because we just didn’t have the money. And now, maybe we can. But the most important thing is that it secures, for the short term, the house. We can meet the mortgage payments, and in February, re-negotiate our repayments as the fixed rate period ends.
And then thoughts turn to the job, that it is permanent for sure, but is also a promotion, more responsibility, travel, a company credit card, and next year, my own team to train. Probably. That just sounds amazing. And while I was being told this, there were plaudits and praise being heaped upon me. All quite good, really.
And then, in the evening, some of us from the project went over to Whitstable for a meal to celebrate the near end of the project and for the project manager to say thank you for all our work. So, to make this happen, I caught the train into work yesterday. This in turn meant getting up at five and being on Martin Mill station by ten past six to catch the first train into Ramsgate. And then a half mile walk from the station down to West Cliff and to work. And then, in the evening, my colleague Michael, gave me a lift to Whitstable, and whilst he got changed, I walked into town, via the steep hill with fine views over the roofs of the town and onto the mudflats beyond and eventually to the WW2 forts on Shivering Sands.



I called in the pub on the hill, the Four Horseshoes, for a celebration beer and to snap it for my collection. I called some friends to tell them about the job and to arrange meetings. The beer went down well; I bid the landlady a warm goodbye, and walked down the High Street into the deserted centre of the town. I found the place where the meal was going to be. I tried to a newsagents to buy a magazine to entertain me until eight when the meal was due to start, but there was nothing but ‘celebrity’ gossip rags and Daily Mails.



I went to another pub, and there was today’s Times, which I flicked through, and it was then just about time to meet up for dinner.

The Saltmarsh is an odd place; they don’t have a menu, but tell us what they will cook for us, and so after a while they brought out the food; starters, shrimp, garlic mushrooms, salad, roasted vegetables. The mains were great; steak, garlic chicken thighs, crispy potatoes, vegetables, chickpeas and other stuff. Jools came to collect me just before ten, and so I missed dessert and coffee and teacakes. It was dark on the way home, but quiet; and we discussed the implications, all good, of the job and how quickly things change.