iMachiavelli

I set out off to the train station this morning, lost in my usual reverie until my thoughts were rudely interrupted by the high pitched screech of what I took to be a saw cutting through metal. It was only marginally more pleasant than fingernails being drawn down a blackboard. My teeth set suitably on edge, I looked around, curious to see where the noise was coming from and discovered that there was some construction going on in the basement of a nearby flat. I noted with some amusement the golden plaque on the door above which read "Dentist"

On the way home from work I pass by a small pond. It's a picturesque little area, no less charming for being so obviously man made. At one end is a diminutive waterfall, with a skeletal steel bridge arching over it, and at the other is wooden jetty of lilliputian proportions. It's surrounded on all sides by mostly empty glass fronted office buildings which lend the atmosphere a surprising tranquillity. The water itself is occasionally home a small variety of fowl, usually ducks and few other odd looking specimens that I can't put a name to. The return of spring, however, has led to a few hitherto unseen geese recently making it their home. And today a single swan, which swam serenely around the water, looking quite magnificent as swans are so prone. Until a little goose, probably about half the size of the swan started to dive bomb the poor bird. The goose refused to relent, even when the swan had been driven to the far end of the pond and continued to hound it until it flew (elegantly) away. It may simply have been that the goose was being territorial, but I think it was jealous.

On the bus home, I listened to one side of a conversation a woman was having on her mobile phone. She was obviously in something of a hurry to get somewhere - every time the bus made a stop the woman complained loudly "He's stopping again! Why is he stopping?" seemingly oblivious to the passengers getting on and off the bus.

And in between all this I started the drudgery of my next project at work. My lack of enthusiasm for it was palpable. I could feel the life draining out of me with every page of the project spec I turned. I spent a short while doing some sums in my head to see how much money I have saved. I remembered that I hadn't paid my credit card and paid that off. I stared blankly at my screen for a goodly while and then I called my manager over and told him that I'd decided to resign. He wasn't happy. But then as I've explained before, neither was I. I made my case eloquently enough (or so I think), describing my waning ardour for the increasingly monotonous projects that are coming up (I saw the project slate yesterday, so I know the future doesn't hold any pleasant surprises) and my desire to escape from London. He asked me if there was anyway he could persuade me to stay, if only for a few months longer. And I hit him with the idea I'd described earlier, which to summarise was "let me do what I want and I'll stay 'til it's done." And he went for it. It wasn't a surprise to me - I knew that he would. I compromised, of course (my nature is compromise), which is to say that I'll still finish off my current project before I get to have my own way, but at least it makes what I'm doing now bearable. My manager is an interesting sort, with an excellent mastery of spin (he has a habit of reading lots of business books with impressive sounding titles, so I lent him my copy of Winnie The Pooh On Management to balance things out) and I'm quite certain he'll make sure I have the sort of latitude I'll need. And once I'm done I can leave in good conscience. Put the chairs on the table and lock the universe behind me. It should probably take me until about mid to late summer, which tallies nicely with my original plan. If I didn't know any better I'd suspect myself of being wholly manipulative...

Despite the fact that I reached the decision to move on a long time ago, telling it to someone in a position to do something about it was an unsettling experience, at once both liberating and utterly terrifying. To have something that was previously nothing more than an ephemeral idea materialise so suddenly into concrete form is disconcerting to say the least. My future is suddenly as uncertain as I'd feared and hoped.

By way of an epilogue, I told several people what I'd done afterwards and each of them told me that I should have asked for more money. I told them quite honestly the thought hadn't occurred to me.

More fool me.