When one door closes, another opens. That's why it's so bloody draughty in here.
Today is officially my first day of unemployment, my voluntary severance from Lloyds Banking Group having taken effect on Saturday night. I thought it was nice of them to turn off the floodlights on the old Bank of Scotland Head Office on The Mound for an hour as a mark of their appreciation for my quarter-century of dedicated service, but then someone told me it wasn't for me after all. Bah.
I left with a decent package and can draw my pension immediately, but I'm going to try to pick up some contract work (folk tell me there's work about even for those like me who are the IT equivalent of steam locomotive firemen; plus I can also go for consultancy work on industrial relations, health & safety and such). The hope is that I can build up enough money doing contracts to fund the odd burst of overseas volunteering: a deferred gap year, if you will (nowadays gap years are a mosaic of gap months, and plenty of organisations are happy to take fifty- or even sixty-somethings). Today I began the process of signing on for Job Seekers' Allowance (and to get my details into the government system). At least it will spur me into finishing my CV.
This seems an appropriate musical clip, especially for an ex-banker making a fresh start.
Damn it, I love that film. I love this one too, but I'm not that desperate for work. Yet.
Meanwhile, there is always housework to do, lawns to mow, piles of stuff I have left lying around to be tidied away. Also ski gear to sort out: we're off to Courchevel on Saturday for a week.
Anyway, I like to think that I won't need to heed the cautionary advice on these skips near my old office any time soon.