It is only 11:40 but there already is a lot of wrath in my lower abdomen. In fact, I just got cramps.

The cause of my discomfort: a colleague from a Southern European region, lets call him Vincenzo...

Thanks to an open door policy we almost share a room, being separated by only two feet of corridor- step across it and you're faced with his noble baldness. I am able to hear his every word yet he has the very annoying habit of calling me, not across the corridor but on the phone. I thus have the daily pleasure of listening to him in stereo. Unfortunately his calls are rather nerve-wracking.

He is quite academic, both in appearance and in his approach to work - I was stunned when I found out his age. That in fact, reminds me of another colleague who equally surprised me with his age and who repeatedly upsets me with his irrational unpredicatble behaviour...

Now I may not be too gifted in matters of age-guessing, but I do firmly believe that come a certain stage in our adult life, possibly once we leave the safe harbour of a university network and begin our career as contributing members of society (which some of us have admittedly avoided quite successfully) we contribute to our appearance quite substantially. Kindness does show in a face as do exhaustion and maliciousness for that matter...

What is it with those geeky backroom lawyers and their spitefulness, as they slouch in their office chairs (grotesquely oversized for their narrow shoulders) brooding over the next subtle meanness... (we are talking serious but disguised bullying missions that involve these characters making your life a misery over meaningless things such as the formatting of documents - knowing that you are completely at their mercy, as they frequently change their mind, usually and conveniently just after 2am.) Caligynephobia?

Admittedly, the two gentlemen mentioned are very different in their own irritating ways. Vincenzo strongly reminds me of Thomas Mann's Cavaliere Cipolla, considering the strange appeal of oddity. No, he doesn't hypnothise for a living and his growth is average, albeit (another common trait he shares with the other grumpy fellow) unhealthily thin and with the already mentioned narrow shoulder (an occupational problemit seems); he does, however, have a certain disposition that makes him prone to treat those unfortunate enough to find themselves in a position hierarchically lower than his own with disdain and arbitrariness. Never have I felt such helpless anger and frustration than when forced to stay late to do some insolvable google research task allegedly urgently needed, just to be told, 5 hours later (and by now raging about the absurdity of his request and the fruitlessness of my efforts) that he indeed expected me to find no result!!

Today, as always, Vincenzo was very punctual in his late arrival - an hour on the dot- a habit he takes great pride in - it is, afterall, part of his Southern identity and individuality (a quality which a lot of corporate lawyers are typically devoid of)... Two minutes following his arrival my telephone rang -I could hear it in stereo again: from his loudspeakers and the phone on my desk. Whilst I spent the rest of the morning combing through a 300 page regulatory document in search for what I knew wouldn't be there, he enjoyed his warm granola (a corporate lawyer's quintessential breakfast!) and skimmed through online property sites in search for the next investment opportunity...

Maybe six months of almost sharing a room and incessant phone calls have simply been too much (and maybe numerous other factors which made the last six months in this department such a rewarding and enjoyable experience have admittedly contributed to my current irritability) and add some of the joyful news I have received from home lately and Vincenzo gets blamed for the entire misery of my precious existence!

No, in fact Vicenzo has worked much harder than I will ever be able to, his years of work experience exceed mine by far and he has even written a self help book (which I initially thought to be a parody of the UK legal profession but I was wrong) advising young professionals on legal etiquette - quite remarkable really! I can't hope to ever fill his shoes and have no doubt to believe that, if only he follows his own advice in the chapter of his book on how to become a partner, he has a very promising career in front of him...

The events and persons depicted in this blog are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

Kann mir mal einer bitte verraten warum in dieser Stadt alles immer so grau ist? Graue Haeuser, graue Menschen, grauer Himmel. Sogar ich fuehle mich heute durch und durch grau. Gerade als ich mich nach einem ebenfalls durchweg demoralisierenden Marks & Spencer Lunchbesuch (warum geh ich da ueberhaupt hin?) und dem damit verbundenen Einheitswarenerlebnis langsam versuchte wieder aufzubauen und mir einzureden, dass doch nicht alles so grau ist, fiel mein Blick auf den Baustellencontainer von Greycoat Properties, Ecke Earl Grey Street, dammit! Ich will, dass jetzt sofort etwas passiert und dass die Tuere aufgeht und ein Biene Maja singender Karel Gott rein kommt, begleitet von den Berliner Philharmonikern, jawoll!

I have no friends... and other banalities

About a week ago I finally switched from my self-made swarovski-crystal pay-as-you-go mobile phone to an as yet soulless purple samsung contract phone. Whilst diligently writing down all my old contacts, it suddenly struck me (yet again) quite painfully: I simply have no friends.

I guess the fact that I was able to write out all my contacts by hand (having no clue how to copy them phone to phone despite foolproof instructions) speaks for itself. Contemplating the purpose of a blog, the sad truth dawned on me again. A blog is defined as "a frequent, chronological publication of personal thoughts and Web links" but most of the blogs I have seen so far seem to have the common trait of connecting the author with his friends.

Being quite obsessive compulsive I have to find a reason for my blogging. Which brings me nicely on to the fact that I signed up to a French weekly online horoscope service in a moment of mental derangement or "geistiger Umnachtung". By Tuesday lunchtime at the latest I will be updated about the state of my body, mind and the aether surrounding me - and about other profanities such as my finances ("a surprising financial opportunity will come your way this week"), the possibility of an amorous adventure with no tomorrow and the workload I may expect (heavy). According to this astrological service, my life is pretty boring, actually quite depressing. Nevertheless, I can never resist the temptation to open the email. Particularly nasty and to be avoided are annual horoscopes which will mess up your karma for the entire year before it has even started: When the 32nd job application is turned away and the cute arty intellectual type you met Saturday three weeks ago still hasn't called after the expiry of the mental 22-day period you might just remember that horoscope which told you so back in December last year...

But back to the reasons for this blog: More than anything I felt like communicating the countless abstrusities of my at times very turbulent life in the UK. But to whom? Devoid of a colourful network of friends and acquaintances who might have the faintest interest, this blog seems rather futile.

From the analysis of the contents of my phone contacts the following (distressing) facts have become apparent:

1. 
   
   A very large part of my contacts seems to consist of names I simply cannot place, dating back to the very beginning of my time in this country and of my mobile phone possession (i.e. 2001);


2. 
   
   The humble amount of "close friends" in turn consists of an alaraming percentage of people located off this island; and


3. 
   
   Most of them are male (an apparent problem in itself).

Who then am I supposed to call at the weekend when the blond German Mercedes manager (with whom a well-meaning family member in Germany hooked me up in order for me to "make new friends") turns out to be an idiot with a cocaine additction, your hormonal imbalance takes over your life yet again and you simply feel too hideous to even leave the house and on top of it all, despite being 26 years old, your parents have an active say in your love life?

Mr Plappert in allen Ehren, he didn't take that story too well, which may have something to do with the fact that Mr Mercedes did spend the night at my place, having presented me with the choice between accompanying him to Milton Keynes, getting trashed there and sleeping at his place or honouring me with his overnight presence in London and getting wasted here. As appealing as both of these options were, not wanting to be rude I opted for the lesser evil which allowed me to stay within my comfort zone...

To aggravate matters even further, Mr Plappert can't just jump through the telephone receiver, cross the English Channel through the myriad of telephone lines buried on the ground of the Atlantic (can someone please clarify whether the English Channel does indeed form part of the Atlantic Ocean or whether it forms part of the territory of the North Sea?!) and pop out at the end of my phone line to make me happy with his endearing company and keep me from bêtises such as dodgy sleepovers; so both Mr Plappert and I will have to make the best of the situation and things such as investment bankers, bodybuilding New Zealanders, obnoxious substances and colleagues and lonely spells...

I guess that I still haven't- for the most part- left behind that little scared three year old visiting the fairy tale park - too scared of the adventure, of all the frogs, dwarfs, princes and princesses to be met. Instead I have a close to empty address book in my phone.

But then there is this handful of close friends and even though I can't just get on a plane to see them and sometimes not even phone them when I feel like it, they are there in my life.

As for my little loyal mobile phone - I am quite ashamed for having exchanged it so ruthlessly ... After all it was quite popular among heavyset bleach blonde pink frottee fleece addicts of Maryhill.

Well, I guess times have changed and so have I - new phone - new luck- after all: it's still purple so not all is lost and Mr Plappert will arrive in London on Sunday...