1. Every quarter, our company sets aside up to $100 per head to be spent on an activity or outing. I was nominated to be one of three people forming the company’s social committee, which means (given that one of the three has since left and the other is our accountant and doesn’t care what we do so long as its cheap) I get to choose what those activities are and to organise them. It isn’t difficult really. Especially here in sunny Sydney – the weather here is far more reliable than back in dear old Blighty where I spent 8 years in a previous life organising charity events. In the rain.
So, here we are, some of us, on Saturday, on a 10km bushwalk along the harbour cliffs and foreshore of Sydney’s northern beaches.
2 Americans, 8 Aussies, 2 English, 1 Irish, 2 Canadians and 1 Swede.
That’s me gurning at the front with my boss 🙂
I enjoyed the walk immensely. Partly because I always enjoy a walk and partly because for most of the route I was lucky enough to find myself with a particularly interesting and pleasant walking partner.
And we had a catered picnic on the beach in Manly at the end of the walk. Delicious.
I would just like to point out that it is winter here. WINTER. I don’t think the novelty of wearing sunglasses in winter will ever pall.
2. Perhaps I am overly English about such things, but I consider it downright rude not to turn up to a catered event without notice. Even when one’s company is paying. Quite apart from anything else, it meant that the jolly nice couple who had spent hours making sandwiches and salads and buying drinks, need not have gone to quite so much trouble. And I abhor waste.
3. Of course, now that the sun has gone down it is positively baltic and we’re due to go out for a training run in about 30 minutes. Brrrr.
4. On Saturday night at about 10 o’clock I got a text from an Irish guy I haven’t seen in over a year, asking if I was doing anything and if he should come over. I believe that is what is known, officially, as a booty call. An unsuccessful one, at that.
You want to see me again? Fine, that’s nice. Ask me out. Don’t ask yourself over.
Good grief, what is WRONG with [some] men?
5. This type of writing is why I would like to shake Stephen Fry by the hand… oh, who am I kidding? I’d like to smother him in kisses and frolic in his shadow 🙂