So today was the day I was supposed to hear whether I a) still have a job, and b) assuming I have a job, what remote part of dastardly Wet Yukshite that job will be in. You can read all about my predicament, should you care to right here.

In true West Yorkshire Police style, they appear to not have realised that, while today may have been the first Monday of the New Year, it is also a bank holiday and so, always assuming someone had the foresight to post the letters before the New Year, there was no one to deliver them. I have no doubt in my mind whatsoever, that the letters are still lying on someone’s desk waiting for the nine-to-fivers to return to work and pop them in the out tray.

Of course, they have known our fate for at least a month, they are just withholding this information from us because a few mythological people have said a redundancy letter might just ruin Christmas for them (Official Reason TM). Well gee, thanks, there’s a whole host of actual real people that just want to know. The threat of redundancy has been hanging over our heads for a good long time now, and what you know, you can deal with, what you don’t know just continues to hang over your head.

There is little that won’t convince me that the reason they waited until after Christmas to tell us is the fear of 35 people running screaming to their doctors clutching their 90-day notices and leaving waving around a nice piece of paper that says they are in not in any way fit to work over Christmas and must gets lots of sofa rest and eat pie, specifically while watching The Sound of Music and It’s a Wonderful Life. For the record, I wouldn’t have done that, I’m gonna need that paycheque with all the bank holiday overtime in February.

The combination of the come down from a really, really awesome October (Brandon Flowers touched me, squee – yes I will find a way to get The Killers in EVERY SINGLE BLOG, after 365 days you will either love them or hate them, but there will be no apathy!) and the fact that I had been putting off really thinking about all this until after said awesome October, meant things really hit me in November. Hit me to the point that I returned to a drinking habit I worked really, really hard to kick 8 years ago, to the point that the depression that had just about lifted, returned with full force, to the point that it didn’t just ruin Christmas for me, I did not celebrate it at all. No trimmings, no dinner, no presents, just another day. For me, another working day.

I have picked myself up, dusted myself off, given myself a good talking to, kicked the booze (1 week without a drink), got back to the gym, set myself goals to beat this damn depression once and for all, and hopefully, after the initial shock of the letter, whenever it arrives, that will seal the deal, and I will be able to move on with my life. I am determined to rise from the ashes of the train wreck that was the Noughties, and make the Tweenies work for me. Of course, there’s always those two boxes of Strongbow still in the pantry…

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