Dead Man Walking

Summoned into the inner sanctum today, and given a week’s notice (or so it felt, anyway). The fact that it was phrased conditionally (‘if things stay as they are, we will be forced to…’) cut very little ice with me – I get the impression they regard any possible improvement in the situation as Second Conditional territory rather than First. (As you will have noticed, if I indeed have only seven days left of dealing with the technicalities of English grammar on a professional basis, then I’m going to make damn certain I make the most of them.)

Minds have been made up, I think – or at least the only mind that matters, which is the DoS’s. In the circumstances it’s very difficult to feel any kind of motivation whatsoever, but some small spark of pride and self-respect still lingers. (Wondered what that itch was.)

At least my landlady is okay with me staying on once the axe comes down (she’s less keen on my inadvertantly enabling her grandchildren to run out into the road, but you can’t please everyone all of the time). Worked out that I can hang on here for round about £15 a day – though of course that would mean eating at Burger King rather than GBK and putting the current army projects to sleep. That’s really the least of it, of course, but it’s probably in poor taste to hold the wake before the patient dies. This last week has been, hmm, certainly one of the three or four worst of my life, and it feels like it’s gone on forever. Next week will, I suspect, be about the same. In the circumstances I really can’t decide if I want it to fly by or not.