In which our bearded protagonist finds himself suddenly unemployed.

That's right: yesterday, paid employment and I finally parted company. My last day at INoGITCH wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting, but it pretty much summed up my time there, so I shouldn't be surprised: way too much work and not enough time to do it. I thought one's last day at work was supposed to be like the last day at school: playing board games, something nice from the cafeteria that doesn't taste of kippered squirrels for a change, and getting home early. Darn it.

I'd been looking forward to flouncing off after a long, boozy lunch. After all, there are few times that manly, bearded men can flounce and one of them is on resigning from a life of Project Management. The others are being awarded an OBE for 'services to pigeon-wrangling', or on discovering a half-eaten Prime Minister in your linen cupboard. Other than that, we're a flounce free zone. But with a stack of paperwork to wade through before the end of the day there was no post-PM-job flouncing for me. The best I could manage was a sort of crab-like shuffle and strange eggy smell.

Worse yet, as I'm basically an honest person, I couldn't even bring myself to load up on free stationary and office furniture. And there was virtually no other bugger there, who'd have noticed? Not so much as a pad of Post-it notes. *sigh*

So, that marks the end of an era -- I'm going to stick my toe in the tap-hole of freelance literature and hope to God there's enough water and bubbles in the tub to keep my unmentionable gentleman's parts covered. Just in case we have to call the fire brigade to get me out.

Pass the soap would you?