The Last Goodbye

[rhythmaning]

It had been a long week; a series of mild hangovers following over-indulgence – but, hey, people don’t leave everyday. (Actually, where I work, they certainly seem to – at least for the time being; and whilst there are few left to leave, a couple more of us will be going over the next couple of months.)

This time we gathered together to say good bye to R., who had decided to leave, taking a payoff to do something more interesting; she isn’t wholly decided what that will be yet, though she is talking about “psychotherapy” (which sounds a bit scarey to me; I get enough of people analysing me without paying them for the privilege; I’m a bloke, after all).

The venue was the bistro at work, set in what used to be part of mental hospital (kind of fitting). The usual suspects were there – many of the same people who had been at IndigoYard a couple of evenings before, and Grape a few nights before that.

There is something very fun about drinking alcohol at work: it is so not done that it is almost liberating – kind of exciting (though how do people who work from home cope?). Last time I went to the bistro, we ordered bottles of red and white; it turned out that I was the only person drinking white, and I had a great – though not very productive – afternoon. This time, I had only a couple of spritzers – not best matched to my steak sandwich, but sufficiently refreshing.

We should be getting used to leaving lunches by now, but it still feels a bit odd. R. works – worked – parttime, and this wasn’t one of her working days. She was very happy – she spent the whole time grinning; she is clearly looking forward to the future.

It was a lovely sunny afternoon. The lawns were being sprayed (no hosepipe bans up here!); as we walked back to the office for a lazy Friday afternoon, Mr X said that we should have a wet t-shirt competition. “Can’t do that,” I said – “Ms Y isn’t here.” It was that kind of a day.