The Forty First Blog Of Trig - The London Stock Exchange

I can't remember much of my first day at the London Stock Exchange. My team was a lovely group of people and the managers were friendly and socially laid back, but serious when it came to the business. I was answering calls and emails from traders and their technical support teams when they experienced issues with the pricing and trading systems. I was lucky in that I had used the pricing systems before, but only superficially, and the Order Management System was completely new to me, as were the more technical aspects of the trading business, and the complicated mechanics of the London Stock Exchange. I asked a lot of questions of my mostly only slightly more experienced colleagues, which were usually met with helpful assistance, but one girl felt it necessary to complain to my manager D that I was asking too many. This was the girl who sat next to me, a good looking girl who was friendly lot of the time, but sometimes a little moody and abrupt. I was taken aside after a few short weeks and pulled up on my 'excessive question-asking'. I was not remorseful in my response:
"The way I see it, every time I answer that telephone I am representing one of the most well known and reputable companies in the world, and I want to reflect that. There is an enormous amount to take in, and I want to give correct and professional responses to clients, and to do that I need to ask questions of my more experienced colleagues to expand my knowledge. I'm not going to stop doing that until I feel more comfortable in my role. I've only been here a few weeks, and to be honest I'm pretty surprised that I have been pulled aside for this."
I spoke very honestly and calmly and D was completely understanding and professional as ever. The matter ended there. The girl in question ended up quitting a couple of months later. I don't think I was the only one who would not miss her.

As well as our day-to-day client support roles, we were each given additional 'projects' to work on, with Sales, Development, Administration, etc. I was assigned a couple of tasks by the head of Development. A very cool guy a couple of years younger than myself, I learned that he had dropped out of university to find a role at the LSE, going on to excel and find himself in a very responsible position indeed. It seemed that he thought a lot of himself, but I could not blame him. He was cocky but friendly, quite a joker, a nice guy. The tasks he gave me involved fairly repetitive data entry, so I analysed them to find the quickest way of completing them and flew through. He gave me another task and I did the same. I was thoroughly enjoying myself in the challenges of my new job, even the repetitive tasks.

After a couple of months I was settled into my role, and had laid the groundwork for some great friendships among my colleagues. A girl who joined the company with me was particularly down-to-Earth, and we had many interesting talks. She was educated in a Steiner School in Germany, but had moved around a good bit. Steiner Schools do not push children into academic disciplines until a little later in life; 6 or 7; allowing children more freedom to explore their creative side. In my experience this allows children to develop their individuality more than in the standard school systems of today, and this is often very apparent in their creativity and enthusiasm for life. She was very animated in her exclamations and very excitable, and had an awful lot of energy, running Zumba classes many nights after work. I wondered how she managed it.

The other guy in my team was a younger lad from Essex, a good looking guy who I expect the girls flocked to. He was very softly spoken with a calm temperament, very friendly and often very funny. He was quite reserved and seemed to be very thoughtful in the way he conducted himself, and there was not really anything to dislike about him. We didn't ever really get the chance to chat properly, just the odd few words here and there, but I knew from the little contact we had that he was a really nice guy.

Other than the girl who hated my questions, there was one other girl on support, a stunning blonde girl from Essex, but not your stereotypical TV Essex girl. She was very sweet and friendly, very helpful to me when I started, and clearly very intelligent. She struck me as the kind of girl who would do well for herself in the business world, and not just for her looks. She was engaged to be married, to my disappointment, not that I think I would have had any chance with her! Well, maybe I would, I don't know, but my out-of-this-world philosophies and crazy life would be hard to reconcile with her love of clothes and shopping.

The admin girl was lovely. A petite girl who worked hard and played hard; vodka was her drink of choice, on the rocks. She had a lovely smile and infectious laugh. She was a socialite with a down-to-earth attitude which seemed to be born out of a good bit of party experience. We got on very well and developed a great friendship in my time there.

Aside from my immediate team there were the product managers and the sales girls. They were all of different ages and all lovely, but very different people to myself. There were two ops guys, an intelligent younger lad who seemed a little uncomfortable in his shoes sometimes, but had a great sense of humour and was great fun to be around, and the head of operations, a very intelligent guy who had a good heart and a philosophical mind, but was obviously troubled by the stresses in his life. Just before my departure he took time off to sort out personal issues. We got on very well in my time there, and I was sad that I left before he returned to work.

After 8 weeks with the company I was asked into a meeting with D and one of the Product Managers, and told that they needed someone to take over the day-to-day management of a new business area the company was taking over, which was a telecommunications hub for brokers. They said that they thought I would be great for the role, which I accepted with pleasure. I tried to play it down in my mind at the time, not wanting to think more of it that it was, but it was quite a responsibility given the short time I had been working there. I would be first point of call for the technical support teams of banks and brokers around the world, to resolve connectivity issues, help with onboarding queries and liaise with the second line technical support at the LSE. I started the new role in the new year 2012, but spent December learning the ropes with a lovely girl from Greece who was there on a graduate scheme, and had been helping to prepare the management shift that the hub was undergoing. We came to be quite close, despite a couple of minor disagreements. I fancied her quite a bit and I think she might have liked me too, but like so often in my life I didn't do anything about it because of my crazy nature. People I work with see one side of me; a heavily filtered me, a me who puts on a smart costume every morning and acts out a role that I am payed to play. Friends and family outside of work know a completely different me; a more complete me; who some call 'Trig'. Trig is renowned for being, much more so in the past now, a heavy-drinking drug-taking wreck-head. I doubt that many people in the office would be as comfortable around 'Trig', let alone his much crazier friends. This thought has stopped me from asking many girls out over the years. My friends are very important to me, and I would not give them up for anyone, so any girl I choose to spend time with could not be at all judgmental, and be able to handle people who are out of the ordinary. All of my friends are extraordinary to say the very least.

A week after I started the job the 'Occupy London Stock Exchange' movement attempted to...occupy the London Stock Exchange. Police and private security barricaded the area, so 'Occupy' set up camp in the courtyard of St Pauls Cathedral and we in Paternoster Square were besieged by police and barricaded behind rows of security fencing, which was later to be constructed in lattice to fill the entire square. We received group emails saying that we should not engage the protesters, and that we should not talk to the press. I was not stupid enough to talk to the press, but no-one was telling me not to talk to people protesting on behalf of causes that I in my heart believed in. I enjoyed walking through at lunch and mingling with the crowd. I would go and sit on the steps of St. Pauls and listen to them conduct their daily briefings, at which they would discuss funds, tasks that needed completing, with every decision requiring confirmation by show of hands from participants.

I had an amazing chat with a guy from somewhere in Eastern Europe on the steps of St Pauls one day while having my lunch. We began talking about the politics, but ascended to the philosophical, the miracle of the experience of life and the lack of appreciation of it in the world. As we conversed he came to tell me that he had once been a bad man, that he had killed people, but that he had seen the beauty in life and the futility of negative emotions; fear, anger, hatred. He told me that he was once consumed by these emotions, and that he had been living in a self-imposed hell. He told me that he had ascended to Heaven on Earth through the realisation of the miraculous beauty of existence; just being alive; in the moment of reality; and as I observed his scarred face smiling up to the sky, I believed every word he said. The words resonated with my own feelings, and I told him so. It was a wonderful chat, a beautiful rolling moment of life. We exchanged names and I left to go back to work. I did not see him again.

I saw Charlie Veitch and Danny from the 'Love Police' on one occasion as I left work. They mingled with the Occupy protesters, but there was some kind of dispute going on when I arrived. 'Rich people are more important' read Charlie's sign, with a smiley face below it. An older guy who I could have sworn was Tony Benn was asking him why he thought the wealthy Italian Prime Minister Berlusconi was more important than the philosophical leader Mahatma Gandhi. A couple of rough-looking guys in Anonymous masks were acting quite aggressively and seemed as though they might attack Danny, but Charlie Veitch's tall figure might have helped to prevent that, and Danny ended up reporting that he was being harrassed to nearby police. Then Charlie gathered a few people and began to speak.
"Rich people are more important!" he said, "Rich people are more important, because they arrange the infrastructure that we all rely upon. They tax us to pay for the services we need."
There was no sarcasm in his voice, no hint of the irony that had come to be one of his trademark characteristics. But then what is sarcasm? Sarcasm is saying one thing but meaning the opposite. Orwell called this 'double-speak'.
"Who agrees with me?" He asked the small crowd around him.
"Yeah." - "Yes." - "Me." They replied halfheartedly.
"Who disagrees?" He asked. I put my hand up. "I disagree." Too quiet.
"You agree?" He asked.
"I disagree." I replied.
"But why?" He asked, simultaneously directing his attention away from me to indicate that the question was rhetorical. I had previously been a fan of his and supported what he was doing with 'The Love Police', but after seeing him sell himself out on the BBC documentary '9/11 Conspiracy Road Trip', I could take the man seriously no longer. His words sounded hollow and empty. He seemed to be playing psychological tricks on people at the behest of someone with a lot of money and power. He lost a lot of supporters from that documentary.

The Occupy protesters seemed on the most part to be intelligent middle class individuals, slightly tainted by a small number of angry disillusioned individuals and a couple of what appeared to be alcoholics with nowhere else to go. Nevertheless, they were well organised, setting up a 'university tent' full of couches and well stacked book shelves, a kitchen tent which cooked meals for the people there, waste disposal and recycling, and their numbers were initially quite impressive, but they decreased as winter approached. They caused disagreements within the church from their presence, leading to the resignation of at least one of the church officials in protest against the possibility of violence being used by the police to remove the protesters from the cathedral courtyard. On the first day the protesters arrived, I think it was a Saturday, the bishop of St Pauls asked the police to leave after they barricaded the cathedral entrance. The protesters were then addressed by Julian Assange, who gave an inspirational speech in support of all those there and the cause of Truth. I met a lovely girl at St Pauls for a date that day, as I wanted to check it all out. We then headed off to a restaurant for dinner after observing the protesters and ridiculously large police numbers.

While I was enjoying working at the LSE, a shadow was cast over me reminding me of the important role they play in the corrupt corporate system. One day we arrived at work to see a protest against the private security company G4S outside, highlighting their involvement in the imprisoning of Palestinian children in Israel, and their inhumane treatment of all kinds of people in their global dominance of the 'security industry'. I chatted to one or two briefly and took a couple of their leaflets, while our own private security guards and the sleepless eye-in-the-sky looked on.

I often wondered whether I was being monitored. I decided it was ridiculous to assume that I wasn't on some level. The LSE is a high risk target for 'terrorism', and someone like myself, with an outspoken and controversial online footprint, was sure to raise a few alarms. I was surprised that I had even got the job in spite of this to be honest. I would expect serious vetting for anyone who walks through those doors, and anyone with so much as a smartphone can find out a lot about me just by typing my name into Google.

I settled into my new role very quickly, and impressed the managers with my work. I liaised with the technical support teams of financial institutions around the world on a daily basis, assessing their technical requirements and helping them to set themselves up on our network and establish new connections. I updated technical guides, took on the responsibility for invoicing, reorganized the email system, produced reports on the Gateway activity and revenues, visited clients, attended two trade shows, I was a busy man!

My initial 6 month contract came to an end and I was informed that this was being extended another 3 months, as they had quotas for how many staff they could take on and had to justify taking on more staff permanently, which I found confusing as the reason the hub had been passed to us was because it had been neglected in recent times. My managers told me that they wanted me on permanently, but it was up to the guys upstairs. Perhaps they had searched my name on Google, I don't know, but my good work still earned me a very nice payrise with my contract extension.

As summer approached, my grandmother grew increasingly ill. Her Alzheimer's had reduced her to a shadow of her former self, and a couple of emergency trips to hospital drained what little of her energy was left. I remember getting up one morning to hear my mum screaming in despair that her mum had stopped breathing. She rushed off with my dad to her house, but the carer had managed to get her breathing again before they arrived. As her ability to eat and drink diminished, we knew it would not be long. My brother spent three months in India around this time, but we daren't tell him how close she was to death, just hoping that he would make it home to see her before she passed away.

My mum spent most of her time by her bedside towards the end, lifting her up to get water and nutrition drinks in her mouth, but the distress it caused her was too much for either of them. She slept most of the time, but occasionally she would wake up and say a few words, and then, the exertion of those few words exhausting her to fatigue, she would be asleep again.

The last time I saw her alive I went round after work. She happened to be awake, but her eyes looked straight through me and straight through the wall behind me. I held her frail hand and talked to her, and I thought I saw some recognition, and she started speaking softly, barely a whisper. I could not understand what she said, so I called my mum. She held her up and leaned in to hear her.
"You want some water mum?" She asked.
She called the carer in, who held my grandmother upright in the bed while my mum put a small surgical sponge soaked with water to her lips for her to drink. She drank, spluttered, coughed and cried out in despair; she could hardly swallow any more, and choked on the tiniest bit of food or water. I bit my lip to stop the tears and left her in my mother's care.

It was a Wednesday morning that she died. That morning when I got to work I told my manager that my grandmother was close to death, and that I might have to leave at short notice to be with my family. She was sympathetic and supportive, and said that if there was anything she could do, I should let her know. Within two hours I received a call from my dad to say that she did not have long, that she was hardly breathing, and they were certain she was about to pass away. I was glad to hear that my mum was by her side. I grabbed my things and told my manager I had to go, that I would be in touch later.

It is a strange feeling to get on a train with people going about their daily business, knowing that you are on your way to say goodbye to a loved one for the last time. Breath comes difficult. Thoughts come thick and fast in no rational order. Prominent memories are enhanced in their power over your emotions. Happy or sad, they choke and squeeze water from the eyes. I hold back tears with deep breaths. Remind myself that most tears are nothing but self-pity. The most valuable tears are those that cannot be prevented.

I get off at the station and my dad calls to tell me that nanna has passed away. Emptiness. He comes to pick me up and we give each other a big hug. We don't speak much. Silence in the car. Trees passing by the window look surreal. The whole world looks surreal. Unreal. We are at her house very soon. I embrace my mum and hold her tight. The last of her parents has passed. She needs us. I try to be strong but a mother's emotion is powerfully important to a child, even one that has grown into a man. The tears I have been saving fall down my cheeks quietly.

I go in to say goodbye to my nanna, but she is not there. All that is left is the body that carried her for the last 90 years. The body doesn't mean too much to me. Looking at the body does not evoke emotion. What evokes emotion are the living breathing memories in my mind. I think of when I lived with her. I remember when she would wake up in the night in a panic, calling out for help because she did not know where she was. I remember sitting with her and reminding her once again the story of how she came to live in that house nearly 30 years ago. Through the tears she apologises, and I softly tell her off for apologising. When she has calmed down, I put her to bed and she is soon asleep. The next day she has no memory of it. She tells me about her father. "He was such a wonderful man. The most wonderful man I ever met, aside from my dear Sammy."
She stares off into space and smiles. I feel the moment she realises he is gone as the smile begins to fade slowly. This is all I have left of nanna. The body in front of me is not my nanna. My nanna was a life, a soul, a spirit, whatever you prefer to call it. That body carried her life, but no longer. She resides in our hearts and minds now.

My mum's family arrives shortly after her mother's passing. It is a beautiful day, the sun shining down on the garden, glowing with the colourful life my grandmother took care to nurture throughout her own life. It was beautiful.

I send a message to my manager to say that I won't be in until Monday. Nanna's body is taken away and the funeral is scheduled for Sunday. Thursday my brother and I help my mother prepare her house for the wake. She is to be buried alongside my grandfather Sam, who was laid to rest almost 20 years previously.

Friday morning I get a call from my agent to say that my contract at the London Stock Exchange has been terminated with immediate effect. I am shocked, but not that shocked.
"You sound as if you expected it?" He asks me.
"No, it's quite a surprise, especially since they have chosen to do so 48 hours after the death of my grandmother, while I am mourning and helping my family to prepare for her funeral. I'm pretty shocked that they have done it with such lack of consideration. It would have been decent of them to wait until Monday and do it face-to-face."
"Yes, I heard that your grandmother had passed. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
"Did they say why?"
"They haven't given me any more information."
"I received my contract extension yesterday!"
"Yes I know, it is a bit strange. I think you'll have to speak to D to find out more."
"Well, I guess I need to find a job! Do you have any positions open at the moment?"
"You'll have to find out the reasons for your contract being terminated first."
"I understand. I'll let you know once I've spoken to them."

I call D but he is not available, and my manager K cannot give me any information as to why my contract has been cancelled so suddenly.
"Well K, it has been an absolute pleasure working with you, I wish you all the best for the future."
"And you Sam. Take care."

A few weeks earlier I had published a blog post about Barclays' and Glaxosmithkline's sponsorship of the 'Guardian International Development Journalism Competition'. I referenced a few articles I had found online about the recent fines they had received for such crimes as trading with brutal dictatorships and killing babies with illegal drug trials. This quickly became my highest hitting post, and remains so today. Within a few days I saw on LinkedIn that my profile had been viewed by a guy who was, if I remember correctly, 'Head of Internet Security for Barclays Plc'. This made me smile. Nice to know someone's listening! Very soon after I saw that my profile had been viewed by someone working for a large financial law firm in Washington DC. This made me smile, but I was also aware that this could put my job at risk. Sure enough, a couple of weeks later, I got the call I describe above. A couple of weeks after this, Barclays was shamed by the LIBOR scandal, possibly the biggest and longest-running financial fraud ever. No-one has been held responsible.

I believe this is the reason my contract was terminated, although other factors could have contributed. I often get into heated debates with zionists about the ethics of the apartheid-slash-ethnic-cleansing situation in Israel-slash-Palestine, and had received what I considered to be a threat from one person, who said to me, "do your clients know your opinions on this?" I gave a rather heated response.

I was disappointed at having lost my job, but confident that I would not have trouble finding another. I waited for the call from D to explain the reasons for my contract being terminated, and after a couple of calls to chase this, he called me. He expressed his sympathy for the loss of my grandmother, and apologised for the delay in his call. He went on to explain that my contract had been terminated for 'business reasons from above'. I told him that I thought this was strange, especially since they had chosen to inform me through my agent rather than in person, and while I was mourning the loss of my grandmother as icing on the cake. He again apologised, saying that they got the word 'from above' that my contract was to be terminated immediately, and that was what had to happen. I pushed for more information, and told him that I believed it was due to my online activity; blogs, Twitter, etc; but he denied this, saying, in a hesitant manner that raised my suspicions, that he didn't know anything about Twitter or blogs, that it was 'purely for business reasons'. At this point I accepted that I was not going to get anything further from him, wondering whether there was anyone else listening in on the call. I thanked him for giving me the opportunity and experience of working at the London Stock Exchange, told him that I had thoroughly enjoyed my time there, and wished him all the best for the future. He did likewise and we said goodbye.

And so I put my CV online and started looking at jobs. Sure enough, I found one quickly enough and started my new job a month or so later. On my second day I was devastated to learn that my good friend Liam had died. I'll tell you about Liam sometime.

I got a message from one of my ex-colleagues shortly after I lost my job saying they were sorry I had left and that we should meet up for a drink. I messaged back that I would be happy to meet up, but got a message the following day saying that we would have to postpone 'until things had calmed down'. I bumped into another ex-colleague after I started my new job who confirmed that they had all been warned against having any contact with me. It didn't stop them from coming out for drinks though. We chatted about what was going on in our lives and what we had been up to, and barely spoke about the London Stock Exchange. We still keep in touch.

Forty First Blog Of Trig, Signing Off.

The Thirty Eighth Blog Of Trig - Return From Barcelona

I got home from Barcelona and immediately started sorting out the insurance claim. I lost my new laptop, my prized and battered C902 with a wealth of photos and videos, and about £100, but the excess left me short the cash. 

I started looking for teaching work abroad, but found that many of my first-choice countries officially required a degree as well as the teaching qualification, so I looked for work in London and quickly found a job teaching in Edgware.

I had only three students, two Italian girls of 12 and 14, and a Greek lad of about 15. They did not know much English at all and I was given no guidance as to how to approach the three hour classes, so I observed another teacher in one lesson and then threw myself at it, but certainly didn't prepare for the lessons enough. I quickly learned that they hated writing exercises, so I tried to do more talking reading and listening, but the school did not have a great store of exercise books and no tape players. I would get to the end of my prepared lesson with half an hour to go and play word games until the end, or discuss the moon landing conspiracies, or holidays, or families, or anything else the talkative greek lad would frequently ask about. He wanted to speak English, and was not at all interested in writing or reading. His spoken English was certainly better than his written.

After a couple of lessons I developed a rapport with the students, and as we all became more comfortable the lessons became more enjoyable. However, they were only in England for a few weeks with family, and would be heading home soon, so I found myself having to look for another job to fall into.

I decided to go back into the City for a while to get some cash together so that I could go abroad and teach, so I put my CV together and posted it online. The next day I received a call from an agent and arranged to meet him at Liverpool Street Station for a coffee and an informal chat.

I met him, suited for the occasion, we grabbed a coffee and he told me about the role. It was at the London Stock Exchange, providing telephone support to users of stock pricing and order management systems. I told him that I had used the exact same pricing systems for three years at my previous role, which went down well, and he arranged me an interview the following week.

I bought a new suit and arrived early. The doors of the LSE are flanked by stocky security guards, solemn but fairly friendly, who ask you your business there if you do not produce a photo ID card. I told them that I had an interview and they directed me to the front desk.

In an indoor courtyard in front of me there was an enormous rotating digital planet Earth, and the walls had digital strips with global share prices moving round. A man with a device which I assumed was for detecting explosives asked me to take off my bag. His device 'sniffed' me, beeped its approval, and I was ushered forward to the front desk, where I was given a visitors badge and told to move through the barriers and take a seat.

G, the agent, had assured me that my interviewer D was a lovely lady. She came down after a while and introduced herself in a strong cockney accent, and took me upstairs. On the way to our interview room we passed glass cabinets with gold and silver trophy plates and other memorabilia which looked like they were worth a lot of money. 

The interview was fairly standard. She asked me about my experience, and why I left my last job, which I was dangerously honest about. She then asked me what I knew about the London Stock Exchange. I told her what I knew, but stumbled when she asked me more complex questions. She was very professional, and there was not much time for small-talk. At the end of the interview I was not too confident about how well I had done, having not answered all of her questions about London Stock Exchange business as confidently as I would have liked, but the call-back for a second interview showed promise.

I met with G the agent again, as he wanted to see how the first interview went and prepare me for the second. He congratulated me on my initial success and gave me great advice for the next step, although I was already confident in my interview skills. I like to think of it as simply meeting someone for a chat. I am interviewing them as much as they are me in my eyes. That perspective puts us on even ground, and makes both interviewer and interviewee more comfortable. Never tell them that though. Some people like their feeling of superiority. Bring them down to your level by relaxing, not worrying, and being friendly and confident, but of course don't tell them about your tactics, they will bounce back to their corporate personality in a flash. Find common ground. Talk about yourself in your professional and personal capacity, your loves and dislikes, but nothing too divisive or controversial, and if they sense your honesty then you are likely to find something that they can empathise with, and you can take a break from the interview and be human beings a while. Before you know it, if you're lucky, you've made a friend! Much better than gaining a boss.

The second interview was with the head of the business area I would be working in. He was in his late forties I guess, a very friendly guy, and it felt quite informal. We sat down in the lovely cafeteria area and chatted, mostly about my interests and hobbies, lingering on a commonality of snooker briefly, before discussing more my professional experience and aspirations. I can't really remember what else we talked about, but I remember leaving feeling good about my chances, and glad that so far my potential colleagues seemed nice. The only thing I was worried about at this point was that my high-frequency posting of alternative and controversial news and views on Twitter and Facebook might come under scrutiny. It seemed unlikely that it wouldn't at such a high-profile establishment.

As I left the Exchange I got a text message from Baz asking if I wanted to meet him in Camden for a couple of drinks. I gladly obliged. I met him outside the station, me looking like a city bod and him like a First Division football manager, and we headed to a bar. The drinks came thick and fast with the odd joint of pollen or skunk thrown in here and there, and the day disappeared. Before I knew it the sun had set and we were both pretty pissed and stoned, merrily pub-crawling our way around the bars of Camden. Barry soon suggested finding some drugs. I was hesitant, but agreed with conditions.
"Okay, but no coke. Get MDMA, but only if it's crystal. I'm not paying money for a bag of talcum powder, crystal is the only thing we can be half sure of - crystal ONLY!" I really stressed this point, "I won't pay for anything else."
Sure enough, Baz headed off and picked up in a flash off some dodgy street dealer, and within 5 minutes we were in another bar, and Baz was pouring semi-precious crystals into my open palm.
"Here you go pal," he said, "get that down ya. I'll see ya on the other side of the rainbow!"
"Cheers pal."
"Cheers buddy!"
Our glasses clinked together and the slightly yellow translucent crystals were washed down with rum and coke. 

More beer, more rum, and half an hour later we got impatient because we could not feel the MD, so we did the last of it between us. We waited, we waited...we probably waited only half as long as we thought because we were so pissed, and in my drunken impatience I subsequently decided prematurely that the MD was a dud.
"We got mugged off mate, this stuff is shit...Ah fuck it, let's crack on regardless!"
"Exactly bruv, we've had a great day, let's make it a great night!"

Now, here there is a bit of a gap. I think we were drinking in Wetherspoons by the canal when we came up off the MD hard. I think we headed to the Elephant after that. Barry says we were chatting with a bunch of big Russian lads, but I have no memory of it. I vaguely remember laughing with Baz about how we thought the MD was dud, but now we were off our pickles and entering a full ploughmans. It was in here that we met a girl called Sara and an Asian guy whose name I can't remember. Sara was a petite Camden lass, originally from the countryside somewhere, tattoos and leather jacket, cute and sexy, but a little rough around the edges. The Asian guy was fairly quiet, and seemed as though he had been hoping to get with Sara until she decided to tag along with us, and then he just tagged along too.

We had decided to go back to Barry's place in Edgware after the pubs shut. Here, my first clear memory for a while is of walking down Camden High Street, hallucinating severely. Each street light was showering glittery beams of radiance upon the pavement, and I had multiple vision that I could not for the life of me resolve through focus or concentration. Sara pointed out a guy across the road with a large dog, saying she always saw him about and that he seemed to be following her. I saw six identical men with six identical dogs walking down six identical streets. She asked me to put my arm around her and pretend like we were together. The memory gets hazy again here, but I remember the six dodgy guys and their dogs disappeared.

We got back to Barry's place somehow and came crashing in on his flatmate, a Somalian guy called Abdul, passed out with one of his friends. I was exhausted from all the drugs and alcohol and was unconscious pretty quickly, while the others cracked on with the beers and started chewing on some khat. I woke up a good few hours later, Tuesday morning, to a strange scene. Everyone was still up and awake, with Abdul's friend seemingly trying to convince Sara to take her clothes off. She was not interested in obliging. I sat up and said a sheepish hello to everyone. Hallucinations had ceased, but a tiredness was still lingering over me and a hangdown was lurking maliciously in the corner.
"What you guys been up to? How long have I been asleep?"
"You fell asleep as soon as we arrived! We've been chewing khat, drinking and smoking since!"
"Wow! I was pretty hammered. What's khat like?"
Abdul's friend chipped in, "it's great, have you never tried it? It's like cocaine, livens you up, but more naturally. Makes you really horny too!" 
He winked at Sara as he said this, and the unamused look on her face made me wonder what I had missed while I was asleep.
"Where's Barry?"
"Gone to get more beer."
"Okay."
I looked at Sara and when everyone else's attention was elsewhere mouthed the words: "What's been going on?"
She moved over to sit next to me on the futon and spoke under her breath.
"It's been a bit weird here to be honest. I wanted to leave but didn't want to go by myself. I was hoping you'd come back with me."
"Not a problem," I said, "I need to rest a bit longer though. I'm pretty hammered still."
I lay back down and she casually snuggled up to me. It felt good, but I was a little uncomfortable about the situation. It seemed like she had been getting hassle off this lad while I had been out. He was acting like a horny schoolboy, and as soon as he saw her cuddle up to me he started winking at me and motioning for me to get her on the bed. I simply shook my head and lay back to rest, and he lost interest temporarily. From Sara's affection I had a feeling she didn't just want me to walk her home.

I was very tired, half asleep, but Sara's hand feeling between my shirt buttons distracted me from drifting off. I looked at her and she looked at me, and we kissed. She had a gorgeous body, and my hands wandered down her back and over her bum for a gentle squeeze. She took a sharp breath in and I felt my cock go semi, but I did my best to take my mind elsewhere, stopped kissing her and lay back with her head on my chest. This was not the best time or place for intimacy.

Barry and Abdul came back with more beer soon after.
"Awww, havin' a cuddle you two?"
"Sharing body heat!" Sara said with an innocent smile.
We sat up and accepted a beer, and Barry started rolling up a joint.
"I'm gonna head off in a while mate."
Barry looked up from his spliff.
"Okay pal. You alright?"
"Yeah, fine. Bit tired! I'm gonna see Sara back safe to Camden and then I need some serious rest!"
I had been out for 36 hours and I was still in my interview suit.
"Ah you're gonna see Sara back are ya?" He said, looking at Sara with a wink.
"Yeah," I said with an ironic air of chivalry, "got to make sure the lady gets home safely!"
Sara's friend; who had faithfully accompanied her on this journey across North London with two random drink and drug-induced men out of what seemed to be a genuine concern for her safety, to end up in a flat with a khat chewing Somalian and his horny friend; did not seem too pleased about this turnout. Sara showed no sign of being interested in him romantically, and had not at all that I remember, so I did not feel guilty about the situation, although I did feel a little sorry for him.

The day wore on and I asked Sara if she was ready to go, but she wasn't ready to leave yet, which I found funny as she had been bugging me to leave a bit earlier. I soon got impatient as I was very tired, and told her that I was leaving; if she wanted me to take her back to Camden we were leaving now, so we left, her friend with us. As it turned out he lived in Edgware, so wouldn't be accompanying us on the train. As we walked towards the station he hung back behind us, apparently sulking. Sara convinced me to have a quick drink in a pub we passed, and we invited him to join us but he refused, so he said goodbye, with a little animosity. 

We decided to have a quick Jaegerbomb followed by a pint. The Red Bull in the Jaeger woke me up a little. We chatted and she told me that she had only tagged along with us because she liked me.
"But I was off my face on MD and pissed as a fart! I was tripping my balls off! Why would you want to chase me in that state?!"
"What can I say, I liked you. And I was pretty pissed myself." She said with a sheepish smile. I returned the smile and leaned forward to kiss her with an 'awww'.
"I'm going to be honest, I don't remember meeting you. I'd just come up off that MD and had been drinking for about 9 hours with Baz. The first I remember is walking through Camden with you and that guy with the dog following us."
"He is weird that guy. It can't be coincidence, I see him all the time, always walking the same direction as me."
"That is strange," I said, "I'd be careful. Especially with strange men you happen to meet in the pub!" We both laughed.

We left after we finished our drinks and jumped on the train. She sat on my lap and we kissed a while. When we stopped kissing I noticed a bunch of young lads checking her out.
"I think you have some fans over there." I whispered with a smile.

When we got to Camden she insisted on going for another drink. I didn't really want to drink any more; it had been a long night...well, a long day followed by a long night followed by another long day. I smiled at the realisation that 36 hours or so earlier I had been in an interview at the London Stock Exchange. We went for another drink when we got to Camden. 

When we left the pub we ran through the rain with my coat as shelter until we came to her flat. She explained to me that although she wanted me to come in, I had to leave before 11, as that was when her landlord came back. He was apparently an older homosexual guy, and was funny about her having friends over in the evening as he worked long hours. So in we went. 

It was a nice tidy flat, small but cosy. She took me straight into her room and said she was going for a shower, 'would I like to join her'? I said yes of course, and we both stripped naked, had a little kiss and a fondle, then headed into her shower. A bit of soapy romance ensued, and when we were both sufficiently aroused we quickly dried off and headed back into her bedroom, where we had amazing sex on her bed. When I pulled out afterwards I found that the ridiculously small condom she'd given me had broken.
"Don't worry, I'm on the pill." She said.
"Me too." I replied jokingly. 
We laughed, kissed, cuddled up naked on her bed and put her TV on, but before long we were both horny again. We didn't see the point of using a condom this time, since the last one had broken, so the sex was more natural, and subsequently even better than the first session. By the time we had finished we were both exhausted, and cuddled up on the verge of sleep on her bed. I kept myself from drifting off, knowing that I had to leave shortly, and suddenly remembered that I was supposed to be teaching one of my last classes at the English school the following day! 

We said goodbye with some passionate kissing and I took her number, promising to give her a call. I walked through the rain feeling pretty happy. Very tired, but happy. Unexpected sex will do that to you.

Over the next week I gave my last two lessons at the English school and said goodbye to the students. The Greek lad insisted on his mum taking a photo of us, even though I had only been teaching them a couple of weeks, which was nice. 

I got a call from my agent to say that I got the job at the London Stock Exchange, starting the following week. Before I could start I had to provide evidence of everything that I had on my CV, going back to my GCSEs at secondary school. This took some chasing; a couple of calls to previous jobs and my university. I asked one previous employer for a letter confirming the dates that I was employed there, and was told that they could only provide a reference to a new employer.
"I don't want a reference, I want a letter confirming the dates I worked there."
"I'm sorry sir, it's company policy."
"So any old person can call you up, say they want my personal details for reference, and you will provide them, but I myself cannot? It's not even a reference I want, just a letter confirming employment dates. Can I speak to the head of HR please."
She put me on hold and came back a minute or so later.
"We don't normally do this, but on this occasion we are willing to send a letter confirming the dates you worked at the company."
"Thank you very much, but as that data refers to me, I am entitled under the data protection act to have access to it. Please could you email a copy of the letter as soon as possible and forward me the original. Thank you for your help."

I sent off my references and started working at the London Stock Exchange the following week.

Thirty Eighth Blog Of Trig, signing off.