Imminent departure

And so begins my final week of work at the supermarket.
Graham is not happy. I’m supposed to give him three months notice and they haven’t had time to find a replacement, but the garage in Suffolk need me a.s.a.p and I’ve got to do two weeks training before I start. So Graham’s been told to shut up and get on with it! (Not by me, you understand, but by his area superiors)
It’s terrible really - I’ve been there a few years but I’m not bothered about leaving in the slightest. There’s none of my fellow managers that I’ll want to keep in touch with, I have no reservations about deserting ‘the Dairy Team’ and there’s no-one in the building I’ll miss, apart from Cheryl in the canteen, who makes the best lasagne in Norfolk.  The whole thing has been a pretty unpleasant experience, and an episode of my life that I will never hope to repeat.  How on Earth I’ve managed to maintain a small level of sanity and hang on to Philippa throughout these long, endless months of store work is beyond me, but maybe one day I’ll look back and be proud.
Philippa doesn’t know yet, but I’ve booked us a weekend away at the end of November. I’m going to take her to London and let her do Christmas shopping at all those expensive places that I would normally avoid by kilometres.  She deserves lots of rewards for putting up with all my moanings and moodswings since we got together.

RC 22-9-14