I started the "Life on the Scrapheap" blog a few years ago, the last time it looked as if things were about to go belly up in the less than great story of my life.
That time, of course, things sort of sorted themselves out and, after re-applying for our own jobs in 2016, we were employed by the parent company that had just pulled the plug on our bosses efforts to survive in the (once) independent sector, but decided that the artwork team made a tangible asset.
Ten months later, without any real consultation, they bundled us up as part of a package with a new venture run by some other waifs and strays from the industry and formed a not entirely happy marriage which staggered along for about two and a half years.
I can't say it was the best of situations and we laughed and joked a little about the fact that the plug was always likely to be pulled, because it's alright to laugh and joke about such matters until the plug actually gets pulled.
Then, of course, it's all a different matter and, despite everything, few of us learn the meaning of the old adage: Be careful what you wish for.
THURSDAY OCTOBER 3rd 2019
The (extended) "forty day" consultation period is over and the entire office are in to gather round a laptop and listen to a fifteen minute presentation by the head honcho of our new American parent company. To all intents and purposes, our "brand" is dead. Our leaders convince themselves that this is a good thing, as our product is "so good" that they want to put their name on it. Cynics that we are, the Art Department, three people who have been through thick and thin, but work well together in a way I doubt I'll ever find again, are less certain.
October passes.
WEDNESDAY 6TH NOVEMBER, 2019
Despite morning trepidation (and a slight migraine), for once the entire office is present. A rare occurrence, but the "money man" we'd heard through the grapevine had resigned is due to visit. Despite our liaison with the parent company having been mysteriously unavailable through "illness" (he's NEVER ill) throughout much of the past three months, things remain upbeat as I am praised about the latest project I've been working on. Our leaders seem optimistic, although mention of a HR representative known to us drifts through the door and some of us suspect things are afoot.
However, the visitors arrive, including a different HR representative than the expected one. They refuse a friendly cup of coffee, and immediately whisk our managers/owners upstairs to a meeting room. Minutes later they enter through the connecting door and the plug is indeed pulled as £10m in savings need to be made.
They disappear and even our usually overconfident management team seem shell-shocked. My immediate colleagues, especially. One has the air of having been hit by a truck (as sole breadwinner with a family and a sick wife - now in tears apparently - this is not a good day), and the other, despite many claims of wanting this to be over, seems to be surprised that it's suddenly all over.
Slightly later, the axe-wielding bean-counters return, asking whether we have other questions, and giving out contacts that seem to forget that our phone contacts and computer equipment are all things that come with the job.
They depart. My manager suggests we take our computers - I've already wiped mine clean of "my" stuff - home and that they might be something we can negotiate over in our redundancy packages. Already that word "redundant" is becoming the norm now.
Desks are cleared, and our three managers, or presumed managers, drift away, full of surprise, and promises, and the usual platitudes, but we fully expect that, other than passing through doorways on our way to meetings we never wanted to have, this may be the last we see of them.
I head home. A visit to family is more than I can face. Instead I watch a film, but find it hard to concentrate upon, before meeting my Beloved from the train and eating pizza.
Later on, of course, you realise you still know nothing at all about that tricky little thing of applying for new jobs and surviving in this terrible world we have now, but that's another story.
My internet pals are very supportive, if otherwise unable to assist.
My Beloved is, of course, a rock.
THURSDAY 7TH NOVEMBER 2019
After a night slightly broken by panic around 1:00am, I wake up for the first time in years at 5:45 instead of the recently normal 4:15. Am I finally more relaxed? Or simply exhausted and fatigued?
A day at home. Finding stuff to do, and ignoring the works equipment as best I can. I cancel a dental hygienist appointment for next week (it suddenly feels expensive) and sit down to write and watch TV in order to keep myself busy.
The work phone buzzes, and there is an exchange of emails (and phone calls) as the first "Consultation Day" is going to be next Wednesday.
I get High Noon.
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