Maps. I've always quite liked staring at them, and get to do that quite a lot at work. I'm supposed to be focusing on pipes and nodes, but it's hard not be distracted by roads and buildings. As well as digital maps, I sometimes get to look at physical plans that were drawn in the sixties and have been added to over the years; the distances on the plans are now a mish-mash of feet and metres, and luckily I'm conversant in both. For all my enthusiasm for maps (I'd like to get an old map to put on my wall) I don't think I'm especially good at reading them.
Work is going OK for now. On Monday morning I attended a meeting chaired by the head of department, the swarthy bloke who spoke French in my second interview and has a tan that you can't naturally acquire in Wellington. It was an hour and a quarter of high-level conceptual stuff; I couldn't see how any of it pertained to me. A woman in my team (she's been there a while) complained that nothing in the meeting was of relevance to her.
My background ("he's an actuary") has come up quite a bit. I was never actually an actuary and it's years since I last did anything remotely actuarial. The last exam I passed was in 2008 and it feels longer ago than that. I really wish they'd quit using that A-word.
Councils are notorious for their inefficiency and I've already seen several pieces of evidence that Wellington is no different. Less work seems to get done than people say gets done. Yesterday they needed to get Push and Pull door stickers and they had to be authenticated or some such bollocks. I suggested that someone visit the $2 shop.
Despite the new job, I still feel that I'm drifting through life (at best) with no maps or plans.
I called Birmingham's last-gasp draw a "great escape" because it kept them in the division, but really for those who follow football, it is one big escape, win, lose or draw. I get that need for escapism - I certainly have it myself. Football also gives you a sense of identity, something I've always struggled with.