I am deeply disappointed with Man Mountain and tell him so. He never did make it to the local ground for the final home game of the season and missed a fabulously joyous match-end pitch invasion. I impart this news and he looks somewhat shamefaced.
Bouncing along to the waiting area, it's remarkable how I feel so familiar with this place. The punters in the waiting area look like they've already given up, though I am startled when one woman stands up to take her turn and positively waddles across the floor. She looks like she's days away from giving birth, and I catch myself gaping. (A most unattractive look). Please tell me she is not presenting herself as actively looking for work, I simply don't believe it.
There's only two on again today and I settle down for a long wait. I am reading a thoroughly worthy, if somewhat dry, self-help book* and figure I can plough though a chapter whilst I wait for either Adorable Emma, or Crumpled Brenda, as those are today's choices. I note that Brenda is wearing the same outfit again today. In fact, when I think about it, it's the same outfit every time I see her. Now, either that's her 'Monday' outfit, or she's like The Men In Black who only have one outfit - 'the last suit they'll ever wear'. Except in her case it's a crumpled linen smock and truly hideous flappy trousers.
Out of left field I see a flash of Kate and she calls my name in a sort of conspiritorial way, which intrigues me. I traipse into her office after her and she confesses she saw me waiting and grabbed my paperwork so she could interview me. I have jumped the queue in a most un-British fashion and feel the eyes of the others still waiting boring into my back, resentfully.
Kate is impatient to ask me what I thought of my training session with Aaron, as opposed the other DWP-sponsored one I have recently been on. She is truly interested in finding out which company offers the better support to redundant execs, as it turns out they are both bombarding her with marketing material in the hope of becoming the premier consultancy on the list. Which, I assume, equals a nice steady little earner. Kate confesses she has not had time to read all the material and really wants my opinion.
It's an extraordinary moment, in that I sense a sudden and palpable shift of power. I feel odd for a moment before I realise why. I am being consulted. I am being asked for my professional opinion about a business matter and someone really, really wants to know what I think. They may even base a commercial decision on what I say. I used to do this. A lot. But it's been a long time and it stirs something deep within: a reminder of the corporate world and a sense of self assurance that I have not felt in a long time. And not once within the confines of the DWP.
We have an animated discussion about the various recruitment professionals I have experienced, whether referred by them, or not, and Kate listens with great interest, asking pertinent and intelligent questions. Would I mind, she asks, e-mailing her later this week (after my final external consultation), and tell her which company offers the better programme?
She despatches the usual admin with ferocious efficiency, finishing with dashing out her e-mail address and direct line for me to get back to her later in the week. Our conversation finishes on a high, with a prediction that I must land a decent job soon, surely. "You watch," she says with real belief, "you'll land a job soon, and it'll be a bloody good one." A brief pause, whilst she glances nervously at the open office door. " 'Scuse my French".
*The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
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