Friday 23 February 2007

I heart Manchester

It was an ordinary Wednesday, much like any other. It was about 3pm and the sky was overcast and grey. The sun struggled though in patches, warming the air to a mild 11°C, and there was a light breeze stirring the few remaining leaves on the ground, enticing them to dance a delicate green and brown waltz.


The Lowry at Salford Quays


I lazily swirled the remains of my vanilla latte around in the bottom of my cup whilst gazing out the window of the coffee shop. Dreamily, I raised the cup to my lips to knock back the rest of the caffeine I so badly needed when suddenly it hit me.


Like a tonne of bricks.


Like a grand piano falling out of the sky or an anvil landing on an unsuspecting coyote, it hit me.


Could it be?


How could this have happened?


How could I have fallen in love with this place?


The realisation made my blood run cold and stopped my heart for a second or two. I shuddered, involuntarily, as though a serial killer had just danced a jig on my grave. I looked up and saw my mother and father watching me, bemused, so I quickly pulled it together, making excuses about a sudden draft of cold air. We finished our coffees and made ready to leave. I snuck a quick glance out the window again, to check if I was mistaken. But as the city winked back at me, in all her shiny modern glory, I knew it was true.


The Urbis


I heart Manchester.


When I moved over here, almost a year and a half ago, I was determined not to like this place. As far as I was concerned, I was going to work here for a couple of years, get some experience and then get the flock outta here and back to Ireland. I told myself that Manchester had nothing to offer me. That it was cold and wet, that the people talked funny and dressed like Liam Gallagher. They ate pies and mushy peas, and drank lager like it was going out of fashion.


But, having spent the last four days escorting my Mum and Dad around the city and its surroundings, I've realised that I'm actually rather fond of the place. In fact, right now I can't think of anywhere else in the UK that I'd rather live. And that frightens the life out of me for, you see, I don't want to live in England. I don't want to settle down here and have a family here and grow old here and die here and be buried here. I want to go home!


The Lake District


But if Manchester insists on being so damn brilliant, well, I may have to reconsider.

Monday 12 February 2007

Lessons in marketing: Love is like a good shampoo


As always, those horrible people who work in advertising (you know the types - they have ponytails and wear red-rimmed glasses and funky suspenders on their trousers, and they have silly names like "Chad") have blown Valentine's day completely out of the water, and, two days before the actual event, we're already over it. Bombarded from every angle with love hearts and cheap pink champagne and sickly looking roses, we've grown weary and cynical, denouncing the day as just another advertising orgy and vowing not to take any part in it...


...Until 11:30pm Tuesday night, when we'll frantically dash to the corner shop and wrestle with some 87 year old hag for the last crappy card and out-of-date box of chocs so we have something to show for ourselves on Wednesday morning.


Anyhoo, as is my wont, I've been thinking a bit about love and relationships and, the other day in the shower (simmer down, perverts), it hit me - relationships are like shampoo. Think about it. There are hundreds of brands out there, all promising different things - shiny hair, silky hair, strong hair, frizz-free hair, voluminous hair, healthy hair, straight hair, curly hair - and you can pick and choose your shampoo according to what you currently want or need. Some shampoos are more expensive than others, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're better. Some shampoos come in really pretty packaging that make you want to reach out and touch them, but then when you open the bottle, you realise it's just another bog-standard soapy mess. In contrast, some shampoos look plain on the outside, but when you open the bottle you fall in love with the smell and then discover that they make your hair look like a shampoo advert.




Shampoos, like partners, start out by making fantastic promises for your hair, some verging on the ridiculous. And, usually, they work for a while but then they either stop working or the novelty wears off and you get bored and decide you want to change. Sometimes it's the smell that starts to get on your nerves, or maybe it doesn't deliver on the promise of making your hair look amazing. Sometimes it gets too expensive, and you realise that you simply can't afford to keep this habit. In worst cases, it causes an allergic reaction and you end up scratching for weeks afterwards (but I must point out that that hasn't happened to me, personally, honest!).


Although it sometimes seems like a lot of work, trawling through these different brands of shampoo trying to find the one that suits you, when you do find that special bottle that delivers on its promises and smells nice and makes your hair look gorgeous, it's always worth it. There's an awful lot to be said for having a good hair day.


Good hair day


So, this got me thinking even more (it was a very cerebral weeked) about love and relationships, and it made me wonder if relationships are merely another (albeit more sophisticated) form of brand loyalty? Just like when you find that special shampoo and stick to it for the rest of your life, isn't it also true that when you finally find that relationship that works for you and smells nice and makes your hair look good, that you'll want to stick to it? And that you'll do pretty much anything to keep it forever?


Brand loyalty is a bit of a sly concept. It is the ultimate goal of any marketing (sorry Mairéad, I mean "morkeshing") company - to keep the customers coming back time and time again. My faourite source of information on t'Internets, Wikipedia, has this to say about the concept:





In marketing, brand loyalty consists of a consumer's commitment to repurchase the brand and can be demonstrated by repeated buying of a product or service or other positive behaviors such as word of mouth advocacy. True brand loyalty implies that the consumer is willing, at least on occasion, to put aside their own desires in the interest of the brand.


Brand loyalty is more than simple repurchasing, however. Customers may repurchase a brand due to situational constraints, a lack of viable alternatives, or out of convenience. Such loyalty is referred to as "spurious loyalty". True brand loyalty exists when customers have a high relative attitude toward the brand which is then exhibited through repurchase behavior. This type of loyalty can be a great asset to the firm: customers are willing to pay higher prices, they may cost less to serve, and can bring new customers to the firm. For example if Joe has brand loyalty to Company A he will purchase Company A's products even if Company B's are cheaper and/or of a higher quality.



If we look at that a bit closer, we can see that it pretty much sums up relationships. Sometimes in a relationship, you have to put aside your own desires and compromise in order to make things work. Sometimes you end up in a relationship because of situational constraints, lack of alternatives or out of convenience, although, similar to brand loyalty, this "spurious loyalty" usually won't last. True and lasting relationships, like brand loyalty, exist when both partners respect the relationship and are willing to go to those extra lengths to keep each other happy. The brand delivers on its promises and the consumer faithfully makes that purchase every day.


Personally, up until recently, I haven't exhibited much brand loyalty when it came to shampoo. I'd get bored quite quickly, and flit from one shampoo to the next. However, the reason that I had the "Eureka" moment in the shower the other day is because I realised that I've been using the same shampoo - TRESemmé - for a couple of years now, and I'm still really happy with it. If anything, the more I use that shampoo, the better it makes my hair look and feel. In fact, I'm so happy with my brand, I've started acquiring the various brand accoutréments that go with the shampoo and conditioners - the heat-defence spray for when I use straighteners, the ultra-amazing hairdryer that uses negative ions (or something, I don't remember) to stop my hair from drying out, etc., etc.


Damnit, if TRESemmé made a car, I'd probably drive it.


Now that's brand loyalty!


 

Friday 9 February 2007

If I was a rich girl


Tonight's Euromillion lottery jackpot is 66 million pounds. That's almost 100 million euro. That's almost 130 million US dollars. That's over 150 million Canadian dollars. That's over 160 million Australian dollars. That's 15,658 million Japanese Yen.


Loadsa money


That's a lot of money.


And, it's not a roll-over which means that even if nobody gets all of the numbers drawn tonight, the prize will roll down to the next winning ticket. Someone tonight is winning £66 million.


But I don't play the lottery...


...until now! Damn right I bought a ticket! 66 million squid! Woo hoo!


I bought my tickets on Tuesday (and don't worry; I didn't go mad and spend all my savings on tickets. I just bought four) and since then I've been having the "what would you do if you won?" conversation with practically everyone. I mean, 66 million is a lot of money. I'm not one of those people who goes around saying "Oh, no, I wouldn't like to win that much. That's too much money! No, I'd be happy with just a million."


Wankers.


A million will buy you diddly squat nowdays. Well, relatively speaking, of course.


No, I want the full whack. But, what to do with it all?



I think I'd take the first six million and just be silly. I'd buy myself a big ol' house back home near my parents in Ireland, and another one near Exeter, my favourite part of the UK. That's probably about 2 million gone (house prices are crazy over here), including the cost of furnishing both houses, etc. I'd also treat myself to a swanky villa in the south of France and another one in Italy, and maybe (i.e., definately) a ski chalet in Whistler. That's probably about 1.5 million, again including buying all the gear required (bikinis and skis). The next thing I'd do is buy myself a decent car. I quite fancy that Toyota Prius because it looks alright, and it's environmentally friendly. Just 'cause I'm rich doesn't mean I can't be globally aware ;)


After that, I think I'd take some time off and bring my family and close friends away on a much needed and deserved holiday. It would have to be someplace secret because you can't win that amount of money and live a normal life. Remember what happened that Irish woman who won €150 million back in 2005? No? Well, after she picked up her massive cheque, she and her family had to go into hiding as there had been kidnapping threats made against her son, and other assorted madness.


Obviously, whoever wins tonight will be subject to intense media and other unwanted attention.


So, eventually, when it's safe to return, there's still the question of the remaining £60 million. Obviously I'd give my parents a big wad of cash to pay their mortgage and basically ensure they want for nothing for the rest of their lives. Similarily, the rest of my family would get a nice little nest egg. And my closest friends would not be left wanting. Let's say that's another ten million taken care of.


That's £50 million left.


Next, I'd like to give a large amount of my winnings to charity. But, again, who do you donate it to? I'd probably give a million each to the charities that I already donate monthly to, namely, Médecins Sans Frontiers and the RSPCA. I'd give a million each to the NSPCC, and To Russia With Love charities. I'd also like to donate money to the campaign to raise awareness of AIDS in Africa and the campaign to build schools for girls in Afghanistan, amongst others. There are so many charities out there that it's difficult to know where to send your money, regardless of how much money you have. So, when I can donate money, I donate it to charities that I know make an actual difference.


That would probably leave me with about £35-£40 million, depending on how charitable I felt. And all of that would go into the bank until I could figure out what to do with it. I'd like to use some of it towards helping raise awareness of global climate change, but I'd have to do a bit more research into that to see how best the money could be spent.



So... with my £35 million or so sitting in the bank, the burning question is: do I go back to work?


I had a long discussion with Mairead about this on the phone last night (that's how seriously I take my blogs! *ahem*). The thing is that I would definately have to keep working in some capacity or other. I mean, I'm only 28 years old. I've got a lot of life ahead of me. And, sure, I'd like to take some time out to go travelling and visit all those places I've never been to before (like Cornwall, for example). But I could only do that for so long before I'd probably get bored.


And then there's the other factor: I actually like my job. Sure, I'm not overly thrilled about my current job location, but the actual work itself... I really enjoy it! And I think I'd like to continue doing it. I've worked damn hard to get where I am today, and I slaved over a hot PhD for three years, and I'm a bit reluctant to just throw that all away because I no longer need the pay cheque.


Unfortunately for me, I don't yet have enough experience to go and work for a larger/better/different company, regardless of how much money I might have. And I certainly don't have enough experience to set up my own company. So... it looks like I'd have to stay where I am for another year or so. But, as Mairead cunningly pointed out last night, on those mornings when it's dark and cold and wet outside and I really, really, really don't want to go into work but I have to in order to earn money to pay the bills... if I was £35 odd million richer, would I still go into work on those days?


I don't know if I would.


---


It remains to be seen. The draw is in an hour and a half. If I can put down the champagne for a moment later on, I'll update this and let you know how it goes. I'm not expecting to win anything at all, but you never know!


---


Topic: What would you spend the money on if you won £66 million?


---


*Update* I didn't win. Boo! Hiss! Same again next week?

Wednesday 7 February 2007

Confessions of a one-handed typist

We're all guilty of it.


Schadenfreude, that is.


"Satisfaction or pleasure felt at someone else's misfortune" according to dictionary.com.


Even the kindest, most warm-heartest, most love-to-pet-fluffy-puppies-on-the-head-whilst-simultaneously-kissing-babies-and-giving-money-to-charity do-gooders amongst us can't help but smirk just a little bit when we see the prick in the Mercedes get done for speeding.




It's human nature to have a little giggle, isn't it?


And there's no shortage of schadenfreude in my life.


This morning, my colleague, the new girl (NG for short), came into my office, bolted the door and said "Oh God! I need to talk to you!"


My interest piqued by the urgency and distress in her voice, I swivelled around in my chair and asked what was up. Thence flowed forth a litany of grief to which I nodded my head sagely and uttered condolences, for her aggrevations were all too familiar to me.


Some of you know that, when I started in my current job just under a year and a half ago, I was very unhappy. It was the usual problem - the combination of bad pay, a high workload and an incompetent boss. Happily, my situation has now changed. I'm still in the same job, and the pay is only slightly better, whilst the workload and moronic boss remain the same. But I recently went through a somewhat introspective stage and I sat down and had a good hard think about it all and emerged feeling more positive and happier about the whole thing. I realised that it is entirely up to me to make the best of this situation, to learn as much as I can, and then to move on to bigger and better things. And once you've gotten your head around that, it makes it a hell of a lot easier to get up in the morning, let me tell you.


Anyhoo, NG had been to her first client meeting with the boss yesterday and by the time she got home last night she was wondering if she had actually gone mad. Her litany of complaints ranged from the boss treating her like a secretary in front of the clients to him telling her she should be out scouting for new business by herself but then telling her she's not capable of working on her own and that she needs to be part of the team.


She ended on a Mugatu note - "I feel like I'm taking crazy pills! Is it just me or is he completely unreasonable?!"



Unfortunately, it was all too familiar to me, for you see this time last year, I was asking the exact same question. I knew that the way he was acting was unreasonable (piling on the work until I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown; calling me on weekends to ask where files were; calling me at midnight on Sunday night to tell me I had to travel to a meeting at 6:30am Monday morning; making sexist jokes about me in front of clients; treating me like a secretary in front of clients; butting into conversations with clients just so he could try to prove he was smarter than me, and so on ad naseum), and yet, at the same time, I began to wonder if it was just me who was being naive or stupid or overexpectant.


The problem with dealing with people who have no organisational, management or people skills is that, if they come across as utterly confident in themselves, and refuse to change despite the many subtle and later blatent hints you give them, eventually you start to think that maybe the problem lies with you. Maybe you're being intolerant?


So, I sat NG down and explained to her that the problem is not with her. That the problem is indeed with the boss. After all, he's A Boss, isn't he? And we all know what they're like...



I also explained that, after a while, your bullshit-filter becomes more fine-tuned and you learn to disregard the 99% of crap that comes out of a boss' mouth, and to digest and analyse the important 1% that comprises actual useful information.


"Unfortunately," I told her, "it takes time, but you will eventually get to the stage where you don't feel like stabbing him in the neck with a pencil every time he opens his mouth. It's a slow process, but at least you're not alone. I didn't have anyone to talk to about this last year, so count your blessings! I feel your pain and I'm available for a bitching session any time!"


As I sent her on her way, I couldn't help but feel a little smidgen of satisfaction. It's nice to know that NG feels the same way I did this time last year because it means that I wasn't imagining it or making a mountain out of a molehill. This time last year, I felt so alone and frustrated because I had no one to talk to about this. I was the only girl working for the company, and the other guys had been here too long and were too attuned to the boss to be able to comiserate. Sure, I could talk about it with my beau, my friends and my family, but I always got the feeling they thought I was blowing things out of proportion a bit because some of the things my boss did or said were so outlandish. So, I felt like I was going stir crazy.


Now that I've seen the light at the end of the tunnel, I know that NG will be fine in the long run, but there's a little part of me that still enjoys seeing her frustration because it makes mine a little more valid.


Does that make me a bad person?


--


If my boss is reading this, then of course none of this is true. It's all made up. And exaggerated, grossly, for entertainment and comedic effect. It might be best if you forget you ever read this.


--


I apologise in retrospect for any typos in this blog. I'm typing this with one hand because last night I sliced my middle finger on my left hand whilst I was chopping vegetables for dinner. So much for trying to be healthy. The damn thing bled all night and, in fact, I think it's still bleeding now. Actually, I feel kinda woozy...