34. My To-Do List
Princess needs a permanent solution.
Watched the boss attempt to reverse-park this morning. Four times!
Eventually, he gave up and went in forwards. Still not straight.
There’s been an email sitting in my inbox for days:
“🥳🍾🍾Summer Social: Drinks, Canapés & Great Company!🍾🍾🥳”
Six follow-ups, asking for the RSVP.
“You’re coming, right?”
Not a question.
There’s never enough alcohol. Too many soggy pastry discs. Enough vegan options to make the Dalai Lama roll his eyes.
And all the fawning. Guffawing. Cringing as someone senior sings Elvis badly.
Why not? A last hurrah. Clicked Yes.
Need to clear my head before the new job. Get away from the fucking dog.
Almost booked a holiday. Put my card details in. Hovered over ‘Confirm’. Closed the tab.
Told myself I’ll wait for a better deal. But going away for a week won’t help. Princess needs a permanent solution.
Checked my to-do list:
- Throw away the chipped Bubba Gump’s mug
- Book holiday
- RSVP to party
- Buy milk
- Find something for the mould in the bathroom
- Do something about the hole
- Follow up on the interview?
Surprised I’ve not heard back by now. Was half expecting to get the offer before I left the premises.
Leadership is probably debating it. “Is he too dynamic? Threat to the team? A flight risk?”
I should Google who you call to fix holes. Plasterers? Pest control? A builder? No idea. Best not have anyone getting too close.
Might go out tonight. Wonder if the King still does those scotch eggs. Haven’t had one in years.
Think I’ll keep the mug. The chip has worn smooth. Everything fixes itself with enough time. Right?
-53. The Distance Between Us
An Unspoken Goodbye
Mist sat low over the surface, thinning and folding.
She was ahead of me. Always by a few steps. My role was to follow.
Neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to. I was happy admiring her from behind.
An empty skiff idled past, breaking my gaze. Water gently glugged against its hull.
She slowed. Looked back and smiled with intent.
Waiting for me to walk by her side?
And then she stepped into her ark.
“You have to go."
I stood on the bank until the fog took her. An angel going home without me.
—
33. S.H.I.N.E.
Prepared. Poised. Perfect.
Interview day. Up at 3. No point trying to sleep.
Picked up my prep notes. Reread them again as the kettle boiled.
Had a shower. Still looked a wreck. Pallid. Eyes like stained glass windows in an abandoned church.
Took something to pick me up.
Cleaned the sink. Vacuumed the hallway. Wiped the kitchen. Avoided the bin cupboard. Had another shower.
Got the early train. Didn’t need to, but left nothing to chance. Not today.
Old woman sat next to me and started eating a banana. Loud. Could hear smacking lips over my headphones.
Arrived 45 minutes early. A reliable worker. Gets up and gets stuff done. The building was glass and steel. Reception smelled like cucumber. Knew it.
There was a cactus by the far wall.
Announced my arrival at reception and took a seat. Very comfy. Sat up straight, focused on my breathing until the rhythm made sense.
Had to use the bathroom a couple of times. Hope the receptionist didn’t notice. Winked and told her I was powdering my nose.
Went one last time a couple of minutes before 9. Made sure I was going in alert. Sharp. Ready to win.
They called me in at 9:01. Three of them. Two men and a woman, arranged by height. The woman smiled. One of the men had a laptop. The other gestured towards a chair.
My audience. About to see magic.
I shook their hands firmly. The last one winced. That settled my nerves. Had his number right off the bat.
The chair wobbled. Didn’t matter. I leaned forward a little, hands on knees. I’m the man who listens. Nods along like you’re saying something important.
Laptop man said he went to Oxford. Asked me which college I was at. Told him I studied at a university in Oxford and gave him the gun fingers.
My leg started bouncing. Moved a hand to still it. Spilled some cucumber water. Changed position. Don’t think they saw.
Straight into it, they asked me about my core values. Had this locked down. My time to S.H.I.N.E.
S for Self-awareness, H for Honesty, and I for Initiative. Couldn’t remember N. Or E. Blagged my way through it. Said E for Empathy.
“E for Energy, perhaps?” The woman asked. She got it. Could tell she liked me.
“Empathy without energy is indulgence, and energy without empathy is just noise.” That seemed to land.
Went off script when they asked about leadership. Ad-libbed an answer about long-term vision. The Egyptians built pyramids without Slack, weekly meetings, and clocks. Yet they delivered something that’s lasted thousands of years.
“That’s leadership. You set the base. Others add the bricks.”
Left a pause to let that sink in.
Made eye contact with the woman again. Something there, for sure. I held it a beat to see if she’d look away. She didn’t.
Smiled at her. Said how rare it is to meet someone who listens. That shifted the whole dynamic. I was on fire.
No one interrupted my cross-functional alignment and hybrid engagement models. Spoke for twenty minutes without notes.
Before they could wrap it up, I said I had to leave for another meeting. Power move. Stood and thanked them.
Considered giving the woman my number, but will have plenty of time for that when the gig starts.
Told them I hoped they’d taken something from this meeting, too.
Sweat was trickling down my arms and chest, so I stopped in the toilets on the way out.
Wiped myself down. Blew my nose. Looked at myself in the mirror.
Fucking smashed it.
32. One More Day
I’ve already won. I’m sure.
Woke feeling ready.
Lay there a while. Planning my new life. Interview tomorrow. Not nervous. Sharp. Composed.
Made toast. Buttered both sides.
Thought about booking a hotel again for tonight. Avoid the dog. But it’s kept mostly quiet since I stared it down in the corridor. Don’t need it. Not this time. The prep’s solid. I’ve already won.
Been doing more running. Eating less junk. Feel better. Am sure I do. Things are not winding me up as much. Staying calm. Shining.
There’s no way Hugh knows what happened. No one does. Wrote it on my phone five times to make it real.
Boss was in a foul mood with me. Good. If he weren’t such a prick, maybe I wouldn’t have this interview.
I’ll thank him. Straight-faced. Shake his hand. Look him in the eye. Tell him he made me see what I needed to see. But kindly fuck off and shut your mouth.
No need. Not today. “Yes, Sir. Right away.”
Let him enjoy his power while he still has it.
One more day. I’m gone.
31. I’m Back
Finally got the call.
“We loved speaking to you last week”.
Knew it.
I’m going to their office on Tuesday. Meet the team.
Probably has cucumber water in reception.
Can leave this job. Stop pretending. Lock the doors. Burn it down. Smile.
Shove the review report up your arse.
I’m back.
It Really Is the Most Dreadful Fucking Thing
What a load of bollocks. Ignore.
Don’t feel like doing any work. Reread my Medium posts. Don’t care for them.
1. Reluctant Introduction
Fucking idiot. It’s not a mystery. It’s a dumb twat trying too hard not to try too hard.
2/10
23. Golden Dog
Shite.
1/10
5. The Man with the Mushroom
Nothing. Dreadful nonsense. I shop at Lidl. They don’t have a cocking rotisserie.
1/10
Most Dreadful Thing
Flash fiction. Too close to the truth. People liked it.
3/10
11. The Hole Behind the Bin V1
No.
1/10
-78. The Stranger in My Office
Perfect
10/10
16. Maybe She Didn’t Like My Meal Deal
Terrible. Inflated score in defence of salt and vinegar Hula Hoops.
6/10
30. What Hugh Doesn’t Know
Jesus Fucking Christ.
Deleted.
X. How to Write the Perfect Medium Post
Clickbait. HATE IT. Can’t delete. Most viewed. Fuck you. Edited.
0/10
27. The Garamond Gospel
Waste of time. When will they fucking email me?
1/10
He Called Himself The Big Dog
Think about this guy at least twice a day.
4/10
The other ones are worse.
—
Unreliable Narrator
Hi, I’m Jolon. I’ve been writing down what happened.
The way I want to remember it.
Hello, world.
#diary
29. Does He Really Know What Happened?
How could he? He wasn’t there.
Been replaying the interview. Going over the things I said. The way I smiled while talking. Think I sounded nervous. Not like me.
They should’ve replied. Unless they’re still deciding. Or trying to word a rejection. Or just forgot.
They’re lucky I even spoke to them.
Kept refreshing my inbox. Checking spam.
Nothing.
Had to sit through a 2-hour presentation on new software in the afternoon. They’d forgotten to give me a login.
No email.
Went to The King after dinner on Friday. Saw Hugh again. Still propping up the bar. He looks a right mess. Shirt untucked. Red-faced. Pissed.
His own fault.
Tried to leave before he clocked me. No drama. Be the better man.
He grabbed me on the way out. Leant in close. Reeked of piss and booze.
“I know what you fucking did.”
Gave him a tenner. Told him to get another drink. He doesn’t know. How could he? He wasn’t there.
Stayed in all weekend. Just me and the hole.
Still no email.
28. It Places the Cup on the Corner
I watched them all scurry around.
Had a good night’s sleep. A great morning, too.
Thought about going for another run. Will do it tomorrow.
Picked up a WatchHouse flat white on the way to work. Extra shot. Compostable lid.
The sun was out again. Saw a guy walking the street with his top off. It’s not that hot. It’s still Britain.
Didn’t get to the office till gone 11. No one asked where I’d been. Thought someone might.
Carefully placed the WatchHouse cup on the corner of my desk. Logged in. Replied to a few emails I’d been sitting on.
Meetings went better than usual. I said what mattered. Complimented someone’s slide, even told the new guy his work is excellent.
For lunch, I went to M&S and bought a Best Ever Prawn Sandwich. Black cardboard sleeve. 251g. Not in the Meal Deal.
Ate slowly. Put the empty box next to the coffee cup. Stretched my legs out. Watched them all scurrying around.
Got an angry email from the Boss about the review report I didn’t want to do. Not good enough. Sloppy. Blah. Blah.
Not bothered. I’m not. Won’t be here much longer.
Googled nice steak restaurants. Found one with cow hides on the seats and tablecloths thick enough to sleep in.
Will take myself out. Ribeye. And Rioja.
27. The Garamond Gospel: My Interview Blueprint
Everything is annotated.
My big interview is in the morning. 9 am.
Ironed a shirt already. Shaved. Cut my nails. Clipped a rogue eyebrow hair. Set three alarms, starting two hours before.
Booked a hotel for it, to be somewhere quiet.
Everything is arranged on the makeup desk. Printed the job description. Annotated it. Highlighted competencies. Underlined verbs.
Made a colour-coded sheet with columns for skills and rows for work examples:
- Green for technical strengths.
- Blue for soft skills.
- Yellow for collaborations.
- Red for my big wins. Looks too loud. Will change to orange.
- All on matte paper. No glare. The font is Garamond. Readable, elegant.
I mapped out likely questions. If they mention initiative, a story about onboarding. Stakeholder alignment, the big Lisbon project I ran with Hugh.
Anything unexpected, I’ve got bridge phrases ready for thinking time. “That’s a great question,” or “Let me apply that to my last role.”
I practised being warm. Confident. Lightly amused, like I’ve heard it before, but still delighted to share. Timed my answers. Three minutes for a story. Twenty-five seconds to close it. No waffle.
Rehearsed all the pauses, too. Breaths. Beats to drink a glass of water. Not too much, don’t want to need the toilet.
Will keep it slow. Calm. Make sure no answer sounds like I’ve memorised it. I’ll talk wearing a smile. You can tell when a voice is smiling. I read it in Harvard Business Review.
“Tell us about a time you worked well under pressure.”
I’ve got three potential answers: The amusing Christmas deployment with no QA, the outage reversal in under thirty minutes, and my humble but heroic tale of saving the intern who froze.
Didn’t like my answers. Asked ChatGPT to make something human. “I need work that gives me something back. Not just a salary, but something I can point to and know it only exists because I showed up.”
There’s building work over the road. A guy in a yellow hat with a dirty big drill.
Will open the window first thing to get air in, but shut it five minutes before the call. Close the blinds. Mute phone. Lock door. Sit straight. Hands flat on desk.
I’ll start with “Good morning, thanks for calling.” Not “Hi.” Not “Hello.” Polite. Crisp. Let them speak. Won’t jump in. No babble.
Spent hours talking to the mirror. Reading lines till I sounded employable. Normal. OK.
Should I have stroked Princess the other day? Let her smell me. Or offered friendly advice to the neighbour.
“Try giving her some treats!”, “Close the curtains at night. She might be scared.”
Something kind.
He Called Himself The Big Dog
A THROWAWAY ACT, NOW AN ETERNAL JUDGEMENT
It was neat here. Little gravel paths and tiny stone benches. Pretty, for a field of rotted dead.
Forgotten cemeteries are my favourite. Headstones tilted like rotten teeth. No visitors. No flowers.
Right at the back, one stone rested. Eaten by moss and lichen.
HE CALLED HIMSELF THE BIG DOG
Nothing else.
He must’ve said it so often that it stuck. But whatever noise he made faded years ago.
Maybe he was proud of it, or thought it was a joke. Said it like a title, and now it’s eternal.
I imagined him. Loud. Wore sunglasses in pubs. Pointed at waiters. Knew everyone’s name and when to use it. Not to be messed with, but not bad.
What would mine say? A man with no nicknames or catchphrases. Whose only memorable act was wicked.
Will anyone be around to admit: “Here lies what was once a human.”
—
26. Princess
I expected snarling. Growling. Cerberus. But it had a pink bow.
Saw the neighbour in the corridor. With the dog.
Wasn’t planning to say anything, but she caught my eye and smiled. Not friendly.
I closed the distance. Pointed. “This barks a lot at night. Every night.”
“Does she?” Emphasis on she.
“It does.” Emphasis on it. “I can’t sleep. Every night.”
“Sorry,” she shrugged. “She’s nervous around men.”
We stood a moment. Nothing moved.
I looked at it. Expected snarling. Growling. Cerberus. It was tiny. White. Pink bow. Scared.
“Come on, Princess.”
They walked off. It kept looking back, shaking. A bark.
Went to work straight after. Logged in. Made tea.
Kept replaying it. That shrug.
Princess.
Had another meeting with the Boss. Clicked through slides and let silence do the work.
Princess.
He said I seemed on it today.
“I’m focused.”
Princess.
Skipped lunch.
Am OK. I’m OK. I’m doing OK. Just tired.
It’s small. Fragile. Pathetic. Nothing.
It’s nothing.
11. The Hole Behind the Bin
Still can’t stop thinking about it.
No alarm today. Bank holiday.
Woke around nine and dragged myself to the kitchen. Last night’s takeaway cartons were still on the counter.
Opened the cupboard under the sink and brushed the mess into the bin.
Saw the hole. Perfectly round. About the size of a two pound coin.
Moved the bin to cover it.
Later, I went to the shop. It was busy. People were stocking up on barbecue food, bags of ice, and fruity-looking low-alcohol drinks.
I didn’t buy much.
Back home, I paced around. Opened a drawer. Then another. Then another.
X. Eight Reasons Dogs Bark (And What They Might Be Trying to Tell You)
Dogs bark for all reasons. Some are obvious, like fear and excitement. Others are less clear, but never meaningless. What is your pup trying to tell you?
23. Golden Dog
I’m doing all the things that end in king tonight.
Had a good week. Everything is going my way.
About time
Am sat in one of my old haunts. On my mibile.
It’ Changed names since was last there. Called the King now. I like that.
Still has the poker-playing dog pictures. Same tear on the pool table.
Bought a bottle of red. A rioja. It’s nearly done.
Just spoke to the guy on the next table. Said I’m going to do all the things that end in king tonight.
Drinking going strong.
He raised his glass, said “respect, king.” lol
Hugh was lurking about when I arrived. Sulking. TOld me to fuck off.
What a wanker
No point overthinking. I’m snacking on peants now. Dry roasted, I’m no monster.
Hope this isn’t breaking my online persona. Don’t want you mistaking me for a real human, mocking me
Bought some fags. Not had a Malrboro light in years. Smoking. There’s another.
Alright, am parking this. Walking away from the diary,
Gonna attempt some fucking.
Oh yeah, still no barking. I really hope that dog is dead. Not taking the piss
#Hashtag What’s a Tick Tock?
No Platform. No Presence. No Problem.
My first tick-tock taught me how to tell the time. I’ve never hashtagged anything on purpose.
So, I was surprised when a fintech startup approached me to lead a social media team.
They like my “voice.” Want me to share my “vast” experience with a “young, vibrant team”.
“Will you pay?” I asked.
“Yes”.
Fine. Interview agreed.
They sent a Facebook link.
Messaged back: “Might be a red flag, but I don’t have a Facebook.”
They didn’t reply.
Curious, I checked Facebook. Turns out I do have one.
—
22. Shirt, Clean, Perturbing
My reflection smiled at me.
Slept right through again.
Woke up alert, but with stiff legs. A good pain. Will run further next time.
The kitchen still looks sparkly. Almost like nothing happened in here.
Stood by the window with coffee. Some kids were playing outside. My reflection smiled.
Heard back from a couple of the job applications. One was a disaster. The other is a phone interview Friday morning.
No video. Just me and a voice. I can manage that.
Will buy a new shirt after work. Think about what a champion might say.
My head’s working without dog noise.
Love new shirts. Creased cuffs, tag attached, faint smell of shop air.
Put bread crusts in the bin. Got a glimpse of the hole. Not to worry.
Things are moving.
Things are looking up.
21. The Best Day of My Life
Do people feel like this all the time?
No barking last night. No scratching. No whining.
Silence. Real silence. And sleep. Real sleep.
Woke up blinking like someone in a film who’s just come out of a coma.
Is the dog next door dead?
I felt sharper. The kitchen was brighter. Danced on the tiles while the kettle boiled. Twirling in my socks.
Nearly went down, caught myself on the fridge. Laughing. Like a man who’s seen the future, and it doesn’t contain a dog.
Do people feel like this all the time?
Started a jogging plan. Downloaded an app. It said, “Start Small.”
So I ran to the postbox. Posted a letter that’s been on the counter for months. It was smiling at me. I swear it.
Must be nearly a mile, there and back. The wind tasted like raspberries.
Looks like the neighbour is away.
Had a shower. Played some Led Zeppelin. Loud.
The flat was a mess. Gave it a proper clean. Bleached the kitchen sink. Vacuumed with purpose. Shook out old towels. Wiped the skirting boards.
I lit a candle.
A candle.
A fucking candle!
Went to work. Walked briskly, taking in the world. Do birds always sing, or is it just for me?
No time for coffee. Had stuff to do.
Finished the project review by noon. Typed so fast the keyboard screamed. I fired it off to the Boss with a note:
“Hope this meets expectations. Let me know if you need changes.”
He replied immediately: “Perfect. Thanks.”
Perfect!
At lunch, my Greggs sandwich floated beside me. I’m not joking. I think it hummed. Or I did?
Spent all afternoon clearing my inbox. 1,023 emails. Replied to all of them.
This might be the best day I’ve had in years.
Writing this in bed. It’s only eight. Still no dog. I’m going to get twelve hours in.