Eish! London 9 May

Saturday, 9 May

I have still not heard from dear old Wayne, which makes me even more ticked off, especially as I received my ‘pay slip’ in the post this morning.

I have been looking for a reason to remove myself from their incompetent and disorganised books, I don’t need this rubbish in my life; I decide to do something about it:

Subject: Payment Incongruency and resignation from your organisation
To: Teresa, Wayne, Billy
Date: Saturday, 9 May, 2009, 12:51

Good Day Teresa

As my first point of contact with your organisation, I am hereby addressing this notification to you.

1) Thank-you for organising me two days of supply teaching and payment for said days.

2) I still have not received a response to my URGENT email sent on the evening of Thursday 7 May 2009.

3) I have　now received my pay slip in the post, and as per the sheet of paper:

　- My NI number was not recorded on it.

　- An email I sent to Wayne requesting that payment be withheld until I confirmed the resolution of my account set up by Friday 8 May, was ignored / incorrectly understood; and I received no phone call or email to ask my permission / confirm your decision to "pay me anyway".

　- The agreed upon rate of £120 was reduced to £100 for no stated reason, thus I was paid less than I should have been.

　- The compensation that I was told I would receive (by Alan / Bridette)　for the Slough mix up was non-existent.

4) The unprofessional way in which your company has "handled" me is incongruent with my personal code of conduct, morals and ethics; and therefore I no longer require your company to represent me.

PLEASE REMOVE ME FROM YOUR DATABASE.

PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR RECEIPT OF MY REQUEST IN AN EMAIL.

Thank-you for your time

Regards

Shannan Lea

Great, that was out of my system and the deed was done, time to move on. Just to let you know: In congruency with their inability to read my emails, I never did receive an actual email reply, even though I requested one. The blessing of all this nonsense was that the £170 had gone into my account, so at least I had some money in there now, which was great!

The evening was set for far better things. Marilyn had arrived from South Africa and was keen to go out dancing! I was very excited as I hadn’t been on a dance floor since my sister’s wedding! (It’s true, although I don’t think anyone who knows me would believe me.) I was thrilled to be going to my first night club in London. There was a ‘Battle of the DJs’ happening at the White House and one of Marilyn’s friends had a slot in the mix.

The evening began at a local spot on the River Thames in Putney. As Marilyn didn’t have a cell phone (a mobile) I was sending messages to her friend Emma whilst trying to co-ordinate my travel times with theirs. Eventually I found the place and spent half an hour wandering up and down the river, visiting the ladies and waiting for them to arrive. When they arrived the evening began. Marilyn and I had a good chat and I managed to meet a whole new bunch of people, which was just what the doctor ordered. Not in the mood to drink, I was happy with my lemonade, but once again I found myself convincing other people that I’m not a drinker and thank-you, but no thank-you, I would not like a drink. It’s the same every time I meet new people. Drinking alcohol seems to be a fundamental link for people to relax and talk; and if they offer me a drink and I reply:

"Lemonade would be great thanks."

And the response is usually: "Mixed with?", "Just lemonade?", or "Oh come on, I’m buying." Yes, something along those lines. I really don’t like the stuff, so I’m not going to spend a fortune, or let other people spend a fortune, on something I’m not a big fan of.

I do get the feeling that, once again, my not drinking makes others think I’m anti-social and not someone they can relax around. It does often make me feel excluded, but every choice has consequences and I need to deal with them. Nevertheless, I had an outstanding time and as the sun set, the conversations became louder, the daft ideas stronger and more vividly expressed and supported. Facebook photos were being posed for everywhere and at the pivotal moment of my newfound Kiwi-friend-of-the-moment solving the world’s problems: the pub closed. It was late and I needed to head home so I didn’t miss the Tubes; but Marilyn and Emma convinced me that it was best for me to stay over at Emma’s place with the two of them so we could go dancing. Against my better judgement, the desire to dance won.

We all bumbled along to one of the late night High Street take away places to satisfy the midnight munchies. After the food, only Marilyn, Emma and I were still keen to party. As we arrived at the bus stop going in the direction of the White House Club Marilyn’s shoe broke, so we caught a different bus to Emma’s place, to retrieve another pair of shoes for Marilyn before catching another bus to the night spot in Clapham. Talk about Mission Impossible!

We queued at the door, something you do at almost every night club in London (I reckon it’s an image thing). At the entrance we were told that the DJ had only put two people on the guest list, instead of the number Marilyn had told him. We would not be conquered; instead we split the third person’s entrance fee amongst the three of us and finally ended up inside the club.

The place was dark, the music was loud and the bars full. Eventually I left the two of them on the crowded lower level, brain-drummingly loud dance floor. I found my own little spot in the corner and danced and danced and danced. I went into a mini-trance, letting go of all the frustration London had fed me so far. It was wonderful; I zoned right out and rode the rhythm of the sound waves. I have no idea when they changed DJs or who won the evening’s ‘Battle’, the sounds all merged in my zone (but I did feel that some of the mixing needed medical attention! Poor form). While I was in my ‘zone’ my two gorgeous, skinny blonde friends apparently got up to some interesting mischief, poor boys! I was irritatingly interrupted by one drunk boy who tried to chat me up by telling me I had to be a professional dancer and he, quite by chance, was becoming a producer. "Really? Isn’t that nice." I said as I smiled and carried on dancing. Then I had two really ‘adventurous’, but seriously attractive foreign guys invite me onto the roof, but caution won and I stayed dancing where I had my friends in view. I can’t even contemplate being stuck on my own in a big city, far away from my house with hardly any cash and no idea what buses could possibly get me home. I guess the South African in me has made me hyper-cautious of the possibilities I could face as a single girl lost in one huge, strange city all on my own in the early hours of the morning! No way on this planet I’d put myself in that position. No way. Although, looking at those two and hearing those gorgeous accents, it was in no way whatsoever an easy decision to make!

Eventually we had to leave and I had to zone back into real life. We fetched our coats and found our way to the night bus stop in the freezing cold; once again I used my pashmina as a headscarf! We stumbled into Emma’s flat exhausted. She lent me a towel and some pajamas and I crashed on the couch, content to have had a great night out and a brilliant dance; but I was absolutely shattered! I think I’m getting old…