Girl. Made Redundant.

(so here's the start of the story...)

Friday's are my absolute favourite. Large bag stashed under desk (mainly full of too many pairs of pants, multiple mini-skirts and a badly judged number of magazines for an hour's journey to my friend's house and one weekend of joyful dancing and greasy brekkies...), multiple enthusiastic tea rounds, more than usual due to that elated Friday Feeling and a general cheeriness in the office as the well deserved weekend coaxes us towards it, hour by sunshine filled hour. These are what I like to call Good Friday Times. Or at least they were, until the fifth day became associated with much darker feelings. Enter: Black Friday: "Oh my lord, I've been redundant for a whole week now *break into sobs* " and (possibly soon) Job Centre Friday.... Oh heavens!

Yes, last Friday I started with all the best intentions for a productive day and a blissful end to the week, anticipating a jolly good catch up with the girls over 2-4-1 cocktails that evening and forgetting the 9am meeting which was looming downstairs in the HR Dungeon at work.

Now I had known for sometime this was surrounding possible redundancies, and being fresh out of uni and not yet experienced in my fashion buying role I was expecting the worst: a month's notice and then the dreaded boot.

I was right on most accounts and found myself being told that, unfortunately, my role had become redundant. Oh marvellous. But then came the real bombshell: I would not be expected to work my redundancy and, just like that, my beloved Friday had just become my shock-you-to-the-core final day at my first proper fashion job, re-contemplate my life and see no future, F.M.L. Dreaded Friday.

The rest of the day flew by in a blur of the following: strange bemused sobbing, "Oh my god, are you kidding?", pub lunch, double rum, clear desk, strange bemused giggling, 3pm wish I could just leave already, eat about 5 double chocolate cookies, (then imagining myself redundant and at home, eating cookies forever more), saying goodbyes, realising how much I will miss my colleagues and trying hard not to cry. Again.

It then rapidly sped up into a whirlwind of 'bogof' cocktails, slightly slurring to all friends that I 'was guna be jushhh fffine...' and then furiously dancing to Rihanna and thinking that I would embody the strength of Ri Ri in every possible way and then perhaps, if I got angry enough at the world for doing this to me, then I would somehow end up a similarly awesome Pop Star, preferably with motorbike and one side of head shaved.

Spent next two days nursing hangover and contemplating tatters of professional life....

Still have not lost faith in Rihanna though, you big ledge.