It started off well. I was on the roof of my apartment with friends and family, drinking champers and watching the sun come up over Rangitoto while some loon made the first water-ski of the new millennium along the harbour. We were all feeling rather mellow.
That was January 1, 2000. Around 5 am.
The coming decade had already been dubbed the “naughties”. We were going to shake off the constraints of the 90s and P-A-R-T-Y like it was 2099. The boom would go on forever and we’d all skive off for long lunches and shag each-other green. The long boom would just get longer.
Well so far I’m damn disappointed. The boom has fizzled out globally but, let’s face it, Australia and New Zealand are trucking along okay, for now.
Leaving the shagging aside for a moment, everywhere you look there’s a spirit of meanness and cheapness. Corporations have screwed down their costs totally and still search for further efficiencies. Profligacy in government certainly isn’t tolerated. We are all working our asses off with half the staff we used to have, no downtime, wage freezes everywhere, no chance to look up and check the scenery. We go home tired and grumpy.
Apparently Australians are increasingly in nesting mode. They invest in their homes rather than in holidays or getting away. Fear of global terrorism? I don’t think so. They’re just plain buggered.
Maybe it’s my energy levels…
My mate Angus got hit with that one in an interview recently. Now if there’s one person that doesn’t have energy issues it’s Angus, he’s a bit like the little Energiser man. What he does have a problem with is a) having me as a mate and b) being 44. That’s what the recruitment toady was really saying, you see (being 44, I mean). I have to wonder from some of the stories I hear whether so-called HR professionals in corporate organizations know what their outsourced recruiters get up to. These guys are almost totally unaccountable. The applicant has no comeback whatsoever, not even knowing who the client is.
Here’s an idea: every recruitment ad has a unique hotmail address listed where the applicants can communicate – or at least vent – direct to the client about the performance of their agent.
Anyway, I felt my age on the weekend too, playing cricket out at Burwood in the inner west. Glorious winter’s day, ground like concrete, very small pitch, we chased 290 off 30 overs and didn’t really get near. I’m sore all over.
It was interesting to note the obligatory war memorial in the corner of the park listed the NZ Wars as well as the usual suspects - Boer, WWI and so forth. I haven’t seen that before.
Anyway, I was never a great cricketer but I like to think I was a handy social player. Well, it’s all gone to pot. My bowling was inoffensive when it wasn’t wide. Batting my feet don’t move any more – not even a little.
The guys I was playing with are computer industry types. I don’t want to say geeks because they were all much more capable than me, even in my prime. But when your most effective bowler is nicknamed iMac and your skipper is Webco, there’s really only one place this is going: retirement.
Angus may not have “energy level” problems, but I sure do.
Ciao.