A little while ago, I wrote about the fact that I was adjusting to my new life of COVID-related redundancy and had found myself out of work for the first time in nine years. I had intended to write more about my ongoing search during the intervening weeks. Instead, I dove head first into the
On 16th June, the evening before my 33rd birthday, I received a call from my boss that I somewhat naively never saw coming. Having been on furlough for a month (like so many thousands of others in the UK), my first thought was that this was a social call to check in on my progress.
AKA how to fail at blogging for an entire month. It’s fair to say that 2020 has already kicked me in the arse and we’re only in March. It all started off so promisingly. I’d made a vow to myself to commit to writing as a creative outlet, while simultaneously juggling my day-to-day commitments as
Anyone who’s ever worked in trade PR will tell you that it’s not always the most entertaining of jobs; particularly when you’re confronted with a crisis, budgets being cut on an annual basis, or the task of trying to create excitement around a subject that your average Joe would describe as ‘dry’ (e.g. insurance).
If you’ve ever attended a business meeting of any kind, you’ll be familiar with the grinding tedium that can ensue when a group of people are thrown together in one room and forced to make decisions and/or eye contact. In an age where most conversations now take place over email, you can sometimes forgive