Chantal - Have Laptop Will Travel

Myles was local IT back in FBC (my old office); we became good friends (and smoking buddies) while I worked there, and promptly lost touch as soon as my job ended. Just before Easter, Matt invited me to a Project birthday bash, and when I arrived at the pub, there was Myles standing at the bar. I’d known for a week or so about tonight’s party, but as Matt had made no mention of wrangling me an invite, I assumed none would be forthcoming. Myles texted me yesterday morning, I emailed back yesterday afternoon; he mentioned that he was going to tonight’s party, and by this morning, I was on the invite list. A very bizarre situation (for me): going to work in gym clothes, and bringing non-gym clothes to change into for after work.

Matt forwarded me the original invite email, including the URL for our venue – some kind of corporate entertainment centre, with hundreds of video games, ‘techno bowling’, dodgems, pool tables and so forth. It looked very snazzy in the photos. It looked very dated ‘90s (or late ‘80s) in real life.

First thought was: who on Earth booked this place, and why? If you could find a less inviting place, I don’t want to know. But going to the toilet, and seeing all the games on offer, it started to make sense. Maybe less sense while struggling through a few games of pool with Matt – thank god for Gary jumping in and substituting for me, but infinitely more so when we decided to go upstairs to play with the dodgems; I was wrestling with my straps when Steve Blakey jumped in next to me, asking me which of us should drive. He had four tokens; however long a token lasted, I spent four times that ‘trying to help’ (mostly shrieking and leaning hard, occasionally shoving other dodgems out of the way, but never managing to nick that damn water pistol) and pissing myself laughing; I wanted to signal Matt to take some photos which I could send back to my mother, but seeing him with the camera pointed, I assumed that that’s what he was doing. He wasn’t.

There was a sort of ‘80s disco dancing game. Michael Watson spent much of the night on it, however when I tried doing it with our former director, it made no sense whatsoever. Walking past the would-be horses was a risky situation – they were part of a video simulation, and the men on them (I never saw any women on that game) always came off dripping. I gave an Irish contractor a cigarette, in the hope of playing some game which vaguely resembled ice hockey but without the ice or the hockey, but I just ended up losing my lighter instead.

Actually, maybe it was only three rounds in the dodgem with Steve. Not only was I blinded by my hair each time we got crashed into, but my seatbelt had a nasty habit of snapping. I’d shriek at Steve who to aim for, but sadly he generally ignored me; maybe that was because I noticed that Matt and Gary were making a particular point of crashing into us during the first round, something I could only blame myself for.

There were no free dodgems after that; I stayed to watch another round, then started missing my drink. (I had several stashed around the bar area downstairs, true to form). Maybe I was going to the toilet, or only wandering around, but I noticed our Director and General Manager at a babyfoot table, along with our long-lost commercial guy and another former friend. While I watched, a game ended, someone bowed out, so it only seemed natural that I join in – on the General Manager’s side. Yes, I’ve spent a lot of time living and working in France, and spent much of that time playing babyfoot – but like pool, which I’ve not played in 8 years, 11 years without babyfoot is a similar handicap. Nonetheless, Ian and I creamed the Director. Twice. Oh what a happy feeling….

Ian lives near where I’m staying, so we shared a cab back. He wanted to know about my current situation, which isn’t specific enough to really be able to talk about. It did occur to me at one point that I should be selling myself better, in the hope of a job with him, but actually it was a relief to be able to describe the overall situation with someone who knows nothing at all about it, and who isn’t connected to me in any particularly close way.

I’ve got a good idea of railways, and how the projects operate. I went to a JLE reunion, and it was just like a PSU bash, only the people looked a bit different. We talked for a bit about PSU and how well it worked, but I guess in reality, the only thing which really distinguished it from other railways projects were the personalities – but that will always be the case. I told Ian about the psychometrics package I tested years ago which told me I ‘oversocialise at work’ (Ian asked ‘what does that mean?’), and also that as a former archaeologist, working on the Project was like working on a very extended excavation – where your colleagues are a more vivid part of your everyday life than anyone else – and for far longer.

Maybe that’s just me. I joined the Project shortly after leaving Dublin, and right when I was trying to move to Paris. Ian was trying to establish how committed I am to settling down, yet for the years I worked on the Project, it was my entire life. My colleagues were my friends and my social life; anyone else was just detail. Although I’ve only once invited a friend (Friend, in fact) to a Project bash, another friend has accidentally met up with Project folk, and concluded that we’re basically cliquey and boring.

I can’t stay awake long enough to continue this train of thought. Maybe it is just me. I know I’m predisposed towards working environments which involve heavy socialising – voluntarily, not my current grunting in lieu of extreme violence towards my colleagues.

It’s been a bit over a year and a half since I left the Project. My favourite nights out are usually the ones when I meet up with Matt, Gary or any other Project faces. By contrast, the friend I’m staying with is from a later job, and my friend Martin is my predecessor from one job, and I never met him till long after.

I can’t stay awake long enough to reread ths – nor will my contacts let me – but I’m still grinning like an idiot, and I still don’t want to stop. I kept joking tonight that the average age of the Project dropped by about 40 years tonight – and how oh so true that was. Good clean fun and all that crap.

And with my favourite people.

And talking of which, I’m finally off to bed.