Casually Corporate

Suits are optional at my workplace. The dress code is the somewhat ambiguous ‘corporate casual’.

As far as I can tell this means (for men) to wear something approximating a suit, but the tie is optional and it doesn’t really matter if your jacket doesn’t match.

For lazy people like me it’s a bonanza. I can spend that extra two minutes saved by not putting on a tie every morning doing something constructive. Like sleeping in for an extra two minutes.

However, circumstances sometimes call for a more formal mode of dress. Like meeting with clients. Or going to job interviews.

Actually, that’s a bit of a running gag. If someone turns up wearing a tie who normally doesn’t, that’s the first question: “job interview then?”

(Admittedly it’s become slightly less amusing in these fraught and redundancy-laden times).

But over the last couple of days I’ve had my own reason to be donning the tie and matching jacket. We’re seeking a replacement for one of my team who rudely found a better job more in keeping with his career goals a few weeks ago.

So I’m sitting in a room, playing serious manager-type, and asking the same inane questions of candidates over and over again.

“Why are you interested in this role?”

“What is your previous experience?”

“Can you tell me about a time when . . . (insert difficult professional dilemma here).”

And when colleagues see me in the suit and tie and say “job interview then?” . . . I say yes.

Actuaries Gone Wild

It's been a whole year since the last one, and so this week it was time once again for our annual actuarial company dinner.

The venue this year was the Rendezvous Hotel in Flinders Street, which featured lots of alcohol, some passable food, and a waiting staff whose command of English was roughly comparable to John Howard's command of Klingon.

"Can I get a beer?"

blank stare

"Beer"

blank stare

"HIq?"

nervous sideways glance

"Oh, never mind."

For some reason the entertainment (once again provided by those "fortunate" enough to have completed their actuarial training since the last dinner) sat at the let's-get-the-crowd-involved end of the spectrum, rather than the more palatable (for the audience, at least) let's-put-on-some-silly-costumes-and-do-a-skit end.

And so it came to pass that the people at our table had to construct a story and improvise a play using some found objects, including two small suction cups, a bottle of liquid paper, a roll of yarn and a hot pink fright wig.

The details are too tedious to recount, so I'll leave it there.

Anyway, thank God there was beer.

At least, there was once I found a waiter who spoke Klingon.

Area Blogger Returns to Home, Sanity

The final three days of the BLP were much like the first two.

We stayed inside as it rained outside, we studied case studies, we played roleplays, and we stopped semi-regularly to watch the Aussies win gold.

Like most of these sorts of things, there was a certain amount of useful and practical information, tempered with lots of touchy-feely bullshit.

Whether it makes me a better manager is yet to be seen. I'll let you know if my minions see any difference.

All in all it was a good week, but it was truly lovely when I managed to escape on Friday afternoon, and come home to my lovely wife and furkids.

Merely a BLP

Two days into the Business Leadership Programme, and the part of my brain that deals with acronyms and buzzwords is full.

My personality has been analysed, my coaching style matched with its corresponding learning style, and we've had a rousing game of Simon Says.

In the midst of all that I've probably learnt something, but I've no idea what. Ask me at the end of the week.

On the upside, the food's not bad and I can honestly say I haven't been bored yet.

But there's still three days to go.

Gone Leadin'

Next week as previously reported, I'm off on a Business Leadership course.

It's a multi-day extravaganza, so it involves being away from work (and home) for a whole week . . . and I'm not sure what else.

It's all a bit Secret Squirrel with previous participants being irritatingly tight-lipped (so as not to spoil it . . . oh please) and the pre-reading is, it seems, deliberately vague.

Preparation has been minimal but interesting. Last week I got the results of a personality assessment, based on a survey of my workmates (boss, peers, and minions). This was followed up by a deconstruction of same with a psychologist, who pretty much managed to figure me out in one 55-minute session.

And apparently the personality flaws highlighted from all this are what I'll be working on next week. Can't wait.

So it sounds like I'm in for a week of delving into my own head, with the occasional excursion into someone else's to break the monotony.

The one thing that might keep me sane is if I'm able to blog from within the compound (yes, I'm choosing to think of this as an embedded-in-a-war-zone thing).

If not, I'll have to gather up all my thoughts and post them in a single diatribe when I get back.

I don't think anyone wants that. Here's hoping they have WiFi.

Audited

Awww . . . pwned.

My friendly local Professional Association has informed me that they'll be auditing my hours spent on Continuing Professional Development.

Like a lot of professions, it's no longer enough just to turn up to work every day and do your thing. Drones like myself must also spend forty hours per calendar year on officially sanctioned CPD activities.

These range from speaking at international conferences to helping underlings with their homework, so the definition is pretty broad. And as such, it's not a hugely difficult standard to meet.

Still, I must now submit a comprehensive list of all the wonderful self-improving activities I've undertaken in the last two years.

Oh, what larks.

I think a tax audit would be more fun. At least I've kept receipts for that stuff.

Much More Coarse

In my dual life as amateur blogger and corporate drone, the corporate side occasionally intrudes alarmingly.

In August I'm being sent off Pevensie-child-style to the mysterious land of Mount Eliza to attend a week-long course on Business Leadership. I'm trying to see this as part of my ongoing quest to wring as many freebies as possible out of my otherwise soul-crushing corporate existence, but it's a little tricky.

Does a week of subjecting yourself to introspective self-analysis with a group of people possibly (gack!) serious about this stuff fall onto the credit or debit side of the spiritual ledger?

God, I can't believe I'm even thinking about it in those terms. Maybe it's already too late.

It's not even clear to me if there's WiFi access available. There better be. If I'm not able to vent my (no-doubt after 24 hours) ridiculously pressure-clamped spleen here in the blogosphere, I may just implode.

But there is one saving grace. One white horse heralding the cavalry on the horizon. One lone detail that may serve to make the week bearable.

Apparently there's free beer. I'll be looking to that to get me through it.

Adventures in Osteopathy

My work has, very generously, been stumping up for monthly visits from a personal trainer, to take us through some stretching and strengthening techniques that go some way towards offsetting the damage inflicted by sitting in front of a computer all day.

I've had problems with my back for a long time, mainly the result of a mild inherited scoliosis and a sciatic injury from time spent working in a supermarket as a teenager. And sedentary office work really doesn't help.

Various osteopaths over the years have had a crack. Some have been able to help, and some not.

Anyway, at about the time this personal training business started, I changed to a new osteopath.

In the first visit he had diagnosed that my problem was not my back, but my hip. Apparently I naturally twist to my left, putting most of my weight onto my left hip, and shrinking my left leg to the point where the resulting imbalance puts a heap of strain (but only muscular strain) on my back.

Not bad for the first 45 minute session.

Armed with some new stretches and exercises, I went away with the notion that it might actually be possible to fix this.

Fast forward to 4 weeks later (now) and the improvement is noticeable. The pain radiating down my left leg (which I've had for years and I thought was the sciatica) has all but disappeared, and my centre of balance has shifted. To the centre.

The stretching from the trainer has helped immensely too. It's nothing too drastic in the way of activity, but it's making me feel better than I have in years.

Aches and Pains

I'm starting to appreciate that I'm not as young as once I was.

Yesterday, we had another visit from the personal trainer we'd seen at our work offsite a few weeks ago.

Like these things usually pan out, I'd been all keen after that first session, and actually did some of the exercises at home for the first couple of days.

Then it kind of dropped off to every second day, then every third, until I was occasionally doing only, you know, the stretches that were easy and felt good pretty much immediately. None of the hard ones.

So yesterday we went through the whole box and dice again, just as a refresher. And I was reminded of how much it hurt the first time.

I cursed myself silently (at least, I hope it was silent . . . I was in a roomful of people) for not having been more conscientious as my recalcitrant muscles refused to move where they were told.

So now I am in the same position again. I'm all keen to continue and do the exercises every day and half-believing that it might really happen.

I even got up early this morning to run through the whole sequence before I went to work.

And as a result I've had aches and pains all day.

This better be good for me.

Course / Work

Apologies for the lack of updates recently. I know my readers (both of them) have been waiting with bated breath for the next post.

(Sidebar: I had to look up the spelling of 'bated breath' just now, as I wasn't entirely sure it shouldn't be 'baited breath'. It's definitely 'bated', although I found an amusingly correct use of 'baited' here.)

I've been off the blog and off work for the last couple of days, attending a management . . . sorry, Leadership . . . training course.

Companies like mine often send their middle management off on this sort of thing. It's a chance to get them out of the office, get them fired up, and more importantly, show them they're not indispensable.

This course was pretty good, and one of the slightly more entertaining I've been to.

The location was certainly better than most.

It was held at the Life Saving Club in Port Melbourne, in a room with sweeping views of the beachfront, the bay, the kids playing cricket on the sand and at one point, a couple snogging for a full half-hour in waist-deep water.

So there were more than a few distractions when the content of the course ran a bit dry.

Day one and the first half of day two had us looking at our management 'styles', particularly how we rated in a questionnaire filled out by our reports. Or my 'minions' as I like to call them.

My results were (in a nutshell) that I'm good at planning for the future and setting team direction, but I'm a bit too nice.

They obviously don't know I call them my minions.

All in all I'm quite happy with that. Although if a situation comes up that calls for a micro-managing asshole, apparently I'm screwed.

The second half of day two was a complete change of direction. A personal trainer took us through some stretching and gravity-based core strengthening techniques (see how I can speak the speak?) which covered the gamut from embarrassingly painful to sadistically torturous.

The floor work was intercut with a PowerPoint presentation, telling us more than we could possibly take in on glutes, medials, various acronyms I've forgotten and some other stuff I don't remember.

At the time I remember thinking it was awesome. Then like a fine weed, it all seemed a bit unreal after the comedown.

But we got a foam exercise roller and massage ball to take home. So that was nice.

I went back to work today to an Inbox packed with emails and aches in my glutes and medials.

On the upside, the aches made grunting dismissively at my minions slightly easier, so maybe there's hope for my asshole side yet.

A long long day

I spent today in Sydney. While this is something I generally try to avoid, it was for work and hence compulsory. Or something.

Got up at 5.30 this morning for a 7.30 flight. First meeting in Sydney at 10, which we only just make due to extended waits on the tarmac (at both ends) and a mile-long queue for taxis prompting us to catch the train from the airport.

Not a great deal was achieved in the morning, although there was a nice lunch at The Rocks, up close and personal with the Bridge and the Opera House.

The afternoon brought the real purpose of the expedition; a mini-conference (pretentiously referred to as a "Knowledge Fair") with a few different topical presentations to choose from.

I decided the one I'd chosen a few weeks ago looked boring, so went instead to one about climate change. Or more particularly, the opportunities that emissions trading schemes will offer the financial services industry.

K-Rudd has said Australia will have an emissions trading scheme in place by 2010, which will have a huge impact on the way heavily-emitting companies operate (in Australia, that's primarily the mining and coal power industries). Like any other commodity, carbon credits will fluctuate in value as they are traded between
(a)those that can cheaply cut their emissions and
(b)those that can't.

It'll be a complex and dynamic market, and buy/sell/hold decisions will be best left to the experts.

This'll all become second nature to us soon. In three years' time, the value of a carbon credit will be reported at the end of the news alongside the Aussie dollar and the price of a barrel of oil.

Anyway, this was followed by a plenary session about different attitudes to risk in different demographic segments, and how this affects the insurance market.

Much of it was yawnworthy, but I was interested by the observation that Generation Y, often accused of being blasé about risk, are in fact more aware of risk than any other generation. It was pointed out that Gen Y have lived with a war- and terrorism-laden worldview for most of their lives, have pretty much resigned themselves to never owning their own home, and place a low value on everything except their social network. The upshot is that transience is seen as the normal state of being, and there's just no value in traditional risk-avoidance strategies like insurance.

Sounds plausible. But Corey Worthington's still a dickhead.

At this point we left to get the plane home, which was again delayed on the tarmac for no apparent reason. What's up with QANTAS today? Drip trays giving them trouble again?

Arrived home just after 9. A long long day.

The Void

We've been in our new building for a week now, and I'm beginning to get used to working next to a vertiginous drop.

To give some perspective, here's a shot of my desk in the old building, just before we moved out:




And here's a shot of my desk in the new building (taken from the floor above):



Vive la difference.

It's oh so quiet

Tomorrow will be my last day working in the old building at 447 Collins St. I've worked there for the last 7 and a bit years.

After more than 40 years in the same spot, AXA will be moving four blocks down the road to a spanky new building in Docklands.

People have been moving over for the last few weeks, and tomorrow we're the last lot to go.

My activities tomorrow will consist of finishing packing (one box to go . . . 5 minutes), a farewell morning tea for Melissa, who's defecting to MLC (maybe half an hour if the cake is good) and a meeting over in the new building (20 minutes tops).

We have to vacate the old building by 1pm for the movers. No problem. I've got a bunch of Heroes episodes to catch up on.

The great thing about moving has been the relative calm in the lead-up. Because we don't have only one lot of people moving and getting grief from those who aren't, it's been sweet. Everybody's moving, so everybody's distracted.

Cleaning stuff out of filing cabinets and putting it in boxes (or, more often, bins) has become everybody's regular task. And mentally taxing it ain't.

And I even have minions to do that for me.

So between all the packing and half the office being on leave anyway, it's been a very quiet week at work.

Of course prior to all this it's been a nutso year, so it's been nice to have a bit of a break.

I can wander into work in the morning. Have a cup of tea, check the news, check the blogs (see links at right), get into the odd Wikipedia spiral of shame, do a bit of work, have another cup of tea, rinse and repeat.

It won't last, of course. Once the move is over it'll be back to it. And hot on the heels of Xmas will be End Of Year and all the joy that entails.

But until then . . . stick the kettle on, Baldrick.

Oktoberfest

One of the reinsurance companies we deal with at work is based in Germany, and every year they invite us, their clients, to celebrate Oktoberfest.

The part was last night, which is about a week after the Oktoberfest celebrations finish in the Fatherland . . . I'm not sure why this is. It may be because it affords their MC the opportunity to tell amusing stories about Australians at (the real) Oktoberfest.

Being a roomful of Finance nerds, these amusing stories mainly took the form of recounted statistics, such as the fact that of the 600 passports reported lost, 150 of them were Australian. And of the 100 babies breastfed in the rooms provided, none of them were Australian (the obvious conclusion being that Australians had fed their kids on beer).

A bewildering array of other further statistics were offered, some humorous, some not. It soon got to the point where I was having flashbacks to our company actuarial dinner earlier in the year.

Fortunately, we had been handed a 500ml stein on arrival and pointed to the bar where they had DÄB on tap. That went quite some way towards making the whole thing a little more bearable.

Anyway, once the speeches were done and the band had started up, the rest of the evening was made up of the typical sort of small talk that goes on at this type of thing. It wasn't all bad, though. I did get to catch up with a few people who've moved on to other companies and that I haven't seen in a while.

The food was also excellent, but oh-so-German. It was all bratwurst, sauerkraut, sausages as thick as your wrist and bread that would leave a hefty dint in the floor if you dropped it. Dessert was strudel and black forest cake and jam doughnuts.

So full. So so full.

All in all, it was fun. But of course, there was something of an ulterior motive beyond the free food and beer.

In previous years this particular company has generously provided tickets to the Australian Open Tennis. So over the course of the evening there was a certain amount of talking to and smiling at the right people. And when I got to work this morning, I sent an email thanking them kindly for the invitation.

I'll let you know how that turns out.

The countdown continues

I've been instructed to give more regular updates of the countdown to Europe. (Would that be The Final Countdown? Ba-doom-boom)

So it's now four days.

I've also been instructed never again to write anything as boring as the last entry. My most humble apologies. Hmph.

Now, I've taken Friday off from work, so I've got a couple of days free before we fly out on Sunday.

Some people at work asked me, somewhat incredulously I might add, why this was. I pointed out that I had stuff to do . . . pick up plane tickets, get some Euros, start packing, and clean up the house a bit (given that Eliza's kindly offered to come and house-sit).

But the real reason is that in this lead-up to travelling overseas, I'd just rather not be at work. I'm not focused. I've stopped caring. I'm going to meetings discussing issues that are going to bite while I'm away, and I'm staring out the window.

I still have a modicum of interest left for a couple of specific things, but come Friday, there would be absolutely no point in my being there anymore. So I won't be.

Also, I'm going to see War of the Worlds live at Rod Laver on Friday night, and I need to get psyched. So looking forward to that.

Before we fly out on Sunday, I'll post an itinerary here so those wishing to do so can keep track of where we are.

Almost there, guys. Europe awaits.

Ten days and waiting

I've been instructed to update the time remaining until we go.

It's now ten days.

It's odd though . . . it feels like it should be sooner. Like any major life events, once the date is set it begins to feel like nothing else matters, and all we're doing is marking time.

I've noticed this sort of thing before; like the last time we moved house, and before our wedding earlier in the year.

This effect is particularly noticeable at work. I've managed to delegate most of the tasks that are going to continue while I'm gone. The stuff I actually have to do will be done by about Tuesday. (Famous last words, of course. I hope no-one from work is reading this).

We're currently getting into the really important details of the trip. Like which movies will be showing on the flight. Fairly average pickings there, actually, with the likes of Superman 3 and Fantastic Four 2. The TV show selection looks a little more promising, with stuff like Father Ted and Welcher & Welcher. Nice.

It's only ten sleeps. But I want to go now. Right now.

Tea and Sydney

Today I went to Sydney to meet with all five of the reinsurance companies we deal with. I needed to introduce myself as the new reinsurance manager, and generally schmooze. Sorry . . . "network".

And also drink an extraordinary amount of tea.

I caught a 6am flight from Tullamarine, and my first cup of tea was served on the flight.

A tailwind for the flight and light traffic into the city meant arriving at 7.50 for meeting no.1, which wasn't until 8.30. So I had a second cup of tea while waiting.

After meeting no.1 I had an hour to kill, so I called Ty. A third cup of tea (and a nice catch up) and I headed off to meeting no.2. This was held in a cafe, hence a fourth cup of tea.

Meeting no.3 was actually the obligatory free lunch, which included a very nice riesling and was followed by a fifth cup of tea.

That was pretty much the limit. I'd had enough of tea by this time. It was water for meeting no.4 and juice for meeting no.5 before heading back to the airport for the 5 o'clock flight home.

That's quite enough tea. Time for that nice lie down.

Pending Wedding

This week has been a little hectic, hence the lack of updates. Apologies to my avid readers. Both of you.

Starting the new job, without really finishing the old job (or at least, not having anyone to hand it over to) has meant a couple of late nights at work.

My lovely wife has also had a nutso week, with a bunch of buyers in house making demands and a bunch of design orders coming through all at once.

And it's also been the week leading up to Sarah and Greg's wedding. Which is tonight.

Speeches have been written, playlists have been organised, food and drink has been ordered. It should be a blast as long as I can stay awake for the duration.

Tomorrow I'm reserving the right to turn into a small puddle on the floor.

It's all about the lunches

Following my last entry, I have suffered the accusation that I'm talking too much about where I sit, and not enough about what I do.

Well then. Let me set the record straight.

As previously mentioned, I am now the reinsurance manager. I manage a small team responsible for the administration of the company's reinsurance contracts.

Now, the main purpose of reinsurance is to generate lunches for its participants.

Make no mistake. These reinsurance contracts cover millions of dollars worth of transactions annually. They are very complex, very detailed, and very difficult to administer correctly. It is therefore critical that an insurance company maintains a good working relationship with its reinsurers.

Hence, the lunches.

For example, we met with one of our reinsurers for lunch at midday today, and I got back to the office, lightly toasted, at 3.30pm. This is normal and expected. In fact, my manager saw me returning and wondered why I was back so soon.

We didn't even talk a great deal about, you know, business stuff. The conversation was mainly focused on the menu (which was extensive) and the history of the Crystal Palace soccer club.

I've decided I really like this job.

Later this month I'll be travelling up to Sydney to meet with all five of the reinsurance companies we deal with, in one day.

God help me.

Week one almost done

I've been doing my new job for four days now.

So far it's been much the same as my previous job, mainly because my previous role is yet to be filled and I foolishly agreed to "finish a few things off". In fact, the first two days were identical to my previous job, because I didn't even move desks until Wednesday.

But it's been fun. So far.

My new desk is up on the 11th floor. Which means I'm back working amongst the guys and gals I cruelly abandoned for the mysterious realms of the Project Office last December. Happily, they bear me no ill will. In fact, it was a little like coming home.

The company's policy is that it's all open plan seating, so there's no spanky corner office for me. I do, however, have a window seat facing south to the Yarra and Crown Casino, and such spots are the prime real estate. Sadly, most of my river view is blocked by the building on the other side of Flinders Lane, so I can only see a sliver of brownish water on one side, and part of the Crown forecourt on the other.

I can also see out to the ocean if I squint a bit.

It definitely beats a window seat on the north side, where all you see is the grey tops of buildings across Collins St and you get fried by the sun every afternoon.

Conveniently, I can see the Crown gas flares from my new vantage point . . . hourly from 6pm. They're my cue that I've stayed too late and it's time to go home.

My new team is good. They seem very competent. They're certainly very quiet and very industrious. I have yet to find out precisely what it is they do, but I suppose I'll work it out eventually.