An office job. Yes you did read that right.
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As I'm trudging my way towards the end of my university degree, my thoughts are turning towards the big, wide world of work. With the recession, jobs in magazine journalism are scarce. It doesn't bode well, does it?
All I have ever wanted is to work within four walls. In my dream office, I arrive at 9.30 and leave at 6. I have my own desk, my own MAC and my own potted plant. The air around me resonates with action, deadline and drive. I get to write all day, boss an intern around (serious pay back!) and drink skinny lattes, no cream. I meet with colleagues for lunch - one of those nouveau health places, with granary bread and hemp seeds. I attend meetings and spring board my ideas and then, on the way out, I briefly catch up with a female colleague. Female colleague tells me that Ginger Nuts and the lady down on reception were caught kissing in the lift by the courier on the basement floor. I smile and laugh because for some reason, office gossip is always more juicy than gossip in the real world, especially when it involves Ginger Nuts...
