Author: maddieisoutoftheoffice

The key content of this entry is courtesy of the instructor – indeed the owner of the sailing school – with whom I have spent my first set of days on a yacht since making the big move to the Canaries.  A professional opinion on my long unused (or lack of) sailing skills, crikey!

Quickly though, a sentence or two from me; last week I remembered how much I dislike tides, regained a huge respect for the power of the sea and wind, lost a pair of Prada sunglasses overboard, and reaffirmed how much I still have to learn.  But it was fun!  Imagine if after all this I decided I missed the City life already….

Over to Jim:

1) What did you expect from Maddie?

Well having been with Canary Sail previously, Maddie is well known to us.

The expectation was heightened by the fact Maddie has given up the “City” day job and turned to sailing as a potential career.  That made it somewhat different in terms of what to expect from her – it is quite an impressive change and commitment from her.

2) Did she live up to reputation?

Bubbly and happy as ever, Maddie turned up with her very familiar “glow” and zest for life and fun.

Yes, given the recent changes she has undertaken, Maddie is still as we know and admire her

3) Was there enough wine on board?

That is a definite NO!  The first task undertaken concerning victualing of the yacht was for her to top up with some Vina Sol.  An extra supply of cork screws were also required……

4) What were her strengths?

Maddie´s strength is her ability to stay calm under pressure.  This is really a winner should Maddie decide to continue her dream and become a sailing skipper/instructor.

This combined with her abundant enthusiasm will help in her new chapter with life.

5) On a scale of 1-10 (10 being pathetic) how weak was her winching?

Winching a sheet – Off the scale…..!

Winching a cork screw – Off the scale…..!

6) What should she work on before her next time on a yacht?

Winching!

Use of a cork screw!

Wind awareness – a small tip!  Imagine turning head, facing towards the wind, hair flowing back thus enabling full vision to reach out for an imaginary glass of Vina Sol….. 🙂

7) How did she cope sailing with strangers?

Super.  Maddie is the life and soul, a great communicator and interacts at all levels.  Good quals for a budding sailing instructor

8) Did she follow instructions?

Not always.  Maddie at the helm will have an idea of where the yacht should be going and sometimes ignore the wishes of the skipper of the moment, who even if going the wrong way, is boss!!!

9) Your highlight of the week?

Man Over Board training in 30 knots of wind in the WAZ, watching trainees improving their techniques under such extreme conditions.  Very satisfying for a sailing instructor!

10) Any final remarks?

Well done Maddie!  Keep up the positive attitude and work load and you will make it, I am certain.

From locating the cargo area at the airport, to directing taxis to my apartment, and trying to buy pyjamas, the biggest hurdle since we landed has been my lack of Spanish.  Hand signals, pointing, sad eyes, and the terrible Brit-abroad tactic of speaking louder and trying to make English words sound foreign really aren’t a strategic solution; I should probably learn some basic Spanish.

The apartment was precisely where I’d hoped it would be,  (Streetview had me 90% confident) and with splendid sea views, and after locating a few immediate essentials – extra bed linen and towels, a new shower curtain, litter tray, terrace furniture, champagne flutes, shot glasses and coasters – I am quite content.  I expect to fall foul of recycling rules and the such like for a little while yet; I still need to find myself a friendly neighbour to help me out in return for a glass of wine or two.

I really appreciate being in the same time zone as most of my friends; whilst it’s a huge comfort to have the cats with me, and they are very friendly, their banter is limited.  I’ve travelled and lived alone before but, as many a Londonite, I have deliberately cultivated an unapproachable aura which I plan to keep up when out and about or dining alone.  Am I lonely?  Not yet, hurrah for social media, and the promise of visits!

I’ve been trying to be strong willed enough to do my coursework and resist the pull to lie on the terrace and bask from sun up to sun down.  So far I’m not doing too badly – I’ve completed my VHF theory and my PPR is in hand; I have a week sailing commencing tomorrow, which is precisely when I am going to realise how much I have ahead of me.  It has been three and a bit years since I last sailed, and that was a leisurely week with my dad, dallying around marinas we know, with a professional to hand should something complicated arise.  I have read my skippers handbook cover to cover and practiced my knots with a skinny belt, I just hope I don’t embarrass myself too much.

Rabbit, hole, tree…..

After the initial flurry of “Project 2016” planning there was somewhat of a lull between getting the big ticket items arranged and getting started on the final details, then all of a sudden that’s where we were this week.  Iteration two of packing up my life.

I thought I’d done pretty well downsizing in April, however, given that I have 7kgs of sailing course work and 3kgs of cat litter…. my quota for niceties is very tight.  I’ve already established that I’m going to have to do a second 40kg wave in a few weeks, but what do I need on day one, versus what would I like?  I confess I have probably brought a couple of unnecessary items – at approximately 5.30am I went back on last night’s decision to leave my diamanté Damien Hurst skull behind… and being who I am, as well as my handbag being far over the allotted 6kgs, I boarded the plane carrying a glass vase of silk flowers.

We did have some giggles trying to ascertain the weight of my 240 litre suitcase, partly because I struggle to lift 23kgs at the best of times, also it’s the same size as I am (I’ve been zipped in to prove it) therefore when holding it I can’t see past my elbows; no matter how quickly or repeatedly you attempt to execute a leap off scales, they do not retain the reading for long enough to turn and look.  And I didn’t dare attempt a backwards lunge.  Hence, at 11pm last night, my housemate was crouched in the shower of my en suite, reading the weight, upside down, between my legs….  And then, one sleepless night later, it was time for the big off!

Two suitcases and a cat crate, three passports, nine air waybills, three shippers certificates, two fit to fly certificates, a boarding pass, a very heavy handbag and a vase of silk flowers.  Premium valet parking, a cheeky glass of airport prosecco, a novel picked up at a tfl book exchange (in case it needed to be sacrificed at the airport to meet the weight requirements – as an aside, other items escrowed for potential sacrifice upon official weigh in were the skull, linen, cat litter and catfood), a trashy movie about singledom, and it was time to retrieve the bears from cargo.

And we’re here!  Cats are ever so slightly solemn, I think the plane put the fear in them somewhat – let’s not do that again in a hurry!  I’ve sourced an official litter tray (fear not, future guests, the oven tray has not been sullied on my watch) and from here on it’s to be a whole new adventure by the seaside.  Cheers!

Now, where’s the Vina Sol….

Resigning because you want to do something completely different has a special affect on one’s line manager; it’s not necessarily something they are prepared for.  I was, dare I use the word, poached from my previous firm – it was a very appealing package – so the conversation with my then manager was easy; there was no way it would be matched, bye bye!  This time round my manager looked at me with shock and a bit of horror, because there’s no retort.  There’s no way he could suggest I keep my role and work at sea – as awesome and fantastic as that combination would be for me, the wifi capacities of a Bavaria 6NM from the coast are limited.  Strategically, if I buy my own yacht, I’m sure this problem could be surmounted – geeky friends, you know who you are!

So, would I stay?  What could they have offered me?

I am sad that after ten years in the City I’m leaving without my D.  But hey ho, it’s probably in a very similar bracket to school grades and degree level – the only people who ever ask are people still going through it, once you’re out in the real world it’s all about experience and knowledge, the people who contact me to ask about CDS really couldn’t give two hoots that I got a B in GCSE History.

There were, during the “options” phase, conversations about whether I could do my job plus something else.  Keep the love and find a new challenge, but it’s hard to break the norm.  There’s a large amount of weight given to consistency and meeting expectations.  I know I could do my job (old job!) from a remote location, in this day and age one can video conference in from anywhere provided you have internet, a pc and a white wall if you want to pretend you’re in a box in the City….

As an aside, one of my favourite City memories is from 2010/2011, we had weekly calls with external counsel at 11am London time, and she was based in the US.  After about six weeks of calls it was suggested she dial in from home, but only – someone piped up – if she was wearing appropriately corporate pyjamas.  Well, the following week, corporate pyjamas.  And that’s what I love about our world; we know our product and we know we can talk the product accurately and be respected, even if dressed in button down, collared, pyjamas.

So, would I stay?  I feel really fortunate to have heard that I’ll be missed, and even from several aisles that there are opportunities available for me should I return.  And therefore that I can say no, right now, the right thing to do is to leave.  To give it a go.  And if I come back then that’s alright too, I don’t have too much pride to be able to say I made a mistake – I have certainly made mistakes before – but they shape us, teach us, help us become the people we are supposed to be at the end of the day.  I hope to have very few whatifs when it comes to the final accounting.  And in the meanwhile, if you have ever thought about leaving it all behind and starting anew, please continue to live vacariously through me!

This is another question I get quite often when discussing (read: accosted about) my new plan.  So, here we are, what I expect I will miss the most once I’ve left the country, in no particular order:

– Ad hoc wine with friends and family
– Certainty and security of salary
– Being an SME (a novice again, yikes)
– Lazy park afternoons
– Boxsets and books (until Amazon delivers a fresh supply)
– Everything else in storage (what if I have a fancy dress situation? The only fancy dress I have with me is an elf)
– New Look ballet pumps and Clinique (UK visitors will be asked to bring supplies!)
– M&S pants (necessitating to buy some in NZ, when I arrived with only a handbag, I appreciate the struggles of my already expat friends)
– Co-op chicken and sweetcorn sandwiches, I already miss these, there’s no Co-op near me in Brixton (I eat the middle)
– Being able to speak the primary language
– Knowing where to find a GP and optimal beautician (is it appropriate to ask the letting agent this sort of question?)
– My own linen and towels (this will be fixed asap)
– Minnie (anyone fancy a road trip?)

And then it only seems fair to be ever so slightly smug and say I won’t miss:

– London prices
– Sharing a bedroom with my cats
– Umbrellas
– Tights
– The Northern line

One of the responses I get quite a lot is “Oh, you must have grown up sailing, then?” the truth is quite to the contrary!  That’s one of the things which makes this whole idea so outrageous; I’ve only sailed six times ever – not counting holiday day trips on a yacht, with crew, where I was mostly engaged with sunbathing and beverages.  Since it is uncouth to both crew and wear a bikini (dire emergency or rescue situations aside), one’s role needs to be established before you leave the marina, sorry Joey Potter.

I’ve always felt so welcome and at home amongst the sailing friends I’ve met along the way – and I hope that’s not just business / client etiquette…..  I say that with a pinch of salt; I’ve invited myself for drinks enough times when I’ve not been clientele to have a view of a bit of the behind the scenes.  And I look forward to learning a lot more.

It’s going to be very different to the City, and whilst I have done some weeks before, it will be all new when I’m thrust onto a boat with strangers rather than just my father and/or friends.  Weirdos aside, there might be people who might decide that rather than experimenting with what the local restaurants and bars have to offer, pasta on board is their lunch and dinner of choice seven days in a row.  My personal preference in that situation would be corn cakes and tuna mayo, either way the carb to protein ratio is going to be less than ideal.  And I dread to ponder what happens if I find myself on a dry boat.  Scrabble?

Another interesting finding, when accosted in the corridor/pub and asked about all of this, is how many people I know sail, have sailed, regularly sail, have even done their yachtmaster!*  It’s quite amazing, and very intimidating.  Especially when it is extremely senior people in the City who I only tangentially know who are coming up to me and initiating conversation; running away may be an acceptable option when you’re 17 and intimidated, less so at 33.  It means there’s even more pressure on me to actually succeed at this.  I know it’s going to be hard and it’s a very long time since I invested myself in something which truly challenged me; sorry work, you’ve just been too much fun!  How many people leave their job because it’s not hard enough?!  I’m starting to doubt my decision.

But only momentarily; whilst there is stil a lot to achieve before I go, I can’t wait to wake up and know 90% of the time the sun will be shining and there’s a whole new adventure awaiting just out my front door.  Let’s go!

* I also encountered someone who failed their yachtmaster four months ago.  He didn’t do the coursework though, got too involved with the fun stuff; note to self.

After my ideas of pitching up at Riviera Radio or buying a bar in Lanzarote were tabled, and I’d hit pause on event planning and starting over in New Zealand, there were other ideas to ponder:

5) Bristol – Heading West was really the ideal option, I owned a flat there after all, although petrifying because I had no idea where I’d find a 9-6pm where my very specific London experience could apply.  I spoke to a recruitment agency – who interviewed me and offered me a job, with them, not really what I had in mind – and did a fair bit of Googling, printing and scribbling, but it was ever so slightly half hearted.  I didn’t want to get to the stage of realising that I couldn’t go back, going back has always been my failsafe.  So for now, I kept it there, safe in its little box of fantastic memories and the idea that one day, maybe, I’ll go back and it’ll be just the same as it ever was.  In the meanwhile, I sold the flat; I don’t know what I’ll do with the money, it’s certainly not part of my sailing plan fund, not now anyway.  As an aside, I have already started looking at yachts for sale, and concluded I could buy two…. getting ahead of myself, just a tad.

6) My job in America – My company is cross Atlantic, and therefore a natural consideration was to follow my colleagues who have made the transition from London to the land of enormous portions and even bigger personalities.  I browsed the housing market in Chicago, and wanted to cry (why do we pay so much rent in London, and accept it as just the way it is?), and pondered how to broach the conversation with my boss.  Fundamentally though, even though this got the parental “tick”, I wasn’t sure it’d be enough of a change.  For the same reason I rejected the idea of applying for another job in my industry in London; I have it really good where I am now, if I want to stay safe then why move at all?  Plus everyone says that working for an investment bank just isn’t the same as it was back in the day, and I can always come back – why not do something a bit different first?

7) A pub in Bristol – 11 years ago, this was the plan.  All through uni I worked in pubs and bars, working 11-7pm and then 7pm-midnight seven days a week in holidays (placements aside, then I bar worked evenings only), and some days in term time too (Philosophy degree day one: we agreed with the lecturers we’d have lectures Tuesday through Thursday, and Wednesday afternoons were sport) (mine was mixed lacrosse, if you’re curious).  So bar work is in my nature, I also like wine, and pubs, and people.  It would be something I could put all my effort and my heart into and be proud of; at the end of the day step back and look at what I have achieved, and it be more than just an excellent, informative and pristinely put together pdf.  A freehold would be too expensive, but a leasehold – which is what I was in the process of applying for back in 2005 when I was persuaded to give banking a try for three weeks…. – would suit me just fine.  A five year term, 25k buy in, 100 covers, garden, landlord’s residence, somewhere just outside Bristol.  Perfect!  Tick!  Time to buy a car.

And that’s where we were in January, when I accidentally happened upon my dream pub…. little did I know at the time how that was going to turn out and that my licencee coursework would find itself relegated and my sailing books dusted off.

Anyone have a spare set of protractor and dividers?

In the 18 months or so since my life took a rather unexpected turn, and I found myself 31 and single, I’ve mused multiple alternatives in terms of how to find a new track, a new inspiration, something to focus on, help me pick myself up and put my future first.

Some of you have been lucky (loose sense!) enough to have been accosted by me, probably in the pub, with a version of my “what next?” spreadsheet, and I thought it might be interesting to revisit some of those ideas, what (or who!) inspired them in me, and why they were ultimately rejected by whomever I was consulting at the time, and crucially my father’s view on them as prospects or not.  Not that he makes my decisions but I highly respect his opinion; if you don’t ask up front he does tend to make it very clear later on, plus I am nothing if not predictable in many ways – so feedback from those who know me is definitely worth giving some weight.

In a vague order of consideration:

1) Riviera Radio – I never fancied a backpack and roughing it the other side of the world, wearing walking boots day after day, and having to possibly endure spiders, rather – since I was about 18 – I’ve toyed with how much fun it would be to work for Riviera Radio for a bit.  My French is very rusty GCSE level, but it’s expat radio, so that’s fine!  And I love to chat, so, whilst at first it might be slightly intimidating, if they had a “it’s your first day, you’re allowed a glass of wine” rule I think I’d find my stride!  And as far as my appalling very cheesy and dated taste in music, that’s pretty much all they play – it’s not really moved on much since it was cassettes out of someone’s garage in Monaco.  This was never really given much favour by anyone I mentioned it to, but then again my ability to talk and enjoyment of a bit of a Shania Sunday isn’t going anywhere, so maybe one day.

2) A bar in Lanzarote – This also is still a bit of a pipe dream, and I’m not writing it off further down the line, especially if the sailing plan goes awry.  Last year as part of project focus-on-Maddie I took myself on six solo holidays to the Canaries; it’s somewhere I enjoy to be – it’s sunny and extremely affordable!  When a quick Google search presented a bar for sale just down the road from my favourite hotel for €47,000, that seemed like the answer!!  Daddy said no.  Not until I was 40, before then, by his reckoning, I would be bored; the arguments that I couldn’t possibly be bored because I’d have a bar to keep me busy, it would be sunny and I could run every day etc didn’t sway him at all, this one was stamped: tabled.

3) New Zealand – A couple of years ago one of my very best friends moved back to New Zealand and visiting her was somewhat of an epiphany.  Often you go away and say “Oh, I could live here!” but actually after five days you’re confused by the tipping, getting sick of the rich/odd food, and missing familiar sights and sounds, or it’s too rural and you’ll hurt someone if you can’t get back to civilisation and hang out surrounded by people you don’t have to talk to.  New Zealand is not like that.  It’s legitimately somewhere I could go and stay and feel at home from day one; what I’d do work wise, I have no idea, but Auckland is a financial centre…  Downside: it’s very far.  And spiders.

4) Event Planning – I love events and I love making plans, so this seemed like a winner of a combination – so much so that as soon as I suggested the idea my father registered a company in my name with company house.  I applied for a six month intensive course, but the next one wasn’t due to start for eight months, and I was very aware I would probably have to go unpaid for a prolonged period until I fostered a reputation.  And there it stalled.  I still pay the annual company fee, so, once again, not abandoned forever, just not right now.

To be continued……

So, the cat crate. I said I’d come back to it.

When my parents opened the floodgates for this idea there were a couple of peculiar criteria (i) I was not taking my car, poor Minnie, she’s going to be mothballed for a little while (ii) I was absolutely taking my house cats. Granted, last time I asked the parentals if they’d look after my cats for a bit it turned out to be three years, but still, they’re super cute and only small…. It turns out that it’s a complete arse to move country with cats when there are planes involved.

The logistics of moving inter-country weren’t too bad, I sourced a cat friendly place to live in London very promptly (thank you, lovely landlady!) and managed to usher in the cats the same day the friendly Aussie man and van team took all my sentimental possessions to a container. They screamed the whole first night, in shifts, so they got sleep but I did not. By the second night they were less scared, so didn’t scream, instead they’d clocked this new regime meant that we’d be sharing a bedroom – and I found my face licked and accosted with what we in my family call “paddy paws” until I resorted to sleeping under my pillows. Delighted to say we’ve all adjusted and sleep in harmony; I retain majority ownership of the pillows.

So, looking to the next leg: we notched up pet passports quite quickly – I have a great vet – so the ability to travel was sought. But, as I wasn’t previously aware, pets cannot travel at weekends, and nor can they travel on the usual nice bright and early morning flights which mean you miss the worst of airport security – since they have to be at the airport three hours before the flight, and the cargo depository isn’t open all hours. Furthermore, not all planes have a casket/pet section (yes, that is a thing, both need the right air pressure and regulated temperature, it makes sense, if a bit morbid – at least they can’t hear the screams in the passenger area of the plane) (more morbid still, sorry). So my flight options were very limited before I started.

Once I had spent two weeks discussing with an airline my best options re flying with cats, certain airlines for instance have a restriction on the number of people flying to pets (and I’m outnumbered) then realising they don’t fly to Tenerife…. I located myself a handy lady at Gatwick. So far we have my flight booked, the correct cat crate on order, and a spot in the casket/pet section reserved – but now we’re in limbo; she needs my Tenerife address in order to book their ticket, and I don’t have that yet because the letting agents haven’t got anywhere available on the 1st of July near the marina of choice which is (of course) pet friendly.

Then to the next issue: I have purchased the maximum 40kgs luggage allowance, in which I’m going to have to pack the cat feeder (tres useful if you’re an unpredictable Mummy in London and not around to feed at set times, absolutely essential if you’re in the Canaries and expecting to be out at sea), a small quota of cat litter and catfood (because, obviously, my life, one of them is on a special diet). And what we’re going to do about the litter tray remains to be seen. I get my cat litter delivered by Amazon, which I think/hope exists in Tenerife, so again this can be organised once I have an address – but from the point of arrival I’m going to need a litter tray which certainly cannot fit in a suitcase without seriously interfering with my clothes and books quota. People have suggested the temporary use of an oven tray (which would summarily be disposed of!!) but I think I’m going to see if I can ask the letting agent if they can provide an actual litter tray….

Once they have found me somewhere to live, of course.

Oh, and I’m very happy to confirm that no-one wombled the cats; at one point I had to leave them on the street in their carrier (in Lambeth!) for that vital four minutes, so it was a distinct possibility.

p.s. Several people have asked if the cats have photos in their passports; after discussing the same with my mother we have established that we don’t want to seem like “those kind of people” (when, you know it, we are precisely those kind of people!).