There’s definitely something resonant about Cornwall. I woke up and rubbed my eyes as Jamie sped along the A30. Rolling hills, white washed cottages, blue sky, hint of the sea beyond the horizon. Even the tall, spinning wind turbines are marker posts these days, for this glorious county. I’d been asleep since Exeter.
So much happened here. All the camps of years gone by have left a groove in my heart that I can’t forget.
But I’m not here for a camp.
I’m here for a work conference, once again shacked up in student accommodation, ready for two full days of trying to find work-mode and fit right into it. It’s hard. I can’t work at this pace, I need a break from it, and what I don’t need is to be discussing it until 10pm over pints and pasties. By 10pm what I need to be is forgetting what I do as my day job.
As if for a treat though, the five of us here from our company were joined by an ex-colleague, who’s blessed enough to know everything and be right about it. It amused me how negative he allowed himself to be, and how little any of us worked to stop him.
“I handed my notice in at just the right time,” said he, gleefully. I looked around the table and wondered whether it was dawning on people that every day, every single day we go in, we make a choice to stay, and therefore that this man was actually looking down on us as we laughed along. I guessed it was.
I don’t want to seem disrespectful but I just don’t care enough about all this. Weird then that I’m at a conference to learn more and get excited about best practices for building software! As ever, we’ll be asked to write a report when we get back, and I’ll write something professional sounding. The truth will probably be though that I’d much prefer to be at one of those old camps again, just a few miles up the road.
So much happened here.
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