Why I Should be on Love Island (and other Discoveries this Week)

We all have those moments when someone makes a comment and it comes as such a surprise or so random that all you can think (or my case say) is “ha-ha, no seriously” because a suitable response fails you.

Well I’ve had a couple of those recently.

 

Why I’m a Corporate Celebrity

About a week ago I met with some members of senior management. About three quarters into the meeting we’d covered most of the agenda I’d set out originally and conversations turned into more laid back topics. When asked broadly about career development I gave a simple answer, that I’m there to be challenged but also to challenge. At this one of the attendees smiled and quipped “you don’t need to remind us, we know about your email to Joe.”

(For anyone not sure of the reference click here.)

Boom, corporate celebrity.

 

Why I Should be on Love Island

Good friend: “You’re so thin! You could be on Love Island!”

Me: “Bless you but no.”

Two weeks later…

Mumma Bennett: “You’re thinner nowadays.”

Me: “Thanks, I think it’s all the walking.”

Mumma Bennett: “It’s not a good thing.”

Friend approval and parental disapproval. Given personality doesn’t come into it I’d say that was a glowing reason to be on Love Island.

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Although this woman…

I take it back, keep me as far away from these people as possible.

 

Why I’m a Pillar of the Community and Getting an MBE Award (Member of the British Empire)

I manage an 18-30 group in Swindon for which I’m frequently doing poster drops for as part of its promotion. I’d put a few up around the main offices in Swindon, including my own organisations, but you can imagine my surprise when in the middle of a live webcast being broadcast to thousands of people I noticed something in the background.

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So I’m sat there in the London office mildly losing my marbles because one of my 18-30 posters has somehow appeared behind the head of one of our directors and the deputy CEO. Meanwhile my colleagues are thinking that they work with a mad woman or someone who is far too excited over the prospect of organisation restructuring.

Either way I’m getting an MBE from the Queen.

 

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Swindon 18-30 Poster

 

Why I’m a Trend Setter

I eat tomatoes on trains and if I need to give you a reason why then you’ve missed the point. Trend setter 101.

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Why I’m Addictive to be Around (but no one knows why)

…because you’re still reading this.

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Nobody Puts AB in the Corner

Alice Bennett. A fabulous personality and brilliant writer but certainly someone who wouldn’t stoop to cheap and forced puns (less wordplay, more wordforce). She only writes on the most topical and important of subjects and lets the title of posts come to her rather than chase after them.

Oh who am I kidding? I saw this clip and felt the need to write something about my hair.

 

We’re half way through the year now and that, alongside my hair being due for a home-done touch up, I thought I’d give a new shade a go. After all YOLO is still a thing somewhere in this universe (right?) and if not, at work we have a new initiative called Have-A-Goness so I can always say my CEO told me to do it. There are millions of brunettes in the world so how can I make myself stand out in comparison? Do something crazy and impulsive, that’s what. I’m done with sitting in the corner so in line with this post I did a few months ago: I’m Ruddy Awesome I’ve decided that seeing as Patrick isn’t going to help me out anytime soon I need to start making myself more visible and recognised for my own talents. The colour of my hair is a quick win way to help towards that.

I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking “what on Earth has happened to Alice? She’s off the mother-flipping chain.” Well London. London’s herds of people and a hefty quantity of exhaust fumes, that’s what.

Anyway I very recently applied a temporary dye to my hair (one which lasts so long before it entirely washes out) so I could see if longer term it was a colour I wanted to work on a more permanent basis.

This was my hair before…

Alumi Photo AB

This is it now…

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For the love of God don’t ask me for another photo

 

 

So yeah, I’m a cross between a brunette, red head and a 50s dress up (I say that in a nice way). At the risk of sounding like a diva the second photo was taken in my ensuite (play your cards right boys and you too may end up staring blankly at this internal door). In natural light it is a lot redder. Muchos more.

To give you an idea of the scandal my hair has already caused, when I showed it to mumma Bennett the reaction was as follows:

“OH MY GOD!!”

“It’s red, isn’t it?”

*Covers eyes* “Oh my God, it’s so different! INDIA! INDIA! Come here!”

“What is it?”

“Your sister’s hair! Come look at it!”

“Jesus mum, the whole county will hear you. And stop laughing.”

“Oh wow, it is different. Not as bad as I thought though.”

“See, India is fine with it. Calm down mum.”

“It’s purple! What has your father said?”

“He didn’t notice.”

“He didn’t notice?! BEN! BEN!”

“For Christ’s sake mum.”

I’ve decided that while the principle of YOLO and Have-a-Goness are very valid ideas and mantras, if I do anything more scandalous than this I risk being taken out of the will (Patrick Swayze or no Patrick).

On Being a Victim of Fraud

As I walked away I knew something wasn’t right. I think I knew deep down that what had just taken place wasn’t normal or didn’t quite sit well. Within a small chunk of grey flesh there was a screaming light, but a light that knew it was too late to do anything. The deed had already taken place. So the remaining 95% of my brain ignored it and instead focused on either fighting off train travel exhaustion following the London Paddington to Swindon commute, or pumped me full of feel good endorphins to convince me otherwise.

As I entered my house I felt relief at being back after a two hour journey across capital and country. I also felt a little niggle grow bigger and bigger, a small light turning into a flame that turned into a small voice. Stupid girl, stupid girl.

But it was only once I’d made my tea, unpacked my bag and lowered myself to my king size bed that I suddenly realised what had happened thirty minutes prior. A cocktail of emotions poured from my mind and into my exhausted body, filling it with hollowness and shock.

“I’ve been scammed.”

Since moving to London I’d been on my guard so much with criminals and scam artists. Working and living in some of the biggest tourist hot spots, the central location comes with it’s warning labels. But Swindon? A small town I’ve lived in for almost four years. Swindon? How? How could it be possible? How could I have been so foolish?

Stupid girl, stupid girl, stupid girl.

But she came up to me in a real flap, she said she needed the money to get a train to Reading to collect keys to her house she’d lost. Stupid girl. She said her name was Sarah and she needed to borrow my phone to make a call. Her Aunt was old so no surprise she didn’t pick up. She said she didn’t know what to do or where she could go. I offered her £10 cash but she said she needed more and suggested we go to an ATM to get more funds. Stupid girl, stupid girl. So I offered her £16, all I had in my purse. Stupid girl. She asked for my bank details but I said no, because I’m not stupid, and instead exchanged numbers. She then took her phone out and called me, despite claiming to not have a phone. I was so caught in the moment of it all, so overwhelmed with tiredness and her stress, how was I to spot this at the time? Stupid girl, stupid girl, stupid girl. We then parted on good terms with her telling me to text her in a few hours as a reminder to get details for the money transfer. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

I sat on the bed, texting my family and friends in rage that this could happen. I then lay awake all night feeling nothing but irritation and madness at myself for being so easily fooled. Conned by a middle aged lady with a pathetic dramatic act that must have been used before. Curiosity welling inside me, at 2am I Google searched the Reading-based number of the relative she’d called earlier. The search results came up with one place, The Thames Valley Probation and Rehabilitation Centre. The sour taste of bile in the back of my throat kept me awake until dawn accompanied by a gritty squawk in the front of my mind.

Stupid girl, stupid girl, stupid girl.

The bile taste lingered until noon when, on calling the probation office, they told me there was nothing they could do and the voice quietened down just recently after I made an appeal on social media and discovered I wasn’t the first, nor worst, affected by the middle-aged scam artist. I logged my incident with the non-emergency police line 101 and hung up knowing there was nothing more I could do. Providing the police with new information such as her mobile number and age (she’d stated she was 36 when previous victims thought she looked mid 50s) made me feel I’d contributed towards the effort. Still a stupid girl though. The voice gets quieter as the 95% of the skull-imprisoned decides to reassert its authority over the pessimistic portion. 24 hours is long enough.

Sitting here now, typing this piece to a backdrop of classical music and my friend practising her violin I realise for the first time in my life what it must feel like to be a victim of fraud. I look around my room and it’s a mess, as if the moment I realised what had happened to me became the moment time temporarily stopped. My suitcase is half unpacked, by bedding scrunched up from where I’d been tossing and turning in the night. The money taken off me was trivial compared to what someone people go through and it could have been a lot worse (at least I don’t have to face cancelling my banking cards or worrying that I could have my identity stolen at any moment). If this Sarah reached out to me now would I happily send my personal details over via text so she could supposedly transfer me the money? Would the risk really be worth the price of a rail ticket?

Until yesterday I assumed all con artists now operate online, that they’re all pale-faced, digital savvy youths who live thousands of miles away in cellars with banks and banks of computers. Until yesterday I assumed that victims of fraud fell into older age brackets, that young people didn’t fall for such silly tricks. Well now I know I was wrong and if nothing else I’ve paid a middle aged woman £16 to teach me that lesson and quite possibly make me a more understanding and empathic human being.

Stupid girl.

London One Month in: A Brief Moment of Reflection

At the end of this week I’ll have been living and working in the big smoke for a month and what a whirlwind of experiences it has been.

Walking past the Tower of London each morning like it’s just another overdeveloped house on the street, diving in and out of fellow commuters like it’s an art form (and, when it fails, dashing off without making eye contact). Staring blanking the world and for once the world happily blanking you back, this city is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. It was when a cyclist yelled at me “watch the f**king road!” whilst jumping a red light that I realised I was properly London. Why? Because I did not care.

So when people in the very English town of Swindon grab me and ask “what’s London like?” or colleagues in London nudge me with take out cups “would you go back there [Swindon] now?”  I feel myself lost for words. How can you defend a proudly average town surrounded by Cotswold beauty or champion a buzzing and vibrant city that rips you off at every turn? You just can’t, especially not in one sentence (which is what everyone wants). One month in and I don’t see myself being able to formulate a succinct sound bite anytime soon.

I swore to myself weeks before moving that I was not going to let this opportunity slip. I refused to spend eight months working flat out and then moping about my bedroom complaining I had nothing to do. I didn’t want to become like some of my other London friends or indeed like myself in the Cotswolds, brought up without visiting or fully appreciating what was on offer on one’s doorstep.

In light of this, here is a short list of some of the things I’ve done in my first month (well, three weeks three days):

  • Started a diary-come-log-come-Alice’s-attempts-at-professionalism
  • Walked along the South Bank A LOT
  • Visited the Tate Modern even more
  • Introduced to and then introduced others to Borough Market
  • Speed Friending (like speed dating but a lot more chilled out)
  • Made new friends
  • Caught up with very old friends
  • Comedy gigs
  • Explored Wapping
  • Tate Gallery
  • National Portrait Museum
  • Been out for drinks
  • General landmarks – e.g. St Pauls, Westminster, various bridges
  • Burnt 1,000,000,000,000,000 calories from walking everywhere (a mix of commuting and stubbornness to pay for the Tube. 90 minute walking time is my cut off point for getting the Tube on a weekend).
  • Got ill
  • Bought my weight in face cleansers after discovering the heat and air quality was making my skin truly disgusting (FYI I don’t plan on coming out of London with an improved life expectancy).
  • Spoilt countless tourist photos and selfies and walked into a number of French school children on purpose for taking up the entire pavement. Bruises of pride.

And this is only month one. As I get more established I hope to explore more of real London as opposed to tourist London through personal exploration and using my old and new friends (no pressure guys). I want to network with people and make a name for myself. And then I want to meet a rich banker who will take me out to the opera and buy me Hotel Chocolat chocolates for no reason (not just the free samples they give when you visit a shop). And then he’ll remind me how wonderfully amazing I am when I moan about the price of eggs and then buy me the most expensive eggs at M&S to prove a point. When the latter happens I’m not waiting around, consider the man engaged.

I mean I’m not asking for much right?

I’m Ruddy Awesome

The below piece was something I recently did for my organisation’s internal newsletter. At the time it got a lot of praise and a few chuckles so I thought I’d share it with my lovely readers as well (be it with a few tweaks to make it understandable to an external audience). Enjoy!

I’m Ruddy Awesome

 

Recently myself and a group of work colleagues undertook a two-day Mindset and Attitude course. Now, while all those in attendance will completely understand the term ‘lollipop moment’, say that to the rest of the world and you only get concern over my company’s funding policies (especially when you talk about the whole ‘tied up with rope, blindfolded and groping about “game”’ and dancing around to ABBA). With my Excel course I got given manuals to leave about my desk (‘look at me, I’m so smart. I have manuals!’) but Mindset, well, it’s harder to explain.

‘Annie, right now are you in the box or out the box?’

‘…I’m at my desk?’

 At Mindset we discussed our values and career aspirations and learnt ways to communicate better amongst other valuable exercises. On paper it was a jolly outing interjected with TED talks and Psychology lessons, nothing that you’d think would make much difference. However, in the weeks and months since I’ve started to form a new perspective.

The thing is when it comes to the day-to-day I’m pretty modest. I know how to talk to people and how to construct a fabulous bit of writing, but when someone tells me I’m awesome I’ve never been good at taking it onboard. I throw my head to one side and my hand goes all limp, finished with an ‘oh you’ as I quite literally bat away the feedback. Mindset and Attitude helped me acknowledge this and, when I struggled to praise myself, Richard Thorpe (the man leading the sessions) got the group to fill in. Being unable to run away from the positive comments of my peers turned me beetroot red, but five minutes was all it took for me to realise my own strengths and qualities.

A couple of weeks later I was in an art gallery in Bath (as you do) when the room steward grabbed me mid-exit. Much to my surprise, the lady proceeded to shower me with praise. She’d been fascinated by how I’d taken in the art on display (because apparently there’s a right and wrong way to view art) and didn’t want me to leave without saying something. Aside from thinking ‘how do I get “art viewing” on my CV?’ I also found myself smiling, eyes locked and hand firmly at my side.

I left the gallery feeling great. An actual lollipop moment! I also realised that in my quest to be a classy, empowered lady maybe I had been one all along. Perhaps I’d been my own blocker, taking in only the bad comments and pushing away the good.

Take aways from Mindset and Attitude include making time for people (a cheeky Facebook like at 7am does not count) and an end to copious coffee drinking at 10pm. Going forward I’m going to hold my head that bit higher and tell myself I’m the best thing to happen to every meeting. Why? Because I’m ruddy awesome.

 

More information on the Mindset Coaching offered by Richard Thorpe can be found on his company website: https://www.wiseheart.co.uk/ or contact Richard direct at richard@wiseheart.co.uk

 

This Little Piggy Went to Market

You may be aware that I haven’t posted anything on here for a while. To be honest it baffles me too, although not quite as much as bafflement that I seem to have developed a mild addition to banana chips whilst conversely becoming less inclined to fresh bananas.

I’ve also been watching a lot of period dramas and Four Weddings and a Funeral, and I think it’s having an impact on my writing.

All my notes are full of deep, intellectual rubbish, like Austen writing scripts for the Kardashians, or like me…writing about bananas…

Moving swiftly on, the main reason why I haven’t been writing much of late is because I’ve decided to do something very crazy (“very Alice!” – without jazz hands). I won’t leave you in suspense or give you three guesses because you won’t get it, I’m moving to London. There, ok, I said it, can we move on now?

Why? It’s a long story so I’ll shorten it to one word: work

Am I being forced into it? Well no, but then I wanted to be involved with this super cool project and the boss people were like “but it’s in London” and I was like “ok” and they were like “it’s in London though” and I was like “London, London?” and they were like “yeah, like the capital of England London” and I was like “ok I accept” and they were like “cool so you start in two weeks yeah?” and I was like “say whaaa?” (And there’s the Kardashian in me coming out.)

Yes I am very much aware this goes completely against my traditionally held beliefs and flies right in the face of a previous article I wrote: 10 Things I Hate About London but hey, call me a hypocrite.

So far London has done a good job of trying to kill me. First there was mental exhaustion and dehydration from trying to find house viewings on the hottest day of the year so far. Linked to that was the absolute destruction of my feet which over a week later still haven’t fully recovered. Those were all ‘fun’. Now that I’ve found a place in East of the city the fun has begun of moving items into said property. Then there was the delight of lugging the world’s heaviest bag of coffee and shampoo across the city via the Tube network (hey, they say things are expensive in London, ain’t no way I’m being ripped off by 50p on my Herbal Essences). So now my legs look like this:

(In fact they look worse than that now, but I didn’t want to clutter my phone with pictures of bruised legs – such images have a limited mileage.) I’ve decided that the self inflicted injuries are going to continue and gradually work their way up my body. Accept it, move on.

But hey, at least I’m covered on snack bars!

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Have I taken any clothes down? Nahh. Any books or kitchenware? No way! But do I have enough snack bars and a creative type duvet set? Hell yes!

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I was far too excited to buy a duvet set that featured more than two colours

I have so totally got this London thing covered (pun not intended).

I’ve leave it at that for now while you all digest the news and take a moment to worry about my well being. More will come as and when but for now things to take away from this post are 1) I’m moving to London for a temporary position at a different office 2) I am still alive and writing and 3) I need banana chips.

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What you can’t see in this photo are my swollen feet and the Yoda living statue behind me. My photography really wasn’t on top form that day.

(Ps Did you get it? Swindon = pig hill, piggy = Swindon = me? Did you get it? Huh? Oh I give up.)

Dear Joe…

The below article (titled “Dear Joe”) was written for a work newsletter which is produced on a rotational basis by those on my finance development program. It’s a light hearted take on when I did something very crazy; telling the CEO of a top ten finance institution to improve his presentation skills.

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‘You criticised the CEO? Are you crazy?!’

You know how in the movies the protagonist always has a life affirming moment on top of a mountain or in the pouring rain? Well mine took place in the West Swindon branch of Dominoes.

‘I didn’t criticise him, I just told him his presentation needed improvement.’

‘Oh Alice.’

And that’s when it hit me.

It had all started so well-meaning. Joe Garner had delivered a presentation to the 2017 Emerging Talent cohort back in November. All eyes in the room were on Joe as he tested his microphone on stage, it felt like I was at some kind of corporate Ed Sheeran concert. And yet, by the time it was finished I felt mildly disappointed.

Because no digital communication in the history of mankind has ever been misinterpreted, I decided to email Joe my feedback. ‘Dear Joe,’ I started, ‘thanks for taking the time to present on Friday. At the risk of sounding critical…’

Fast forward eight hours and there I was in Dominoes having the above conversation with my housemate.

‘I’m stuffed, aren’t I?’

I received a prompt reply from Joe the next day. Thankfully he’d seen the well-meaning in my email and thanked me for the feedback, whilst also responding to one of my points. ‘How can we expect people to magically buy houses when we don’t educate on finance?’ I ever so delicately put. Well, Joe says, funnily enough it was a topic currently being looked into by ExCo and something that I might want to be more informed on if I so wished.

Next thing I know, I’m outside the office Graeme Hughes, Relationships and Distribution Lead and ExCo member. He and Hannah Faulkner, Joe’s Executive Assistant, sat with me for almost an hour discussing past, present and future ideas for finance education. Graeme explained the different approaches Nationwide had taken in the past and why they hadn’t been as successful as hoped. I took a powerful sip on my strong coffee and gave my response to these comments. Graeme’s eyebrow lifted as he leaned back in his chair.

‘Ok, so what do you propose?’

I came away from the meeting with a splitting headache but feeling as pumped as David Cameron. The firm handshake and broad smile of Graeme said what Hannah readily exclaimed. ‘I am so glad to have met you! We must meet again!’

All said and done I really need to stop emailing Joe Garner.