As previously mentioned, I’m currently busier than a tattoo artist in Bondy. However, the client organisation is going through a bit of a push to get everyone working in a new business process called “agile” so they interrupted that frivolous work stuff I was doing and shoved me on a training course to learn it.

Now, call me a grumpy old cynic but I think I’ve seen most of the bullshit management bollocks throughout the years, from Total Quality Management and Empowerment to High Performing Teams, Blue Ocean and now this, Agile thing.

“Agile” is a software development technique which, admittedly, has a catchier name than its apparent predecessor, “waterfall”. I wouldn’t know, I’ve not developed software using either process because I DON’T FUCKING DEVELOP SOFTWARE and, more pertinently, neither does the client. Still, Agile we shall be.

Irony of ironies, the facilitator was the least agile person I saw all day. In fact, he was a fat fucker and, even more amusingly, he was also selling “lean”, a process similar to “agile” but for operational processes. Someone in the training department is wetting their pants every time they arrange this course.

So, 4 or 5 hours into hearing different jargon for a collection of previously-used but differently-named techniques for organising teams and projects, we get into a bit of practical work.

First up; “I’m the customer and I want you to draw me a picture of this cat. Organise yourself into four teams and come up with the picture as a group”.

He shows a picture of a cat and then flicks the slide to show the picture split into four sections.

We organise into four groups, large sheets of paper and pens are distributed. People discuss which part of the cat each group should draw.

TNA. “you just want a picture of that cat, right? You don’t necessarily need it on 4 different pieces of paper?”

Facilitator, “yes, just one picture will be fine”

TNA. “who’s good at drawing? Someone draw the cat please”.

Facilitator. “oh, that doesn’t usually happen that quickly, usually people take a lot longer to organise”

Really? Do they? Really?

I’d be lying if I suggested that the day got any more interesting than this zenith. It didn’t.

We built things out of wooden books to imaginary customer specifications, organising the work into “iterations” as the Agile process demands. We did some “retrospectives” or “post mortems/lessons learned” as other methodologies might call them.

And the thick people left the room still thick and, well…. welcome to corporate Australia;

Agile, like John Goodman buying dinner for Phillip Seymour Hoffman at Burger King.

I had an “interesting” day at work yesterday. I’m currently busier than Shane Warne’s cosmetic dentist as I try to scope out a business change programme in the order of magnitude of several tens of millions of dollars.

I explain this not as a blogtastic way of boasting how big my cock is but to put in context the work I’m doing.

Why?

Because yesterday the bloke who signs off my invoices got upset with me for something I failed to do.

What was this failure?

Did I ignore the legal counsel’s advice about relevant case law? No.

Inflate the return on investment detailed in the business case? Nope.

Give the presentation to the board with my flies (fly’s?) undone and spinach in my teeth? Nah.

I failed to complete a “form” (read; a Word document with 4 headings on it) that he likes to have before we have our fortnightly “1 to 1″ meeting to discuss progress. Shoot me.

When I do complete this, it lists the top 5 items on my To Do list, around which we then have a discussion. Usually, he doesn’t look at “the form” until he arrives (often late) at the meeting.

“But TNA”, he said, “we need the form completed otherwise we won’t know what to discuss”.

He could tell that this assumption that I am unable to recall what I’m working on without reference to a list that I knocked together ten minutes previously irked me somewhat.

He then went into a long ramble trying to justify “the form” and defending himself against an accusation that I didn’t make that he was, in some way, a petty bureaucrat focussed more on the process than the outcome.

“Do you want to discuss the usefulness of the form?” he enquired.

“No, and I apologise for not completing it in time, I’ve had a busy day doing other stuff” I replied, making a mental note to negotiate a rate rise next month as I am clearly not being paid enough for such difficult and exacting tasks.

It’s probably a good thing that one can’t easily buy automatic weapons in the Sydney CBD…..

The move to Manli (c) complete, my commute options range between a stop/start car journey and a very expensive car park, a 1 hour bus journey, a 30 minute ferry ride, an 18 minute fast catamaran ride or a 45 minute cycle ride.

Well, being a fit old bugger (cough, splutter), I’ve chosen to mix up the ferry/cat rides with a cycle ride every couple of days.

Sounds good in theory until one looks at the topographical map of Sydney; the flood plain this is not. Fuck me, the hills are lung-bursting.

Now, before I start viewing comments from people less fit than me (yes, you know who I’m talking to) saying predictable stuff like “toughen up Princess”, I’ll put this into pathetic context.

The diagram below shows the gradients I’ve been cycling to and from the office these last two weeks. Looks impressive doesn’t it? “category 5″, donchya know.

Looks impressive until one reads the explanation of gradient erm, grading in the second diagram. Category 5 is basically the most basic of gradients, the sort of hill Cadel Evans climbs with a cup of cocoa in his flannelette pyjamas of an evening.

I shudder to think what an “HC” looks like, especially at 8am on a Monday with a mild bastard behind the eyes from too much Shiraz on Sunday.

Ok, I’ll toughen the fuck up now.

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Another day trip to Brisbogan today. This time for a “team building” day. Oh shoot me now, please.

This is worse than just a regular business trip to Brisbane. Why? Because of the email that came from the boss’s P.A. late yesterday;

“Just to let you know, dress code for tomorrow is business casual”.

Business Casual.

Two words that fill my heart with fear and loathing analogous to the words “diversity awareness” or “special projects”.

Many people in many different media types have ranted effectively on why “business casual” is a pathetic idea to make us feel free, equal and uninhibited in the workplace while usually doing the exact opposite and just underlining the fact that we are wage slaves grabbing what little crumbs of freedom are tossed down to us.

My problem today is that “business casual” in BrisVenice takes poor wardrobe choices to a whole new level. Prior to the P.A.’s email I was honestly of the understanding that the Brisbane office already WAS operating a business casual dress code Monday to Friday….

So the anticipation of what clothing malfunctions were to greet me at the group-hug session today gave me loud nightmares on my fitful sleep on the early morning flight.

Supermarket denim, stonewashed denim, jeans with a crease ironed down the middle front of the leg, running shoes, corporate logo golf shirts, T-shirts from 15 year old Andrew Lloyd-Webber musicals, white socks, sleeveless cardigans, grey zip-up jackets like your Grandad wore on visits to the seaside. The list goes on like the contents of a trolley in a Primark/Target supermarket sweep.

I’m wearing a suit and business shirt.

I’ve removed the tie.

And if anyone says the words “synergy”, “symbiosis”, “collaborative working”, “high performing team”, “parking lot”, or “brown bag lunch session” today I swear I will go fucking postal. I’m not threatening, just giving fair warning…..

You’ve got to admire the inherent optimism of this country. I’m not being sarcastic when I say that, these people are incredibly positive in everything they do.

I played sport in a team full of Aussies in London for a long period and found their attitude highly infectious. They really do all think that things will come right and that positive thinking will get them through. And by God, it often does.

The global stock markets disagree, however.

While every single market in the world was sliding down a greasy slope last week and this, the Australian market somehow posted a positive balance at the close of play today. Granted, at one point they dropped nearly 6%, so somebody sold at the wrong time and lost a fuckload of money today.

An hour after the close and Europe opened and gave it’s verdict on the situation. “pah”, said the French, “nien” said the Germans and “let’s smash the window of JJB Sports and get some free trainers, innit”, said the FTSE.

Being non-Australian I am pessimistic and convinced that there are worse economic times to come. I expect worse falls, more falls later and further devaluing of currencies.

But in the midst of this gloom I must admit to a healthy respect to the Australian psyche for thinking that it’ll all be right in the end. It’s just typical of the buggers that they would post a positive in the midst of all the Wall St. suicides and Square Mile alcoholism.

I think they’re fucked anyway though but bless ‘em for having a go, the little Aussie battlers.

…..To maintain this blog’s contemporaneous nature.

I was having to dodge portfolio managers leaping from 20 storey office blocks to get today’s picture of the ASX lobby at close of trading.

Shoulda bought gold, eh fella?

I’m not an economist, a self-educated amateur maybe, but it’s not what I do for a living.

However…. without sounding too smug, I did sidestep the “GFC”, as Australians call the global credit crisis of 2008. We spent a very pleasant holiday in Lake Como chuckling at the news as markets tanked safe in the knowledge we were short stocks and property, long cash and gold.

The markets tanked again this week. And again “nobody saw this coming”, apart from those that did.

I currently share an office with the economists of a major financial institution. Water cooler conversations have jokingly gone along the lines of “so all you have to do is tell the CEO to buy gold?”, and they reply; “ah look maaate, it’s not that straightforward”.

In fact, the senior guy told me to “take profits” in gold last week because “the markets are all ok now. Maaaate”.

However, shadenfreude is a beautiful thing and something I experienced this morning as he briefly caught my eye as i bounded into the office and he was slumped over his Bloomberg terminal taking accusatory phone calls from Group Finance.

And tonight, after the markets “unexpectedly” tanked, Warren Hogan, the Chief Economist of ANZ Bank, was on the news telling us that Australia was a robust economy and we’ll all be ok if we “just take a stress pill and think things over”. Ok, maybe that last quote was HAL from Space Odyssey but it did feel similarly patronising and mendacious. Especially as ANZ predicted a rate rise last week and the markets are currently pricing in two rate cuts before year end. Oops, much. 

So, just for him and my co-worker, here’s the facts he needs to understand to do his job effectively;

After September 11th 2001, the USA lowered interest rates to save the stock markets.

The cheap money got lent to poor folk who could never pay it back.

They defaulted on their loans.

The banks became insolvent.

Soveriegn states bailed out the banks.

The debt still exists.

Someone needs to bail out the sovereign states.

Sovereign states are bailing themselves out by devaluing their citizens’ pensions, savings and currencies.

The only store of wealth in times of uncertainty is gold.

I think Tony Hadley summed the current financial situation succinctly when he sang;

“she used to be a diplomat but now she works in the laundromat”.

While I was feeding Baby Lemmy Killer on the sofa last night (bottle fed, I’m not some lactating hermaphrodite) I saw a thought-provoking item on the TV news. This is an unusual occurrence as Australian TV news is regularly more dumbed-down than a Brendan Fraser movie with a lobotomy.

The news item concerned the number of immigrants to Australia who leave; somewhere in the region of 45% apparently kick it in the head within a couple of years and head home. That’s a lot, right?

The article then showed some examples of people who were leaving, all Poms, and all a bit whiney. One couple seemed to have a problem with their local council and rubbish bins so were packing up and moving 12,000 miles away. It kind of begs the question, wouldn’t it have been easier to have moved just 12 miles away to the neighbouring council?

Another couple seemed upset that a one-horse town in the back of beyond in Western Australia was a bit backward and unwelcoming.

Other reasons offered for this boomerang immigration phenomenon were the cost of living, the weather and the dangerous local fauna. All of which were presumably extant prior to completing the immigration application form back in the home country?

Australia and Australians have a lot of faults, many of which I try to poke gentle fun at here, but it’s not a particularly difficult country to live in, compared to say, Afghanistan or Wales.

For any equivocating potential new immigrants reading this, my advice is think about what you currently like about your life and what minor changes you would make if you had a choice. Consider the fact that moving here and expecting to make radical changes to the way you live and socialise might introduce a risk that you will struggle to settle.

Unless, of course, if you’re currently living in Wales; anywhere and any situation is better than your current post code.

Brief blog posts are going to be the norm for the next couple of weeks until Optus can undertake the exacting and labour-intensive task of pressing a button to switch broadband on to an existing cable in a block which already has Internet connectivity.

3 weeks to provision? Are we living in Lagos?

The house move went as well as these things go, we were all unpacked and drinking wine on the balcony by 7pm. Kids too; nothing better than a meaty Shiraz to help bedtime go more smoothly.

Some of the new neighbours that we’ve met include an American family, a French family and a retired couple. All of whom are a pleasant change from the bipolar 30something woman with the loyalty points card from Match.com or the 60 year old skinny Goth cyclist lesbian who we shared a street with in The People’s Socialist Republic of Balmain.

The beach is only 300 metres away here and if I manage to catch any fish big enough to eat, they won’t be full of more heavy metal than a Kerrang! compilation, unlike the fish caught in the inner area of the harbour.

The main downside of living here seems to be the requirement to actually go to work to pay for it. Life would be truly blissful if I could ‘work from home’, but sadly I find that I need to look people in the eye on a regular basis to perform my job effectively. And no, I’m not an optician or a lie-detector operative.

In the midst of all this packing, moving and unpacking, I’ve been sporadically keeping up with the cricket from England. India are struggling to maintain their No.1 ranking and, should we win the series by a margin of 2 tests, we will take that mantle from them.

In the meantime, the new Australian squad has been announced. Look upon these names and ponder whether these will one day be as legendary as the West Indies teams of the 80′s or Steve Waugh’s team of the 90′s;

Michael Clarke (captain), Shane Watson (vice-captain), Michael Beer, Trent Copeland, Brad Haddin, Ryan Harris, Phillip Hughes, Michael Hussey, Mitchell Johnson (the good one), Mitchell Johnson (the shite one), Usman Khawaja, Nathan Lyon (isnt he a brewery?), Shaun Marsh, James Pattinson, Ricky Ponting, Peter Siddle.

No, somehow I doubt it too…..