(Or, an hour of Stella-bashing)

Sounds fun doesn't it? You get to sit in a freezing cold meeting room for an hour while your manager 'appraises' your performance over the last year. Of course, no one really cares what they say in the meeting, they just want to get to the last page of the booklet, your 'performance review' rating for the year. Or, in other words, 'am I getting a pay rise or do I have to continue living at this crummy salary for yet another year while all my bills increase exponentially around me?'

Of course, what my boss doesn't know, is that I already know I've been graded as being on a pay freeze - another manager told me. So I'm not really looking forward to the next hour. I can't see much point to it. I KNOW I'm not very enthusiastic about my job - but how many times have I asked you for extra work? How many times have I told you, Mr Manager, I'm not very fulfilled - in fact I'm not fulfilled at all! But do you do anything, do you find other work for me? Let me work for another team? Implement my suggestions of different things we could do to shake things up around here? No. You just sit there, the epitome of dull middle-management, making empty promises that never come to fruition.

This is not where I thought I'd be when I left university five years ago. But, it's not like I can just leave and walk into another job, not in this climate. (I work for a bank, remember?!) So, I work to live, I come in, I show my face, I do in an hour what takes seven hours for everyone else and for the rest of the time I just try to look busy. I get paid and with that money I do the things I ENJOY, that set me free. I sail, I travel, I study, I see friends and drink good wine!

So, Mr Manager, I'm off to the canteen to get my tea now. When I come back I'll print off my appraisal document and we can go and sit in that meeting room and I'll pretend to give a damn about anything you have to say to me. I'll make the same noises about not being very satisfied with how this year has gone and you'll make the same promises you made all through 2008, that things are about to change, that there are new opportunities just around the corner. I'll pretend to be satisfied with that response and we'll conclude the whole sorry episode with a discussion about how, regretfully, there just isn't any money in the pot for me next year. I'll nod my head in considered understanding and say brightly 'but here's to next year!'

But, there are no buts of course. Nothing will change, things won't be different, and every morning a little bit of me will die as I paint on the smile of a girl who, underneath, would rather be anywhere but here.