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Monday 24th March, 2008 posted by City Girl

City GirlWell, the deed is done. I've handed in my notice and, because it's an internal move, I have to put up with my boss only for another week, which is handy, given her "I always knew you couldn't be trusted" response.

My boss, of course, was raging with jealousy, and since hearing I got the job that she specifically wanted, she's been treating me to her special stony silence

She's also taken to stealing my thunder by telling anyone who's bored enough to listen that she "cultivated" me, and that my success is all down to her.

When I suggested a handover to my deputy might be appropriate­ she waved a dismissive hand, quickly followed by a "nonsense, just a waste of time" rant. Instead, she's opted for the "dump my workload on the rest of the team" approach­, saying: "You'll be back. You won't hack it there."

Little does she know that al


Friday 7th March, 2008 posted by City Girl

City Girl

Like Ol’ Blue Eyes sang: “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today, I want to be a part of it…New York, New York.” Yes, I’m going and I can’t wait to tell my boss.

So, bring out the marching band, as I’m off to the land of dreams. And the best bit is that I’m still going to be paid in pounds sterling, rather than weak dollars, as this London City Girl jets off to Wall Street.

The bank pays for everything, starting with a first-class flight and chauffeured airport arrival. A relocation specialist has been appointed to take care of my domestic arrangements and there’s even a swanky Manhattan loft apartment, owned by the ba


Friday 29th February, 2008 posted by City Girl
City GirlWhat’s worse than a room full of bankers? A room full of Yankee bankers, of course. No sooner did we get rid of the Yanks over for the Super Bowl, a fresh lot arrives. Only this time they were wearing tan-tasselled loafers, red braces and requesting “cell-phone” numbers. Yes, the Big Guns from our New York office were over for the annual recruitment drive, where they try and persuade us team managers in the lowly UK, or EMEA (Europe, Middle East, Africa), to go on secondments to all kinds of weird and pointless places. You see, they like us to move around to encourage diversity and a sharing of cultural experience, thereby ensuring the bank’s place on the “best places to work” lists. But who wants to sweat it out in Mumbai or experience xenophobic Swiss Germans in Zurich? Not me, that’s for sure.

Strangely, though, after a day in the


Friday 22nd February, 2008 posted by City Girl
City GirlEvery year it’s the same. Bonus day arrives and a couple of greedy bluffers in my team grab the money and run to the nearest competitor who promises further riches, leaving me to plug the gaps.

So, after a phone call and an all-expenses-paid lunch with my top recruitment­ consultant, the process­ kicks off. Usually she can be relied upon to muster up a few “perfect” candidates, although­ this time around one candidate was just too perfect – or so he thought.

The interview got off to a poor start. My boss and the HR manager were dribbling over the picture­ the candidate had thoughtfully scanned on his CV, when Perfect Man swaggered into the goldfish bowl meeting room, threw himself down, and sat with his legs so wide apart I had to wonder if he had a Big Ben replica secreted sideways between­ his spindly thighs.


Friday 15th February, 2008 posted by City Girl
City GirlValentine’s Day in my office can always be relied upon to provide a few chuckles. But this year certainly rang the bell on the cringe-o-meter. First to dip her toe in the pool of humility was a young girl in my team, who, blinded by pound signs and the ring of “kerching” in her ears, was eager to bag her junior trader boyfriend.

Seizing the opportunity, she bought a helium balloon bearing the words “Will you marry me?” and had it delivered ­direct to his office. She ignored my advice of: “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?” given that she’s only been going out with him for a few months. And guess who got the death stares when the box came back to her with a shriveled shred of rubber ­inside and a card reading: “No, and you’re dumped”?

But for one particularly greedy colleague, that old adage, “The best things


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