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Friday 19th October, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlTurning the corner of the street on my way to work at 7am, on the insistence of my boss for a red-eye meeting, I bumped into her ­stepping out from the front passenger seat of her chauffeured Porsche 911.

Now, I thought the idea of a company car was to enable the executive passenger to sit in the back and work as they’re whisked to whatever high-powered meeting is next on their hectic schedule. 

I pondered how my boss had managed to secure a completely inappropriate ­vehicle as her company car while she emerged from the low-level seat.

Because of her ungainly manner, she ­inadvertently flashed me a glimpse of her Velcro-like landing strip. “What fabulous timing. Here, give me a hand with these,” she gushed, handing me an enormous stack of folders.

Shoving my tuna roll breakfast, that had suddenly lost


Friday 12th October, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlI know things are a little twitchy at the moment for 6,500 of the 350,000 people who work in the City – what with some of the hedge funds going bust, and a couple of the big players whooping with delight at the chance to off-load some of the chaff on the back of the sub-prime drama.

But then with some companies’ ­reputations for favouring the lower end of the salary spectrum, I can’t help pondering that the winners of the “black sack, clear desk” lottery might be pleased at the ­prospect to up their salaries by going elsewhere. 

Of course, the real players in the City won’t be going anywhere except to the Rolls-Royce garage. It seems there’s a ­sudden rush on Rollers with production up by 22 per cent and, hey, what’s a 16 per cent cut in your bonus when you still haven’t ­managed to spend all of last year’s? 


Friday 5th October, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlSomeone in finance had a stompy last week over the bank's rocketing travel bill and decided to shell out for video conferencing. So instead of jetting to Japan I arrived in the goldfish bowl meeting room to witness my boss ogling the IT boy whose firm backside was bobbing around as he tried to coax his new toy to work.

I felt incredibly old and somewhat anxious over this drastic measure to minimise employment costs – IT Boy looked like a schoolkid. Feeling queasy, as my boss panted like a bitch on heat flirting with IT Child-Worker, I went for a coffee.

My colleagues, AKA the Boys' Club, were huddled round the drinks machine. "Oh, it's only you," the compliance manager grunted, as he inspected the pickings from his nose. The others, pretending not to have seen me – this being their warn


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