<?xml version="1.0"  encoding="ISO-8859-1" ?> 
<rss version="2.0">
<channel>
<title>City Girl : Blog</title> 
<link>http://www.redboxgroup.net/blog/</link> 
<description>City Girl : Blog</description> 
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Hello NY, goodbye witch boss]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[Well, 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 &quot;I always knew you couldn't be trusted&quot; 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 silenceShe's also taken to stealing my thunder by telling anyone who's bored enough to listen that she &quot;cultivated&quot; me, and that my success is all down to her.When I suggested a handover to my deputy might be appropriate&shy; she waved a dismissive hand, quickly followed by a &quot;nonsense, just a waste of time&quot; rant. Instead, she's opted for the &quot;dump my workload on the rest of the team&quot; approach&shy;, saying: &quot;You'll be back. You won't hack it there.&quot;Little does she know that already two members&shy; of my team have asked me to find transfers for them as well. So, if she doesn't watch out, she could end up on her miserable Jack Jones with nothing but her &quot;witch boss&quot; cloak to keep her warm at night. Well, never mind, while I'm drinking Manhattans in Manhattan, my boss will have that sucking-on-a-lemon look as she fiddles with her PowerPoint transition&shy; effects to try to grab a transfer the next time the big Yankee bankers are in town.Let's hope Zurich is the only office on offer. She'll fit in nicely there with her autocratic style of management.So, look out Tod's, Macy's and, well, the whole of Fifth Avenue&shy;, because here I come with my now &quot;doubled overnight&shy;&quot; salary. And I've heard on the bank's grapevine that my new boss favours a more laissez-faire approach to management&shy;. What a welcome change that's going to be.But I'll miss this column. It's been like a confidante for the past year, my very own confessional. In fact, it's what's kept me sane on many occasions, especially when the witch boss and her sidekick, the HR manager, have been playing up.But seriously, it's been fun, and emotional, and who knows, surrounded by all those masters of the universe, I may need that confessional once again. Like Arnie says, &quot;I'll be back&quot;. Well, maybe. ]]></description>
<pubDate>Mon, 24 Mar 2008 10:37:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=91</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Boarding the plane to NY]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[Like Ol&rsquo; Blue Eyes sang: &ldquo;Start spreading the news, I&rsquo;m leaving today, I want to be a part of it&hellip;New York, New York.&rdquo; Yes, I&rsquo;m going and I can&rsquo;t wait to tell my boss.So, bring out the marching band, as I&rsquo;m off to the land of dreams. And the best bit is that I&rsquo;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&rsquo;s even a swanky Manhattan loft apartment, owned by the bank and rent-free for the first few months while I set myself up.My boss will be seething, having &shy;narrowly missed out a few years back when her &ldquo;look-at-me-I-could-rock-the-New-York-office&rdquo; PowerPoint presentation bombed. But who cares? What goes around comes around, and this girl is done with being her bitch. See how she likes doing her own work for a change.Of course, the decision wasn&rsquo;t an easy one, so I roped in my friends for their &shy;advice. First to share her pearls was a friend who, having recently hooked up with a guy from New Jersey on the &shy;internet, told me to &ldquo;grab it with both hands, one on each bum cheek&rdquo; &ndash; no surprises as to what&rsquo;s going through her mind. Or maybe it was the prospect of a free crash pad when she plucks up the courage to meet him.&nbsp;Then there was my &ldquo;artist&rdquo; friend from my school days. She was horrified, &shy;branding me a warmonger for wanting to dance dirty with the Bush Man himself.So you see, eventually it came down to the money, the Wall Street fantasy and, well, the opportunity to rub my boss&rsquo;s nose in it. I just have to tell her, so I&rsquo;ll be waiting for the cold shoulder treatment and the black sack job that&rsquo;s bound to come when I pluck one of the &ldquo;here&rsquo;s one I prepared earlier&rdquo; resignation letters which have been cluttering my bottom drawer since the first day I laid eyes on her.Next week, in my last column, I promise to give you all the grim details on her reaction&shy;. I won&rsquo;t enjoy it, I promise!]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 07 Mar 2008 10:34:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=90</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Do I quit for New York?]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[What&rsquo;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 &ldquo;cell-phone&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s place on the &ldquo;best places to work&rdquo; lists. But who wants to sweat it out in Mumbai or experience xenophobic Swiss Germans in Zurich? Not me, that&rsquo;s for sure. Strangely, though, after a day in their &ldquo;think tank&rdquo; I found myself coming around &ndash; or maybe it was the overpowering smell of Tom Ford pour homme. No, I suspect it was the big-money offer in the Big Apple that was bobbed before me.Loft-living in Manhattan, breezing around Greenwich Village&shy; a la Carrie Bradshaw certainly has an appeal, but is it enough to tempt me away from the Square Mile? I mean, better&shy; the devil you know, but isn&rsquo;t the grass always greener? So you see my dilemma. Then there&rsquo;s this column, of course. I&rsquo;ve had a few nerve-racking moments when colleagues&shy; have been talking about City Girl within earshot. &ldquo;That sounds like someone in this office&rdquo;, nearly put me in A&amp;E a few times. Maybe a break with some Fifth Avenue shopping thrown in will help relieve the paranoia.Oh, what shall it be? The comfort and security of home, or the chance of a lifetime on Wall Street?&nbsp; And then there&rsquo;s my boss, who has narrowly missed out on a New York post in the past. If I do decide to go, I won&rsquo;t relish the thought of telling her, especially as the job is the one she wanted.So, if you hear a piercing scream in the Square Mile later this week, you&rsquo;ll know I&rsquo;ve handed in my notice. As the old adage goes: success is the best form of revenge]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 29 Feb 2008 10:31:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=89</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Mr Perfect]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[Every year it&rsquo;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&shy; consultant, the process&shy; kicks off. Usually she can be relied upon to muster up a few &ldquo;perfect&rdquo; candidates, although&shy; this time around one candidate was just too perfect &ndash; or so he thought.The interview got off to a poor start. My boss and the HR manager were dribbling over the picture&shy; 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&shy; his spindly thighs.Now, nobody likes a show-off, especially one in a Burberry print shirt and standing on a cliff top spouting forth about their &ldquo;fantastic&rdquo; business acumen. So, when Perfect&shy; Man whipped out a laptop and insisted&shy; on treating us to a private viewing of his promotional film, I found myself wrestling with sudden images of myself in an orange jumpsuit as worn by death-row prisoners, such were the murderous thoughts whizzing through my mind.After four minutes of listening to him likening himself to various business &shy;leaders, I jumped in and asked where he got the inspiration for the film idea.&ldquo;Aleksey Vayner, but his was mainly bulls***, not like mine,&rdquo; was the arrogant reply. Perfect Man had clearly not noticed that the US wannabe banker became&shy; a global laughing stock when his outlandish self-promotional film hit YouTube, via UBS, in 2006.Perfect Man then went on to compare himself to Richard&shy; Branson, who he informed us was going to buy Northern Rock. Of course, I then couldn&rsquo;t resist asking how he kept himself abreast of current affairs given that the five-month search for a buyer ended in failure on Sunday and was plastered across every broadsheet on Monday.So, Perfect Man, you might think you&rsquo;re good, but nobody is that good, unless of course you actually are Richard Branson. But, even then, Alistair Darling dubbed Branson&rsquo;s offer &ldquo;insufficient value for money&rdquo; &ndash; and I just can&rsquo;t help thinking that the same might be true of you.]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 22 Feb 2008 21:20:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=67</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Love is... to feel stupid]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[Valentine&rsquo;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 &ldquo;kerching&rdquo; in her ears, was eager to bag her junior trader boyfriend.Seizing the opportunity, she bought a helium balloon bearing the words &ldquo;Will you marry me?&rdquo; and had it delivered &shy;direct to his office. She ignored my advice of: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think it&rsquo;s a bit soon?&rdquo; given that she&rsquo;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 &shy;inside and a card reading: &ldquo;No, and you&rsquo;re dumped&rdquo;?But for one particularly greedy colleague, that old adage, &ldquo;The best things coming in small packages&rdquo;, certainly didn&rsquo;t ring true this year. It all started well enough for her &ndash; she didn&rsquo;t hold back in boasting about the surprise weekend in New York with a pony carriage trot around Central Park, where her lover produced a small leather box.Greedy Girl, thinking that she&rsquo;d hit the diamond jackpot, raced into the office yesterday flashing the rock, and wasted no time in getting the sugar lump-sized ring valued. The hissy fit that she threw after returning from the jewellers, where she was told that the ring was in fact costume &shy;jewellery, would have left Janice Dickinson gasping in awe.The ultimate showstopper, though, was the HR Manager, who was overheard squealing to my boss that she had &shy;spotted a dinner reservation confirmation from a Paris &shy;restaurant on our MD&rsquo;s desk. All day, we had to put up with her hint-&shy;dropping about being whisked off by her &ldquo;secret&rdquo; lover.The rumour was compounded when she was last seen crying in the loo, protesting &ldquo;how unfair&rdquo; it all was after the MD informed his PA that he wouldn&rsquo;t be back in the office until Monday as he was enjoying a romantic weekend with his wife. Oh, and could she contact the private jet company and make the arrangements for their return journey?]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 15 Feb 2008 09:30:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=86</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Me, me, me, me]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[As if Facebook, MySpace and &ldquo;because I&rsquo;m worth it&rdquo; TV ads weren&rsquo;t enough, it seems self-importance has found a way around the banks&rsquo; firewalls with the &shy;sudden influx of &ldquo;me walls&rdquo;. They&rsquo;re popular across the pond &ndash; in fact, I&rsquo;ve seen several in my American colleagues&rsquo; offices. But now, in an attempt to feed her ravenous ego, my boss has treated herself to a floor-to-ceiling version. &nbsp;So, while waiting 20 minutes for her to show up for a meeting, I took the opportunity to scrutinise her wall. After casting a cynical eye over the various certificates in finance, I spotted one that looked about as genuine as a clapped-out Toyota in the black cab queue at Paddington Station. Or maybe the official who signed it was my boss&rsquo;s secret separated-at-birth identical twin, because the signature had an &shy;uncanny similarity to her own.Then, among the degrees from various American universities with dubious names, I spotted the jewel in the crown: a picture of my boss with Nelson Mandela. Shame Nelson appeared to be looking at a different camera from that of my boss, though, otherwise the obvious cropping job would have been quite convincing.&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve also spotted a few mini-me walls around the floor. My colleagues have taken to adorning the screen desk dividers with Blu Tacked-up pictures of their dogs and boyfriends (and in some cases it&rsquo;s hard to tell the difference). One occupant had made a little banner in pastel pink lettering that read: &ldquo;All about me&rdquo;.Then there&rsquo;s the personal Wiki pages on the company intranet. What does it say about somebody if she uses the window on her workplace to display images of her Girl Guide badge collection? That she may be useless at her job but at least she can rub two sticks &shy;together to produce smoke? And what about someone who has catalogued his collection of Hard Rock Cafe badges to show how well-travelled he is? Whatever next? Blood samples in &shy;monogrammed gift phials?]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 08 Feb 2008 22:34:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=19</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Rule #1: trust no one]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[Ooh la la! A lowly French trader has been caught with his hand in the bonbon jar. As a result, our head of security made a rare guest appearance at the weekly team managers&rsquo; meeting. Seems he wants us to sniff out any security risks.&nbsp;We&rsquo;ve been told to be extra vigilant, which we&rsquo;ve all interpreted as &ldquo;trust nobody&shy;&rdquo;, especially as Security Man then went into a 30-minute rant about the French, Italians and Germans in our teams, saying none can be trusted. He&rsquo;s even banned them from speaking in their native tongues for fear they&rsquo;re swapping secrets&shy; &ndash; unless they&rsquo;re talking to a client.Then he moved on to the poor performers, who, in light of their recent doughnut (zero) bonuses&shy;, he&rsquo;s convinced are suspects for attempting to defraud the bank, since &shy;Jerome Kerviel cited a desire for a decent bonus as a motive for &ldquo;working hard&rdquo; at &shy;Societe Generale. Using that logic, every one of my City colleagues is a potential &ldquo;Che Guevara of Finance&rdquo;. Since the meeting, my boss has allowed her inner despot to shine through. First, she apprehended and quizzed a girl in my team who was in the loo for the &ldquo;inordinate length of time&rdquo; of 17 minutes. Loo Girl was outraged,&shy; naturally, and began a &shy;detailed explanation of her bowel movements.Next, she cornered a junior trader who, horror of horrors, used to work in the middle&shy; office, just as Kerviel did. She fired a tirade of questions in a pathetic attempt at &ldquo;sussing him out&rdquo;, as she was later heard to boast. Her smug smile soon evaporated when Security Man issued full personnel profile forms requiring us to disclose lots of personal secrets, including the value of our share options (for those lucky enough to have any) &ndash; shame she wangled more than her fair share at the last takeover. Finally, the three-consecutive-week-holiday- every-three-years rule was scrutinised, and all those in breach of it have to take it immediately so any dodgy dealings can be exposed. Roll on the tumbleweed, then.]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 01 Feb 2008 22:38:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=20</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Reasons to be cheerful]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[Watch out, the recession-mongers are about. The science boffins dubbed last Monday the most depressing day of the year, couple that with the worst share slump since 9/11, with a 300-point drop at close of play, and it&rsquo;s no wonder that a number of my colleagues indulged in much hand wringing this week. But as the global share-price rollercoaster battled the waves, I&rsquo;ve spotted an increasing number of my colleagues jumping on the hysteria bandwagon with a slightly &ldquo;crazed but relishing the drama&rdquo; glint in their eyes. On Tuesday morning, a girl screeched across the floor, &ldquo;Delhi has suspended trading,&rdquo; she was practically foaming at the mouth. But then we love a disaster in my office, remember Diana&rsquo;s death, I had two people in my team request time off work to grieve, and no, they weren&rsquo;t distant relatives.But in her usual way, my boss decided on a novel approach to quell the &ldquo;state of non-productivity&rdquo; as she so affectionately &shy;defined it as. Yes, she called an impromptu meeting insisting that we Team Managers come up with a list of &ldquo;reasons to be cheerful&rdquo; that we were then obliged to take our teams through in a ridiculous attempt to boost staff morale. So, while the big bad boy over at the Bank of England warns us the economy faces its toughest year for decades, my fellow managers mulled over the boss&rsquo;s request, and with animated gusto, and lots of guffawing, here&rsquo;s what they came up with: 1. Only a week until &ldquo;Brucie Bonus Day&rdquo; as January payday has been dubbed.&nbsp;&nbsp; 2. Whisky Ken got battered on &shy;Dispatches. This was thrown in by my boss, prompting a resounding table slapping and hollering frenzy from staff.3. Mortgage rates are bound to come down. Now we&rsquo;re getting somewhere, this unusually observant offering coming from the HR manager.4. Houses will be cheaper. Of course, the ideal opportunity to add to your property portfolio, I&rsquo;m sure those with over-budget mortgages will be thrilled when I bandy this one in front of them.5. And finally, the &uuml;ber reason that surpasses all others. Northern Rock&rsquo;s shares went up by 46 per cent. Well, that&rsquo;s all right then, we can all rest easy. ]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 25 Jan 2008 21:50:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=34</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Greedy Bankers]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[Every January, the compliance manager tries to boost morale by raffling off the company&rsquo;s Christmas gifts from clients&shy;, with the proceeds going to charity.But this year, a couple of junior traders abolished all sentiment and injected some materialistic greed into proceedings.So, while the children of Great Ormond Street Hospital suffered, the pair set up a grey market. They catalogued the gifts to be won and set a price on each considerably below market value. They then took advance&shy; cash payments for the items, which they would buy from the winners for less than what they&rsquo;d already sold them, thereby making a few quid.The ruse was going well, and the minute the email arrived declaring the raffle open, the stampede for tickets started. One colleague&shy;, who I suspect might be an escapee&shy; from the Half Ton Hospital, tripped over in her desperation to grab a ticket.The star prize was a Fortnum &amp; Mason&rsquo;s hamper with an allocated value of &pound;75. Sadly for the greedy traders, the compliance manager decided to break up the hamper and flog the items individually.The fight that followed when the jar of pickled walnuts was handed out was priceless &ndash; but nowhere near as entertaining as the slapped-arse faces of the junior traders.The pair had to honour their contracts&shy; and were forced to buy the items for their normal individual prices, rather than the budget price for the hamper, thus making a considerable loss. Ah, what a shame!]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 18 Jan 2008 22:46:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=23</link>
</item>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[Life in the square mile]]></title>
<description><![CDATA[We all know that shameless showing off is a prerequisite for many City workers, and never was it more in abundance than on New Year's Eve.It all started with the invitations (mine arrived by courier) &ndash; a custom-made 24-carat gold iPod nano, containing a video invite. Quite impressive. Only the night that followed reeked of a mixture of desperation and arrogance.The host is the number-one show-off at work, so the dozen of us from the office who were invited knew we were in for a night to remember.And that was confirmed immediately upon arrival at his country home.&nbsp; As we stepped out of our taxis, he greeted us in front of a car covered in a white sheet. He held a flute of champagne in one hand and a Montecristo in the other. If that wasn't OTT enough, there were two bikini-clad girls getting jiggy by his side. In between swigs and puffs he extended a chubby-handed &shy;welcome to join him at the unveiling of his new car, promising a prize for the person who guessed the make and model. Of course, the host was so desperate to impress, he'd propped up a yellow board with a prancing horse on it to give us a clue that the car might well be a Ferrari. The party took an impressive turn with goody bags containing watches. Chanel J12s for the ladies and Breitlings for the men, although a fellow guest wasn't impressed: &quot;How disappointing, I've &shy;already got one,&quot; she whined before tossing it into her handbag, and whispering to her mate that she'd sell it on eBay. Host Man was on top form and insisted on treating us all to a ride in his Sherman tank. He spent the entire journey from his house to the pub (travelling on his own land) inviting us to guess how much his bonus was. After upsetting a few locals by flashing his cash, it was back home for the grand car unveiling where the real fun began.The host had us all gathered around the car, hand poised on the cover when a sudden wind whipped up and ruined the so-called surprise. The sheet went flying as a &shy;helicopter landed on the lawn. Out stepped a man (who we all knew) dressed in a ridiculous gorilla suit to steal our show-off's thunder shouting: &quot;You'd do well to remember there's always a &shy;monkey further up the tree than you.&quot; Clearly, the whole party had been &shy;organised so our host could show off his new Ferrari. His only problem was he didn't reckon on the arrival of an even bigger show-off than him.]]></description>
<pubDate>Fri, 04 Jan 2008 21:53:00 +0000</pubDate>
<link>http://www.georgiehart.co.uk/blog/index.php?article=35</link>
</item>
</channel>
</rss>
