I quit - or at least I am going to.

Only spent three days in work this week, but it has added up to the worst one yet. Received a phonecalle this morning (Saturday) at half past 9. Something has gone tits up (not your fault, but you will be blamed) and you need to sort it out.

Hello! It's fucking Saturday. Fine I will attempt to sort out this stupid mess but no one else is working and I have no internet at home. Done the best I could with my meagre resources, and a very nice man on the other end of phone has done all he can. Sadly, not enough.

Whole incident ended with a teary phonecall to Daddy. Myself wailing 'Daddy, I want to come home.' A phrase previously only uttered during my final weeks of uni when I was in the grip of a not-so-mini nervous breakdown.

So now I sit in a internet cafe trawling for a new job and looking at uni courses. Nothing like being bawled at by your boss to crystallise your ambitions.