?

Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry

on tumbling back through time

Oxfam has been much in my mind this week. First, a leaving do for an old friend who had stayed at Oxfam. I had close friends there; some I still talk to, some are still in town. One of my senior bosses (who is romantically attached to one of the Oxfam great and good) turned up just as Oxfam HR friend decided to hilariously quiz me about whether I was job-hunting. I'd be mad not to be at the moment, so hopefully no damage done -- but quite awkward nonetheless. Not that I was, anyway; Oxfam's a dead end for me; been there, still miss it, but only sometimes.

Like the story that refuses to go away, though, it bubbled up again on Facebook. My cousin Cathy Dennis (not that Cathy Dennis) is in town and househunting, having repositioned herself from Chad regional office to Oxfam International HQ. This time she's pining for Spain, where there's sun, and a boyfriend. So more, from Oxfam.

Then I walked past one of the the ones from Oxfam I don't talk to any more on the Cowley Road. Oxford's so small that you do end up walking past people you've drifted out of touch with, it's unavoidable. Suddenly I was caught by a memory of his sarcastic, half-amused voice, speaking about an incident in Amsterdam, and it made me smile.

I'm not nostalgic for working at Oxfam -- I left twice, both times under enlightening circumstances -- but I miss the company.