I have completed one year of my working life. The occasion was marked with the annual appraisal on Tuesday, which went very well and I received a payrise that made my mother's jaw drop. I think it is part of the company's tactics to pay so poorly for the first year and then after twelve months, just as some second and third thoughts are beginning to creep through your mind, they turn out a massive salary increase as a retainer. I didn't know this of course as I have never had a salary before.

When I received my first ever payslip one year ago, fresh from University and last night's reheated beans, I read the figure at the bottom and thought to myself "Wow! I'm rich! And I'll get this every month!". It wasn't long before I was reading that same figure, shaking my head, and thinking "I can't believe the tight bastards are only paying me this much!"

Also, in line with the New Boss's Big Plans, I am no longer Assistant Editor but Editor. The previous Editor is now Editor in Chief. That evening I was celebrating this news on the Marktplatz with Mike and a pizza when I received a call from Boss (or Chief, as he shall now be known).

"Do you know why I'm calling you Sophie?"

I think any normal person would agree that this sounds like the opener to some bad news. When your boss calls your mobile outside of working hours and offers this sentence I think it's reasonable to be, if not worried, at least skeptical.

"No......?" I answered warily, raising my eyebrows at Mike and hurriedly preparing excuses and pleas.

"Our impact factor has come out".

I don't want to go into detail but I work for a journal and impact factors are important in this industry. In brief, the impact factor is a measure of the journal's quality and success but I refer you to this overly complicated explanation if you require clarification.

Since the journal I work for is relatively new, this was to be our first ever impact factor. A result of 3 would be reasonable and a good, solid start. Chief had done some amateur calculations and estimated that our impact factor would in fact be around 5, which would be an unbelievable result and the cause of much celebration. We had both been looking anxiously at the website where these impact factors are published as they were due out any time. I had even checked twice earlier that day.

On hearing that it they were out, much to my own surprise I gasped and my heart began to beat fast. To the outisde this may appear a bit excessive but this was big news

"Really, what is it, what is it?!"

The result of 6.02, which I'm sure will mean nothing at all to the majority of you, is staggering. I filled up with tears of pride and after lengthy exchanges of degrees of nonbelief between Chief and myself, drank rather more celebratory beers than originally intended and bored the ass off Mike, who at this point did not know the new impact factor of his own journal (it went up), for the rest of the evening talking about work and getting steadily incomprehensible.

I was in the mood to share this exciting news with Adam when I got home. This is his recollection of the phone call:

"I have some amazing news! Our impact factor is out!"

"Wow, that's great!"

I had stressed the significance of the impact factor a few months ago so Adam knew that this was a big deal.

"Remember what we thought it would be?"

"Ah, around five?"

"But it's so much better than that! It's more than we could have hoped for! It's unbelievable!"

"What is it then?"

"Six!"

Perhaps it was something in my delivery that led Adam to errupt into guffaws of mirth or perhpas he didn't understand that, in terms of impact factor, there is a world of difference, and perhaps a thousand journals, between five and six. It is like the marks in gymnastics, where six is the Olympic champion with a flawless performance and suspected steroid abuse and five is the reluctant last-minute replacement on the team who falls off the high bars and spends the rest of the competition in a neck brace.

This was big news at work and Chief and I received many congratulations from all over the company, including New Boss and a boss so big and important, and with words like "global" and "president" in his job title, that I didn't know his name, nevermind the other way round.

I took my jubulations to the Cafe Central on Wednesday evening where some Latin American hiphop wasn't as bad as it sounds.

If you are still reading at this point, I thank you. To another topic.

Mary, Brid*, Preeti*, and I have been invited to Cara's hen party in August. Her sisters sent an invitation to a weekend away in a to-be-decided destination somewhere in Europe. It seems Cara misses Germany already as we found it is to be Berlin! I have never been to a hen party, or Berlin, so I'm very much looking forward to both. In particular I'm looking forward to the L plates and the strippers, which I understand are the foundation of any successful hen party.

On a similar note, Adam and I have been invited to Clara's wedding in Singapore in October. We both really want to go, for the "traditional Chinese wedding dinner" if nothing else! It is just a question of money. It will be expensive for certain but I have no doubt that the experience not only of Singapore but a wedding, would be amazing and well worth the financial ruin.

At least I have my payrise to hold me up. I may have moved up from Underpaid to Paid but I remain in the taxed-to-the-eyeballs bracket that comes from living in Germany and which I am reminded of every time I look at my payslip and at all the money I had at the top of the page that has somehow gone by the time I get to the bottom. It's as if I'm spending it just by reading.

The arrival of the monthly payslip, in a deep-red envelope, does, however, remind me that I am no longer a student - a time when a bus ride home was a luxury and buying a drink on a train was insanity itself. There are some benefits to the working life. One year down, only another 64 to go!

*A note on pronunciation. Brid is Irish and like a lot of Irish names, hers is not spelt as it is pronounced. It is Breej, to almost rhyme with siege. She has a cat whose name is spelt Beag but the pronunciation of which is so far away from beeg that you have to wonder what is the point. People pronounce Preeti's name in many different ways but she tells me it is Prithi. And just to mention, each of us in the editorial office pronounces Guido's name differently; the correct, Dutch pronunciation involves far too much hacking, rolling-of-phlegm-in-the-throat noises for a non-native to get right so he is open to interpretation.