Saturday 27 September 2008

Oh dear

I am clearly on a steep learning curve. Yesterday, I discovered two things about blogs.

The first is that ANYONE can read them, not just your 13 Facebook friends to whom you have given the 'address'! Oops. Major booboo. I shall have to keep my nasty little thoughts to myself from now on.

However, this might help me achieve the second thing I found out, which is that a blog should be no more than 300 words.

Wednesday 24 September 2008

Job satisfaction

My university career may have been a disaster, but my work goes from strength to strength. Yesterday was the climax. Talk about job satisfaction!

First I met the new lady, Emma. Well, when I say 'new', she has actually worked in the pub for years, but had a break travelling and getting married, so she was just brushing up on her skills. We were both down the 'bottom' end of the kitchen ie washing up and making sandwiches, ploughmans and tapas when orders come in.

We hit it off, but discovered that both of us are passionate about washing up and peeling potatoes, as we can do these whilst contemplating life, the universe and everything. Basically, neither of us want any responsibility or any duty that has the potential to be stressful. So, things like making puddings we try to avoid.

There was potential for conflict as we hovered over the sink, waiting for the dirty dishes to arrive on the shelf, where we would grab them, rinse them, put them in the big industrial dishwasher, dry them and put them away. I know it might not be everyone's cup of tea, but we love it. However, being exceptionally mature adults, we did not fall out over who would do the washing up. We 'shared' it. (Emma also loves sweeping and mopping, which is good, because they make my back ache).

I think there was a tiny bit of jealousy on her part when I suddenly remembered that the dish towels, aprons and teeny little bar towel things needed to be dried after washing. Normally that just means chucking them in the dryer, which is not very interesting, but, because it was actually sunny, I could hang them on the line. Another of the things I love the most.

I spent quite a long time on this activity, marvelling at the neatness and precision with which I hung them, slightly worried about my analness (or is it anality?) but not enough to stop me. The wind was flapping them about in a way which could give a fanatical laundress an orgasm. I'm not quite that bad.

Lunch time arrived and no orders came, so our neat little row of tapas selection, sliced cheese and meats was left untouched. There was no washing up either. So, I asked the chef for a job. He pointed me in the direction of a rusty metal shelf, piled randomly with anything from Walnut Oil to herbs and spices and bags of suspect things from China. My task was to tear off the already ripped tin foil from each shelf and wipe them down, having first emptied them. Okay, not that inspiring, but I had asked. But what sent my heart fluttering was the next bit! Those three joyous words which every watcher of Blue Peter will know - Sticky backed plastic! I was to cover these shelves in it; all five of them! Now, that is worth an orgasm.

I set to work with the kind of enthusiasm every employer dreams his employee will exhibit. Emma was happy because she was getting orders, and washing up was beginning to appear.

Balancing on a wobbly stool, I set to work and did not stop until I had finished. My 'learning objective' (once a teacher, always a teacher) was to have improved so much in my sticking down tactics that by the end there would be positively no bumps at all (I set this after finishing the top shelf, which was slightly buckled in various places, but not bad for a novice).

About half way down I decided that I needed to have bits going up the back and along the sides of the shelf, to prevent leakages. I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't thought of this at the beginning, but tried not to beat myself up about it too much. This was more complicated than you might think. I was sweating and swearing as I wrestled with the sticky backed plastic - 'Bloody stuff, how the hell are you supposed to get it laid down evenly?' Such thoughts ran through my head. I was no longer quite so in love with it. I was worried that if you kept pressing it down and pulling it up, it would lose its stickiness. It did, a bit.

It took a lot more time than I had anticipated, but having put everything back on the shelves; wiped clean, labelled and 'classified', I stood back, admiring my handiwork. Then I dragged everyone who works in the pub in to admire it as well. There were many 'ooh's' and 'ahs' and I felt suitably praised and ashamedly proud of myself, like a child who has just finished a rather sloppy painting, but not wishing to damage its fragile self esteem, everyone emphatically praises it.

So, my recommendation if you require job satisfaction is: Sticky backed plastic.

Tuesday 23 September 2008

My University career

Yesterday, I went to the first induction day of my 'creative writing' BA at University. I was looking forward to it, though feeling some anxiety, mainly about the fact that I am virtually geriatric.

I arrived early, despite the fact I ended up driving about half a mile down this farm track before realising, it was, in fact, just a farm track. Since there was nowhere to turn around, I was forced to back the entire way, which cricked my neck into an uncomfortable position and started the pounding headache which had been developing since I got up (at 5am!).

Having found where I should be, I lurked outside with a group of anxious looking youngsters, well, practically babies in fact, and resisted the urge to clutch them to my breast, with a kindly 'there, there, you'll be fine'. I knew exactly how they felt; even though I have been through several degrees, everytime I go for another one, I feel the same. A bit like childbirth really. I guess we all feel that in new situations. Unless you're a complete arrogant, pompous bastard.

But wait - they weren't showing any visible signs of stress at all, just chatting to each other, looking relaxed, laughing even! They were full of optimism, setting out on their first real journey as adults.

It was actually me, the sad loner old person, who was feeling the stress. In ten minutes they had made friends, while I hovered round the edge, not knowing a way in.

It quickly became obvious that a part time course involved much more work than my full time BA had involved several centuries ago. Back in the old days you could swan in for the odd lecture and your seminar. I even had a day time job when I was at Uni back then.

The chat from the student union representatives, made my temple positively pound with stress. They were extolling the virtues of the publishing and broadcasting suites. As a luddite, I try to avoid anything which involves computers, especially complicated things like photoshop. They professed it was all fantastically easy to learn, but I am sure they had never been challenged to teach a chimpanzee like me. This kind of thing is best left to the young. When my interactive whiteboard arrived at school, I nearly had a nervous breakdown and had to get some four year old to show me how to work it.

The lecturers, who rather self consciously introduced themselves, seemed rather nice, with a sense of humour and not, thank God, too dauntingly young (ie young enough to be my son) although there were a couple for whom this might have been possible.

Alarm bells began ringing even at the thought of the induction week. It alone required me to come in every day, for something vitally important. Back in the old days, induction week had meant getting drunk every night and going to parties. It didn't mean actually finding out about your course, getting 'taster' sessions, and learning how to use the library and computer suite as well.

I had already arranged several shifts at the pub, plus there was a funeral I didn't want to miss. The seed of doubt having been sown, I began to work myself into a sort of quiet hysteria, with tears bubbling just below the surface, waiting for someone to unleash with a kind word or gesture. What I wanted was to get the hell out of there.

As I drove home, between my bouts of weeping and self flagellation (I would never get anything published now. I am actually crap at writing and, worse still, a failure who gives up easily. Lash, lash) I began to realise that the commute alone would stress me out, just when I had arranged my life to be as stress free as possible.

I put aside the dramatic histrionics and decided to defer until the next year. I immediately felt better and rewarded my decision making skills with a glass of wine.

So, my university career began at 9.30am. It ended at 12.30am.

Monday 15 September 2008

Can't remember what day it is!

Things started to get pretty dire in the old financial department so I decided to get a stop gap job, whilst waiting to find out if I will get one mentoring students. They are still swanning around on their holidays. Do I sound bitter and twisted?

So, phoned the local pub and was signed up to work in the kitchens. I have now completed my third shift and find I actually quite enjoy it. The work consists largely of washing up and wrapping knives and forks in napkins, something I find embarrassingly difficult to do. I am slowly being taught the ropes, bizarrely, many of the young employees are people I taught at primary school, and they are now teaching me!

The chefs don't scream at you or tell you to fuck off every second word, in fact, they seem quite calm. This might change in more frenetic times. Martin, the Egyptcian chef, is always trying to feed me. It's hard to resist the plethora of delicious smells. Am looking forward to having the chance to do stints as a waitress/bartender and chat to customers - always on the lookout for new and interesting characters, bound to be plenty of those, not least, the owner!

Considering the lack of ethnicity in this region of the country, our kitchen is a veritable United Nations. Aside from Martin, there is Paul (Bulgarian) and Alexe (French). The Hungarians have all left. Alexe is definitely certifiable and spends the whole time grinning and bursting into song. She can't wait to return to France and escape the enslavement of her au pair job.

Writing is going..... sort of. I managed to change 120 odd pages from the present tense to the past (my latest attempt to get 'How's it Going to End?' more attractive to agents) and then lost it all somewhere in cyber space. I was almost suicidal, but luckily I had printed out the new version (where has it gone????) so am now ploughing my way through it once again. Oh well, we artistes have to suffer for our art, clearly. My 'memoirs' are getting trickier as I cannot actually remember great chunks of my adult life, so shall have to either skim over them or invent them. Oh yes, and at least the world hasn't ended in a massive black hole.

Monday 8 September 2008

Day 8

I phoned Josh yesterday because I am getting increasingly freaked out by the advent of this experiment to recreate the ‘Big Bang’, which is happening in some tunnel deep under the Alps, on the Swiss/French border. On Wednesday. This Wednesday. I suddenly thought how ironic it would be if, in their pursuit to find out how the universe began, they were to actually cause its end. I thought he might know something about it and be able to explain it to me, and this knowledge would set my mind at rest.

But he only laughed at me and said I was scared because I didn’t understand the way the Universe works. This is true, I neither understand, nor am I particularly interested, which is perhaps why I find it hard to convince myself these experiments are remotely useful. Why can’t we just accept there are some things we don’t know and might never know? Human beings are just too curious.

Obviously, I don’t want any of us to be blown up at any time, but I do feel, just as my writing career is getting going, that this is a very bad time for me personally to be blown into oblivion (well, and everyone else, I suppose). All that heart ache and soul searching about giving up teaching and following my dream. For nothing!

Sunday 7 September 2008

Day 7

As I took my aerobic enhancing dog walk, my heart pounding and my breath coming in rather alarming gasps, wondering , if I had a heart attack, how long it would take to find me and whether the dogs would sit guarding my dead body as it went cold, or trot off to eat some horse shit or find a stick to fight over, I forced myself to ponder on cheerier subjects. Walking always generates these kind of random thoughts.

Well, the weather was obviously not going to be one of them, but our samba drumming experience of the day before, was. Potentially, it was not a cheery venue, being a home for brain damaged young and older adults. These people, on the surface, really haven't got much going for them. They are locked in their sometimes twisted and gnarled, sometimes completely normal bodies. Their faces change expression constantly or remain totally impassive, vacant almost. It's hard to gauge how they feel and I had to stifle the tendency to talk to them as if they were morons. Take Cyril, who liked to shout and definitely had an eye for the ladies. As we played he shouted 'Shut the fuck up, shut the fucking noise up' and when we ended he would shout 'Play some more fucking music, fucking hell'. 'Just ignore Cyril, he's always like that', his carers assured us with a fond smile in his direction.

And Sammy who couldn't stop grinning as soon as she heard the music and kept shouting for 'more' everytime we stopped. A plea we found difficult to ignore. And the man who, apparently, rarely responds to anything, but ended up jiggling around in his wheelchair. By the end of the day, I felt supremely humbled, grateful for all I had and full of incredible admiration for the people that dedicate their lives, for very little money, to giving those members of our society whom most of us wish to ignore, lives full of love and humour.

Friday 5 September 2008

Day 5

I am trying to be more 'pushy' and advertise myself a bit, which I do not find that easy, because my tendency is to tell everyone in the world how crap I am at things.

So, I sent an email to almost everyone in my email address book who might actually remember me, figuring the 'ripple' effect might go to work. Josh, my guru on how to get myself known (he's had plenty of practice with his band) assures me this is what I need to do.

I encouraged criticism, both positive and negative, on the premise that 'I have become so thick skinned that I can take any rejection' (on account of having been rejected so many times by agents).

Well, I got my first negative comment. I now need to change the email to say 'Please send only positive comments, my ego simply can't take negative ones at the moment'. What I'm asking you to do, is lie. Okay? Thanks.

Wednesday 3 September 2008

Day 3

3rd September

Okay, so it's not going terribly well. The writing and the low carb diet. As my bank balance diminishes, my stomach expands. And the routine has already fallen apart.

This is what I actually did yesterday:

Got up at 8am & actually did climb steep hill with dogs (Well Done!)

Spent 2 hours on Facebook, then another hour on emails. Mainly deleting the 120 relating to financial matters ie. 'Are you completely broke?'; 'Need a loan?'; 'Want to know your credit report?'; 'Need help with saving?' etc etc. How do they know?

Then, to make matters worse, all the rest were along the lines: 'Get your diet back on track'. This is getting really spooky.

Now midday so had to eat, though not necessarily vast quantities of carbohydrates.

Sun out so tried to top up fading holiday tan, but Force 10 gale drove me inside.

Cooked risotto for supper knowing I couldn't eat it because I had used up my carb quota for the next 25 years.

3pm: Ate a few spoonfuls of risotto. Delicious.

4pm - 4.15pm: Looked at writing and changed one word in Chapter 5.

4.15pm: Ate few more spoonfuls of risotto.

5pm: Wrote list of things to do tomorrow:

1. Start low carb diet
2. Write
3. Get job

Not too much to achieve then.

5.30pm: Chastise myself once again for making decision to give up secure, well paid job just as worst recession in last two centuries sweeps the country.

5.40pm: Phoned pub and GOT A JOB!!! I can tick my list already! (WELL DONE AGAIN)

6pm: Had a celebratory drink.

Total writing time: 15 minutes (oops)

Tuesday 2 September 2008

Day 2

2nd September





I decided I must make a routine, a strict routine, from which I never deviate.

Something like this:

7am: Get up and do exercises on large ball which makes me feel slightly seasick. Breakfast of pineapple.

8am: Write at least 2 hours without a break. DO NOT BE DISTRACTED BY E MAILS OR FACE BOOK.

9am: Seeds to boost my brain power.

10am: Walk dogs up very steep hill to get legs toned & aerobic workout without spending money on stupid gym fees.

11am: Do something practical/useful ie. housework or gardening. I will need a break by now. Maybe write 'to do' list.

12am: Back to hard graft.

1pm: Carbohydrate free lunch (seeds don't count cos they are super healthy). Phone someone & moan about difficulties of being struggling artist, sacrificing oneself for one's art.

2pm: More writing, with perhaps quick peek at e mails. Reply to urgent ones only. (What urgent ones? You idiot!)

4pm: Tea time, thank God. I'm exhausted.

5pm: More phone calls & tick things off list I've done. If nothing, add things I have done and tick them off. Stops me feeling a failure. Achievements then visible.

6pm: End of hard day. Relax. Cook (yippee, I can have some carbohydrates) & wash up. Celebratory drink as reward.

7pm - 10pm: Continue drinking & have stimulating conversation with Rob, thus feeding creative font ready for tomorrow. Watch Big Brother, X Factor or Wife Swap to understand how other people live and keep in touch with reality.

10pm: Take good book to bed. Don't get depressed because I'll never be able to write one as good.

Total writing time: 5 hours

Day 1

1st September

Oh no. The reality has hit me. Today is the day I would be going back to my old job, the job I have done for 8 years. The job I probably could have done for another 15 years and then retire. Comfortably. With a pension and everything.

But, instead, what have I done? Packed it all in, more or less on a whim, to persue my career as a 'writer'. And what qualifications do I have? None. Diddly squat. Zero. I don't even know what a preposition is, and the term adverbial clause makes me sweat with anxiety. I have even had my first book rejected so many times I can't count that high, but I expect it's a world record.

What a fool.

A purposeless, jobless, irrelevant, labelless (my new made up word) fool.