Saturday, 22 December 2007
As well as the dodgy scanning technology, mis-feeds and opened wrappers, there were novelty inks, shiny papers, incorrect addresses, some truly terrible handwriting, rotten spelling and just sheer unfamiliarity with place names.
Just where is the Coaltown of Balgowrie? How many lls are there in Llangollellen? Is there really a place called Midsomer Parva?
If you don't think postcodes are important, then remember that there is a Perth in Western Australia as well as in Scotland. Don't get me started on Halifax.
Saturday, 15 December 2007
A new one from a girl I've never heard of before
The latest one from Madness
A classic from Pink Floyd
and the only one by the Boomtown Rats that most people know of
I've learned how to embed!
Saturday, 8 December 2007
Monday, 3 December 2007
I've been busy. I am busy. I'm currently holding down two jobs.
The part time bakery job and a full time night position in Stoke sorting computer images of letters.
While I'm in Hanley, sitting in a giant open plan office that's a call centre during the day, I'm sorting mainly Scottish mail. Not mail to Scotland. Not mail from Scotland. Mail in Scotland. Work that one out.
And we're getting a lot of mail for Santa Claus. Here's a tip. Try using envelopes.
With no computer at home, I have to book appointments at the local library (only one appointment a week, three hours maximum) and I'm using those to search for jobs on-line mainly and sort out my e-mails.
I work 10pm - 6am in Stoke, travel home, spending 8am to 9am relaxing and getting ready to go to the day job, work 10am to 2pm (this week I'll start working 'til 3pm) at the bakery, get home and get ready for bed at around 4pm-5pm and then get up at around 7:30pm to start getting ready for work again.
If I'm lucky, I have about 3 hours sleep a day. I knew my depression related insomnia would come in handy one day.
I'm trying to get my life sorted, I'm still applying for jobs and I'm currently earning slightly more than I was earning at the Big E. So far, so good.
Of course this all falls to pieces just before Christmas when Royal Mail let their Christmas Casuals go.
Saturday, 10 November 2007
SWF (Wolverhampton) seeks understanding local job?
Desperately seeking a job?
Desperately seeking employment?
It's not until I get a bit of distance that I can think sensibly about something.
I dunno. What do you think?
Thursday, 1 November 2007
It's a tiny cupboard of a room down on the Production Level.
In the past few days the shop hours have been a little short because of holidays and illness but next week, I should be able to go after I've finished work at 14:00.
There was one lady sitting in the corner of this cupboard with a hatch window to speak to us. She was surrounded with trays of bakery goods. Every kind of product ("units" in factory speak) stacked up around her. She was pinned in and must have pulled wheeled trays of bread into the room after her to get it all to fit in.
I asked for a Winter Fruit loaf and some wholemeal rolls and paid less than a £1 for them both.
We got back up and I put the goodies in the carrier bag before getting back to work answering the 'phones.
What I didn't realise, until I got home and retrieved them from the bottom of the bag, was that the bread is also far fresher than the loaves you usually see in the supermarket. At least two to three days fresher.
The rolls were so soft that they had concertina'ed to the bottom of the packet. To use them, I would have to straighten them out first.
When I got home, I'm afraid the Winter Fruit loaf didn't survive till the evening. I had it all. Then I had to fight sleepy lethargy for the rest of the day. I just couldn't bring myself to do much at all.
I could get very much fatter working here.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
The office manager took me into a meeting room to ask me about my intentions long term. She was happy with my telephone manner generally apart from the "outburst" on Monday. I appeared to be picking things up very quickly and she'll be applying for computer access for me.
Right. That sounds temporary. Not.
She definitely wants to employ me for the next couple of weeks and there are jobs going in the factory. She went off to the HR office to find adverts for me.
A guy in overalls and a hairnet was sitting in one corner using a computer. He introduced himself as the Engineering Manager and said that he was looking for an Administration Assistant to free him up from the paperwork side of things.
The Office Supervisor came back and I was given two internal adverts for positions within the company. I also got a run down of the benefits of working for them and an idea of pay.
Even the permanent, full time staff have pay which is calculated by the hour. It starts around about £6.50 per hour (translating as £12,675 per annum for a 37.5hr week) and it rises every year. There's a profit related bonus for all staff around Christmas time (only to those who have been employed for a certain period of time) and a pension and other benefits.
I haven't been here a week.
I was polite and made "yes, I'll apply" noises. I wasn't doing anything long term and I was happy to stay for as long as they needed me. The meeting went well. I think.
The truly surreal part was looking out of the internal window to see part of the factory floor.
The meeting room/conference room/Visitor's Centre has a window which looks out onto the part of the factory floor which makes rolls. The window is set in such a way and the factory area is so vast, that it isn't possible to see all of the facility.
The rolls are made from balls of dough which have been cut and slapped onto a conveyor. The conveyor takes the slabs of dough to a kind of reverse helter-skelter which spins around forcing the dough upwards towards another conveyor as well as shaping them into a ball.
The balls are dumped onto another conveyor which takes them through a housing where blades are clearly spinning to split the dough into rolls. The split dough balls are then sent off to another part of the process via a curving conveyor.
The constant precision of the rapidly moving dough balls was mesmerising. The machine I could see was about the size of a bus. It was the first of at least four that I could see sending dough balls off on curving conveyors way off into the far distance. I could just see the back wall directly ahead through all the machinery.
Wow. That's a lot of engineering. And that's just for the rolls.
Part of the induction for new (permanent) staff is a tour of the factory floor. Cool.
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
I've been to this place once already.
I was late in today, because I got lost.
You see, it was like this.
Yesterday, I had the Google map and the written instructions. Today, I didn't bring them as I'd been there already. I'm smarter than the average, after all. I don't need telling twice. Do I?
This is a featureless, industrial estate, with almost identical roads, no landmarks, no signage and no one around to ask.
As the roads are very quiet outside the "rush hour", there are a number of learner drivers using the estate for practice.
Roundabouts. There are a lot of roundabouts. Instead of straightforward turns around blind bends and instead of T-junctions, there are roundabouts.
As I approached what should been a T-junction between the main road and the left turn towards my site, a BSM driver lapped the roundabout. He seemed very indecisive. Instead of turning left, I crossed the road (sorry, roundabout) to avoid the driver. I then carried on down the wrong road.
As the bakery is at the end of the road, it wasn't until I got to the end of the road I was on that I realised I was on the wrong road. When I walked back, I was looking at the junction from entirely the wrong angle. I guessed which road I was supposed to take. Luckily I picked correctly.
It was cold, I was panicking slightly and getting breathless because I was hurrying. I was getting wheezy too.
I was very grateful to see the gates of the bakery and the old toothless security lady on the gate shouting at a truck driver that he needed his ID. He was driving one of the biggest corporate trucks.
I was half an hour late. That's a day after I got the H&S talk and the "punctuality is extremely important" spiel.
Well. It's always goes to make a good impression.
My clothes are on the office casual side. I've got a handbag the size of a small weekend case. It holds everything that I would normally put in my jeans and nearly everything that I would have put in any bag I would have been carrying if I didn't have to have the handbag.
Everyone, even the Admin staff wear corporate wear. White blouses with black trousers or skirts. Any game of I - Spy with T for temp is soon over. So far I've been in black and black and blue.
All of today, there have been a steady stream of "girls" (adult women, everyone of them) walking in to the office to be fitted for the new corporate uniform for Admin/office staff.
Fitted up, more like.
The new blouse comes in different styles - long sleeved, short sleeved, fitted, loose, buttons, poppers etc - in the same excruciating shade of Santa Claus red as the trucks.
The girls are picking a selection of blouses for themselves from samples before an order is put in and the finished blouses are sent to the each employee. Each blouse will be "finished" with a logo and embroidery.
These new tops will be finished off with a black logoed fleece with some dangly thing swinging off the zipper.
Monday, 29 October 2007
It's temporary and part time but it's a job. Answering 'phones to shopkeepers and managers wanting adjust their orders.
At a major bakery in Wednesbury. It's HUGE. It's also in the middle of a bleak industrial estate which feels like it's in the middle of nowhere.
It's a long walk from the tram stop and there are footpaths rather than proper pavements. There are shrubs overgrowing the paths and flytippers are happy to dump everything from rubble to matresses because with almost everyone driving and almost no regular traffic, there's no one to see the trash.
The car park is massive. It needs to be.
I show up around 10am (quelle surprise!) and the car park is nearly empty. It's possible to look across the park from the security barrier and see the building you're aiming for.
Pedestrians - who are very rare - have to zig zag across the park via sign posted and marked footpaths. You're even given the instruction at the gate "Just follow the little yellow men".
Past the empty parking bays, past the diesel and motor oil dispenser in what looks like a garden tool store next to the huge tank of diesel, past the smoking shed and past the Portakabin where the engineers go and you come across the Reception.
By the time I leave at two, there is not one bay left. The place is a mass of trucks of various sizes all painted the same eye crunching shade of red. It isn't possible to safely cross the park without the footpath.
The job is busy, if tedious. We answer the 'phone calls from people who want to change their daily orders. There have been problems with accents, dropped calls from mobiles, crackling lines and, of course, me not knowing the different products and their codes. And not having access to the computer system.
The simple query "Can you tell me how many blues waxies we are having tomorrow?" means that I have to put them on hold while I ask one of the Admin "girls".
One of them has to finish what she's doing, look up the account and then tell me. I take the customer off hold and relay the information to him/her.
This is usually followed up with another query about tomorrows order and the whole rigmarole starts again.
After I had finished one awkward call with someone who didn't have the information to hand and kept me waiting while he recounted each type of bread individually, I put my receiver down and shouted "You Freak".
I was told afterwards, not to do that in case someone else is on the 'phone and their customer can hear me in the background.
The Admin people are very friendly and happy to show me how to do/find stuff and the conditions are fine. If a little, I dunno, bizarre for an office job.
The factory first "presents" as one of those identikit industrial park offices. All magnolia and high traffic flooring. Non slip lino instead of the usual carpet tiles, but so far so routine.
The first clue is the corporate art on the walls. Instead of the usual "inspirational management" bollocks of waterside autumnal trees at sunset, or a lone seagull flying into the sunset across a still sea (usually accompanied by some slogan along the lines of "Our customer is King to our competitors") there are expensively framed, highly detailed photos of the bakery production facility signed by a member of the founding family.
The ladies' toilet is industrial. The mirrors are fuzzy with cleaning fluid, the dispensed handsoap is antimicrobial, the soap unit sits next to wet/dry barrier cream and the paper towel dispenser is powered.
The office is very much what you'd expect. Open plan with computers and a background radio. The work is fast and furious - as you would expect for such a major site.
In a lot of other companies, the office and the factory side don't meet. In this place, there are people in "industrial workwear" walking in and out of the office almost constantly. Drivers in black and red, production staff in blue overalls, blue hairnets, steel toecaps and blue ear defenders and staff in white coats form an almost constant stream of people flowing in and out of the office doors.
The kitchen area is a little different to the average. It is a small cupboard of a room as you would have seen in a lot of office spaces. There is the standard microwave, fridge, freezer and a cupboard full of mismatched mugs. Then there is the large catering fridge, freezer and plastic heat sealing machine.
As the catering assistant is on hand to make up little packed lunches for visitors (sandwiches, naturally, in little logoed carrier bags) and lunches for staff, the kitchen has to subscribe to the same rules as a commercial kitchen.
There is a box of hairnets on the wall beside the kitchen door. If the assistant is in there preparing food, then we have to put on a hairnet to get a cup of coffee. If the assistant is unloading the shopping, then we can't get in there at all. Only once have I seen anyone offering to get tea and coffee for anyone.
And the smell of baking bread is everywhere. Up the road to the site, across the car park, in the building; everywhere except on the way in to Reception when you have to pass a vent that sends out a vinegary blast. Eugh.
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
1. Buy a Network Day card which gets me unlimited travel over the West Midlands by train, bus and tram.
2. Go into Birmingham casually dressed to go to the dental hygienist appointment at 10:50
3. Return to Wolverhampton to prepare for the interview
4. Go to University for the interview at 14:00
5. Return to Wolverhampton and collapse
This was a rubbish plan. As I found out at the train station when I found out about the power lines failing between Wolverhampton and Stafford.
This meant all the train lines were affected as diesels were being used to tow trains along the north bound lines. If there were any spare, that is.
I got to the dental hygienist appointment for 11:30. She had a "gap", but that meant waiting another 20 minutes.
I got a scale and polish as well as a clean bill of health and was off back to Wolverhampton.
I got home to change and sort out the web site stuff that I printed off and was off again. Without the soft casual Timberland shoes I usually wear, I was limping quite badly. The plantar fasciitis thing has been getting worse and the Ibugel which was prescribed isn't really touching it any more. I am going to have to do something about it. But not today. When I really didn't need the added stress of pain on top of a job interview.
I got to Wolverhampton train station again and rediscovered the joys of commuting. To my annoyance, I had just missed the "slow" multi stopping train which tends to carry on regardless of power failures as it is diesel powered and just runs between Wolverhampton and Birmingham.
After another dash to the new footbridge to get to Platform 4, I arrived on the platform to see the Virgin train to Plymouth inching away from the station. Terrific.
After being sent to two different platforms, via the staircases, I joined the commuting-savvy regulars on the new footbridge to watch for whichever southbound train came first. Every southbound train stops at Birmingham New Street.
We piled onto Platform 3 and got on the next Virgin train to London Euston. I got a seat next to a woman who was reading a pile of work related papers and a few seats down from The World's Most Boring Yorkshireman who was loudly regaling his luckless companion Peter about how he likes to drive the Xenon.
"Now Peter, you can tell me you like the Mondeo all you like, but I like the feel of the car as it drives....."
The woman beside me was loaded with a briefcase and a large handbag, both of which she had on her lap as she was reading Human Resources material about part time working. She was clearly on the Ladybird version. The first line of the first page was
"Part time working is anything less than full time working"
I turned away from the papers and looked out the window to the industrial landscape that was passing s l o w l y beside us.
"Now as you know, Peter, the Mondeo has its faults, you've acknowledged them...."
He went on to describe in tedious detail how he drove around his old home town of Leeds. Peter pointed out that Leeds was a city.
"You're quite correct Peter! I stand corrected. Or should I say sit corrected."
He then described how he managed to find the loopholes that got his wife off a parking ticket
"Now I was thinking, "Should I be cute and tell people about this?". I mean, I have written to The Telegraph before now and I have been published..........."
The woman beside me put the paperwork into her briefcase and pulled out "The Rise and Fall of the Yummy Mummy" from the carrier bag she also had with her down by her feet.
Then there came the usual unexplained delay between Smethwick Rolfe Street and Smethwick Galton Bridge.
By the time we pulled into New Street Station, Peter (and the rest of the carriage) had been told about how his pal had seen off Jehovah's Witnesses
"....and I told them that by standing on the doorsteps of total strangers, they were just asking for a reaction and if they didn't like it...."
and how he argued for better service from his internet provider or else they'd lose his custom
".....so I told them there are are plenty of other providers out there these days and if they didn't pull their finger out they could bloody well whistle for their back dated charges........."
I suspect the stampede and resulting crush to get off the carriage wasn't just because it was over 30 minutes late arriving at Birmingham New Street. Peter and his pal may have had a lot to do with it.
As I didn't know which train I needed to get to University, I needed Information. So did nearly everyone else.
In the scrum of people around the exit, there are queues of people buying penalty fares, queues of people getting out, queues of people getting in and queues of people wanting to know where to go next.
I joined one of those queues and when I finally got to the front, I was interrupted by an Asian guy. He was immediately slapped back by the woman behind the desk who told me I needed the 13:25 to Longbridge from platform 11.
I ran down the concourse with a small group of other people (not rivals for the job, surely?) and got stuck on the stairs behind two very fat (and slow!) women who were carrying a large pushchair awkwardly down the stairs.
We got to the platform to see our train pulling away. I turned to go back up the escalators as someone else made a comment to the two women who had held us up. I could hear an incredibly foul mouthed argument starting up as I left for the concourse.
I got to Information again and spoke to the same woman as before. She did an obvious double take before telling me I needed the 13:55 Longbridge train from Platform 11.
That was not an option. It was now 13:35. My interview was for 2pm.
I thanked her and limped briskly to the Taxi ranks after stopping briefly to get yet more money out of the cash machine. £20. At 13:40.
I was the only one in the queue and went to the front taxi. He looked at the map I printed off as if I had just handed him the latest Conservative Party Manifesto document printed in Japanese. He clearly didn't have a clue.
He pulled out his copy of the A-Z, and holding my map upside down, tried to compare the two. After taking an age to compare them, he handed my map back to me and agreed to take me. At 13:45.
We went through the city centre, out along Broad Street, down to Edgbaston and out through the leafy posh bits. He hit a main road, then took a turn off and we arrived in the University area (I recognised this bit from the job interview at the Blood Service lab). We carried on past the red brick Victoriana of the original University, past the comprehensive school visions of the sixties and on to a more modern red brick gated estate.
He swung round the driveway and left me in front of a door. He told me that I was at the Science Park and that here was where I wanted. Somewhere. At 13:55. He drove off with £15.
I took my map out and started walking away from the door, before I realised that it was the building I wanted. I yo yoed back, hoping the Receptionist hadn't seen the double take.
She had. She thought it was funny.
She directed me down a corridor and I met another Receptionist. She asked me to take a seat and that my interviewer would be with me shortly. The Reception area was barriered off from the offices with partition boards upholstered with scratchy, hard wearing, tweedy fabric in a tasteful grey pastel. They matched the chairs.
There were diet sheets lining the walls and information for new patients starting on the new prostate trial.
The Interviewer showed up, shook my hand and showed me into his office. We got on really well. He explained how the organisation worked, how the patients are managed and what my role would be if I was hired.
I liked the guy. He clearly enjoyed working there,talked enthusiastically about his work and his role and called his immediate line manager "inspirational". He was so fired up, he even got me wanting to work there. Even though I still had no idea about salary.
After the interview (where I showed up my lack of people contact yet again), he left me with a Administrative Leader who showed me round the rest of the site.
The patient files filled the massive filing shelves which lined both sides of a long corridor of a room. There were scrutiny areas where clients could check up on the work being done, patient consultation rooms and a drugs room which only clinicians had the keys to.
There was the Reception area. There was a small kitchen area. There was where I'd be working. And there was the Exit. Bye.
I didn't fancy limping all the way to the train station so I crossed the road to the bus stop. I took a bus back to the City Centre. It took the scenic route through the University campus, around Edgbaston and finally, after we stopped for the driver to visit a betting shop, at Birmingham New Street.
I called in to the bullring shopping centre. I needed the toilet and, while I was in Birmingham I could pretend to have money and go window shopping. I ended up in Debenhams where I received a call from Catherine who was eager to know how it went.
As we talked, I wandered through the Menswear section. There was music, pop videos on overhead screens and regular announcements about offers "....throughout the store!" forming a constant and intrusive background noise. I apologised to Catherine who had had to repeat some of what she was saying to me.
The pay was £14,000 per annum. Plus bens. I tried to sound enthusiastic, I really did. But, I had to face facts. £14,000 per annum would mean getting a second part time job simply to pay for the travelling costs.
Catherine rang off making enthusiastic noises (she would, she stood to make £700 if I was hired) and promising me that she'd contact me with any news.
Nothing. Nada. Not a sausage, since. Not a reply to my e-mail or anything.
I take it, by the silence, that I haven't got that job.
Monday, 22 October 2007
I've been given a web address, background information and everything I need to do well.
Something will go wrong. It always does.
Saturday, 20 October 2007
The local ASAN charity had arranged skips for wood, plastic and cardboard for between 08:30 and 11:00 today.
I loaded up my wheelie bin with old wood and trundled it down the road. It was H E A V Y.
I then made a second trip with more wood, all the plastic I'd been saving and the cardboard. It really makes a difference with the rubbish. My kitchen bin is less than half full.
As I brought my bin back home, the local council came past with a trailer so that people could load their stuff up and have it taken to the end of the road for them.
Still, I needed the exercise.
Friday, 19 October 2007
Apparently it happens all the time.
When I pulled out my expanding job application folder, he openly admitted to being impressed.
The folder is divided into a number of sections. The job adverts, jobs I'm still waiting for a reply from, jobs I've had interview for and jobs I've been outright rejected for.
That's more than people normally show him, he said.
Getting me back on the Signing on register was a matter of correcting a couple of fields on the database and although he couldn't find my signing on file, I could sign another bit of paper and he'd hunt down my file before it was processed. He'd ring me later and give me my new signing on time.
He did. It's going to be 11:20 2nd November 2007.
I went to JobChange. I looked for jobs and got kicked out with everyone else when it closes for lunch on Friday at 13:00.
It then opens at 14:00 and closes early at 16:30.
I spent the intervening hours wandering around the Mander and Wulfrun Centres. Like all the other unemployed losers before limping home via Sainsbury's reduced sections.
Thursday, 18 October 2007
There's a job. Data entry for the purchasing department in the local NHS offices in Chapel Ash for between £6 and £7 an hour. Would I be interested?
Is the Pope a Catholic?
Michelle told me that she'd call me back after she had sorted out the details, confirmed the job and found out who I'd be reporting to.
Ten minutes later, she called back. The job was £5.93 per hour, the hours were 8:30 to 17:00 and she still had to confirm who I'd be working with but the job was on for tomorrow.
Yep. The job entailed a short day's training so that I could hit the ground running on Monday.
So as well as going to JobChange to look for work on-line, I called in to the Job Centre to sign off.
On my way back home, I called in to Reed.
Michelle met me and said she was still waiting for the 'phone call. I'd know as soon as she knew.
Ten minutes later, I was wandering through the Mander Centre when I got the call.
The job was 'on hold'. They would call her on Monday.
That meant I had to sign on tomorrow.
I am going to a 13 week review meeting tomorrow - hopefully I'll be able to sort something out then.
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
No. I haven't got the job in Four Ashes either.
I presented well, I seemed to know my stuff, but there was the consideration of the buses and the fact that as I had worked for someone like The Big E, they weren't sure I was used to working to tight deadlines.
A lot of asbestos analysis is done with building projects in mind and not being able to work to short deadlines could mean expensive delays for clients.
Okay, then. Keep looking for me, won't you?
I went on to JobChange to adjust my cv one more time and that evening when I called Dad to see how he was he asked me about the interview.
When I told him that I hadn't got the job, he started to angrily ask me to look at myself. It can't be all the employers who are wrong.
Yep. I know.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
I think the interview went really well. They seemed friendly enough, I seemed to impress them with my research about the subject and I walked out of there thinking that I'm still in the running.
The only problem I can see is that the bus which will get me there runs once an hour. The 07:45 will get me there just in time for the 08:30 start. I told them that I got a taxi for the interview - but the bus would be no problem.
And they said that they had someone who had worked there before who used the bus.
Although the weather is getting colder, the weather was sunny and crisp. It's a pleasant ride down the Stafford Road, detour to Brewood, back to Coven and then back onto the Stafford Road into Wolverhampton.
When I got to the agency who sent me I tried going upstairs to the Technical section only to be told by the receptionist that it was closed. The ceiling had caved in one night and the Technical section had re-located to West Bromwich.
I rang the guy. He asked me how it went and I told him how I thought it went and we chatted for quite a while. All the while I was conscious of the credit on my 'phone running out. After the call I checked and found to my pleasant surprise that I stll had nearly £7 left.
I still need a new 'phone. The vibrate function has stopped working, the shell is full of dust making the camera fairly useless and the battery flattens in within two days.
To save a bit of money, I popped into the new agency I signed up with and told Young Man how I thought it went - but I also told him to keep looking for work for me as I have been in this position before.
You know, the position where I think everything has gone really, really well and I still don't get the job.
Today is the 20th anniversary of the so called "Great Storm" of 1987. So called because the storm was the worst to hit the South East of England in over 300 years. The South East (including London) is, as far as the media are concerned, the centre of the known Universe.
Never mind the fact that Scottish coasts routinely see this kind of weather every 30 years or so, this, The Great Storm is the worst EVER in living memory as far as the BBC is concerned.
2007 is a landmark year for me. 20 years ago I was just starting my first full time job - in a hospital.
20 years ago today, I had to bring a torch to work to help me see where I was going, dodge fallen trees and show up to the hospital which was running on auxiliary power.
The lights were on but, in my building little else was working. Someone had to be there to receive the spent krypton generators from the delivery drivers even if we couldn't send them out with any fresh deliveries.
It was weird. Shortly after the last driver left, I was sent home as we could do nothing until the main power supply was back.
There has been a lot of reminiscing about the storm. A local television station broadcast from YouTube - Coast to Coast (check the 80s style), A montage of BBC tv news clips (remember the old logos?), the Forestry Commission still mourns the loss of so many trees and this piece of indulgent drama 20 years on is really quite over the top.
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
I got a call, thanking me for my application and asking me to register for the job at 2 o'clock today with a "consultant".
I arrived on time, as dolled up as I thought appropriate and was hacked off to find no one was ready for any interview. I was left in an overheated waiting area with a clipboard full of forms to fill in. The tricky one was the Health questionnaire. How many days off sick had I taken over the past two years. Um. Ooooooh. >30 days.
I filled them in and knocked on the door of an office when I finished. A young blonde girl came out, gave the forms a quick glance over and brought me into another office where we sat opposite each other at a desk.
Which job had I applied for?
They had advertised the job and must have noted the replies - why didn't she know which job I had applied for?
The data entry position.
There's only one data entry position, that's in Walsall and that's on hold. We're not recruiting for that job at the moment.
I wasn't happy and it probably showed.
On my way out I was fuming. Not fuming enough to ignore my fear of heights.
Owen Payne are in a set of offices in a Victorian block. You know the sort of thing, one door at street level leading up a flight of stairs with different offices on different floors.
To let light onto the lower floors, the landing was the kind of framed glass inset that one sometimes sees in pavements to allow light to the basements below the pavement level.
It's enough to trigger my fear of heights. I tiptoed across it.
Then I carried on flouncing out of there.
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
I've got an interview tomorrow at 2pm with yet another agency. The registrations are always the same.
As they interview me I am "amazing", "really good", "really easy to place" and all sorts of compliments.
I'm telling people that I left to get a wider work experience in more varied work places (not true), that I had done the same job for nine years (true), was getting really fed up (true) and couldn't be promoted (true), couldn't be moved sideways to a placement of my choosing (true) and really could do with a change (true - ish).
And I hear the same things over and over again - I'm doing the right thing getting different work experiences, that they'll have no trouble placing me and there are a number of jobs already on the books that suit me.
They make helpful, friendly, really keen noises and then I hear nothing from them again.
I'm registered with most of the agencies in Wolverhampton and I hear nothing - even when I ring and e-mail them to remind them I'm still here.
I have got to find something soon.
Matters aren't helped by the saga of next door.
Someone nicked next doors bin a few weeks ago. Next door threw rubbish into my bin. It was rank.
I'm fairly fastidious about even my wheelie bin. No "raw" rubbish gets put ito it - it always goes into a bin bag first. I washed out and disinfected my bin and then brought it into the front room so she couldn't do that again.
Yes. I know that sounds obssesive and insane. That's how I am.
After too many visits from too many unsavoury people at all hours of the day and night, Next Door left to live with her mother and her two children whom Social Services are taking an active interest in.
That hasn't stopped people knocking on the front door at all hours of the day and night.
A few days ago, I found a bin at the top of the road which had no markings on it. There's an off-licence at the top of my road, which is at the end of a terrace.
They have been doing some building work on the flat above the shop which has its side entrance in my road. A number of bins have been doing double duty as domestic refuse receptacles and, like the one I found, also as cement and plaster storage bins.
I nicked it. I then spent some of the precious money on a tin of paint. I marked it up with next doors number and used it for my rubbish.
The point being that I could make the house next door look like less of a burglary target by making it looked lived in.
Well, that plan backfired.
I left the bin out for the bin men.
About 7:30 this morning, someone came along to boot the crap out of the door. There were two voices - one deep, one high pitched and whiny. I didn't get downstairs in time to see who was there, but the curtain stuck to the inside of the front door had been pulled into the letterbox to help muffle the noise.
They must have thought there was someone in there because the bin had been put out.
After the binmen came, I washed out the bin and left it to dry.
I called the number the police gave me to report any such incident and then went off to JobChange.
On the way there, I met PC Teddy Bear. PC Bear is absolutely massive. Up and sideways. When he drives a normal police car he makes it look a bit like a pedal car. It's too small for him.
Today I saw him parked up beside the Dartmouth Arms pub and I stopped to tell him what happened earlier. He was in a people carrier. A much bigger car than the one I usually see him in and it seemed to be far more comfortable for him. He had to stretch to reach the notebook on the passenger seat beside him.
He told me that there had been a conference with Next Door, the Social Services and her mother and she had moved out. If anyone comes round could I keep an eye on them? If I hear anyone inside I had to call 999. Okaaaay.
We then got chatting about the bunch in Maxwell Road. I told him about the Bank Holiday where in an attempt to fix a broken window, the family had stolen the window from the house next door and were attempting to nail it in to the frame. I had been given an anti social behaviour diary to fill in, but they had turned very quiet. The anti social behaviour affecting me most was from Next Door.
They had probably turned very quiet as they had been given their marching orders. The police had finally found the landlord and had persuaded him to give the family their notice. He lived in Pendeford and couldn't give a toss about the place as long as the Housing Benefit was paid he was fine.
He won't be fine trying to let the place again, it's now a ramshackle pig sty.
We got chatting about the area and how Tesco had been able to get the planning permission they needed to start work on the old hospital site and how the area seemed to be picking up slowly.
At least, I said, it wasn't going to turn into Heath Town.
"Oh no," he replied, "I'm not going to let it get that bad!"
I thought that was quite sweet. The fact that he felt so responsible for the area that he didn't say "we" he said "I".
Gotham City has Batman in his Batmobile and we've got PC Teddy Bear in a people carrier the sized of a hearse stuck all over with logos and reflective strips.
Friday, 5 October 2007
I sat on the 126 all the way from Wolverhampton to Birmingham with my cv in my bag.
Walked down Corporation Street to the Pallasades, handed in my cv with the brightest smile I could manage and went down to the train station for cash.
I joined the queue for one of only two machines working and got the machine that was only giving twenties.
Terrific. I had £120 left. Now I've got £100 left.
I bought a smoothie from Zumo and walked back out of the Pallasades and back up Corporation Street to the 126 bus stop. One was loading up as I got there.
I got back to Wolverhampton and got to the Job Centre. My 13 week review is due next time.
Great. At 09:20 Friday 19th October, I've got an appointment to see an advisor and if I can't explain what I've been doing to find work then I could lose my benefits and my National Insurance contributions.
There's an incentive.
I called Matt. Nope. Nothing. He was "busy with a client" but still didn't get back to me later.
Thursday, 4 October 2007
I was too depressed to go to evening classes this week. That makes two weeks in a row.
I have been fighting a headache which left me going to bed early Thursday and Friday.
I've upped the dose on the lofepramine to 4 x 70mg per day, but it's going to take a little while to take effect.
There was an interview in a laboratory close to Birmingham University. I was told I'd get a call through the agency either Thursday or Friday.
The interview went well. The labs are spotless. The team is small and friendly and the hours not at all bad.
Birmingham City Council owe a lot of money
On the way out (Matt drove me there and back), Rosemarie called from Birmingham City Council.
The Council are still trying to write the cheque out for the overpaid nursing home fees. They owe my Senile Uncle well over £30,000.
After his care was funded by the NHS on and after the 1st July 2003, they carried on sending the bills until the summer of 2005.
They have sent the bills to me.
They have addressed the bills to me.
They have happily accepted my cheques
from a Receivership bank account in my name
and signed by me.
So who do they address the cheque to?
I had to send the cheque back, with copies of the Birmingham City Council documentation that listed me as the debtor and they said they'd get it done as soon as possible.
It's now October.
Rosemarie, the Section Manager called me and asked me for the Court documents to prove my eligibility. Did I have access to a fax machine what with the Postal Strike coming?
I looked around Matt's car as we drove around Edgbaston.
I would have to post the documents to her as she had to see the embossed Court Seal anyway.
She seemed not to know what that meant but reminded me about the postal strike. This wasn't going to be a fast process. I told her again that I would have to post the documents to her - she had to see the embossed originals.
Then she asked me if I had a pen and paper handy.
I looked around Matt's car as we drove into the University campus.
No. Text it to me I said.
She did hours later, while I was in the cinema.
I went to see "Kenny". The agency was in Broad Street opposite the cinema so after the interview, I popped across to see what was on.
Kenny was funny in an understated, mock documentary kind of way. The weird part was his Dad. Swap the Aussie accent for an Irish one, the bleeding ulcer for a bad back and give him a shave and that's my Dad right down to the fear of hospitals.
Another job to apply for
As I was passing through the Pallasades shopping Centre to get to the trains, I spotted an advert for Optical Laboratory Technicians and walked in.
I was told I could pop my cv in and then I'd hear back. Okay.
So I went home, picked up everything I needed for the JobChange place, the original Receivership Order, the Interim Receivership Order and the letter that went with it explaining what it was.
I photocopied the letter and posted it with the two orders to Rosemarie at the new address in Birmingham.
It'll probably get to her by next Friday.
I then logged on to a computer, looked through all the emails and came across an Optical Laboratory Assistant job advertised on jobsite.
I applied online and printed off my cv in case they were for two different places.
There's nothing like being thorough.
Monday, 1 October 2007
The Bourne Ultimatum - slickly made, fast paced, action thriller that doesn't need a brain. The hero is some sort of superhero who magics money, passports and obscure transport knowledge out of thin air.
At one point, after a whistlestop tour of Europe including Waterloo Station in London, our polyglot hero and a girl are in Spain. She tells him the man he is looking for is in Tangiers. He knows straight away
a) how to get there
b) when the next ferry is due out
The rest of us would be trying to locate Tangiers on a map and Googling transport and air fares.
But this is the sort of fantasy tosh where this sort of thing goes by the wayside. It's all explained in the first of the films The Bourne Identity. He's part of a secret 'black ops' outfit where he was taught all this.
Michael Clayton - Okay, I'm a George Clooney fan. I loved the film. But for one baffling plot thing.
Michael Clayton is a legal fixer. Originally a proper lawyer, he is now a legal 'janitor' for a huge New York law firm, cleaning up clients' mess, greasing palms and 'doing favours' for people.
His law firm have been contracted by a gigantic agrichemicals company on whose behalf they have been fighting a class action law suit regarding a pesticide.
An old friend and lead in agrichemicals case suddenly goes nuts - stripping naked and declaring his love for a girl giving evidence.
Michael is called to rein his old friend in, get him back on his medication, limit the damage and get the case back on track.
He tries to do his best on all fronts - his brother has fallen off the wagon and left him in debt after a restaurant business they set up together fails, his family is broken, he ferries his kid to school in the morning, he's fighting a gambling addiction - all character study stuff.
The "Lock Stock" style editing is good, the grey tired feel of the movie reflects the character's mood, the sense of hotel room anonymity is summoned up very well - this is all good stuff.
As he fires his car away from yet another client and another legal mess (hit and run, no less) he deviates from the main road, stops in the middle of nowhere and climbs to the top of a hill to look at the horseys in the field.
That's how he survives a car bomb.
It's Hollywood. I know. It's probably supposed to be a bit mystical and a bit mysterious like the stag sequence in "The Queen".
However, it makes no sense at all. There is nothing that suggests Michael is a country boy who wants to get back to the life he once knew, no references to horses in the rest of the film that would put the scene in any sort of context, just three horses on the horizon which Michael gets out of his car to get a close up view of.
Go see them, if you like, but don't expect it to make sense.
One thing which is unnerving me though are not just the films but the trailers.
We seem to be in a dark conspiracy fuelled period of film making.
"The Kingdom" with Jamie Foxx and Jennifer Garner is about Middle Eastern bomb makers operating in Saudi (the Kingdom in the title) and is a dark affair about who you can trust as well as explosions.
"Rendition" with Meryl Streep and Reese Witherspoon is an extremely dark tale of a Middle Eastern man married to a Western woman (Witherspoon) who is secretly transported to an unknown destination to be tortured for information.
and "Lions for Lambs" starring Tom Cruise and Meryl Streep is also about military solutions to the War on Terror and incompetence and ruthlessness.
A British film is coming called Eastern Promises. This stars Viggo Mortensen as a Russian gangster. There's a dead girl, her diary and her baby and a midwife and guns and blood and a bunch of red roses in a crib and and and hmmmmmn.
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
Re: ADMINISTRATOR - DATA MANAGEMENT
Further to the conditional offer of employment made to you, subject to satisfactory references, CRB check and pre-employment medical information I confirm we have now received the above information.
After careful consideration we are regretfully withdrawing the conditional offer of employment made on 14th August 2007. This takes into account the potential aggravation that the role might make upon your wrists, the past sickness and absence record provided by you at our meeting and the report received from your medical assessment.
I wish you all the very best for the future
Thanks, I'll need it.
So, if I'd kept my mouth shut, I'd have a job by now.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
Reed Stoke on Trent have been contracted to find 555 Royal Mail MDEC temps for Christmas.
No. No one could tell me what MDEC (EM - DECK) stood for either.
The new Royal Mail building looks like one of those giant warehouse/shed things in the middle of a dedicated car park on a desolate and windswept business park that the local transport authority has only just started running buses through.
Bleak is an understatement.
As I had no idea about where this place was in relation to the train station, I got a taxi. It really is MILES out of Hanley town centre.
Once inside, the place was just like any other similar shed. Cardboard walls, high traffic, corporate carpet tiles and magnolia. Magnolia paint and magnolia, plastic coated, high resistance wallpaper everywhere.
There were a series of small computer training and conference rooms up on the first floor all named after different types of pottery. Etruria, Wedgwood, Minton, Doulton and so on.
While it's a fine idea to recognise the rich heritage of "The Potteries" region, why in here? It's the Royal Mail and nothing to do with china at all.
I arrived as one of the last candidates and we were led into "Minton". It was a medium sized, conference room with a computer presentation set up ready to go. There were about 16 desks, the lights were already dim and I got the clear impression that they had been waiting for us before they started.
We were shown an out of date PowerPoint presentation. The wages were wrong. So was the location. And the number of temps required. And the shift patterns were different now.
This was well organised. Not.
The presentation gave us an idea about the work involved and the test we were about to do. The handouts we were given were also handy. When in training we were expected to achieve 400 tasks per hour. By the end, after training we were expected to achieve over 900 tasks per hour. There were nervous laughs from the audience.
The awkward part came afterwards.
I had applied on-line through the reed.co.uk website, got e-mailed and rung up by Reed staff and rang back to check the requirements and I duly I showed up with proof of ID (passport), proof of NI number (P45), proof of address (bills) and my bank details.
I was mortified to be asked for my photos (?) and my cv.
When you're stuck in a conference room filled with desks and there are people sitting two or three to a desk handing over the required documents, it's embarrassing to have to say say "I didn't know, I wasn't told to bring those." when everyone else clearly had been.
They were quite nice about it and told me I could send it to them later - although they pointed out they they had told "everyone" what to bring.
Not quite everyone.
We were led along corridors to a vast open plan office and were seated at different desks. There were a couple of bods helping out with the IT. There were problems with some of the computers.
Again. An organisation thing. Would it have killed them to just try logging on to the computers that were going to be used before we arrived?
There was a test which was supposed to last for about ten minutes. It consisted of a series of scanned envelope images flashing up on the screen and the test was whether we had to tap the post code, the county or the city name into the computer. A series of codes highlighted down the side of the screen even told us what to put in.
The hardest part was trying to decipher the handwriting made less legible by the scanning process.
Before everyone else had finished, my test stopped.
I put my hand up and asked about why my test had stopped. I was brightly told that I had finished it, that's why.
983 tasks per hour. I completed the test so quickly it only took 6 minutes and 6 seconds. With a 99% accuracy rate.
After the West Bromwich warehouse job, that task was easy.
The girl who handed me yet more forms to fill in even thanked me for pronouncing her name correctly (it was Scottish) and I could send in a cv and two passport photos as soon as possible.
I finished the form filling. I filled in a small piece of paper that was clearly going to be an ID badge (that's what the photos are for), filled in my preferences for shifts and left leaving my Visitor's pass at the front desk.
On my way back I tried the bus route. There was close to a half an hour wait for the bus back to the bus station and another bus ride back to the train station and the university.
The registration was the usual thing.
Saturday, 22 September 2007
The wedding was lovely. The church was beautiful, the weather was lovely and warm, the bride was gorgeous (a maternal and paternal first cousin), the groom was embroidered and the service let down by a sudden loss of power to the microphones.
Stuck towards the back of the church, there was no way of hearing what was being said over the din of screeching children.
The were dozens of babies and toddlers who just didn't want to sit or stay still in the summery heat and who protested loudly when told to sit or stay still.
As well as Cute Nephew and Cute Niece, there were all the little second cousins and the children of more distant relatives and friends of the bride and groom.
One cousin of mine is a full-time working mother with five (count them, FIVE) children, all of whom are under ten. Their tempraments couldn't be more different. She was happy to see them all together for the first time in a few weeks, as their house is undergoing major building work and she has had to farm them out to other relatives while the work is going on.
As well as a small 'babe in arms', there are four toddlers with one of the smallest also being the boldest. A total contrast to his brothers (yep, five boys) he wandered up and down the main aisle with a cheeky grin on his face. His mother's frantic stage whispers went apparently unheeded as he took great delight winding her up like a clock.
The church was by the riverside and the lychgate led directly to the river side path. The path was no more than five feet across before there was a sudden drop into the water. Every available adult was on "kiddie alert", herding small children away from the gate regardless of whether they were known to each other or not.
The were no gates by the side of the church which was on a busy main road. That had its moments.
There was once a time when I was quite the David Bailey. One Christmas, in a rash moment I spent £200 on a Canon camera. Not an SLR model, but it had a zoom lens, macro mode, frame retention for trick 'picture over picture' shots, a variable flash and a nice little gimmick where the camera can read the type of film, so that the user doesn't have to remember to set the camera to suit the film. I wouldn't lose all my photos if I had overexposed say, a 400 film with a 100 setting, for example.
It was top of the domestic range and relatively state of the art for its time. It took (takes) very nice photos. However, that was what, the late eighties? It is the size of a breeze block compared to the miniature digital cameras that are out there. And what, a maximum of 36 pictures before I change the film? And what's going on with the battery - it's so big and bizarrely shaped that it could pass for a small novelty camera? And the noise of it. The wheezing noise it makes as the lens zooms in and out, the motor winding on the film after the shutter clicks and the noise of the flash charging up before it goes off. Jesus. It was embarrassing.
I got a number of people telling me to allow to get stolen. The robber could easily mistake it for a video camera. I could claim on the insurance then.
The reception was at a local riverside hotel with a fusion restaurant which served up Chinese, Thai and English cuisine. Usually that's not a good move with nothing being done well, but the staff knew what they were doing and the buffet was really good. Relatively well labelled, although someone let a prawn fall into the peanut satay and I went round with a hot red rash across my face for the rest of the evening.
Here's a tip...
Never let the kids play hide and seek without a grown up involved
The Bold Little Man decided to hide really, really well.
He walked into the service corridor that was being used by the waiting staff between the kitchen and the main room, found a room closed for refurbishment, found a flight of stairs up and hid behind a fire extinguisher at the top of the stairs.
He couldn't be found and the other children started to ask around for him. His mother went mental.
She went round the room, then went out the back door out to the car park, followed the path round to the busy main road to the bridge and ran up to the bridge. The bridge had a balustrade arrangement which the Bold Little Man could have fitted through. There was a long drop down into the River Thames. There were also paths which led down to both sides of the river. Then she went hysterical.
MwK meanwhile, knowing how little boys think, stayed inside the hotel to look for the BLM. After all, the children were given strict orders by all the parents and relatives not to go beyond the car park. And, thanks to the smoking ban there was always at least two people outside on the verandah effectively keeping guard. And the children had been very good up until then.
MwK went down the service corridor, found the room closed for refurbishment and the stair case and saw a little lemon yellow head peeping out from behind the fire extinguisher.
He brought the Bold Little Man into the main room just as the DJ started to announce the very serious news that a small child had gone missing.
After Supermum and the BLM were reunited, the rest of the evening was punctuated with piercing, whistling shrieks from the BLM protesting as his Mum kept a white knuckle grip on his baby reins which she just happened to have with her.
The speeches were restrained and there were the obligatory embarassing stories and photographs. Back in the eighties, the groom (now totally bald) had hair and a dodgy perm. The Best Man borrowed a school photo and had it enlarged so that everybody could see.
The first dance was "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King which everyone thought was cute. The dancing was fun. A lot of mothers and children were dancing to Dancing Queen by Abba and someone threw a handbag into the middle of the dancefloor so that we could dance around it. In an ironic, post-modern sort of way. Of course.
I went off to find the amazing disappearing cousin with the photographs. Not outside, not in the main room, not in the toilets. In the bar.
She was sitting with a collection of other cousins including a stunning blonde in a strapless blue, lacy, fifties style prom dress. She was thirteen. And that was her Confirmation dress. She didn't look thirteen.
Photos, photos, everywhere.......
We all sat round a table and saw the photos.
Old black and white ones from the forties, fifties and sixties, colour ones from the early sixties when a cousin came back from America to see the family "back home" and someone brought out a prized camera to record the event, old sepia tinted photos from "Frank W Clark of Ilford and Forest Gate Electric and Daylight Studios" from the very early days of studio photography and the ones she took at the funeral of Pathetic Aunt.
She let me keep the one she took of me at the funeral. Thank God. It'll never see the light of day again. I really don't have a jawline at all. My chin disappears into a kind of big neck.
The posed studio portraits were English. Photographer Cousin had found English links to a Prescott family who had a bit of money back in the 1800s.
Cousin with the camera is the Genealogy Nut of the family. She is trying to trace the family tree. It's a tough task. The Easter Uprising of 1916 meant a lot of records held in the national archive at the GPO building were lost in the fighting.
So if you're Irish, you've got to do it "old school". Asking the remaining relatives and looking at the local registers works only to a point. After that, you've got to trail the island looking for the birthplace of this dead relative or the headstone of that dead relative.
Her goal is to have a family tree with a little picture of everyone. That's tough going when you come from a poor family and cameras were only for "special". She was also faced with the unenviable task of looking through cupboards, drawers, boxes, packets and envelopes for photographs and identifying who was in them.
These are a few quick reminders for all the photographers out there.
1. ALWAYS LABEL YOUR PHOTOGRAPHS SO THAT PEOPLE WILL KNOW WHO THEY ARE OF AFTER YOU'RE NOT AROUND TO IDENTIFY THEM!
If you're showing family photos to someone who isn't family, then the conversation becomes one long "Oh, that's my cousin, she's the mother of David, you know, he's the one you saw diving with sharks in South Africa, no not him, that's the other David - he's the one diving with sharks in Australia his mother isn't a cousin, she's an aunt that David is a cousin..........".
It doesn't matter who they are of, or how extraordinary they are or how phenomenal their achievements are - after a while they become a long blur of shiny, out of focus people in various poses in out of date clothes.
The labels on the few that that she brought with her made no sense. "The three of us after the fair out past Dunholme Farm" makes little sense to us now. Even less when you look at the photograph to see four teenagers from the 1950s sitting on a dry stone wall. Even less when you realise number five must have been taking the picture.
2. Digital or Film. Get at least one hard copy and keep the negatives or memory cards separate from the photos.
This should be fairly self explanatory, but a lot of people don't get it.
Without hard copies, if the negatives or memory cards are lost or destroyed, then you've got nothing at all. At least with (labelled) photographs you got something left. You can even get more copies from the photo you've got.
Keep them separate so that if something bad does happen to one of them then you've got the other.
There were a lot of photos of headstones. A lot. Including the one she fell over as a child and nearly died of fright when she saw her name on the stone. Button Ginger. Died 1959. I had to agree with her. It's disconcerting finding out there was someone with the same name as you but you'll never meet them.
I told them of the time I got a letter printed in the Birmingham Evening Mail. It was a letter about the Big E and whether the readership was aware of the Government plans to privatise it. I was thrilled that I'd managed to get something of national importance into a local paper. Then I looked in the obituaries pages. There she was - Mrs Button Ginger died 89 years old. Pure coincidence but unnerving.
The headstone was cut from an unusual red granite. We worked out from the family tree what kind of relative she was to us and someone pointed out my red hair. "You can see the family resemblance!"
It was so late in the evening and some were so drunk, that that crack was actually laughed at.
.......and lots of cake to eat!
The cake was lovely.
There was a lot of cake. The groom explained that he and his fiancee went to see a specialist cake baker who plied them with sample cakes. There was cheesecake (lemon, lime, toffee and chocolate) which left the groom dribbling on the table and there were samples for the wedding cake itself.
As they both had different preferences and they knew a large number of us had different likes, dislikes and allergies (nuts, alcohol etc), they had different cakes made for the three different tiers.
An old fashioned, rich (but alcohol and marzipan free) fruit layer, a chocolate and buttercream layer and a jam sponge layer. All covered in white royal icing with silver decorations.
And there was cheesecake. Toffee as well as lime. We all had little tastes of each others' cakes. I had toffee, but the lime was beautiful. The chocolate and buttercream was fabby but so was the sponge layer. As there was little by way of alcohol keeping the fruit layer together, people ended up scooping up little lumps of it from a big pile of crumbs. It completely disintegrated when the bride and groom tried to cut it.
And this being a predominantly Irish gathering, there was booze. The pre paid bar was free for most of the evening, although a lot of people were driving and a few couldn't drink for health reasons.
Kid Brother, his wife, Cute Niece and her mother and I went home in the KB's car. We had a long wait ensuring everyone had said goodbye to everyone and had gone to the toilet and had a last cigarette before wrestling the child seat out of MwK's car and into the back of KB's car.
As we tried to join the M25, we were stumped to see workmen carefully laying out the cones on the slip road joining the motorway. We had to go the very long and unfamiliar way round to get home.
Cute Niece had to have her head supported as she nodded off and slumped forwards. Now that's a little girl after my own heart. Her mum couldn't believe the difference between the journey out and the journey back. The two Cuties keep squirrelling at each other and picking fights. The journey home was nearly silent.
Al in all, it had been a nice day.
It was only when I was heaving my bulk out of the back of the car and I glimpsed my souvenir from the day in my open handbag that the question formed.
Who the fuck brings two cameras to a funeral?
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
Only trouble is, there isn't much out there that
a. I can do
b. Will pay me enough to keep the roof over my head
c. I actually want to do.
I'm desperate, but not so desperate that I'll apply to be a mobile handset sales consultant at Merry Hill (£5.52 ph) or a Laboratory Attendant in Tamworth (£12,000 pa).
tidied paperwork that I don't need, filed paperwork I do need, disinfected the bin after the binmen came, returned my library books, posted a spent battery to the Sainsbury's recycling scheme, paid £2 in coppers into my Nationwide account, applied for a Laboratory Technician post in West Bromwich, arranged an assessment for a data entry keyer position for the Royal Mail and tonight, I'll be going to college for the first of my ECDL classes.
There's nothing like keeping busy.
Monday, 17 September 2007
The job I have been offered seems to be slipping away.
My prior sick record is poor. Even though over the past year my sick record looks like anyone else's, the pre-exisiting conditions thing hamstrings me every time.
At the meeting @ 13:30, I met the Chief Executive.
It was like being interviewed again for the same job. They kept picking away at the painful joints thing.
I also showed them the test and assessment results from the Sandwell Test Centre which showed high marks for accuracy, verbal comprehension and numeracy. Although impressed, the Human Resources lady wasn't impressed enough to photocopy that one.
Although they were really nice and I could prove that my sickness record has improved over the past year, I really think they are going to withdraw the offer.
Two references are a non-starter. One lot won't give references to temporary agency staff and the other lot have scattered after being taken over by another company. The people I used to work with just don't seem to be there anymore.
WE SHOULD be grateful for our moments of weakness. They lead to our times of greatest strength. They teach us the lessons we can learn in no other way. They open our eyes and touch our hearts. When we feel fine, we rarely stop to question anything. Yet, when things are seemingly going wrong, we have to do a lot of soul-searching. Somewhere in this process, we make discoveries that later turn out to be priceless. You have been forced to do a lot of thinking. Soon you will be glad of this.
Thursday, 13 September 2007
Actually, it was a photocopy of the doctor's medical report with a compliments slip and a brief note that said
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
As my front door sits next to next door's front door, it sounded as if it were my front door that was being tapped.
I went downstairs to find the tenant of the house next door locked out of her house and clearly thinking someone was in.
She carried on knocking. Then banging. Then shouting and banging. Then kicking.
Then it went quiet until the front door was opened after she'd collected her mother from her house to let her in.
Then there was a lound "discussion" about "responsibility" and "getting real" and how she should "get her life sorted".
This carried on till about 5am. Only then, I nodded off.
At approximately 9am, I was in Birmingham for an interview - so tired that I just wasn't thinking straight.
The preparation I did went straight out of my head, some of the answers I gave the interviewers were just laughable and I just looked and sounded like a giddy, disorganised, girly ditz without a fucking clue.The interview went as ok as it could have done - but again, it was 1 vs 3, the questions were weird ("What story in the media has changed the behaviour of the community around me?") and I was questioned about my depression. At some length.
I did my best, I really did. I made the chairman laugh a few times with my answers, I tried to speak in whole sentences and I stayed awake for the whole thing. I really did.
But I don't think it went very well at all. Especially when they kept picking at the depression angle.
I nodded on the tram home and I came home to find an Anti-Social Behaviour Incident Diary on the doorstep.
The first incident recorded in the diary was how the next door neighbour woke me up.
As the diary was supposed to be all about the neighbours in the next street whose garden abutts mine (you know, the family that reigns supreme), I'm sure there's someone who's going to be getting back to me when I return the diary.
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
I've ruled out lice - I regularly comb my hair with a lice comb and, quite frankly, I don't come into close enough contact with people to catch lice.
If it's not lice, then my dandruff must be turning malignant. I went to Boots, and, with a guilty heart spent some of the money Dad gave me on stuff.
My knicker department has been itching like crazy too. It must be the cheap detergents I've been buying whilst I've been unemployed.
Canestan and a small bottle of Polytar coal tar medicated scalp cleanser.
And it works.
The trouble is it smells,
Now, wherever I am, I'm followed by the faint whiff of roadworks.
And it carries on reeking long after I've rinsed off.
It followed me to JobChange where I photocopied my passport for an interview tomorrow and to the computer banks where I looked for a job on-line and accessed my e-mails.
What is it with spam? I don't want a Rolex, don't want to meet "hot girls", and really, really don't want to order pharmaceuticals on-line from dodgy Mexican web sites. but can I get a spam filter to understand this?
No. I cannot.
I am really, really, getting annoyed.
Monday, 10 September 2007
They don't keep the pictures from the last enrolment, so I had to have my digipic taken again for the ID card that dangles from a lanyard round everyone's neck.
Last year, I was a STUDENT, this year, I'm a LEARNER. The STAFF are still STAFF.
I paid £13. And felt guilty. Although with still no start date for the job, that guilt may well fade soon.
When I got home, I called Birmingham City Council about why I still hadn't heard from them about the money they owed my uncle.
I got put through to the right section eventually and the lady said she'd call me back after she'd found the file.
She called back.
The process is taking sooooooo long as soooooooo much money is owed. The amount (about £2000 more than I'd calculated) had to be checked, re-checked and authorised before a cheque was sent out.