The drugs don't work. Really, they don't

Don't ask....... I'm just having an almightily bad day

2011-10-22T16:16:00.008+01:00

Shopping with violence......

2011-08-13T19:19:00.005+01:00

Taken on a 'busy' Saturday afternoon. Sad.

We're still complaining......and in rhyme again.......

2011-08-12T19:29:00.000+01:00

Good grief.

Just as well I had an early night then.......

2011-08-09T22:44:00.001+01:00

Good grief.

I have no idea what's going on......no change there then.....

2011-08-09T18:48:00.005+01:00

Apart from a helicopter buzzing around and an increased police presence, I haven't got a clue about what's going in my own city.

The Express and Star news site is currently unavailable due to heavy demand. This page will automatically try again in 10 seconds

So much for the Information Age.............

It is nigh on impossible...

2011-08-05T19:54:00.001+01:00

...to talk, write or complain about wonky bus services without sounding like a socially inept nerd.

Poetry? Who in their right minds thinks rhyme will let them be taken more seriously??!

WTF?!two weeks we've had of this already.

It doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon either.

Great............

If you were ever wondering about the service.............

2011-08-04T19:37:00.000+01:00

As I was sitting in the Psychiatry Services waiting room, I came across a pile of these flyers on the coffee table with the out of date Closer and Heat magazines.

I suppose it's an option.

The meeting wasn't too successful. The young 'un who interviewed me is too young to remember the prescribing of lofepramine as a first line drug.

As if the fact that I was old enough to be his mother didn't make me feel old enough.

He would have to discuss my case with his Consultant before writing to my GP to let him know what had been decided.

What? I'm not in the loop?

Fabulous.

It's taken slightly less than 48 hours.....

2011-07-26T21:32:00.006+01:00

............but the first drunks have already moved into the new bus station.....I'm guessing that can won't see the inside of the recycling bin it's sitting on.........

I dunno. Badly organised and overpriced pearls before swine.

2011-07-24T16:42:00.015+01:00

One of the biggest bug bears of commuting by bus from Wolverhampton has been the lack of a bus station for over a year.

Seriously.

Since April last year, we have been trolling the streets looking for our bus stops as not only the bus station was shut down but also the main ring road was disrupted to accommodate the new building.

There have been delays, hitches and hiccups. Trade along the main street leading to the bus station has also taken a battering.

Despite the rumours and the complaints, the building work continued regardless and it opened today.

I popped down there to see where I'm catching my bus tomorrow and I have to say, on first impressions, I'm impressed.

The winding bus routes through the station are gone - replaced by what look like big turning corners any handbraking boy racer would love to skid his wheels on,

The airport style departure boards are centrally placed and relatively easy to read

and the multi-option touch screens look great.

Even the National Express coaches have been moved

It's just a pity that all the rumours are true.

Irritating.

There's always something to take the shine off the newness.

And that's before the litter, the gum spitters and the vandalism starts.

Fabulous.

Goodbye 1980s........

2011-07-17T09:25:00.009+01:00

I've been having a clearout of stuff. The old newspapers have gone, all the clothes I didn't fancy wearing or haven't worn in over a year and my cassette collection.

These are the only ones I can give to the Friends charity that work at the hospital. The mix tapes and the cassette recordings of vinyl records have all been dismantled and thrown into the recycling and rubbish bins.

Dear Lord, did I really buy those?

Not too bad, although there's Bob again........

Oh now, that's just random.......

Um, nope. Just embarrassing.......

Not even trying to explain those.

The thing is, a lot of these haven't seen daylight for at least a decade. I'm playing a few just to see if they'll still play. I really have got to get over the embarrassment otherwise I won't give anything away.

Death to the Steampunk Octopus!

2011-05-08T19:36:00.006+01:00

Do you like it? Do you? You want to buy it?

No?!

Actually, I agree. It's dire. I don't know what possessed me to buy the kit, but once opened I had to finish it or else it would sit in it's box taunting me whenever I entered the room.

I've since had it framed and will put it up one day.

One day when I have walls to speak of.

And once it is up, it will sit on the wall and taunt me.

Haunt me.

Remind me.

Like some 'Ghost of Handicrafts Past', it will plonk itself in my eyeline and tell me in no uncertain terms not to buy another rug kit again.

I know, I know I get worked up over next to nothing.

What's been troubling me of late is, well, mediocrity, incompetence and ego.

I wouldn't dream of putting that piece of nylon tat up for sale - I know it's rubbish and asking for money for it wouldn't just break copyright law (Alright there, Coats?), it would require the kind of shamelessness that would phase the Gallagher clan.

However......

There is one website called Etsy.

There was a plan originally for talented crafters, artisans and small businesses to advertise in one place - a bit like Ebay for handmade stuff.

However.......

Etsy has been hijacked. By the kind of talentless, brassnecked, deluded and plain old mercenary shysters that the true craftsmen have been trying to distance themselves from.

Etsy has a listings policy which effectively means that 'resellers' are valuable Etsy clients and people who steal ideas from other artists or otherwise breach copyright go unsanctioned.

But the most nauseating part of the Etsy set-up is that anyone who publicly exposes such merchants (so called 'calling out') are actively sanctioned by the Etsy administrators.

So the really talented but struggling or those trying to sell items for a good cause have to keep quiet or else they'll be punished. Rune Leather was one such luckless soul.

Now.

I honestly don't know why April Winchell got so wound up, but she has created a site called Regretsy.

In her own words

"Regretsy is the fail blog of hand crafts.

Almost everything posted here is collected from the web site, Etsy, though I sometimes feature crafting failures from other sites.

I also will sometimes post things that are just incredibly odd and wonderful.

So while not everything here is awful, it is always WTF."

The site is fairly self explanatory. It's "where DIY meets WTF" and some of the best bits are from her many followers.

April's Army of snark even have a forum following on Etsy. They have raised money for charity, shop for gew-gaws on Etsy and give public support to real artists.

However......

There are a number of 'artistes' who, truly believing they are God's gift to art, have complained, loudly.

Not happy that their masterpieces have been dissed and snarked at, they complain. And bring about a torrent of smart alec, snarky, trouble upon their heads.

One such produced this. She has a whole shopful!

And then this happened.

And suddenly Twitter went nutty. 79,000 members of April's army vs. one not very talented 'artiste'.

If you're interested check out @Regretsy, @Robstenart and @Aprilsarmy or #postsomethingterrible.

If I had that woman's brass neck, I'd be Prime Minister.

She traces pictures and colours them in. She is on a par with most 8 year olds.

The "I only 'do' Twilight" aspect makes her look like an angsty, pouting teen who just won't be told she has no real talent and she really ought to be getting on with something more useful.

This woman is wasting time, money and resources on producing the kind of dross I'd be too embarrassed to throw in my large black wheelie bin (for non recyclable refuse) for fear someone would see it.

And she's marketing it with the kind of deathless prose one would reserve for a work by Van Gogh.

Kill it with fire, I say.

The trouble is, not only is she not alone, she and her fellow 'artistes' now have the likes of Etsy, where the like minded can meet, shore up each other's fragile egos and effectively create an alternate universe where they can compare themselves with the like of Da Vinci and see nothing wrong with overpriced flotsam and jetsam hotglued to pieces of ply.

I have great respect for artisans who, using traditional crafts and/or their own designs, create useful and beautiful pieces.

I can cross stitch. If I want to clutter my house with hamfisted attempts at 'art', I can pick up a pattern and produce my own half-arsed, attempts at decoration without resorting to t'Internet.

I love Regretsy. It has made me laugh out loud and cry at some of the reasons why they do the charitable things they do.

Regretsy is not just a response to the resellers, it's a calling out of the untalented, the pretentious, the idiotic, the deluded, the 'hot glue and crysanthemum' crowd who think they're producing 'art' when in fact they are keeping corporate 'craft' suppliers in the black.

Death to the Steampunk Octopus.

I know, I know. And flock wallpaper too.....

Another good day to bury bad news

2011-05-04T20:26:00.005+01:00

Osama bin Laden is dead.

And while we are all wound up flag waving, celebrating, conspiracy theorising, mourning or vowing vengeance, we aren't concentrating on the things around us that matter just as much, if not more.

Like law and order at home, for example.

The impending closure of the Forensic Science Service has got to be just about the most stupid, short sighted, penny pinching example of short termist thinking that I've ever heard of.

When I was organising my uncle's funeral, last year, the building I used to work in was in darkness. Already closed down in an attempt to cut costs.

I was in shock when I heard the news on the radio last December. That must have been some Christmas present.

At that point, it seemed an abstract idea. A cost cutting "blue sky thinking" sort of a notion which the Con-Dems could U-turn over later.

Like the laughable - "I know! Let's sell the trees!" idea.

Then I started to get letters from Capita Hartshead who deal with the FSS pension funds. Strange letters, admitting they were being told very little, knew very little but were going to keep me informed anyway.

Then this happened.

It was then that it really hit home. This wasn't some proposed idea but a proper working plan to shut down the FSS.

Expecting the government owned FSS to make a profit from the state funded police forces is like passing money from left hand to right hand and expecting to see more money in the right hand after you're done.

It's not going to happen, is it? You would have to be pretty stupid to expect otherwise

As the saying goes "Crime doesn't pay". The entire criminal justice system is one of those 'how-long-is-a-piece-of-string' money pits which won't turn a profit no matter how many consultants, reviews, reports, opinions and rulings that are thrown into the black hole.

But no. The FSS is going to shut down, private companies are more than capable of taking up the slack and there will be no interruption of service.

Yeah, right.

The Council for the Registration of Forensic Practitioners was wound up years ago with no specific body responsible for the accreditation of forensic scientists left.

UKAS doesn't specifically test each forensic practitioner to see if they are fit to practice but they do provide an accreditation service to show that each laboratory adheres to its own documented 'in-house' methods.

Very reassuring.

Not.

Meanwhile, my award winning local Beat Bobby is in the news as well. And it's not good news there either.

That takes some brass neck. To force someone to retire and then ask them to do the same job for free.

Yep. I've finally seen someone come up with ideas worse than that bloody medal.

Just seen this........

2011-04-23T15:57:00.001+01:00

and laughed out loud at the way some of the bus drivers cope with the tourists.

Strangely absorbing.

The RSPCA doesn't want to know......

2011-04-23T15:05:00.009+01:00

.....and frankly I don't know why.........

The next door neighbour keeps a dog. It has simply been thrown out of the back door, has no toys, no regular walks, isn't kept clean, isn't brought into the house regardless of the weather and has had no training whatsoever.

The smell is atrocious. Trust me.

The dog is showing stereotyped behaviour - running from kitchen door to back gate and back again repeatedly and barks at the slightest thing.

I call the RSPCA on occasion and as far as they're concerned, the dog is fed, watered and has some sort of shelter - an outside cupboard. There is no overt abuse, so as far as they're concerned, there is nothing wrong.

The dog scratches and scrapes the kitchen door and is often up on its hind legs with its front paws on the window sill.

Nothing has been cleaned for weeks and now the warm weather has kicked in, the stench and the flies it attracts is atrocious.

The dog goes nuts and flings itself at the fence the second it hears my keys in my kitchen door lock and carries on barking and jumping long after I've gone back into my house.

There is no fresh air, no real work going on in my garden (I'm scared of dogs that want to try and eat me) and although I've contacted the housing association, they're not that interested either.

So here's to another fly blown, stinking Summer.

Enjoy.

Yesterday was a sad day.....

2011-04-21T23:47:00.003+01:00

I was saddened to hear the news the death of Elizabeth Sladen.

As a child growing up in the 1970s, Jon Pertwee and Tom Baker were the Doctor Whos that I remember watching (from between my fingers) and it was the ever faithful, if slightly attitudinous sidekick Sarah Jane Smith that was by their side.

Whovians all over the internet have been paying tribute to a fine actress who has recently been on our televisions in 'The Sarah Jane Adventures'.

Type "Doctor", "Who" and "episode" into YouTube and you will probably come across Sarah Jane.

Every now and again, I get annoyed

2011-04-17T22:35:00.005+01:00

I get annoyed at the decisions made by my Government that is supposed to be for our benefit.

There have been some calamitous decisions made over the years by the governments of the day.

Privatising the energy industries, thereby putting them at the mercy of the stock markets and ensuring eventual foreign control of virtually all the energy used in Britain?

Anything for a quick buck there, eh, guys?

Shutting down entire, specialist hospitals and centralising their functions in fewer, harder to reach general and teaching hospitals with fewer beds and not enough specialist staff?

Wasn't the best idea, was it?

Invading Iraq after the followers of a Yemeni-based Saudi flew planes into American landmarks?

Um...........bad idea.

I got soooooo annoyed I resigned my Labour party membership.........yeah, like that helped.

Private finance initiatives which have left local councils and NHS trusts paying massive amounts of their income to construction companies for the forseeable future?

I'll think about voting Lib/Dem in future.

However, shutting down the entire Forensic Science Service because it's losing too much money, has to be one of the most short-sighted, bone-headed, penny pinching and short termist ideas that I've heard for a long time.

I really am absolutely speechless.

Don't dig it there, dig it elsewhere........

2011-04-12T12:44:00.019+01:00

This started last year.

During last summer, there were problems all over the West Midlands with burst pipes.

My road was no exception.

It started off as a bulge in the street. The bulge started leaking and formed a stream of water which ran into the gutter.

I called Severn Trent who sent men out to dig an exploratory hole and they watched it fill up with water before filling the hole in again. Piling the fresh gravel and tar on top of the water.

This picture was taken shortly after they cleared off.

We've grown quite a collection of greenery..........

The problem is compounded by the council's poor maintenance of the drains. Instead of going into the drain, the water pours over the blocked drain cover and carries on down the road.

During the freezing winter, it became a problem as, every time I put the bin into the road for the bin men, if I wasn't careful, the bin would freeze to the gutter.

Crossing the road from my side to the other was tricky to say the least.

Recently, I complained to the council.

More men from Severn Trent arrived, they re-dug the same area, dug a hole deep enough to bury a traffic cone and watched the hole fill up deeply enough to drown said traffic cone..........

........before filling it in again.

Again, they've made no attempt to find the source of the water, or empty the hole before piling more gravel and tarmac in again.

Nice work on the potholes there, guys. Oh yeah, different department.

I wonder if we could make a feature of it.........

Dear Career Agony Aunt..........

2011-03-26T20:42:00.012Z

When I first started working at a hospital, I thought it was a little bit creepy that there was a funeral directors' shop on one of the street corners opposite.

It came in dead handy when my uncle died, however, as it meant I didn't have to take time off to order the headstone.

I could do it in my lunch hour, instead.

However...........

In recent weeks, two more funeral directors have opened up directly opposite our main entrance.

Being sandwiched between the two new funeral directors is hardly a ringing endorsement for the greasy spoon cafe, either, although the customers are in the best place for after care should the English fried breakfasts do their worst.

However, as the growth industry around the hospital where I work seems to be funeral directors, should I be worried?

Inspiration, motivation.....where are you now?

2011-03-23T21:37:00.006Z

I have collected a vast amount of cross stitch paraphernalia over the years and it's embarrassing.

So much so, that I've made it a New Year's resolution to start to get through it all.

My new rule is not to buy any more patterns or magazines until I've worked my way through the collection of craft stuff I've already got.

That will probably take me to retirement.

I've got yarn to knit scarves, crochet hooks, kits I've acquired or bought for myself, patterns, books with more patterns and magazines. It's the magazines I'm kicking myself over most of all.

Overpriced magazines with patterns I could have paid much less for or free gifts that weren't worth having.

Like this little guy.........

I have never sent cross stitched Christmas cards to anyone in my life and, frankly, what do I do with only one? It even came with it's own little envelope. What was I thinking?

I know what I was thinking.....

OOOOOOOOH!

New cross stitch magazine!

Wow!

Must.

Have.

It.

And it's got a free gift, too!

Wow!

£5 for more crap I don't need!

I want it!

Without a thought in my little head about cost, the time and patience needed to work the pattern and the sheer uselessness of the thing (Now I've made it up, I can't sell it as it's copyrighted), I bought yet another stupid item to add to the rest of the stupid items I already own.

One time I had this genius idea to buy a magazine that had two free gifts accidentally packed into the plastic bag that held them and the magazine.

That was fine for the first one which I gave away to a lady who was made redundant from our section and found work elsewhere..............

.......but frankly, I can't face stitching the other one.

And now I've stalled. I've even got a nice buy-one-get-one-free frame (with mount) from Boots the Chemist to put it into as well.

Nope. It's just sitting there in an old chocolate box waiting to be done.

I'll try stitching something else in the meantime..............if I can be bothered.

Sigh.

Spider legs and hormones

2011-03-20T19:35:00.005Z

This is what happens when you're born with a liiiiiiiiiiittle too much hair.

Nowadays, when I'm in a hurry, I'll shave my forehead to stop my eyebrows making a desperate run for my hairline.

It's just possible to see some of the white hairs that I missed when trying to pluck the eyebrows.

And yes, that is a very heavily hooded eye. I'm getting no thinner and the upper eyelids are starting to rest on the upper lashes.

I shave my beard at least once a day but as my moustache is just starting to darken, all I have to do is pluck the odd hair here and there.

My facial hair is, otherwise snowy white. Thank God.

The eyelashes are starting to get a little longer and the ones in the corners are irritating but I can pluck those.

To stop me looking like an albino with a bad dye job, I dye my eyebrows and eyelashes. Now and again, I'll experiment with mascara as well. If I use eyelash curlers, the longer lashes reach my eyebrows.

Yes. I pluck my eyelashes and shave my forehead and beard. It won't be long before I have to add the moustache too.

Ah, femininity! What's that?

Now where was I.........

2011-03-13T15:25:00.007Z

The last year has gone from bad to worse starting with my uncle dying less than two weeks into my new job (that was a barrel of laughs) to my Dad requiring nursing home care. I have fabulous brothers who are dealing with the day to day things there.

My job has gone from full time permanent (as I was assured of in interview) to a temporary contract. Continued employment from the end of January 2013 depends on passing an exam. Two exams. Hard ones. Exams which people three years into the job have failed first, second and third time around.

My house is still a building site - with my Dad incapacitated, my brothers helping him and on a very low wage I alone have neither the time nor the money to get stuff done.

The place where I work has been in the local and national news as has my previous employer.

The commute from Wolverhampton to Walsall by bus is a screaming nightmare and I'm still fat, hairy, spotty and depressed.

So depressed in fact, that I now qualify for treatment at Wolverhampton Healthy Minds. Treatment so far has consisted of a series of wonky Powerpoint presentations in a local hotel, with the option of more one to one sessions later.

Oh, the joy.

The derelict hospital I live near may have something happen soon, but we're not holding our collective breath as much has been promised before in the Sainbury's/Tesco War of Raglan Street.

So, all in all it's been a horrible year all round not just for me but for a large part of the world in general.

Gawd 'elp us all!

Yay!

2011-01-28T09:12:00.000Z

Great, another piece of random plastic toot to round up after a hard day at work......that's only three days away.....

It's nice when the neighbours entertain........

2011-01-26T13:41:00.002Z

There's me thinking that this might be an 'up-and-coming' neighbourhood one day...........

If you ever feel inclined to Google Map my road, I apologize in advance.......they caught us on a bin day.

Too soon?

2010-12-24T09:17:00.000Z

It's Christmas Eve, you bastards! Chocolate Easter bunnies? I think I hate you.

Oh, and um, yeah,.............my phone sock is called Bob.

*Walks away embarrassed*

Stop me if you've heard this one....

2010-01-22T23:16:00.001Z

As well as sending a mail message through the NHS recruitment website, I called the NHS HR body today handling the recruitment for the job.

Before I had even finished saying my piece, there was a long, loud sigh from the other end of the line.

Miss Body had clearly heard this speech more than once today already.

Thanking me for letting her know, she asked why.

Well, because it took so long.

I applied for the job on 13th November last year. That was two months ago. What took so long?

She started to sound defensive

Well we had to postpone recruitment to consider someone who was going to be made redundant and then we had to go through the recruitment process for them and then we had to inform them that they were not suitable and then we had to restart the recruitment process for the external candidates.....

I told her that I was unimpressed. That HR should be a little more on the ball. They should have had a better idea about who was being made redundant before they advertised jobs externally and that many employers had far more efficient recruitment systems.......

She told me that they could only operate at the speed they did and the recruitment process took as little time as they could manage.

Well, I said, good luck finding someone. I thanked her politely for considering me and offering an interview and rang off.

Between us, we had said the word "recruitment" so many times, that it was starting to sound like a nonsense word.

On 21-JAN-10 NHS Blood and Transplant (NHSBT) said:

2010-01-21T20:43:00.000Z

Subject:Cord Blood Bank Technician Ref No: C2065

Following your application for the above post, I am pleased to inform you that you have been invited to attend for interview at 10:45am on Wednesday 3rd February 2010. The interviews will take place at NHSBT Colindale, Colindale Avenue, Colindale, NW5 9BD where you should report to the Reception Area.

For a location map please click on the below link. Once on the website please click on the appropriate centre, where you will be given the option of opening a PDF map. http://www.blood.co.uk/pages/bloodonormd.html

Due to demolition work at the Colindale site at the moment there are no parking facilities. In addition the route for pedestrian access may vary depending on where work is taking place. Signs will be displayed on site showing the pedestrian access in place. We would be grateful if you would confirm your attendance at interview as soon possible by responding to this e-mail or contacting me on xxxx xxx xxxx. Should you have any special requirements to enable you to attend for interview then please contact me as a matter of urgency so I can make the necessary arrangements. The interview panel will comprise

NHS CBB Team Manager

Deputy Head of NHS CBB

NHS CBB Team Manager

You will appreciate that we have to undertake a series of checks and clearances on all candidates applying to work with NHSBT. These are detailed below. We ask that you bring the original document and copies to pass to the interview panel. This enables us to confirm offers of employment as quickly as possible, as without all the checks and clearances we cannot progress your application:-

Occupational Health All individuals wishing to work for NHSBT will be asked to complete a short confidential occupational health questionnaire. To assist you with this you will need to bring with you the following information: • Name and address of GP • Approximate number of sick days over the last two years

Verification of Identity and Right to Work in the UK

Before any offer of employment can be made all candidates must provide documents proving their Identity and their Right to Work in the UK. Please bring the following documents with you to your interview: • Passport and Eligibility to work in the UK and current Immigration Status. Please refer to the UK Border Agency website http://www.bia.homeoffice.gov.uk

if you are unsure what documents to provide. • Driving licence (A photocard is only valid if presented with the counterpart driving licence) • Proof of current address (this must be a utility bill or bank / building society statement issued within the last 3 months) If any of the documents or qualifcations you provide are in a differnt name to your current name please also provide a marriage certificate or other proof of change of name. If you are not able to provide these documents please contact me to discuss what alternative documents we can accept.

Qualifications

Please bring with you evidence of those qualifications that you hold that are listed as essential on the Person Specification for this role.

NHSBT only pay interview expenses when you are required to attend for interview at a different venue to the location of the job for which you are applying. If you have any queries regarding this please contact me prior to attending for interview.

Please note: Non-EEA candidates may not be appointed to a post if a suitably qualified, experienced and skilled EU/EEA candidate is available to take up the post as NHSBT is unlikely, in these circumstances, to satisfy the Resident Labour Market Test. The UK Border Agency requires employers to complete this test to show that no suitably qualified EEA or EU worker can fill the post. For further information please visit the UK Border Agency website http://www.bia.homeoffice.gov.uk

Lastly I would like to take this opportunity to wish you success in your interview, but in the meantime should you have any concerns or queries please do not hesitate to contact me.

Yours sincerely,

Recruitment and Administration Assistant

The timing is incredible. I've got to reject this. If I am starting working on the 1st, then I can't ask for a day off in my first week to go to an interview for another job. That would be cheeky.

The amount of time this has taken is stunning. I applied for this job on the 13th of November last year.

I also got a 'phone call from the Benefits Agency.

The payment for the Mortgage Interest Payment will go out next week. After I've already paid January's instalment. The payment (over two and a half months worth) will be followed by another payment towards the end of February which will also be around two and a half months worth.

I told the guy that I had been provisionally offered a start date of the 1st of February for my new job.

In that case, he said, that one payment would be my only payment.

Well, better late than never.

My problem now is, how do I survive February? I won't get paid until the end of the month and my pips are already squeaking.

I can ask Nationwide to suspend February's mortgage payment, because, after all, they' will have received three months worth in January.

HSBC is going to be trickier - I wonder if I can suspend the February payment and pay double in March.

That's going to hurt.

I've also got to find bills money, bus pass money and enough money for the home and contents insurance.

Bills, bills, bills, worry, worry, worry........

Chillax?

2010-01-19T20:24:00.001Z

I got a 'phone call today from the lady who is going to be my immediate line manager.

She asked how I was and how long was it going to be before they saw me?

I couldn't say.

I had received nothing from the hospital to tell me when, or if I was starting.

She told me she hadn't heard anything untoward and had been labouring under the assumption that I was successful and had a provisional starting date of the 1st February.

Okaaaaay...um, that being the case, would it not be a good idea for me to visit the office, meet everybody and do a bit of basic orientation...

Nope. Plenty of time for that when I'm given a starting date. Chillax and they'll see me when they see me.

Okay. I'll see you then, then.

We rang off politely.

Did a fully grown adult just tell me to chillax?

I wish I could.

Can I just stay in bed?

2010-01-08T18:58:00.001Z

Today was my Occupational Health meeting.

It was freezing.

More snow had fallen and the pavements were treacherous.

I packed all my ID, my immunisation records and my NHS card and brought them up there.

The site was cold and unsalted and I picked my way round the building site to the OH door. In the side of a decrepit Victorian building. Modern looking sections had been tacked on to the building to make it bigger, but they too had seen far better days. The corridors were narrow and the accommodation cramped and grey.

I was late.

As per.

Anyway, they weren't ready for me.

I sat and waited in an unheated room shivering in a vest, t-shirt, shirt, a thick Aran cardigan and a thick winter coat and scarf, long johns (yes, long johns), two pairs of socks and a thick pair of walking boots.

I was called in to a tiny room where the nurse was sympathetic about peeling off all the layers.

I had been completely honest on the application form and she set about asking me questions regarding my previous employment and illnesses.

I had to confess to her that I had been nervous about filling the previous employment bit

Loud, noisy environments? - Yep

Dusty environments? - Yep

Ionizing radiations? - Yep

Chemicals? - Yep

Mutagens? - Yep

Teratogens? - Yep

Carcinogens? - Yep

Vibrating machinery? - Yep

Repetitive motions? - Yep

Biological hazards? - Yep

And so on.

I impressed her with my smallpox vaccination scar (20/05/1969). Not many people have one of those these days.

Blood pressure (high end of normal), height (short) and weight (too much) and that was that.

As I was leaving, I switched my mobile 'phone back on.

It played a tune, vibrated and beeped.

I had one missed call.

From the HR Section.

I paid them a visit. Leaving the OH side of the building, I walked around to the entrance to the main part of the same building and walked through narrow corridors and up rickety stairs to the HR section.

At the very top of the stairs, I stood on the last step and rang the doorbell on the big front door. Complete with letterbox, this door totally blocks the top of the stairs. The corridor inside is also the landing.

The HR bod answered and was surprised to see me as she had only just called me.

It turns out that one of my former employers STILL hadn't forwarded a reference.

Quelle surprise!

The Big E is going through right ructions right now and.......

Um no....it was previous employer.

Ah.

Eh? My PREVIOUS employer?

Could I provide another reference because my previous immediate line manager hadn't come through?

As my previous line manager was an absolute sweetheart and had sent me a reference when I was first made redundant, I was at a loss to explain what had happened.

I called my former lab office from my mobile 'phone to be told by the second in command that my PILM had fallen and sprained his ankle so badly, that he was off for the foreseeable future.

Second in Command was fine with sending a reference instead. Oh, by the way, MORE people had been made redundant, it looks like my previous employers were winding the place down and he was going to train to be a teacher.

I thanked him and hung up.

I'd better get a job soon, or else there will no one left to ask for a reference. Jeepers!

I gave his details to the HR bod so that she could formally ask him for a reference and I was off home again.

I didn't get warm until I got to bed.

Just stick to the schedule.....

2010-01-05T18:39:00.000Z

This year, I'm so skint that shopping for the Christmas presents in the January sales is a non-starter.

It doesn't stop me from wandering around and seeing what's there after I've checked my bank mini-statements.

Boots have a schedule. It doesn't matter what the weather is doing, they have to put their seasonal goods out on the shelves on time.

Which means we're treated to this sight............

Yep. That's the sun creams and Summer goods going out on the shelves before the January sales are over.

There was fresh snow yesterday, last night and today too. Making the the sight of the spf 50 on the shelves all the more ridiculous.

Good grief.

On 04-JAN-10 NHS Blood and Transplant (NHSBT) said:

2010-01-04T18:17:00.000Z

Dear Candidate Re: C2065 - Cord Blood Bank Technician

Further to my letter dated 14th December 2009, I am writing to inform you that the above vacancy has been re-opened, as it has not been offered to any internal candidates at risk of redundancy. Recruitment for this post will now proceed as normal, and you will be notified shortly if you are to be invited to attend an interview. I would like to thank you for your patience in this matter.

Yours sincerely

Xxxxx Xxxx

Recruitment and Administration Assistant

I'll hang on and see what happens, but I'm not holding my breath.......

You gets what you pays for....

2010-01-03T18:25:00.000Z

The contents of that bucket consists of an awful lot of black-blue water and a pair of George jeans I found in the British Heart Foundation in Dudley last September. They smelt funny but I just put that down to being a charity shop find.

On the same shopping trip I found another pair of jeans that had already been shortened so I was well happy, when I brought my finds to the till to be paid for.

I washed them, tried wearing them and they dyed my legs black AND brought me out in a rash.

Since then, I have repeatedly washed, soaked and rinsed these jeans (the ones pictured above) and all that's happened is that more and more dye has leaked from them. They aren't even starting to look faded.

And they still smell weird. Even being soaked for days in liberal doses of Lenor Sleep Sensations.

Sometimes, a bargain isn't a bargain.

I suppose I ought to do some good....

2009-12-31T17:49:00.001Z

*sigh*

I said

*SIGH*

Oh, never mind.

I've got a roof over my head, toiletries galore, enough money to pay for the bills, mortgage and loan repayment and I've got warm clothes.

I could be worse off, I suppose.

I went through all my things and working out what to do with them. Keep and use, throw away, give to a good cause or recycle.

I started off with clothes and toiletries. Clothes went in the Salvation Army clothes bin in Sainsbury's car park.

The pretence of keeping fit long over, I can get rid of the hoodie, trackie bottoms and trainers. I got rid of a number of clothes I haven't worn in quite a while and turned to toiletries.

Sainsbury's has been collecting for a local charity called The Haven. Not just money, but stuff. Toys, food and toiletries. There has been a shopping trolley parked by the exit from the main sales floor for most of the year.

I took a long hard look at all the stuff under the bed. And separated out a large carrier bag full of shampoo (even I don't need seven bottles), bubble bath (I shower), face creams (I've still got plenty), toners, self tanning face and body creams and soap. There was no way I'd use all of it before it started going weird because it was too old.

So I took it to the shop with the Sally Army gear, as I needed a few things from the shop.

Not these though.

Jesus! It's not even New Year's Day!!

As if I didn't feel bad enough already........Christmas sponsored by Ferrero Rocher

2009-12-29T16:47:00.004Z

Jesus, that was a crappy Christmas!

How shit was it Ginge?

Oh, let me count the ways........ On a materialistic note - I brought presents for brothers, sisters in law, niece, nephew and a couple of cousins who had lost their mum at the beginning of the year and got some chocolates and a Superdrug gift pack back. Mwk's sister in law works for Hotel Chocolat and she bought his presents with the staff discount.

All of them pleaded poverty.

One cousin, after inheriting her proceeds from the house her mother left, is expecting a new baby with her husband, MwK has no mortgage or rent to pay but has taken a lot of time off work to look after Dad, take him to appointments and deal with bureaucracy on his behalf and YMB is saving for the fun park holiday of a lifetime.

Dad was shouting and swearing at any offer of help, hated the carers coming in (they cancelled their visits over Christmas as soon as they knew I was there), refused the offer of Christmas dinner around with MwK, his wife and his children even though he missed seeing the children and generally made himself a pain in the backside all the time I was down there.

I brought round a steaming hot plate of food from the dinner and he threw it all away after deciding that Yorkshire puddings were some attempt to poison him.

I shopped for groceries in the middle of the Christmas free for all that's call Morrison's, I vacuumed, washed, laundered and tidied most of the house and spoke only briefly to other members of the family.

It was absolutely miserable.

The Westfield Centre was awash with shoppers on Boxing Day even though the main department stores weren't open for another couple of days.

Gucci was popular with shoppers both on Boxing Day

and a couple of days later.......

The main atrium was glittering and crammed.......

But it was the tree that was in the worst taste.......

right down to the star at the top (okay, strung over the top)...........

I was grateful to get back to the freezing bomb site I call home.

I had the heating switched on low over the break just to ensure the pipes didn't freeze and switched it off as soon as I arrived home.

I've been wandering around in an overcoat all winter.

I helped myself to seven bottles of shampoo that YMB left in the bathroom cabinet. Dad has one out on the open shelf (not that he'll ever use it), one in the cupboard as a spare and there's one in the upstairs bathroom for my use when I next go down there. So that was ten bottles of Vosene and Herbal Essences just sitting there gathering dust after YMB left home over three years ago.

Still, at least I'll use and appreciate them, eh?

All I have to do is wait to hear about the job offer, apply for other jobs and try to get as much money together as I can.

After I've wallowed in misery for a wee while longer.

Now I really, really feel really, really bad....

2009-12-23T16:33:00.001Z

There has been a change in the law about how receivership of incapacitated patients is managed.

I am not a Receiver any more, I am a Deputy of the Office of the Public Guardian. The laws and rules have changed regarding payments out that can be made.

The deputy is allowed to make donations to charity on behalf of the patient IF it's something the patient would have done anyway. There are limits to the money that can be given away but donations can be made.

The deputy is also allowed to bestow gifts to people on behalf of the patient IF it's something the patient would have done. The maximum is £500 to any one person.

I'm his niece AND his god daughter, I'm facing financial hardship and it would be something he would have done if he had the capacity to do so.

I've paid myself £500 from the Receivership account.

The money will have to be accounted for at the end of the current accounting year (13/02/2010) and I may be asked to pay it back if the OPG reckon it was an illegal transaction.

Even though there are thousands of pounds in the account and more lodged with the Court of Protection, I feel like a total thief.

I think I've found a brand new low point.

I'm not trying to break records, I'm trying to survive.....

2009-12-22T16:21:00.000Z

The form arrived today. Today. Wow!

Along with a rejection letter from one of the places I applied to on the 10th. That was fast too.

I filled in the form and went to the Nationwide to talk to someone about filling in the rest of it.

A tall guy with long, frizzy hair in a ponytail came out to talk to me.

He told me it would be sent to the Mortgages Section and they would fill in the form before sending it to the DWP. Of course, being Christmas, it would take a little longer than usual to get the form to where it's supposed to go.

He'd never encountered one of these forms before and he didn't know how long it would take to get it all done "normally".

Great. My heart sank.

I'll have to make the payment in January and after that, the DWP will take over.

Great. My heart sank lower.

I tried to impress upon him how skint I was, but he didn't know how long, or how much or anything really.

Great. My heart went to my stomach and I felt sick as I left.

I'm really not looking forward to this at all.

I feel a potential disaster coming on

2009-12-21T15:00:00.000Z

I had my thirteen week review today.

I feel sick.

It started off like the usual interview.

How are you doing?

What are you doing to find work?

What proof do you have of your search for work?

And so on.

Then I asked about the Mortgage Interest Payments "thing" that kicks in after thirteen weeks.

My advisor looked it up.

It's not automatic.

What? I went very quiet and pale at that point.

It's not automatic. There's a form to fill in, it has to be given to the mortgage lender to fill in their part, it gets returned, the payments are calculated and then the payments are made to the mortgage lender.

So, can I have a form please?

You have to apply for the form.

What? I asked, getting even quieter and paler.

You have to ring up and ask for the form to be sent to you.

Panic started to grip me.

Whywasn'tItoldaboutthisbeforeIwastoldthatIwouldbepaidthebenefitafterthirteenweeksmymortgageinterestpaymentisdueintheNewYearandthere'snowaythatthepaymentwillbemadeintimeit'lltakeweekstoprocessthatformand....

Well, we can't help you here. You'll have to ring up and ask for the form.

I left making rapid, panicky calculations about how much money I had and how much I needed to meet the bills, mortgage payment, loan repayment and get to London for Christmas.

Each calculation, whether mental, with the calculator on my mobile 'phone, on the back of an envelope or sitting down as calmly as I could with a calculator and access to both mini statements giving up to date information about both my accounts said the same thing.

There won't be enough money.

When I rang the JSA Helpline, I was not reassured.

The form will arrive by first class post but there were the usual provisos about it being the run up to Christmas and how the post is delayed.

Oh shit.

Good grief....

2009-12-18T14:41:00.001Z

Today was the interview at the Royal Free.

I'm not going to get it.

I got to the station and handed my Rail Travel Warrant in to the Ticket Office. The guy behind the counter asked me when I was returning and I told him today around 6pm to 8pm.

He printed off a return ticket and kept the warrant.

£139.

One hundred and thirty nine pounds.

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY NINE POUNDS!!?

Straight away, I felt guilty.

There was next to no waiting on the bridge above the platforms before the train to Euston arrived and when I got on, there was a window seat too.

Cool.

I passed the time looking out the window and reading up on my application and job description.

Euston was grim.

The main approach to the station incorporates a dire piazza area. Built entirely from grey concrete and surrounded by black granite and yet more grey concrete, the place is dismal even when the sun shines.

For a pedestrian walking from the bus stop to the station, there are the bus and taxi routes to negotiate and the screen of trees which hide this dump from the main road. There are sets of grey concrete stairs from the road to the cheerless piazza where forlorn little 'retail units' break up the bleakness of the sombre, windswept walk across the concrete to the main doors.

Indoors is no better. In fact, it is frankly worse.

Decorated in a grim palette of dark, charcoal greys, it's an austere, oppressive place with small windows relative to the depth of the concourse. There is a gigantic office block complex built over the station so there is little light from above. The whole place was built HUGE and everything else is completely dwarfed by it.

The hanging baskets filled with artificial flowers are barely noticed, the ticket areas are so far from the main doors they are hard to see and there is a pitiful hole in the ground which constitutes the entrance to the Underground station.

Arriving by train, means a long, cold walk up the freezing platforms and ramps before hitting the concourse and the exits it leads to.

And it was swarming with people. This being the last Friday before the last weekend before Christmas, Euston, the gateway to the Midlands, Gatwick, the North West and the occasional train to Glasgow, was heaving.

There were backpacks wherever I turned. No one knew where they were going - tickets, cash machines, departure boards, arrivals boards, food, Marks and Spencers, drinks, toilets, left luggage, children, change machines and London Underground all vied for everyone's attention.

We were lost, milling around like confused ants and no one knew anything.

I had time to kill before I had to get out of there to Hampstead, so I decided to eat. Even though I wasn't exactly overloaded and armed with just a handbag, manoeuvering through the narrow aisles around everyone else, their luggage and their children was quite an exercise. I got round, paid, staggered and bumped back through the shop to the concourse and then danced an intricate pattern through the crowded aisles to a spare table.

Where I sat, ate and lost track of time. I suddenly went from nearly two hours to get to Hampstead to less than an hour and a half. And I needed the toilet.

The toilet was a walk out of the seating area, around the back towards the platforms and down a dingy corridor where I was met with a long queue of people who had had the same idea. I decided to 'hold it' until after the interview.

The pitiful hole in the ground for the Underground was attracting such a long line of people that the line stretched back towards the platforms.

The station attendants were trying to get people away from THAT entrance and down towards another way down to the Tube.

This entailed a very long walk down the ramps back towards the platforms. At the last minute, we had to turn left and take the stairs down to the Underground station.

Jesus. This was well planned.

There was a suffocating crush of people in the ticket hall. Once down there, people started milling around trying to find gates to the platforms or ticket machines or someone who could help.

I wanted to put a fiver onto my Oyster card. I joined two long queues. The first time the machine wouldn't take the fiver I had and didn't take cards. The second time the machine STILL wouldn't take the bloody fiver, but would take cards. I had to find my purse in my handbag and pay by card.

Then I had to find the gates down through to the platforms and work out which platform I needed.

With the Northern line, that's easier said than done. I needed an Edgware train. It took the better part of twenty minutes to arrive. By the time I got to Hampstead tube station I was seriously cutting it fine.

I walked very briskly past all the twee little shops down Hampstead High Street, trotted down Rosslyn Hill and almost ran towards the hospital down Pond Street. The entrance was hidden by plyboard and scaffolding and I went in by the closest entrance to me. I ended up around the back near the School of Medicine where I was let in by someone who had a pass.

I was panicking by this stage. It was now a couple of minutes after three and, although I was AT the Royal Free Hospital, I had no idea where the Haematology section was. By total coincidence, I realised I had found the closest entrance to the section. There were signs pointing up a ramp, and I could see the sign over the door to the unit. RESULT!!

I quickly walked towards the door and realised that my shoes and the highly polished lino were a very slippery combination. I tried to modify my walk to take the skating rink effect into account, but to no avail.

One split second I was heading puposefully towards the door and the next split second there was no more floor under my feet, backwards was suddenly downwards and I landed painfully on my backside. I ended up lying on my back with my feet up the ramp and my head down trying to orientate myself and work out if I had done some serious damage.

Terrific.

There were students on a bench across the corridor who offered to help, but I'm healthy enough and told them there was no need. I picked myself up and carried on. Carefully.

I was left waiting in the Reception area for a little while and when I was collected I told the lady about my little mishap. I was still brushing myself off when I entered the interview room.

Late, rushed, pink faced and complaining about a fall they hadn't witnessed. Great first impression.

The interview was okay. Just that. Okay. Not brilliant and not great. Just okay. They didn't seem to have read my application and were surprised when I told them I lived in Wolverhampton but could relocate and they seemed to have a poor grasp of how their HR worked.

After I had booked the interview, I received a brusque, confirmatory e-mail not only telling me which documents to bring, but also to bring copies of them as well to save time at the interview. If offered the job, it went on, I had to chase the referees myself AND check with HR regularly to ensure that the recruitment stage was ongoing.

The interviewers had been copying documents all day and had no idea about the instructions the candidates had been given.

So. Showing up their ignorance then. Not good.

We said goodbye pleasantly enough and I was told that I'd know before Christmas. Frankly, I knew already.

I was escorted back to Reception where I stopped to put my gloves and coat on before gingerly negotiating the ice rink outside to find the toilets.

Instead of going out the way I'd come in, I went to find the 'proper' way in. The building was extensive. There were temporary corridors and scaffolding all along ground floor corridors and it was freezing. I found the toilets and the cafeteria and the way out which consisted of plyboard ramps zig zagging out to the pavement.

It was now rush hour. Euston was going to be bedlam. I could sightsee for a while. I took a random bus and went through Camden before stopping at Camden Town. It was dark, it was cold and there is little to see in Camden during the week.

I got another bus towards Farringdon. From Farringdon to High Holborn then instead of taking the road to Oxford Street, I walked down towards Seven Dials and Covent Garden.

Wherever I went it was heaving with people. Everybody seemed to be Christmas shopping or getting ready for a night on the town. The shows, the cinemas, the bars, the late night hair salons with manicures as extras and all the chi-chi little knick-knack shops that Covent Garden seemed made for. There were two shops within a quarter mile of each other that sold nothing but beads. Neal's Yard and little independant book shops and souvenirs and just stuff.

Skint, I just had to pass it all by. I resisted the temptation to browse and just walked by. It was very, very depressing. The whole "Christmas is just rampant commercialism" was really rammed home tonight. It was awful.

And I carried on torturing myself. From Covent Garden, down Shaftesbury Avenue to Piccadilly Circus to Regent Street up to Oxford Circus and the new criss cross crossing up towards Selfridge's.

I love Selfridge's. Every Christmas, when we were children, we would be taken up to Oxford Street to see Selfridge's windows. They used to be dressed along some sort of theme. Fairy tales, Beatrix Potter, pantomime characters and so on. The tableaux would be motorised and robins would pop out of tree trunks to 'sing', letters would be repeatedly posted, trains would run around mountains and there would be many subtle movements which we would compete to see first. The visit to the Selfridge's Santa and the sight of the windows was part of Christmas for many London children.

Nowadays, the windows are well dressed but nothing to do with children. Abstract art displays of some of the products sold in the store or a dressed up version of the standard clothing displays you'd see in many shop windows.

The main revolving door entrance still opens into the perfume department. There is nothing like that first breath of the warm scent loaded air as you walk in through the very posh frontage. So I went in.

I went round and had little squirts from the Guerlain counter of Chamade and once I could feel my fingers again, I went for the bus stop to get back to Euston.

The train journey was uneventful and very warm and I made it back without mishap.

I went to bed deeply depressed. The entire day had been a complete waste of time and had simply reinforced in my mind just how low I had gone.

Needing someone else to pay my fare so I could chase a job in London dressed top to toe in charity shop gear (trousers from Sense, blouse from Cancer Research and shoes from Sense) to help my feeble Dad and then after a disastrous interview, going out and watching people shopping where I used to go regularly.

Doh! HR strikes again!

2009-12-17T21:30:00.000Z

Sandwell Metropolitan Borough Council

Revenue and Benefits Officer - ES2294

I am in receipt of your application for the above position, for which I thank you.

However, due to unforeseen circumstances, I regret to inform you that there will be a delay to the recruitment of this vacancy which is out of our control.

We endeavour to resume the process as soon as possible and apologise for any inconvenience.

Please quote the reference number and job title in all correspondence or telephone enquiries.

Yours sincerely

Xxxx Xxxxxx

Employee Services - Recruitment Team

I wonder why I bother. Really I do.

Found one!

2009-12-16T19:16:00.000Z

71. Band 3 Pharmacy Dispensing Assistant - Heartlands Hospital

Still looking

They didn't write, they didn't call, but I can take a hint.............

2009-12-15T20:11:00.005Z

Finally! I heard back from Heartlands Hospital.

Well kind of.

The HPA works within the Heartlands Hospital Pathology Laboratory where the employees from the two organisations work side by side.

This is (effectively) the job I applied for at the HPA at Heartlands. I'm guessing they hired someone internally.........

Job Reference: 295-6404YA

Job Title: Band 3 Medical Laboratory Assistant

Area of Work: Pathology

Employer: Heart of England NHS Foundation Trust

Department: Clinical Biochemisty

Location: Birmingham

Salary: £15,190 to £18,157 pa

Job Type: Permanent

Staff Group: Additional Clinical Services

Pay Scheme: Agenda for change

Pay Band: 3

Working pattern: 37.5 Hours Monday-Friday:Flexible between 8.00am to 10.00pm

Closing Date: This job advert will close as soon as sufficient applications have been received. Please apply for this job as soon as you can, if interested.

Description

Department of Laboratory Medicine - Heartlands Hospital

Medical Laboratory Assistant

37.5 hour post: Monday – Friday: Flexible working hours between 8.00am – 10.00pm

We are looking for motivated and reliable people to join our friendly Pathology team. Based in Specimen Reception the main duties include the receipt, sorting, and labelling of patients’ samples, data entry of patient information onto the laboratory computer, and clerical work.

The job also involves dealing with telephone enquiries and visitors to the department, including patients. You must be able to demonstrate good communication and keyboard skills and the ability to file alphabetically and numerically.

You are required to have a reasonable standard of general education, i.e. possession of pass certificates at GCSE or equivalent and have at least one-year clerical/data entry experience. Accuracy and attention to detail are essential.

Full training within the Reception area will be given and there may be opportunities to work towards NVQ qualifications. However, there is no opportunity to progress into the individual specialist laboratories.

It is essential to the service requirements that applicants can work flexibly to cover the annual/sickness absence of other staff and will involve evening/weekend and Bank Holiday cover.

For more information please contact Xxxxxxxxx Xxxxx - Xxxxxxx Xxxxxxxx Xxxxxxx on 0121 xxx xxxx.

The Heart Of England Foundation Trust only accepts ON-LINE APPLICATIONS.

PLEASE NOTE: IN MOST CASES CONTACT WILL BE MADE VIA EMAIL, THEREFORE PLEASE ENSURE YOU MONITOR YOUR INBOX.

I won't be adding this to my Jobs Basket.

Charming!

2009-12-14T23:19:00.004Z

I am skint. I have very little money and I have to go to London for Christmas.

My mood is very low and it's getting worse with little or no prospect of getting better any time soon.

Looking for jobs is starting to look pointless as everyone is starting to wind down for Christmas. The jobs I can apply for are scarce and the only jobs that seem to be out there are so limited that it would be a waste of time even ringing for application packs

"Do you have an interest in caring for patients with a wide range of musculoskeletal disorders?"

"Are you looking for work as a personal trainer?"

"Are you qualified to NVQ Level 2 in Cleaning and Support Services?"

No. Not really.

This sort of thing isn't helping either

Dear Candidate Re: Cord Blood Bank Technician

Thank you for your application for the above post. I am writing to inform you that the appointment to this position is now on hold due to applications being submitted from internal candidates who are at risk of redundancy. It is the policy of NHS Blood and Transplant to treat employees who are at risk of redundancy as a priority, therefore, no further decisions will be made until their suitability for the post has been explored. Please accept my apologies for this delay and accept my assurance that I will contact you again as soon as I have any further information regarding this post. Yours sincerely Xxxxx Xxxx Recruitment and Administration Assistant

Terrific. That was a total waste of time then.

The people who recruit employees are the same people who make employees redundant. How does stuff like this happen?

I gave up trawling for work in a really miserable mood. And then, I found this when I started trawling the Internet for news.

Gingerism rules.

Great.

I can see clearly in a few days time...

2009-12-11T13:45:00.001Z

To take full advantage of my dolee status, I made an appointment to see the optician at Boots in Wolverhampton.

The glasses aren't doing what they once did and I'm having trouble distinguishing whether that moving blob in the distance is a truck or a bus.

So I went through the tests. Field of vision, crude focus, the eye puff test and the take-a-picture-of-the-retina test.

Then I went in with the Opthalmologist for the "proper" eye test.

This girl was new. She was pushy from the get go. I made it clear that I was unemployed as I had to show her my HC2 certificate which entitles me to free eye tests and cheap NHS glasses. She said she understood and sympathised.

As the eye test progressed, it became obvious that my eye sight had deteriorated. It took an embarrassingly long time for the red and green lights to appear of equal strength and for the black dots to come into focus. I still can't read that bottom line on the eyechart either.

Again the Opthalmologist sympathised. The only people who seemed to be able to read that bottom line were service personnel. They seem to be feeding them something.

The weird hairs growing out of the corners of my eye were irritating me as they were starting to curl towards my eyeballs. She prescribed hypromellose eye drops and told me to stop plucking them out as that could lead to infection.

After the eye test, she spelled out the options. My eyes had deteriorated significantly and as I neede prescriptions for far and close work, I needed (she emphasised needed) varifocals or, at the very least, bifocals.

As I was unemployed, she continued, I was entitled to financial help with the cost of the glasses and as she was recommending complex lenses, I was entitled to an E NHS voucher as opposed to the standard A NHS voucher.

She hustled me out and sent me back onto the sales floor. The sales girl and I sat down and discussed the options. She recommended the most expensive "gold standard" varifocal lenses. Finally we started talking about prices.

How much would the glasses be?

Smiling, she quoted more than three months mortgage interest payments for the lenses alone. The frames would be an additional cost on top of that.

Pardon?

She made a play of double checking. Yep. More than three months mortgage interest payments.

Then she glanced down at the paperwork in front of her and corrected herself. With the E NHS voucher, that'll only be three months mortgage interest payments.

After I was sitting stunned for a little while, she looked at the cheaper options. The "silver standard" would be nearly three months mortgage interest payments with the E NHS voucher and with the "bronze standard" lenses that would be two and half months mortgage interest payments.

I repeated again, slowly, that I was unemployed and that even with the E NHS voucher, I would not be able to afford a "tin standard", even if they did such a thing.

With a kind of ease which suggested she had done this sort of thing before, she turned the E on the form to an A.

I needed two pairs then, she said, one for distance and one for reading. They were doing a 2 for 1 offer on Boots own brand frames which included the cost of simple lenses and she tried to lead me to the higher priced (and admittedly nicer) frames on the expensive stands.

I went to the lower priced stand with the "little old lady" plastic frames. There were a few metal frames with nose cushions. I pointed to two slightly different metal frames, one for distance and one for close up.

Financially, it turned out to be a very good choice. The A NHS voucher covered the cost of the first pair of glasses and with the 2 for 1 offer, I didn't have to pay for the second pair either.

Aesthetically, it's another story. They do look lame. However, they're free and beggars can't be choosers.

The Sales girl showed me to the till, as I still had to pay £10 for the photograph of my retinas which will remain on file until my next eye examination. She smiled through gritted teeth and told me I'd get a call when my glasses would be ready.

I thanked her politely and walked away wondering what someone with less willpower would have done.

Keeping all my options open

2009-12-10T18:27:00.000Z

I applied for the NHS job before I left the house. I filled in the application form for the Metrology position and took it to the Post Office to be sent by Guaranteed Delivery.

69. Trainee Metrologist - National Measurements Office, Teddington

70. Band 2 Pharmacy Assistant - St Mary's Hospital, Paddington.

I went to formally accept the provsional offer as well.

The list of documents was fearsome. I had to bring

My passport

My birth certificate

A billing letter from Scottish Power

The most recent current account statements from both my banks

Life, home and contents documents

My P45

My last payslip

My NHS medical card

A CRB form completed according to the detailed instructions given in the offer pack

AND

A short formal letter accepting the offer of a position

Once upon a time, a simple "Yes" would have been enough.

I got the bus and went up to the HR office where all the documents were photocopied before being handed back to me every which way.

The next appointment will be for the Occupational Health medical (!).

No. They couldn't tell me when that would be.

No. They couldn't tell me when I might be starting.

Okay, I'll carry on living in suspense then.

They were very nice, but the situation is one of those "How long is a piece of string?" things. The OH medical could be this month or next, the CRB check could take a month or two and only when everything is in place can they know for definite when I'll start.

Good grief.

Still applying

2009-12-09T18:26:00.000Z

68. Aquisitions and Supply Officer - King's College Hospital

Still waiting....

2009-12-08T18:24:00.000Z

67. Data Quality Officer - Lewisham

Okaaaaaaay.....

2009-12-07T21:37:00.000Z

Before I signed on, I went online to check the price of travelling to London for the 18th.

I printed off prices for travelling around London. Jeepers.

If I got the coach to Victoria then I had the option of tube, tube and overground or bus.

Single Fares 2009

Victoria [London Underground] to Hampstead Heath

Cash £4.00 At any time

Oyster £2.20 Monday to Friday from 06:30 to 09:30 and from 16:00 to 19:00

Oyster £1.60 At all other times including public holidays

By bus it's a simple £1 per ride up to the fourth bus ride which costs 40p and after that travel is free. It's called Oyster Daily Capping. Currently, a one day bus pass is £3.40 and the Oyster card is automatically capped not to exceed the current value of a one day pass.

Booking a train ticket at this late stage was going to be deadly expensive and I was pretty sure the JobCentre wasn't going to waste money in these financially straightened times, ESPECIALLY after the £1.10 palaver.

I visited the National Express Coach Ticket Office and got a quote for a coach ticket to London. They don't print prices anymore. The price varies according to when you book now so if I wanted to book the ticket today it was £18.60. It was going to cost more the later I left it.

By the time I came to sign on, I was prepared. My work search diary was up to date, I had the provisional offer a job AND I could provide proof of preparation for my next interview.

Looking good!

The lady who took my signature was very impressed. And she knew Hampstead as well. Congratulating me on my success she went off to check with The Royal Free as to whether there was a genuine interview. She was over half an hour. I nodded off in the heat.

She bustled back and explained the delay. She had spoken to someone at the hospital who confirmed the interview and had then spent an age checking to see whether they paid fares for candidates. They didn't.

So. They were prepared to issue a rail travel warrant.

Eh?

A. Rail. Tra. Vel. War. Rant. She repeated it slowly as if I were retarded.

Okay.

Once handed this flimsy slip of paper, I checked to see if I understood this correctly.

So, on the day I want to travel, I hand this to the cashier in the ticket office and he'll give me a return ticket to London.

Yes.

That's all I have to do?

Yes.

Okaaaaaay. It was coming up to my thirteen week review...

Ooooh. The lady had been clicking a series of screens on her computer when she suddenly got up again and walked away.

She returned with a letter inviting me to my 13 week review interview. I folded it up and put it into my Jobseekers Booklet wallet.

Was there anything else?

Um....no.

And that was that.

I'm bored now.

Round and round and round and round....

2009-12-06T20:23:00.003Z

I got up early - ish, finished all the housework I was going to do, packed my case, switched off the central heating system and sorted out all the stuff needed for the launderette.

Disinfectant? Check. Ibcol Floral Bouquet

Washing powder? Check. Um.....Dreft Hand Wash powder - I'll be fine as long as I don't add too much and the attendant doesn't catch me putting it in the washing machine.

There are strict rules, you know.

Machine powders have less by way of foaming agents. This is important. The manufacturers seem to think that we need to see suds to think that clothes are clean at the end of the wash cycle. To an extent, it's true. Sudsy bubbles do help get your clothes clean, but it's a careful balancing act.

By agitating the clothes far harder than hand washing, the machines create suds aplenty. However, machines effectively "choke" if there are too many suds and will force foam out back through the drawer, out of the machine and onto the floor. It could even bust the door mechanism.

Machine wash powders have fewer of these suds chemicals to prevent anything going wrong and hand wash powders have more as we don't agitate the clothes as much as a machine does.

Putting hand wash sudsy stuff into a launderette washing machine is bad and the attendants are on the lookout for this sort of abuse.

I lugged the quilt and the illicit stuff to the launderette a couple of streets away.

This launderette, as far as I'm concerned, has always been there. When we were children, the quilts and heavy blankets were taken to this place for washing twice a year and it was a rare treat to see Mum succumb to technology.

I was always taken with this place. Having seen Mum slaving day after day doing as much as possible by hand, I loved labour saving devices. There was even a special coin-op machine that dispensed mini packets of laundry powder and special powdery conditioners. I loved this place. I wanted to work there when I was a kid. I even loved the smell of the place. Hot tumble drying clothes and soap powder. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm...........

Over the years, the launderette has had a few repaints and changed hands, but the washing machines remained the same. They take more money now, of course. The tumble dryers were replaced with modern gas powered silver things, but the layout, from the white, pink and brown terrazzo floor, the thin wobbly bench sitting between the two banks of washing machines lining the walls at the front of the shop, the step by step instructions engraved on a piece of laminate plastic on the wall over one bank of washing machines and the long thin bench attached to the wall under the dryers at the back hasn't changed since I was five years old.

Mum hated using a washing machine. Her OCD was all encompassing and not only dictated how often things should be washed but how they should be washed. And with what. The launderette forced her to use the machines AND buy different cleansers.

The launderette was treated with thin lipped unhappiness and constant complaints. Machines never clean as well as hand washing. Apparently.

I didn't care then and still don't. I've never seen much of a difference for normal wash loads. I will, however, use Colour Catchers, soda crystals, disinfectant (Zoflora Flowershop) and the correct powder (colour or delicate). I will soak if necessary.

Me? Problem? Nooooooooooooo.........

With this place, there was always the problem of defective machines. They often didn't have an OUT OF ORDER sign on them, so it was possible to load the machine with washing, pour the powder into the drawer, put the money in and..........nothing.

Then came the drawn out saga of getting the attendant and trying to explain that there was money in the machine but the machine wasn't working. Getting a refund was easier than trying to get the precious powder out of the drawer and into another machine. It involved a kind of poop scoop technique with a plastic bag. It often ended with washing powder stuck under the fingernails and trying to rinse them in the gushing water in the working machine. As far as I was concerned it all added to the experience.

What can I tell you? It was the seventies. There wasn't much by way of fun back then.

Anyway, there was a large washing machine free and I stuffed the quilt into it. Selecting "Warm wash with pre-wash", I put the coins in and only when the water started gushing through the drawer did I carefully pour the powder (with the carrier bag still around the box so the attendant couldn't see what shouldn't have been there). And the disinfectant. Lots of disinfectant. All of the disinfectant.

No problems at all. I didn't even have to wait for a dryer. I still wasn't quite sure about the quilt after about £6 worth of drying. I couldn't put the dryer on "HOT" as the quilt was entirely artificial and would have shrivelled.

I lugged it back to the house, rejigged the laundry that was already drying and draped the quilt over the clothes horse in the front room. I checked the locks, the central heating and the 'fridge, grabbed my suitcase, doubled locked the front door and the porch door, swapped my door keys round so I would have my Wolverhampton keys to hand when I landed at my front door and went home.

Tired and miserable.

Nearly there

2009-12-05T19:16:00.002Z

There was yet more housework, more laundry, a bit of shopping and the ceremonial wrestling of the stinking double quilt into a large bin bag for the launderette tomorrow to get through before I got up to the Charing Cross Hospital.

Dad had been moved to a large downstairs ward and was with a number of other similarly aged patients. I got there early as I wanted to drop off his socks and thought I could leave them with the nurse in charge. The lady at the desk misunderstood my intentions and told me I could see him as I clearly didn't know the visiting times. Just to make sure next time that I showed up after 14:00.

Nope he wasn't happy. A nurse was trying to get him to stay still as she had to cut some of the stitches. The wound didn't look good. The entire right big toe was missing and there were obvious problems with the second and third toes.

I left the socks; the nurse and I tried to keep Dad calm whilst she cut some of the stitches but it was slow going.

He was on a drip which was hooked up to a rolling stand and he became distracted by that.

Then the nurse saw what he was doing and told him to stop. He'd started to worry at the screw fitting connecting the drip to the cannula in his arm and the three way tap it was attached to as well.

The nurse tried to change the cannula but that meant unscrewing the three way tap and drip from the cannula. Dad had overtightened the fitting and it wouldn't budge. She had a long go at unscrewing it. She went to fetch help and I tried to give it a go.

It shifted loose by the time she came back. With Dad complaining loudly, the nurse changed the cannula and moved on to another patient.

After the nurse, left, I stayed a little longer and Dad carried on worrying at the drip stand. I was then asked to leave as it wasn't visiting time yet.

I went to the internet cafe to find out what the message I received last night was all about. I was going to be interviewed at The Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead.

Wow.

I was invited to click on the link to arrange an interview time and date. No probs.

I clicked on the link and instead of arranging an interview, it told me when I was going to be interviewed.

15:00 Friday 18th December 2009. Take it or leave it.

Okay then, I'll take it. I printed off the page so I could show the Advisor on Monday when I signed on. I was going to need help with the fares for yet another trip to London.

I went for a wander and at 14:00 I went back to the hospital and found Dad sitting in the chair beside his bed. He had unscrewed the adjustable pole for the drip stand, had separated the two pieces and now the drip line, sitting with the drip bag on the bed beside him, was filling up with blood.

Oblivious to the bag beside him, he told me what he'd done, all the while swinging the hooked pole around as if trying to find a new place for it. It was broken, look at it, it shouldn't be allowed, it could be dangerous....

I took the hooked drip pole from him, placed it high in its rolling base, screwed the set back together and reset the bag. Almost immediately, the liquid in the bag and drip righted itself, all the cloudy red murk started flowing the right way towards his arm and the drip started dripping again.

He started worrying at the drip itself including the little wheeled slider which adjusted drip flow. Alternating between all open and stopped. I wrestled it from him and set it to drip at a slow but steady rate.

I went to find a nurse. I found the nurse who had changed his cannula earlier. I told her what had transpired. She went to check and I went with her. We found Dad in the process of unscrewing the drip stand again. He was trying to demonstrate that the pole, completely extended would reach the ceiling.

No chance.

He was adamant that the pole was long enough to reach all the way to the ceiling. We tried to get him to calm down again, but he was having none of it. In the end, I extended the pole as far as it would go and he was satisfied then.

He had also fiddled with the cannula fitting again. This time, when the nurse changed it, there was no trouble. It was clear now that Dad couldn't be left by himself. He was a clear danger to himself at this rate.

I was sent on errands for razors and then, separately, for grapes. This took time as it meant leaving the hospital and going to Boots and Sainsbury's. The hospital shop is extortionate and I have so little money that I needed to economise any way I could. And, frankly, I needed to get away for a little while.

As I went back and forth, I met the nurse on occasion and she told me that they were trying to get Dad moved to his own side ward with someone to look after him round the clock. I tried to explain to her that although he was cantankerous, feeble and had a failing memory, he wasn't normally this bad.

Oh yes, she said, this happens in some patients when they are recovering and are on IV antibiotics. It was quite normal. I wasn't reassured.

I left at meal break, had a wander round and returned at 18:30.

He was transferred to his own side ward. Again, he wasn't happy that there was someone by the open door looking in on him. Like he was going to do something wrong.

(!)

I repeatedly told him that I was leaving tomorrow, that today was Saturday and tomorrow was Sunday. I couldn't see him tomorrow as I had to go back to Wolverhampton. Having established he didn't need anything else brought in for him, we kissed goodbye and I left.

I texted my brothers to let them know where he was and left the hospital. It was cold. It was dark. It was wet. It was miserable. It matched my mood.

Still looking

2009-12-04T18:22:00.002Z

Yep. He remembered.

After a morning doing yet more laundry and the vacuuming, I went to Charing Cross to find Dad in a relatively lucid frame of mind.

I found him sitting in the chair beside the bed, in a reasonably cheerful mood, with a huge comedy bandage on his right foot.

He even told me that he was going to be spending a long time in hospital.

Wow. Acceptance.

Maybe this time he wasn't going to go doolally?

Nope.

As I sat, stood, wandered round and fetched and carried for him, he deteriorated back to the cantankerous old sod he was yesterday.

Something is happening/he's given some medication first thing which seems to either wear off or take effect as the day progresses.

The staff were coping well (considering) but were concerned as the ward was being shut down for the weekend and they needed to get the patients gone from the ward so the place could be deep cleaned before new patients were admitted next week.

Most of the elderly gents had had their operations/procedures and were waiting to be discharged. However, all of them had medicines and dressings to be collected from the Pharmacy and needed to be "debriefed" on their use before being allowed to leave.

One guy had been waiting all morning and didn't go until after 16:00. He was deaf and it was decided he needed to be given the instructions in sign language. When the interpreter arrived, she was useless. The patient was so old, that he didn't understand BSL.

He'd been taught a earlier form of sign language but could lip read, so the nurse in charge of his medicines had to sit on the bed with him and shout and point. Even across the entire length of the ward, I could see the guy was losing his patience.

The nurse was doing what she was supposed to do, but she was simply parroting the instructions on the packets AND handing him A4 sheets of paper entitled Patient Information for each and every one of his medicines.

He wasn't senile or retarded, he was as sharp as a tack and could read, he just couldn't hear. He remained polite throughout though and told her he understood as she went through everything.

By the time YMB showed up, Dad had decided he was going too. It took a long time to persuade him that he was staying but he was being moved to another ward.

"I'm staying but I'm going"

"Yeah"

He asked for socks as his feet were getting cold. He showed me his hands. They were cold even compared to mine. He still didn't want to put a blanket over himself, though.

"I'm not a fucking invalid!"

"Okay"

YMB stayed with Dad after we chatted out in the hall outside the ward.

Dad still doesn't know I'm unemployed after being made redundant and the brothers know not to talk about it in front of him.

I told YMB that it was going to be a lean Christmas this year. He told me it was the same his end. They were trying to save money and economise as much as they could.

Oh yes? I replied. YMB works for one of the bailed out banks and his wife works on the website for a high street retailer so I thought they might be facing redundancy or cut backs of some kind. It has been that kind of year, after all.

Yes, YMB replied, without a trace of tact or irony, they were saving up for a special trip around the Floridian theme parks next year in a rented RV and they were bringing a few uni friends with them.

It was going to be in February and it was going to be really special as the timing for the planned trip coincided with his wife's birthday and it was close to one of their friend's birthdays as well so they were going all out to make it outstanding.

I did try to sound pleased for him, I did. I tried making the right noises. As it is, I can't afford to turn on the heating at home.

So we agreed that there would be few if any presents this year and he'd let people know by text where the staff moved Dad to when the ward shut down.

I walked out into the cold, dark drizzly evening as if stunned.

I went into the internet cafe again and applied for another job

66. Data Officer. Sandwell.

With all my details already on the website, all I had to do was cut and paste and the job was done within half an hour. I paid and walked out into the rain, taking shelter under a shop awning and fending off a drunk who had lost track of time.

Just after he asked me for money and staggered off, I got a text. From the NHS website.

Please check my emails for a message.

I just had. I checked my watch - it was after 18:00. It was too late to do anything now.

Fuck it. It could wait until tomorrow.

touching base and keeping in touch

2009-12-03T18:28:00.001Z

I did a load of laundry but there is next to nowhere left to dry it.

I have a tumble dryer at home which I forgot is a luxury. Here, there are radiators and a couple of clothes horses and that is it.

Double quilt cover, double sheet, double mattress cover, clothes, more clothes, underwear (which had to be soaked first) and towels. And random stuff which I keep finding in unexpected corners. Like face cloths in the front room....

Speaking of which, the front room has seen better days. Once it was pristine. It was the pride and joy. Gold and deep red flock velour wallpaper, a sideboard, a 'posh' coffee table (with its own sheepskin style rug), an original dark wooden mantelpiece with all the original tiles, a velour three piece suite (yep, it matches the wallpaper), a display cabinet and a large dresser all crammed with knick-knacks, brass which Dad collected from various building sites over the years, tea and dinner services, old wedding presents, cutlery services, photographs and, well, stuff.

MwK's gold record for his work on a Matt Bianco album, YMB's graduation pictures, wedding and christening pictures and souvenirs from various holidays all on stands and displays.

When Mum died, it became obvious, as we went through the house finding random crap, that a lot of money was wasted. Well, we knew that. At least £35,000 went missing from the account that Dad used for business. The vast majority of it was/never will be found.

As Mum went through her mental health sections AND after she died, it became apparent that there are all kinds of leeches out there, happy to relieve the vulnerable of money and possessions. We found begging letters asking for money for various "causes", handwritten receipts for thousands of pounds and pieces of frank rubbish still with their price tags on.

As we sorted through all the drawers and cupboards, we found Elizabeth Duke necklaces and earrings that we had never seen worn, balled up in knots at the bottom of her wardrobe with some pieces deliberately broken, expensive catalogues for overpriced collectibles some of which she bought and dozens of pricey craft projects that never left their bags or boxes. There were also American gun and knife catalogues hidden under the front room floorboards. All paid for and all dearly priced.

We found some Aran wool from a "charity", complete with a badly photocopied knitting pattern which she had paid the best part of £100 for. Dad's sister, Miserable Auntie, took it home and used it up before she died. Even with arthritis, she could knit a basic jumper from scratch without a pattern.

I want to be able to do something like that. (Jealous)

Instead, I took a load of pointless embroidery projects home with me. All the threads had been knotted into balls and it took ages to sort them out. Some of them require a level of skill I don't possess, so I'VE got them hoarded away in a box now.

As Mum ran into her manic phases, the knick-knack count shot right up. "24K gold" labelled vases that were clearly junk, broken brooches (or brooches she had broken) from charity shops, 'collectible teapots' (no one drinks tea in our family), statues, tea trays, 'collectible toy vans and trucks' and cheap plastic toot all had the same value to her as her wedding and family photos.

The hoarding covered every aspect. Dad had no idea that he had pyjamas, let alone four pairs. If the house ever needs new nets - we're fine. And there's plenty of material (floral and velvet) for new curtains.

Dad will never run out of hand towels, bath towels, bath sheets, face cloths, shirts, vests, underpants, bed clothes or socks. After we had rounded them up from all points around the house, he's got an entire drawer so stuffed with socks that it can't close.

Anything of use is packed away in the right cupboard, but there's a load of crap just sitting in the front room as if in some forgotten storeroom. Along with a table in pieces MwK found lying in the road and a occasional table with drawers that MwK was told to get rid of because it was broken. He took it back to Dad's house to fix it instead. It's all sitting there gathering dust and unloved.

This hoarding thing has been inherited by her kids. YMB, when he lived at home, worked at Tesco while he was at university. Every time there was some sort of special offer (3 4 2, BOGOF etc) he bought stuff. There's a row of bottles of shampoo STILL in the bathroom cupboard years after he left home.

Along with the lifetime's supply of 100W pearlescent light bulbs I bought for Dad and the twenty odd rolls of toilet paper.

I hoard, although I know I have a problem and try to keep on top of it, MwK will not throw much if anything away AND, with a large van, he is capable of picking up pieces of furniture and toys left in the street because they're too good to throw away or "might come in handy" or "someone might buy it".

In the middle of the front room, in what little floor space is left, is a clothes horse. There's nowhere else to put it. Dad is so doddery now that it would simply get in the way anywhere else.

Walking back and forth between the garden shed where the washing machine is, through the house and into this dreadful dumping ground with armfuls of wet washing, picking my way through all this crap on dark and rainy days like today, is just......, well........, depressing.

My heart sinks every time I have to go into that room. It is God awful. And there's not much I can do about it.

And all that was before I visited Dad in hospital.

He was even less happy today than yesterday. He didn't want to wash, wouldn't get out of bed, didn't want to watch television. He just sat swearing and gesticulating at the staff who were at a loss.

No, he couldn't go home. No, he couldn't eat anything until 17:30. He was given food last night and refused to eat most of it so yes, he was going to be hungry now. No, he couldn't go home......

One nurse took him on as a personal project. She was going to get "Mr Popular" shifted to the Operating Theatre before she left for that night. She was great.

Of course, she got a racist tongue lashing from Dad every time she went to him to explain what was happening though. Dark black, with a thick African accent, she was on a hiding to nothing. But she did it. And fair play to the poor woman.

I left at 17:45 just as Dad was being wheeled out of the ward to the theatre. I told him I'd be back in the morning.

It was only after I lost sight of him that the nurse reminded me that visiting hours didn't start until 14:00.

Crap! He'll remember what I said and start with me tomorrow.

Anyway.......

I walked down the Fulham Palace Road towards the Broadway. On my way, I found an internet place and logged on (at 50p per half hour) to keep up with my emails. Mainly just to keep the spam down.

I did the usual. I logged onto the NHS website to scan for jobs and check any messages, logged off again and carried on walking.

Down through the bus station, across the Broadway and down the Shepherd's Bush Road to the Green and then on down the Uxbridge Road.

Down to a dusty, neglected house that sucks any joy out of me whenever I go there.

Good grief

2009-12-02T19:31:00.000Z

The house was in a worse state than I first thought.

Daylight does that.

I found a pair of disposable gloves that the District Nurse usually pulls out to tend to Dad and started.

I stripped the bed and cleaned the plastic mattress protector, found all the dirty laundry I could and set about letting soak while I cleaned out the washing machine.

I was retching as I wiped it out and set it to to wash at high temperature with disinfectant.

Having carefully removed the gloves and throwing them away, I set about vacuuming the place.

I then set about the bathroom.

The laundry alone is going to take days.

The double continenental quilt needs to be taken to the launderette again. More money.

£4 for a warm wash with pre-wash in a large machine and £1 for 20mins in the tumble dryers.

As it's entirely synthetic, it has to be on warm (not hot) and it takes another, what, £5 to dry the thing.

I walked to the hospital to save money.

Dad was grumpy. He'd been in hospital for two days. Monday, they weren't sure he could be admitted so he was there until late at night waiting for a bed.

Tuesday, he'd been Nil By Mouth in case he would go down for his operation but it didn't happen.

Confused about what day it was and where he was and not being able to hear the Australian temp nurse explain what the problem was, he was losing patience very quickly.

Dad hasn't been using any of the sterilizing detergents that he'd been issued with. The MRSA was a major concern.

As he was infected with MRSA, he couldn't just be slotted in 'whenever', he had to come last on the list of patients so that his would be the last operation before they closed the theatre down for the deep clean.

So Dad had to stay hungry until 17:30. If, at that point, there was no chance of him going to theatre, then he'd be given something to eat.

Dad was one of a number of patients who had been emergency listed. He was in an overflow ward with a number of men who were in a similar boat to him. But all of the men around him were going to be operated on before him.

Although elderly and some much older than Dad, they had all been taking better care of themselves and had tested negative for MRSA.

This was deeply unfair as far as Dad was concerned, he'd been in there longer than some of them and he should be 'done' next.

We tried to tell him, but he wasn't listening.

I took all his wet and dirty laundry home with me when he was given a meal at 17:30. It joined the rest of the pile of wet and dirty laundry left to fester until the machine was clean.

Here we go again............

2009-12-01T19:23:00.001Z

It was a fairly dismal day. I still managed to apply for another job, though

65. Technical Assistant

I went to the doctor, got my prescriptions and went down to London again.

Dad has failed to look after himself so thoroughly that he needs to have a further operation on his foot. Again.

And once again, even though I'm unemployed and not able to pay much out, I'm expected to go down and stay for a few days.

I got to the house about midnight. Again.

And it was in a dreadful state. Again.

One of the first things I'm going to have to do is start cleaning with a vengeance.

OMG! YEAH! WOO!

2009-11-30T21:10:00.006Z

The interview was in a building on the site.

I knew where the site was and I'd been to where the building was.

What I didn't know was that the suite I was looking for was two floors up.

So I was a teensy bit late for the interview.

I walked in to find two women sitting at a large conference table, one of whom was holding a mobile 'phone.

She put it down and told me that she was just about to call me to find out where I was.

Oh now that's a GREAT start for making a good impression.

We shook hands. Both of them commented on my very cold hands. Both asked me if I was all right and both asked if I was sure I didn't want a hot drink.

There was one of those coffee machines in the corner with the little pop open sachets and the thin plastic cups which burn your hands without a cup holder. I could see no cup holders. The drinks are not very nice and so hot that I would probably have spent the next half an hour waiting for it to cool down.

Having made a very bad first impression, I didn't want the interviewers' lasting memory of me as "that freezing, fat, redhead who showed up late and who didn't drink the coffee we gave her".

I turned down the offer and I tried to assure them that I was fine, but neither of them looked convinced.

I started to wonder if I shouldn't just give up now.

Aside: Yes, okay. I have a mild case of Raynaud's Syndrome. It's the mild, primary form. Yes, some poor creatures have to have hospital treatment and have their fingers and toes removed, but I'm not one of them.

It's a very common ailment and shouldn't be much of a talking point. My hands are cold, I'm not dying of hypothermia. It's irritating when people make a fuss of something so minor, embarrassing when I'm trying to be at my best and an apparent career killer at job interviews.

I can scare (or irritate) people when I do my impression of "the icy fingers of Death" up the back of their necks and if I had to have regular contact with people I would be worried, but as I'm not applying for such roles it's not (or, it shouldn't be) an issue.

However, it clearly is.

I sat down, with the pair of them opposite, neither of them looking too sure about me at all.

And we began.

During the interview they explained how the post works, what it would entail, what the training would consist of (trips to Stafford, mainly), where they're based (the White House(!)) and what they did.

I impressed them with my reading around the subject, the fact I had dry ran the trip to the place, was keen to get started (oh yes, definitely!) and seemed to be a bit brighter than I first appeared.

Aside: I'm really going to have to do something quite radical about my appearance. I surprise people by stringing words together sometimes. I really must appear quite retarded.

Yes.....I know......the nouns fat and stupid tend to go hand in hand. I'm going to have to do something to counter the apparent first impression people get that my IQ is somewhere in the "Two Short Planks" region.

That probably means losing weight. About 5 stones worth. I know. I know. I know.

They asked me what I thought the job would entail - after they had told me what happens

What I wanted from a career - money, mainly. I didn't say that though. I said I wanted to learn and progress and do something useful

Would I have a problem working in a place like this? - Nope. I've worked in a place like this before, have worked alongside the customers and have some general idea about the terminology

And so on. It was a fairly standard Q&A session.

They wrapped up with the usual "don't call us, we'll call yous" and we shook hands again to say goodbye. My hands still hadn't warmed up and they didn't look happy about touching me at all.

At the bus stop, waiting for the 529 back, I switched my 'phone back on.

There was 1 MISSED CALL AT 10:01. 1 UNKNOWN NUMBER.

I was a minute late. Terrific.

I went home convinced that I wasn't going to hear from them again and started applying for another job.

64. Administrative Assistant.

I answered the home 'phone at 4:30pm and had to restrain myself from screaming when I heard one of the interviewers tell me that I was provisionally being offered the job.

There would be written confirmation of the provisional offer and the offer was subject to references and an Occupational Health examination but the job was provisionally mine to be taken up at some point early in the New Year.

Great. I've been there before.

I'll keep applying for other jobs. Just in case.

Yup

2009-11-29T18:46:00.002Z

I am thoroughly fed up.

I have heard nothing from any of the jobs I've applied for and I'm just waiting to go to the one I've been invited to.

Well, I've been. As well as looking up the work of the team, I've been to see where it is and how to get there.

Jeepers!

Under no circumstances am I taking the 333 bus from Wolverhampton again. It takes a circuitous route through Portobello, Willenhall, Lodge Farm and back through Rough Hay and Darlaston and finally to Walsall.

If I tell you that Darlaston is on the way from Wolverhampton to Wednesbury and the 79 can get there in less than half an hour, then you'll understand that taking nearly 90 minutes to get from Wolverhampton to Darlaston is pretty unimpressive.

I found the place in the pitch black and walked through the wrong gate.

It's undergoing major building works. The original building is now surrounded by dozens of temporary and permanent buildings and negotiating between them is a hairy business at the best of times.

Now add scaffolding and great, solid sheets of corrugated security barriers. All painted royal blue.

The scaffolding and barriers created a maze effect as I walked between the buildings. At one stage, there were a number of people walking behind me. We could only helplessly walk, single file, down dark corridors and around blind corners, stuck between a great blue metal wall on one side and various walls and fences on the other.

Very poorly lit and with virtually no signs, in the cold, the dark and the drizzle, it was crazy. If you're in any way claustrophobic, forget it.

I passed a set of Portakabins stacked in a pile - grandiosely called "The White House".

And then, 10 minutes later, we all popped out the other end of the maze. We came out by another gate where cars were queueing up to get in and out via a series of barriers.

I checked. We were no more than 20 yards from the gate I had first entered before the maze.

Oh good grief.

I had a second run today. A little bit more successful. The 529 bus from Wolverhampton takes less than 45 minutes and stops near the hospital without going into Walsall town centre itself.

It still took a good few minutes to find the building where the interview would be held.

There's a very strange arrangement at the gate where the cars pass. A series of lanes with barriers some with paving for pedestrians and most without (so you're left looking both ways for traffic at some and just one way for others) and there's a small terrace of houses lining one side of the drive. With cars appearing from between the houses.

The front doors are numbered (like houses) but some doors have small signs with offical titles on them suggesting that at least some of the little houses are offices.

The site is a huge sprawl of different buildings with no apparent rhyme or reason to the plan. Very strange.

Still beggars can't be choosers, if they offer me a job here, then I'll have to take it.

And continues....

2009-11-27T18:45:00.000Z

63. Pharmacy Assistant Dispensing Officer

And the search continues....

2009-11-26T18:43:00.000Z

62. Pharmacy Assistant Technical Officer

Nearly there

2009-11-25T18:22:00.001Z

The interview went very well.

There was just one bus to get from Wolverhampton Bus Station and it stopped just outside the gates to the site I needed to get to.

It only rained whilst I was on the bus and my new large handbag was just the right size for an A4 envelope holding all my ID and copies of my unfolded CV.

The building was easy to find, the instructions I was given were very clear and easy to follow and I arrived early.

I was shown up to a first floor conference room, where I was interviewed by two people.

I did everything I was supposed to. Smiled, made eye contact, ensured my hands weren't too damp or cold for any handshake, smiled, answered every question carefully and smiled.

As the girl from Reed said when she gave me the rejection, I had only just been shaded by another candidate who had had a little more complaints experience.

They liked me, they really did, but there was another candidate who was a little more experienced. There was nothing more I could have done in the interview to make them hire me.

Great. If I treat this as practice for the next interview, then I might just get that job.

60. Night shift Pharmaceutical Technician Elstree

61. Analytical Chemist

and nothing from Heartlands.

Still waiting to hear from Heartlands..........

2009-11-24T18:12:00.000Z

57. Laboratory Support Worker

58. HMLO - Stafford

I received a call from Reed. There is another ongoing temporary job in Kingswinford at NPower, and they've suceeded in getting me an interview.

It was this bunch who rejected me before (sight unseen) as the manager thought the work would be too mundane for me.

Anyway, there was another position and this time, the manager wanted to have a look at me.

11:30 tomorrow.

Yep. Fine. I'll be there.

59. Medical Laboratory Assistant, Haemophilia Unit, Royal Free Hospital, Hampstead.

The novelty has definitely worn off now........

2009-11-23T17:57:00.001Z

After a pretty poor weekend down with Dad (the house is a tip, Dad won't wash fully as he doesn't like showers and can't get in or out of the bath anymore and trying to get him to eat and take his fistfuls of tablets is getting harder and harder), I called Walsall Manor.

I made an interview appointment for 10am on 30th november 2009 and thanked whoever it was profusely for it. There would be a letter in the post confirming the arrangement.

Then I went to sign on.

I was called up and sat down in front of a bright, blonde who asked me how I was getting on.

I told her about the interview date and she was very pleased for me. I told her I was very fed up and hoped to find work soon.

Yes, she said, most people find the novelty wears off about now and reality kicks in. Still, it's only a matter of time before you find something, so you don't have to worry.

I sat and smiled as I signed under my exemplar signature and walked away before I said something that could get me thrown out by Security.

NOVELTY? NO. VEL. TEE?

What planet has she been on, lately?

I don't have to worry?

Eh?

In these days of recession, mass redundancy and job insecurity, it's good to know that the Job Centres are employing the very best and most understanding staff.

Not.

Still waiting for Heartlands,but get this, better late than never

2009-11-20T21:01:00.005Z

On 20-NOV-09 X Hospitals NHS Trust said:

Job Application

NHS_Jobs_ID Message 407-JB1384

Further to your recent application regarding the appointment, I am pleased to advise that you have been shortlisted for an interview: Interview Date: Monday 30/11/2009 Interview Location: Seminar Room in Xxxxxxxx Interview Format: Approx 30 minutes I would be grateful if you could contact me to confirm your attendance and to book and interview slot as soon as possible on 01922 xxxxxx ext xxxx; should you not contact us prior to the interview date, we will assume that you no longer wish to continue with your application. Please note that a letter with these details will also be sent to your home address with additional information. Xxxxx Xxxxx - Xxxxxxxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx (01922 xxxxxx X xxxx) ** THIS EMAIL IS GENERATED FROM AN UNMANNED MAILBOX. WE ARE UNABLE TO RESPOND TO ANY REPLIES TO THIS MESSAGE. *

Terrific.

I called the number, but got an ansaphone. I tried calling the place and getting through to the Recruitment/HR Section to be told that the name given in the automatic e-mail didn't work there anymore.

I called the number and the extension again, and left a message saying that I would call first thing on Monday.

Slight thing, dear reader, I applied for this job on 24 September. I'm not going to hold my breath on this one. Especially as someone who doesn't work there anymore seems to be dictating recruitment.

I could do without the surreal and weird, at the moment.

Still waiting.......

2009-11-19T20:58:00.000Z

........and not hopeful. It's just good to be able to draw a line under an episode.

54. Corporate Team Support Officer - Key Team

55. Office Administrator

56. Clerical Administrator

Still waiting......

2009-11-18T20:54:00.000Z

......53. Clinical Administrator - Ealing, West London.

And so I switch on my computer and.........

2009-11-17T20:45:00.000Z

.............apply for position number 52.

There's a schedule for television programmes, radio shows and so on.

7:30am - 12pm BBC Radio 2

12pm onwards BBC Radio 1

After job search and job applications I switch over to 'fun'. Catching up with the blogs I follow and the television I miss.

Fast Forward, The Thick of It, Have I Got News For You, Wallander, Spiral, Grime Fighters, Sanctuary, CSI:Miami amongst others.

Laundry, tidying up and putting the bins out on Monday nights for collection on Tuesday. The paper box goes out every other week.

It's a routine, I suppose.

It's not like I can go out and go shopping.

Waiting.........

2009-11-16T20:42:00.000Z

51. Medical Laboratory Assistant St George's Hospital Tooting.

Still waiting to hear from Heartlands.............

2009-11-13T20:36:00.000Z

And to pass the time job application 48, 49 and 50.

I'm applying for jobs in London through the various websites. If the money's right I can live in London, stay with my increasingly doddery Dad and visit my pitiful little building site on the weekends.

Night Shift Cord Bank Blood Technician NHSBS in Colindale

Laboratory Technician at Highgate Brewery in Walsall

and

Band 2 ATO Royal Orthopaedic Hospital Stanmore.

I can only live in hope.

Still waiting to hear from Heartlands.......

2009-11-12T20:34:00.000Z

Job applications 46 and 47 in the meantime.

What did I tell you?

2009-11-10T20:19:00.002Z

I switched on my computer this afternoon and found a rejection e-mail from ORR. It was the usual flannel.

".........standard of candidates was extremely high......", "...............thank you for applying............", "......unfortunately, on this occasion..............".

I was expecting it.

I went out after applying for the 45th job and came back to an ansaphone message telling me to contact Selly Oak asap.

I arrived home at 17:25 and the message had been left less than half an hour before.

I made a brief calculation. I had been called towards the end of the day. The most successful candidate would have been the first to have been called, so that made me pretty much the most unsuccessful candidate they had. Or the least successful.

Either way, I knew I hadn't got the job. And SURPRISE! I got their ansaphone when I called back at 17:30.

They were in no hurry to get a reply from me.

Trains, trains, buses and trains

2009-11-09T19:02:00.002Z

I woke up and listened carefully to the local weather news. Dry. Cold and dry.

Thank God. Thursday had been wet and I had struggled to move around the building with a bag, coat, two VISITOR badges, all my documents in an A4 wallet AND a wet umbrella. Dry meant one less thing to worry about.

I used the last of the money from the ADF to pay for a One Day Travel Card. As I had previously bought an off peak DayTripper ticket for the last interview on Thursday, this meant that I had £1.10 left.

I brought it with me as I went to sign on earlier than usual.

I was left waiting as the 'Sign On Early Because of Special Circumstances' Guy had gone on his break.

When he came back, I explained that I had money left over, showed him the receipts and he set about trying to return it.

This was after some major kerfuffle which included an interview about job hunting and his congratulations on getting a job interview. When I told him that it was actually two interviews he nearly exploded with pleasure, as if he'd had something to do with it.

He found my signing on booklet, witnessed my signature and we went to the Cash Office hatch to return the £1.10.

This involved a form which had to be signed by me and him, witnessed by the cashier and having the receipts stapled to it.

Blimey. I had hoped someone would say I could keep it as it was such a small amount of money, but no.

Train to Birmingham and then a trip to the Centro office to work out the fastest way to Selly Oak.

Another train.

Now. Selly Oak Hospital is a huge sprawl of a place on the outskirts of Bournville Village. It is not close to any transport links to speak of. No bus passes outside its gates and the train is not on the doorstep.

The outer edges of Selly Oak Hospital are a 20 minute uphill hike from the train station and the site is so huge that it could be another 20 or 30 minutes before you've wound your way around the site and started seeing sign posts to where you need to get to.

Adding to the finding-your-way-around nightmare, Selly Oak has a special wing for injured soldiers so there's a lot of security in place and an awful lot of NO ACCESS BEYOND THIS POINT notices.

That helped.

The interview was in what was referred to in the invitation letter as the A+E Seminar Room. That meant finding A+E, walking past sick people in beds and on trolleys in the corridors and trying to find a seminar room. Which from the name "Seminar Room" I took to mean a large boardroom type place.

I walked past it twice.

It was a tiny cupboard of an office, labelled Police Interview Room and had a handwritten notice INTERVIEWS IN PROGRESS blutacked to the door under the window.

I was slightly late so I knocked, opened the door, introduced myself, apologised for getting lost and the interview began.

Did I have any trouble getting there?

The job would start in Selly Oak but would move to the brand new site that I passed on the train to Selly Oak.

What would be the problems with interviewing and surveying stroke patients?

What experience did I have with clerical work and data entry?

Would I be willing to train and gain relevant qualifications?

And so on. It was a fairly lacklustre, nothing special, Q&A session.

As we said goodbye at the end and the door was opened for me to leave, I bumped into a woman even shorter and fatter than me.

Her neck was so short that it looked as if her shoulders were hunched around her ears. Her face looked as if it had a major battle staying clear of the swathes of scarf which went around her neck in thick coils, piled up around the back of her head and over her ears. She had thick bottle bottom glasses, badly dyed hair and a tight perm. She looked old enough to be my mother.

She was one of the opposition AND she'd arrived early.

Swot.

I smiled at everybody, thanked the interviewers for inviting me and was on my way with a solid feeling that I wasn't going to get that one.

There was a twenty minute hike back to Selly Oak Station in my interview shoes which were beginning to hurt and around a 20 minute wait for the train back to Birmingham New Street.

Once at New Street, I had to find Heartlands Hospital.

Back to the Centro office where I found that the nearest train station wasn't as close as the nearest bus stop.

I needed the 97. Which I could catch from stop MF on Moor Street Queensway. So that was a brisk walk out of the station, towards the bullring, along St Martins Circus Queensway, past the bullring, under the bullring bridge, towards Moor Street Queensway, past the alighting stop only for the 97 (irritating, as two buses went past as I was walking to the bus stop), past Birmingham Moor Street Train Station, past the Pavilions Shopping Centre, across Carrs Lane, past Carrs Lane United Reform Church and on down to the Saint Michaels' Catholic Church. Where, after waving goodbye to two buses on the way down there, I had to wait another half an hour in the freezing cold for the next one.

Terrrrrrrrrific.

I had a nnetwork card which meant I didn't have to wait for a TWM bus to arrive. It was just as well. A Central Connect bus showed up and drove through Bordesley Green towards Alum Rock. Getting stuck in traffic and at red lights all the way. The West Indian driver was super friendly, seemed to know everyone and stopped to chat to people as well.

We got there.

Eventually.

Unlike Selly Oak, the bus stops just across the road from the hospital. Heartlands is a slightly more modern sprawl than Selly Oak, but it is still a huge site; it's the size of a small town. Just how big this place was, was brought home to me when I asked for directions to the lab from Reception.

The lady behind the desk gave me a small A5 size laminated card with complex directions printed on it about how to get there.

They made little sense until I got outside and found the first path the instructions mentioned. It was like following the yellow brick road.

I found the lab and was early. I signed in and waited. A woman was waiting in the same room and didn't seem to be listening for her name. It soon turned out she wasn't at all.

A young woman, the older woman's daughter, it turns out, was shown through a door into the waiting area and they started breathlessly and quite nervously, chatting to each other about how the girl's interview went and did she think she was going to get the job.

She seemed to be relieved to be out of there. The girl (shiny, straight black hair with standard, shiny, black, interview suit) eyed me up and told her mum that she'd talk about it in the car.

Smart girl.

It was my turn. Still in my outdoor coat, I was offered a Tyvek lab coat. When I hesitated, the woman showing me round told me not to worry, I could put the paper coat over my own. Niiiiiiiiiice.

I was shown round the usual sort of thing. Lino tiles on the floor (Microbiology/biology labs must be moppable), lots of varnished wood, no windows in the corridors and some labs were NO ENTRY TO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL so she just pointed through the glass in the doors, as I tiptoed to get a peek.

When the time came for the interview itself, she took the coat off me and wished me luck.

I needed it.

There were three of them and me around a small square table. It was pretty intimidating. Again, it was the usual Q&A session. And unusually aggressive.

Why did I apply for the job?

What did I hope to achieve?

What did I think I was going to do here?

It soon became apparent that at least two of them (all three were men) seemed to have doubts about how someone with my background was going to fit into a humdrum routine working life like theirs.

Well, the same way I fitted into the humdrum, routine, working life everywhere else, I suppose.

They didn't seem satisfied. And then I knew I wasn't going to get this job, even though it was perfect.

I handed over all my documents for photocopying, as I was lead into another room for a series of tests.

First. Could I copy type this sheet onto this blank Word document that was open on the computer screen.

I've only spent two years typing at keyboards as a temp. I think I could manage something.

The next was a series of fake swabs and blood samples and a list. Could I match the list with the samples and note any discrepancies?

I had 10 minutes to do the test. I could get 10 out of 10 if I could get all the discrepancies within 6 minutes. I lost marks for every minute over 6 minutes, so that if I took all 10 minutes, the maximum mark would be 6.

Eh?

As it was clear from the interview that I wasn't going to get the job, I thought I'd just go for accuracy. Sod the 6 minutes rule.

I'm pretty sure I got all of them.

I got my documents back after the test, got all my things together and and put my coat on back in the Reception area. I signed out and went back to the Hospital Reception where I handed in the instruction card and had something to eat.

It was dark outside. I hadn't eaten anything all day and my mouth was pretty dry as well. The food was the usual, miserable, hospital, mass catering, fare. Fluffy, papery chips, a sausage which had so little meat content that it could have qualified as vegetarian and a bottle of Diet Coke.

The long march uphill to the bus stop was cold. There were dozens of people all waiting for the same bus. When it finally came, there was a big scrum to get on. It was dark and the windows had misted up so there was nothing much to look at as the bus trailed through the streets back to the bullring.

I realised I had wasted the entire day. I wasn't going to get either job. Despite the fake cheeriness, the smart clothes, the make up, the reading around the subjects - Nope. Dead loss.

I did wonder why I'd been called for interview. Why bother calling me if you were worried about whether or not I'd be bored because the work was below my level of expertise?

I caught the train to Wolverhampton and got the bus from Wolverhampton bus station to the chip shop on Vicarage Road and trudged home the rest of the way.

One of my shoes was making a clicking sound as I walked. As soon as I got home, I took the shoes off and saw that one heel (right) had almost worn through. Great. more expense.

After checking my emails, I got off the chair to set about getting ready for bed. Only to find myself sticking to the chair.

A great big gob of white chewing gum was stuck to my smart, black, interview trousers and was now adhering to the chair.

Brilliant. WD40 for the chair and the trousers and a long wash overnight.

I hope that was from the last bus home. If that had been there for the interviews, that would have been embarrassing.

Waiting

2009-11-06T21:22:00.000Z

The strikes are over at the Royal Mail and I received a text message from Primetime.

"Good morning all, unfortunately i have just been informed that ALL shifts have been cancelled at royal mail,wolverhampton this weekend. At present, there are NO temporary staff required on site from friday - monday. As soon as we have any more information, we will let you know asap. Sorry this is only a text message to let you know, but i must contact approximately 100 people asap to let them know. Thank you, primetime"

Well. Great. There may be no work this Christmas then, as all the striking workers are probably signing up for all the overtime they can manage to fit in.

I received a 'phone call from Heartlands asking me if I was still going to the interview on Monday. Try and stop me.

I trawled all the usual internet sites and found one job worth applying for. And applied for it.

43 jobs and counting.

First isn't always good

2009-11-05T20:47:00.000Z

Yep. As I thought. Absolute disaster. I arrived at Reception to sign in and received a little VISITOR badge which I clipped to my blouse collar.

The lifts were a little bit special. The panel to call the lifts looked as if it should have been inside one of the carriages. Instead of just calling the lift, I pushed the button which corresponded to the floor I wanted to go to. The computer then did a little calculation and, as efficiently as possible, sent the most suitable lift down to the Ground Floor.

Once I got to the 6th Floor, I had to sign in at Reception and received a second VISITOR badge. It took a little while for me to clip and re-clip the two badges to my blouse and coat collars so that I didn't look like I was trying to balance and match them.

There then followed a walk to the next floor to do one of the tests. I was left in an office for half an hour with a sheaf of papers and instructions on what to do with them. It was meant to be a series of 'phone messages, emails and messages and a To Do list with a diary.

How was I going to fit all the work into the diary? Who was I going to call first? What was I going to do about the woman calling in sick? When was I going to schedule the research into that project? When was I going to reschedule lunch for the colleague who wanted to talk about work with the sick woman?

I thought I had got everything sussed when I realised (with about 10 minutes to go) that the sheets were printed on both sides. I'm missed about half the work.

Needless to say, I didn't finish the test. It was horrible.

The first interview of the first day of the series is never going to be good. It wasn't good.

One of the guys was late. He was almost as unprepared as I was and it was awkward and stilted throughout the half hour "informal chat".

As I left, there was another girl waiting in the Reception area. She was slim, tanned, pinstriped and had big, bouncy, glossy brown hair which appeared to have a life of its own.

She certainly looked more 'with it' than I did.

I went to Solihull. I had a One Day Travelcard and I was going to use it. I went to John Lewis and bought some darning wool for my favourite gloves which are starting to look very worn.

It was bright but very cold and I quickly went home again after I had browsed the area and had some lunch courtesy of Boots and the points on my Advantage card.

After I got home, I logged onto the NHS website to find that two jobs which I had put in my Jobs Basket had prematurely expired due to the sheer number of applicants.

Not good. Not a good day at all.

Oh dear

2009-11-04T18:38:00.000Z

Today, I filled in two more application forms (42 jobs and counting), I've set up search strings so that the NHS website will tell me about jobs.

I prepared for my interview tomorrow by logging on to the website and freaking out at all the information.

The job is Team Administrator LNW (S).

Nope. No idea.

And will the website let me see what I wrote?

Nope. The entire online form disappeared into the electronic ether as soon as I pressed "SUBMIT".

Brilliant.

I went to get my haircut today as well. I've got to save the pennies so it was the College Salon.

The very young sulky faced girl was very unsure of herself and very hesitant. She partitioned off the back of my head did a few snips and then called the Supervisor over.

The Supervisor finished graduating into the nape of my neck and showed her little protege how to avoid the side "horns" that would have grown around the sides. The Supervisor left us to it after criticising the state of the scissors.

Then Student started on the sides. Without starting a central guide, she set about cutting the left side of my head. Again, very hesitantly.

She called the Supervisor over again. The Supervisor started off at the centre and couldn't see where the girl had started from.

She was very rough with the comb and painfully scraped it over my ear repeatedly. Again, the Supervisor graduated the cut and tapered it off down my left side.

She left us again, warning the girl to remember the head dips down at the front and my hair was very heavy down there.

This happened over and over again. Young girl making a few desultory cuts and calling the Supervisor over. Supervisor finishing the cutting and walking away instead of standing over the girl.

ONE AND A HALF HOURS after I came in for a quick wash, cut and blow dry, the student was blow drying my hair. Again, very hesitantly.

She was using a slim ,round, spiky brush to style my hair under the dryer and by the time she finished, I looked like Jim Carrey from Dumb and Dumber. It was a total pudding bowl job.

I paid the £15 and hoped the wind and the rain would do something flattering.

By the time I got home and my hair had dried, I was starting to look like the strange, red haired woman trying to be Miranda, from the Dulcoease ad trying to look like Sex and the City.

With some styling wax, I could see what the Supervisor was aiming at. A kind of short elfin cut.

Kind of.

A productive sort of day. In a hermit sort of fashion

2009-11-03T18:27:00.001Z

Today I tortured myself with four online application forms including the one for a Clerical Officer with Wolverhampton Council I discussed with Julie at the Jobcentre.

That's 40 applications in total so far.

I really, really need to get out more. I haven't said a word to anyone today.

That can't be good.

I got it

2009-11-02T17:25:00.002Z

I got the £12.80 to go to Birmingham.

I spoke to a very nice girl who saw email proof of the interviews and proof of my entitlement to benefits.

When you're unemployed, the first thing you have to get used to is carrying all the paperwork of your life around with you. Documents that only see the light of day once in a blue moon are routinely taken off you to be photocopied and handed back every which way.

Photo ID (Passport or Driving Licence), proof of address (bank statements or bills), proof of entitlement (Job Seekers booklet), proof of National Insurance Number (NI Card, P60 or tax documents) - all stuff that normally gets tucked away in a lockable box safely at home gets waved around in public buildings, in front of the kind of people who would give their eye teeth to lay hands on someone elses' identity for various nefarious purposes.

It's embarrassing.

It was lunch time and her computer was v e e e e e e e e e r y y y y y y s l o o o o o o o o w. She needed to check online to see what the prices were.

Anyway, she found out. Eventually. The price list I'd picked up from the bus station wasn't enough. She had to check for herself.

£6.30 return from Wolverhampton to Birmingham by train and £6.50 for a one day nnetwork card for Monday when I have to sign on, travel to Selly Oak and then hoof it across the Birmingham suburbs to Heartlands.

That'll be fun.

She totted up the total and ran downstairs to the cash office for me. Leaving me with a desk full of leaflets

Staying Mentally Healthy Following Redundancy

"Wake Up To Local Learning In Your Community"

Are you worried about your mortgage? Get advice now

Inspire Your magazine from Jobcentre Plus Summer 2009

I was quite grateful when she came back with exactly £6.30 and £6.50. Her desk was pretty depressing.

When I pay for the tickets, I've got to keep the receipts, so that they can be stapled to the form that's waiting for them with my signing in sheet, in the signing in box.

Yep. Got that.

I visited the recruitment agencies to remind them I'm still breathing. Yep. They're all looking out for me and as soon as something comes in, they'll let me know. Every one of them.

I went into Interecruitment and got an email address from Julie. I've sent her my CV so if something comes in she'll let me know.

Great.

There it is again......that weird sense of impending doom

2009-10-30T17:13:00.001Z

I went to Molineux House to ask about the Travel To Interview Scheme.

If you've applied for a job and it's outside the area one could reasonably expect to travel to then you apply to the TTIS for money.

However, I soon learned that Wolverhampton to Birmingham IS reasonable.

But.

Two days of interviews in Birmingham is the best part of £13. When I'm trying to save every penny I can and I'm only on £128.60 a fortnight, £13 is A LOT of money.

I made an appointment to see an Advisor on Monday about the Discretionary Fund.

The doomy feeling was brought about by the final payment from my employer.

THE. FINAL. PAYMENT.

I felt bad the first couple of days after I was made redundant but now this feels worse.

From now on, I'm on my own.

Now watch me screw this up

2009-10-27T17:03:00.001Z

Yesssssssssssssssss!

Today in rapid succession I received three invitations to job interviews.

One Thursday 5th November at 9am in Birmingham City Centre

One Monday 9th November at Selly Oak Hospital and

Another on Monday 9th November at Heartlands Hospital.

Now, I do not interview well. I probably won't get the first job because it'll be my first interview in a long while and I'll blow it completely.

The second interview MAY go well but it's for a data entry role which I'm not really keen on. My lack of enthusiasm will more than likely show and they will probably reject me because I don't seem very keen.

The third interview will be the second of the day, is for a cool and well paid lab job (which I REALLY REALLY want) and I'll probably blow it as I'll appear too desperate.

Ah well. I'll give it a go.

You learn something new every day......

2009-10-26T16:55:00.001Z

Today I signed on and brought up the notion of training and such.

The guy who signed me on showed me upstairs and I evenually spoke with a young guy. He told me about Rapid Response Fund for the redundant like me, which will pay for any training (within reason) I might need to get back into a job and the Advisor Discretionary Fund.

The ADF is a secret little pot of money which will pay for interview clothes, work clothes (steel toe caps, hivi vests etc) if you ask politely enough, are needy enough and the Advisor likes you enough.

While I was waiting to see him, I met Julie. She was waiting for a client who was late turning up. All the while I was chatting to her like we were old friends, I couldn't quite place her.

As we chatted about how we came to be at the JobCentre, my mind was rolling back the mists of my poor memory for faces and trying to work out who she was.

Then it struck me. I hadn't seen her since she fired me. She let me go after David Wilson Homes were taken over by Barratts and the recruitment freeze was over. Then the Sales Office were relocated to Coventry and some were themselves let go Julie included.

She was now a Six Month Advisor, dealing with people who had become long term unemployed. She recommended the internet

Yep. Got that.

The NHS website.

Yep. It's on my list of Favourites.

The local council.

Yep. Wolverhampton Council Jobs Page is one of my Favourites

I reminded her of a job for a Clerical Officer being advertised.

She wished me luck and jokingly told me she didn't want to see me again as she went back to her desk to wait for her client.

He showed up shortly afterwards. Only 20 minutes late.

After finding out about money. I did a job search on the Job Centre computers - again Sales, Engineering and Carers with cars. That's all that's needed.

I checked, no the Rapid Relief Fund will NOT pay for ordinary driving lessons.

I went home. I checked the internet again and found two jobs to apply for.

So far, that's 35 jobs applied for in total.

Now THAT's an inspiring boss

2009-10-19T16:15:00.002+01:00

I know tough circumstances can breed tough people. Extreme circumstances can bring out the best in people but, frankly, I really could do without becoming as tough as this guy was.

On the other hand, he must have been some boss to work for.

Home! Home! Land of my father! Home!

2009-10-06T16:38:00.003+01:00

I'm exhausted.

I've been down to London to stay with Dad for a few days.

Good grief.

There was all the vacuuming, the washing, the shopping, the tidying up and the chivvying and the drugs and and and and........

Dad's tablets are in a little box set that's all set up for Morning, Afternoon, Evening, Night.

He gets confused by even that and often holds the box upside down or takes them from the next column along so either the Night tablets are taken in the morning or Tuesday mornings tablets follow Monday mornings tablets so he gets double the dose from them and can't understand why he doesn't feel very well and falls over.

Of course, he insists that he's taken them correctly and he will hear no criticism.

Brilliant.

Saturday, I came down to find that the ticket machines in Victoria Station now do Oyster cards so I don't have to join the scrum outside - much less stressful.

And Sunday, Monday and Tuesday were spent trekking back and forth looking for things Dad can't see (that'll be nearly everything, then), opening the door to the fill-in carers who don't know about the key safe, opening the door to the district nurses who had a whale of a time on Monday trying to remove a cannula from Dad's arm.

He was in such a hurry to leave the hospital, that he left the hospital with the cannula still in his arm. With his levels of hygiene it was imperative to remove it ASAP. The district nurse (a giant African guy with a thick accent) was not happy at all and was threatening to complain to the hospital about it.

Good luck with that.

All the while, Dad cursed and tottered around repeatedly claiming "I'm not a fucking invalid!".

Riiiiiiiiiight.

I still haven't told him I was made redundant.

Hopefully, I won't have to.

I got back late this evening and the first thing I did was start trawling the internet. I've found two more jobs to apply for on the NHS website.

Like I say. If it does all go belly up, it won't be for the want of trying.

Yes. No. Maybe.

2009-10-02T21:42:00.001+01:00

I called in to Proactive. The girl there told me that no one sent by Proactive had got the job. I sneaked a peek at her notes and saw Brook Street.

I told her about Dad and she welcomed the news and told me that she'd keep an eye out for me.

I thanked her and went back home. The postman had been and left the letter from the DWP stating that I was entitled to Contributions Based Job Seekers Allowance.

Yessssssssss. I could sort out my Council Tax claim.

I packed a CV, my passport, proof of address, the letter and popped into Brook Street on the way to the Council House.

Abigail acted pleased to see me and updated my details onto the Brook Street system. She photocopied the passport, took the CV and asked if I could email it as well so she could have it on the computer.

Yep. No problem.

Assuring me that there would be no problem placing me, she wished me luck and I carried on to the Council House.

Once there, I was not happy to find that as well as the Job Seekers Allowance letter, which was scanned onto the system, the council also wanted bank statements for both bank accounts for the last two months.

I went home.

I found the statements and went back.

I saw the same lady again, she scanned the statements and wished me luck finding work.

I checked my bank account.

There was still no benefit payment even though I now had the letter stating that I was entitled.

Hmmmmmmnnnnn.

I called the JSA bunch again. They told me I hadn't received any benefits as I hadn't signed on.

Um. Yeah. I had signed on. I signed on on Monday morning at 11:15 at Molineux House. I could even remember the doddery blonde I spoke to.

Well. There was no record of me signing on on Monday morning. Althooooooooough......

Yes?

A lot of new staff had been taken on lately and mistakes like this seem to be happening quite a bit.

Great.

I would have to call the Job Centre where I signed on and take it up with them. Until the computer is updated, there is nothing that can be done.

I called Molineux House. I was finally transferred to someone who had access to the signing on sheets. I gave all my details again from the back of my Job Seekers Allowance booklet.

They confirmed that I HAD signed on but the computer had not been updated - he could do that and payment would be received on Wednesday at the latest.

That's great.

Although, I won't hold my breath.

I only just remembered to send my CVs (techy and admin) to Abigail.

Not a good day

2009-10-01T21:19:00.001+01:00

I called HR and it was confirmed what I already knew. The guy driving the car past me yesterday morning got the job.

Reed called and told me that although they had done their best to "big me up", the manager took one look at my CV and assumed that the no brainer work would be too mundane for me.

I got a call from my Kid Brother. Dad has been taken into hospital with another suspected heart attack. His heart was racing, he had collapsed and they were trying to stabilise him. He was at work as there wasn't much for him to do at the hospital (Dad had told him to fuck off) and he would check in on him later.

I spent a large portion of the day suppressing a panic attack.

So. No pressure for the interview for this afternoon then, eh?

I spent most of the day torturing myself with worst case scenarios which usually finished with me losing my house before killing myself (pills, mainly, washed down with a little booze).

I'm depressed, okay? Thoughts about killing myself tend to be fairly routine. Taking steps towards killing myself, like hoarding pills that's when I go see the doctor.

That reminds me. I need more sleeping tablets.

Kidding. I'm only kidding. In a depressed, deadpan kind of way.

The interview went okay. Not brilliant. Not perfect. Okay. On arrival, I was left waiting in the area where people sat waiting to register a death.

Luckily, with my dark interview clothes and miserable face, I blended right in.

After the interview, I called in on Proactive on the way home and they told me that they'd got some feedback already.

Oh, yes?

I seemed very stressed.

I told her about the shitty day I'd had and that I was still waiting for news about my Dad being hospitalised.

She sympathised and said it was surprising that I didn't cancel.

No. I needed the money too badly.

She gave a nervous laugh and wished me luck.

I went home and sat on the phone.

Kid Brother called and told me that Dad had probably mixed up his medicines and his blood pressure had plummeted. His medicines were being rejigged and he wasn't going to be let out until tomorrow morning.

Phew! No need for me to go back to London, bankrupting myself and losing my house. Yet.

One more online job application making twenty three in total.

Nope. No hope.

2009-09-30T21:00:00.001+01:00

Today was my penultimate pay day. I checked my bank balance and saw that my wages HAD gone in and my benefits HADN'T.

Terrific.

I called the JSA Helpline and was told that first time payments could take up to three weeks to be paid.

I hadn't received the letter stating that I was entitled to benefits and there was no guarantee that I was automatically entitled, was there?

So, I have to wait for the letter to arrive?

Yes.

Great.

I had that meeting with HR.

It. Did. Not. Go. Well.

Well, it was friendly enough. It turned into an informal interview for the position I applied for.

It turns out that they were looking for someone who had experience in more than one discipline.

Um. Yeah.

And I had only had experience in one section.

Um. Yeeeeaah.

Would I be willing to transfer as and when required to other sections.

Um. Yeah.

We'll let you know.

As I walked out of the site, I was passed by a car driven by one of the other redundant people.

He'd had started in the same section as me and, later, had been farmed out to other sections.

Great.

I knew, as soon as I saw him, that he was going to get the job.

I hand delivered the school laboratory technician and pottered around Dudley for a while before posting off hard copies of a form and my ID to another agency.

1 more application that makes 22 applications in total.

There it is again. It's that bloody hope stuff looming on the horizon

2009-09-29T20:52:00.000+01:00

I received a couple of 'phone calls this morning.

Proactive have a temporary position at the local council at £6ph. Would I like to be put forward?

Would I? Yes, I said, trying not to cheer, I'd be delighted.

The girl told me that she'd send me details if they agreed to interview me and all the details would be in it.

Then Reed rang. Would I be interested in a position in Kingswinford at £7ph?

Uh, yeah, I said, a little shellshocked. Great, said the girl. There are two positions going, they'll put me forward for both and they'd let me know.

Whoo Hoo.

I finished filling in the application for a school laboratory technician as well. I can hand deliver it tomorrow.

After the meeting with HR.

First! Well, actually second....

2009-09-28T18:50:00.001+01:00

I signed on for the first time today.

Well, actually I signed the sheet for the first time last Monday, but that was an exemplar signature against which all other signatures will be compared.

I arrived at 11am and waited for the better part of 20 minutes before a doddery looking blonde of a certain age called my name.

She led me to her desk, I handed over my JobSeekers Allowance booklet, she tapped in some details on her computer and handed the long sheet for me to sign.

We discussed my job search and how I thought I was getting on.

I have applied for twenty one jobs so far and heard nothing from anybody.

She sympathised and told me to persevere; all the while her head quivered like a nodding dog bumping over motorway cats eyes. Her hand was trembly as well, but it was her head that commanded my attention.

I told her that when I was signing on the last time (June 2007 - Oct 2007), the benefit was paid the same week as signing on. She agreed. The money would be paid in on Thursday.

I thanked her and we said goodbye and I walked off to the JobCentre computers. There was nothing suitable (driving, mechanics, engineers and sales) so I went home to trawl the internet again.

This computer is like a drug. I hope I get a job soon, if only to get me out of the house and away from the internet.

Can there be a group of one?

2009-09-23T17:38:00.001+01:00

My "group session" was embarrassing.

I was the only one who showed up. My fellow group "sessionaires" were missing and accounted for.

For the session, David was supposed to show a PowerPoint slide show which was, frankly, patronising.

Clearly aimed at an audience of knuckle dragging, unskilled, inexperienced, badly educated, possibly drunk or drugged shell suit and trainer wearers, the presentation was redundant for anyone with GCSEs.

David whipped through the slides at dizzying speed, stopping very occasionally and we sat and chatted for nearly 45 minutes about him, his prior experience as a recruiter, me, my CV, how it could be improved (dump the dates, they're ageing) and which websites are worth looking at.

He gave me a snazzy cardboard file for all my accumulating paperwork and all the job search stuff he was giving me. The session ended with him running off to a lunch time meeting across town and wishing me luck.

I need it.

JobCentrePlus.......Plus what?

2009-09-21T16:48:00.001+01:00

I had my initial face-to-face meeting at the Job Centre today at 2pm.

To register for Job Seekers Allowance, the initial interview is by a FreeFone number. The "Advisor" asks a long series of often repeated questions to ascertain one's circumstances and how one got there.

There then has to be a face-to-face meeting with "Advisors" at the local JobCentrePlus which in my case is Molineux House, Temple Street, Wolverhampton.

The guy on the 'phone told me my appointment was 2pm Monday 21st September with "Kirk". Miss Kirk, Mr Kirk or Kirk Something, he couldn't tell me.

So I've had my meetings.

With Allison and Mukesh.

Allison was the Financial Advisor. After I pulled out my letters from my last employer proving I was made redundant, my passport to prove I was who I said I was and a proof of address, she pulled out a load of sheets which were obviously printouts of my conversation with the JobSeekers Allowance Advisor.

She went through them with me and I checked my bank account details. Which I know off by heart and didn't require my bank card. She made me check again. With my card. Yep. Same. Then I signed on the bottom line and she discussed the benefits available to me.

Not many.

The newly arrived Mortgage Relief Scheme sounds worrying.

It kicks in after 13 weeks of entitlement to JobSeekers Allowance and pays off the interest only.

I tried tallying that up in my head.

That means it should start up somewhere around the third week in December.

Gulp.

She was bright, smiley, chatty and briskly efficient. She'd had this conversation too many times already and had several to go before her day was over. Such is the job market in Wolverhampton.

She wished me luck and told me to wait in another portion of the huge open plan office to wait for a JobSearch Advisor.

It turned out to be Mukesh.

He and I had a long conversation about what jobs I was applying for.........

Um. Anything I can do.

Where was I prepared to travel to.........

Well......Anywhere the buses go.

How long was I prepared to travel for........

About an hour, maybe an hour and a half, I said, as I remembered the mail sorting in Stoke-On-Trent.

He was impressed by that.

Noting the number of shell suits and trainers being worn around the room by the Job Seekers discussing their various situations, I could tell it wasn't going to take much to impress the people who worked there.

He printed off a letter for me. I was invited to a "Helping You Back To Work" Group session on Wednesday at 11am. Failure to attend could result in the curtailing of benefits.

Mukesh described a number of schemes which could be of use.

There was the Advisor Discretionary Fund (ADF) which could help with one off costs like fares to interviews, clothes for interviews and pieces of equipment like steel toe caps boots or HiVi vests.

The Rapid Response Fund was for people like me. It could pay for courses for people who had been made redundant to make them more employable.

I couldn't think of anything off hand.

He gave me a sheaf of papers which could be filled in for potential employers.

Work Trials.

If I got an interview and it looked like I was a serious contender, then I could waggle the offer of a Work Trial at them.

The Department of Work and Pensions would pay for a limited trial period at no cost to the employer and if they liked me they could take me on after that.

I looked at the crappily photocopied, off kilter sheets of paper and said I'd think about it.

He gave me his 'phone number and told me if there was anything else, I could give him a call.

I smiled, even though I felt sick and said thank you.

And that was that.

I walked home and trawled the internet.

It's starting to get very obsessive, this internet thing.

That can't be good.

Another side of life...

2009-09-17T18:01:00.002+01:00

When you're unemployed, the first thing you've got to do is get used to queueing.

Today I joined the queue for Council Tax. I had everything I thought I needed

Passport

2 Proofs of address

Proof of bank accounts

1 Filled in council tax benefit booklet form

2 Mini-statements showing what wasn't in my bank account

and I joined the queue.

There was a fairly scabby looking young woman in a grey shellsuit in front of me. Her lank, mousy hair in a scruffy ponytail. In front of her was a young girl who had misunderstood an instruction she had been given and was now loudly complaining that the mistake SHE'd made was somehow the fault of the woman behind the glass.

The scabby woman and I looked at each other and we rolled our eyes.

Ten minutes later it was Scabby's turn.

She was changing address and needed the housing benefit to be adjusted. The woman behind the counter was asking her for her bank details at which Scabby started kicking off.

She wanted to the money to be paid directly to the landlord because, as she shouted whilst battering the glass "I'll only spend it!"

A well dressed couple behind me (a married couple who were trying to evict someone) started muttering and nodding to each other "Fair play, at least she knows what she's like"

After a full five minutes, Scabby finally "persuaded" the woman behind the counter to give out the right form so that the landlord could fill in HIS bank details.

I got to the counter, was given a numbered ticket and went to sit down. A grandmother was cooing over a tiny baby dressed entirely in Barbie pink, whilst her daughter was sitting at one of the counters.

When I was called I handed the entire lot over, confident that I had everything including a letter which stated I was made redundant and effectively unemployed since yesterday.

Nope.

I needed proof of entitlement to benefits. It was more than likely going to be Contributions Based Job Seekers Allowance.

She took everything, photocopied it and handed it all back to me saying that until I get the letter stating that I was entitled to Job Seekers Allowance, then the claim could go no further.

I had a month to bring back the letter and then they would put in the claim.

Brilliant.

Guess what!?

2009-09-16T17:17:00.001+01:00

You'll never guess!

You never will!

Guess who's been made redundant, today?

Awwwwww!

You guessed.

That's right.

Little old me.

I was called up to see my Operations Manager who took me and another woman to an office where a new Chief Executive told us that due to the loss of a series of high value contracts, we were two of nine people made redundant from our site alone.

There was another site completely shut down in the last year and there were no white coats working on another site after this round of redundancies.

Well that made us feel a whole lot better.

As I hadn't been employed for two years, I wasn't entitled to statutory redundancy pay. What I was entitled to would be revealed tomorrow as the HR woman was not on site.

So we were sent home.

On my to the bus stop I found 50p. Walking past the Audi showroom I found a £5.

I've applied for Jobseekers Allowance.

I've collected my Council Tax Benefit application form and I've applied for 8 jobs already.

If I remain unemployed, then it won't be for the want of trying.

Pfffffffft!

!It's the Itchy and Scratchy Show!

2009-09-15T16:55:00.002+01:00

Oy.

I've arranged a few days off for some allergy tests.

I keep coming out in strange rashes. A watch has caused some scabby looking rash as has some of my costume jewellery.

I have been off the antihistamines for two weeks and went to the Dermatology section of New Cross to have the tests done.

I went in on Friday afternoon and had five sticky patches stuck to my back.

Four were the size of A6 pages and were fitted with 10 little aluminium buttons each smeared with some sort of goo. The fifth was thumb sized and had two gooey buttons.

They started to peel the next day.

They had to stay on until late today.

I went to the local Walk-In Health Centre where I was shocked to see a huge queue of women and young girls snaking out the door, down the pavement and blocking the car park entrance.

It turned out they were waiting for the HPV vaccine. Any other patients could cheerfully jump that queue and go straight in.

Once I filled in the form, there wasn't much of a wait before I was called in to see the nurse.

She used Micropore tape to stick the edge of the sticky patches down.

Yesterday was a similar procedure.

Check in, fill in form, wait to be called and have the patches stuck down with more Micropore tape.

It's been horrible. The itching has been driving me nuts. I spent the time smacking myself with a ruler as I couldn't scratch.

Today, I had the patches removed and the results read.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Except an allergy to the sticky Micropore tape that was used to conduct the tests.

The patches were pulled off my back in front of a mirror. There were great, angry, red, blanks totalling an area bigger than an A4 sheet across my upper back. There were clear red lines around the patches where the Micropore tapes had been added.

That was that.

Nothing else and no further tests unless or until I react to something.

Terrific.

After all that.

Sod's Law rules.

The story of my life.

I must have been very very bad in a previous life.......

2009-09-07T18:49:00.000+01:00

So I went to London to see my Dad who is still in hospital.

However, getting there and back has been pretty eventful. London Midland decided that they wanted volunteer train drivers to work Sundays without paying them the Sunday premium and expressed surprise and disappointment when nobody volunteered.

Across the weekend, there should have been about 500 trains in total. They got 1.

1.

One.

There were, of course, engineering works on some other stretches of the railway so the roads took the strain.

And of course, there were roadworks along the way, so that helped.

We got to London in good time, regardless.

We got stuck on the Buckingham Palace Road for over half an hour before the driver found out that a bus had broken down in the middle of a roadworks strewn one way system.

Nutter-On-The-Bus (there is always one) started on at the driver to let him off.

In the middle of Buckingham Palace Road.

We were in the right turn central lane, facing a major crossroads junction, with traffic still moving past us going straight on or left.

Letting us out there would have left us wandering across two lanes of busy traffic, before we got to the safety barrier which we would then have to climb over to reach the pavement.

Great idea.

I did say he was a nutter.

After another fifteen minutes of effing, blinding, whining, shouting and unsuccessfully trying to garner the support of the other passengers, the driver relented and opened the door.

At which, Nutter forcefully waved a hand to point out a left side window

"No! I got luggage!"

What?

He seriously wanted the driver to open the luggage compartment under us so Nutter could stand in the path of the oncoming traffic, search for his suitcases and then try to drag his belongings across two lanes of busy traffic.... you know the rest.

The driver closed the door again and Nutter started shouting and whining and generally rendered himself an even bigger pain in the arse than before.

The Police had to stop all the traffic approaching the junction, so that all the still functioning coaches stuck behind the broken down coach could be reversed out into the middle of the crossroads and sent back down the way they had come, before we were sent the wrong way round and into the Departures section of Victoria Coach Station.

All the while, I was receiving texts from my SiL who was under the impression that she was only one of a cleaning party at Dad's house.

I was stuck in traffic on the coach trip from Hell and Kid Brother hadn't arrived either.

I got requests for more kitchen spray and more antibacterial stuff.

Nearly an hour after we arrived in the general Victoria area, I was still on the bloody coach.

We finally parked up in one of several long lines of coaches who were trying to embark and disembark passengers all at the same time.

All the coaches were parked up about one suitcase width apart from one another. It was mayhem.

There was a insane scrum of people and their suitcases, pushchairs, rucksacks, walking frames and small children trying to push past us to get to the coach that had parked up behind ours as we disembarked into the squirming masses.

There was the obligatory line of people who had tried it on with the driver with stand-by tickets and who were now hoping that there was space to carry them on to their destinations.

They helped.

I had no hold luggage just a small weekend case and a bag. I left my fellow passengers to the experience of trying to find the hold luggage amongst the exodus.

It was dreadful. I was squished between the coaches trying to push against the tide of people coming the other way.

When I got to the Departure halls the same thing was happening. I was walking towards the entrance as people were trying to walk towards the Departure gates.

It wasn't until I got to the entrance and fielded the scruffy little men with the foreign accents asking for TravelCards, that I was able to get out of the way and just stop for breath.

Then came looking for cash so that I could go the Oyster machines and charge up my card for the weekend.

Recently, that has not been a happy experience.

There are four Victoria stations.

Victoria Train Station running mainline trains around the south east of England. A large building which is undergoing refurbishment work. Again. 19 platforms, several exits and entrances, a busy concourse, a number of ticket offices and shops and a large, overpriced shopping centre attached to one end of it.

Although there are ticket machines within the station, they are just ticket machines for the mainline trains. No one thought that London Transport TravelCards or Oyster cards might need to be paid for before hundreds of thousands of commuters travelled on throughout London.

Victoria Bus Station which confusingly sits beside Victoria Train Station and on top of Victoria Underground Station and which acts as a Terminus for virtually all the red London bus services passing through Victoria. Virtually all.

Not all.

You have to check.

At the Bus Station.

Victoria Underground Station which has seen the total shut down of the Victoria Underground line in recent weekends for engineering works. Like the website says, it is one of London's busiest underground stations.

There's a wide flight of stairs just outside one of the train station exits which leads down to the underground station. Thanks to the engineering work and the sheer throngs of people there are not enough ticket machines downstairs and certainly not enough space.

and

Victoria Coach Station which is a brisk walk and completely out of sight from Victoria Train, Bus and Underground stations.

Someone with common sense would have worked out that London Transport ticket and Oyster machines in the Coach Station would be a good idea.

No one with common sense is in charge.

To charge up my card with cash, I have to hoof it down the road. The Buckingham Palace Road. The road I had just spent the best part of a hour stuck on with a mouthy nutter who couldn't be drowned out by my 'phone radio.

Anyway. Past the ticket touts. Over the crossings. Past the Sightseeing Bus touts. Past all the bus stops for all the services that don't stop at the Coach Station. Past an enormous shopping/office centre with steep stone steps that the drunks and backpackers sit and sleep on.

And on to another crossing and on to the expensive shopping centre attached to the arse end of the Train Station. I went to the cash machines to get an up to date mini-statement from the HSBC machine. Nope. Not working.

Through the shopping centre, down the escalator to the station concourse and across the station battling through the scrum of travellers which include tourists, football fans, families on outings and there is often a wedding or a christening somewhere, so there tend to be a small number of people in smart occasion wear and fancy headgear looking very out of place. And all of them stopping to check the sign boards very suddenly and directly in front of me.

And on to the cash machine array down on the concourse. There was a massive queue. No one was queueing for the HSBC machine. I soon found out why. The card slot was blocked and wouldn't take any cards.

On out of the train station to find an HSBC machine for a mini-statement so that I could see how much cash I could get out.

I have a PAYG Oyster which needs to be topped up but I don't usually have enough money to charge it up by card or in most shops (£5 minimum). So I need to top it up with any amount of cash.

I wanted to find an HSBC cash machine to get an up to date mini statement before I thought about spending any money. Money is so tight that I need to calculate to the nearest 50p.

So I walked up to Westminster and back looking for the HSBC. And found it. Near the start of my journey.

I took out a tenner, cracked it at Superdrug for a bottle of drink and a chocolate bar and went to top up my Oyster.

Thanks to the engineering works and the cramped space down underground, to stop people bottle necking, a kind of semi-permanent ticket machine array and a ticket office have been built above ground. Just outside the main entrance to Victoria Train Station.

Directly outside the main entrance and around the temporary ticket office, there's a taxi rank with taxis disgorging and picking up passengers often travelling in large groups with lots of luggage.

There are thousands of people to-ing and fro-ing to the train station and wandering through the milling crowds of people trying to make sense of the underground ticket machines often for the first time and with little English.

And it's true, they don't know how to queue properly.

As well as a giant snake of a queue for the ticket office, there are queues for the separate ticket machines, some of which only take cash, some only take cards, some take both cash and cards, some give the full range of tickets and Oyster top-ups and some only give tickets and some only give Oyster top-ups.

And such is the state of the crowding, it isn't always possible to see which ticket machines are which and which ones have broken down and which ones are free.

It's bedlam.

My heart always sinks when I get to this point.

And then once I've topped up I've got to find a bus stop. The 148 goes straight to Shepherd's Bush via Park Lane and Marble Arch and the C1 goes to the Westfield Centre Interchange (in Shepherd's Bush) but takes the scenic route via Sloane Square, Bond Street, Knightsbridge, South Kensington, Earl's Court, Kensington, the arse end of Holland Park and finally Westfield.

I'd spent close to three hours in Victoria so I got the 148.

Once at the West 12 Shopping Centre, I went to Morrison's.

This place is set at the back of the shopping centre and used to be Presto. Remember them?

An oddly shaped and strangely laid out place with shelves built around pillars, pillars blocking aisles and two separate areas away from the main checkouts for snacks, newspapers, the Lottery, drinks, tobacco and a Pharmacy area.

Being Saturday, it was extremely busy and there were all the usual bugbears present. Stray half loaded trolleys left in awkward spots, children whining and running around, gossiping women parked up and blocking the cramped aisles and long queues of trollies in the basket checkout aisles.

I bought some food for me for the weekend, some cleaning stuff and then went home.

I fought my way onto a 283 Hoppa bus which stops directly opposite Dad's house and once in found my SiL had been, cleaned the kitchen and lounge and gone again, leaving a note.

I started cleaning. The bedroom stank. So did the bathroom.

I stripped the bedclothes, wiped down the plastic mattress protector, vacuumed and wiped the carpet, cleaned the surfaces, tidied away the dried clothes and started piling stuff in the the washing machine.

I started to lay into the bathroom. It was pretty disgusting. Scary brown stains and lots of soap scum.

Once that was over, I brought my suitcase and bag upstairs and came down for the vacuum cleaner before taking that upstairs too.

Starting along the landing, I went in and out of the bedroom at the top of the stairs, down the stairs, into the front room, into the small hall, down through the bathroom, the back room and through into the kitchen.

And on and on it went.

Tasks, chores, errands, visits to Dad in the New Charing Cross Hosptial in the Fulham Palace Road.

More shopping for when he came out of hospital. More cleaning stuff. More cleaning and listening to my Dad in and out of lucidity trying to explain what he thought he was looking at, where he thought he was and why he thought he shouldn't be there.

There was an almighty comedy bandage on his right foot after an operation to remove rotten portions of two of his toes.

In the middle of trying to clean and freshen his bedroom, I received a mobile 'phone from the hospital explaining that even though Dad had a Zimmer frame, he was falling over with the frame as he was trying to escape the hospital.

He wasn't going to leave the hospital without a care package in place, social workers alerted, medication sorted and the doctors were happy to discharge him. That wasn't going to happen over the weekend.

Shortly after this, I managed to pull down the curtain rail as I tried to get the curtains washed.

MwK has removed all working/useful tools from the house as Dad was liable to try using them and hurting himself. Consequently, there were no ladders.

I tried to get the curtains down, had to stand on a chair and managed to pull the rail off the wall by breaking the brackets that attached the rail to the wall above the window. They were brittle after nearly twenty five years up there. The curtains looked as if they hadn't had a wash for about as long.

MwK was there as he was trying to unblock the drain outside whilst trying to avoid the nettle bush from hell growing in from next door's garden.

By the time I left the house on Sunday, it looked and smelt clean. I went to the shops to get yet more stuff, brought it up to the hospital where I found two family friends just leaving and one of my Cousins sitting by the bed.

She and I chatted with Dad who insisted that he wasn't a "fucking invalid" despite all evidence to the contrary and she drove me to Victoria Coach Station.

Clueless about driving around Central London, she asked me to look after the satnav as she recounted the story of a shopaholic friend of her late mother's who needed a drive into town to visit graves after she'd just pop in to M&S.

Hours after Cousin had arranged to meet her husband, they were still in M&S to buy yet more toot the shopaholic would never wear.

All the while Garmin the Satnav was not co-operating. It never acquired a satellite signal and I guided cousin across central London by following the bus route I normally went on.

She parked illegally at the bus stop to let me out.

I just got to the bus stop in time to get on board.

The journey out of London was a nightmare.

We left at 6pm and were still in London by 7:45pm. The traffic caused by the train strike, Sunday drivers and extra coaches was just mental.

Shortly after we started a small baby started crying.

And crying.

And crying.

And crying.

For four long, fucking hours.

The parents were Eastern Europeans, the mother in a long headscarf tied around her head and neck and the baby was tightly swaddled in a blanket.

It was a relative new born and still fairly rubbery. They did everything. Rocked it, shook it, walked it up and down the aisle, took it in turns to rock it, shake it and virtually throw it up and down. It's shocked little face flubbered up and down as it was bounced in its mothers lap.

The heat was stifling and people started to complain. The driver refused to stop at a service station as he was late and wanted to make up time and the mother was crying herself by the time junior started to make some very bad smells.

It got its nappy changed twice, it threw up a few times and STILL it refused to stop wailing.

By the time we got into Birmingham, we were just grateful to get off the bus. We were an hour late.

The replacement driver told us that we had a few minutes and so I went into the station to get a drink.

The first machine took the money but wouldn't let me make a selection so I retrieved my money and went to the next machine which had an OUT OF ORDER sign stuck to it.

I asked the girl at the INFORMATION counter if there was another machine and she said no. So I went outside to get back on the coach only to see the arse end of my coach heading out the gate.

I hadn't been off the bus for more than 5 minutes.

I went back inside. Onwards to the girl at the INFORMATION counter and explained that my coach had left with my stuff on board.

She asked me why I didn't take my stuff off with me and I told her that I was supposed to go to Wolverhampton.

I showed her the ticket.

She told me that she would arrange for the driver to leave my coat and bag at Security in Wolverhampton and I could get on the next available bus to Wolves.

As she tried in vain to get in contact with the driver, I could have told her why that wasn't going to work.

She put the 'phone down and explained that she couldn't contact the driver, Head Office couldn't contact the driver and that Security at Wolverhampton.......

I finished the sentence for her as I watched the minute hand of the clock above her head tick around pass 10pm

"...piss off at 10."

The driver wasn't answering his 'phone. She had left a message at the depot where he would eventually end up after arriving at Wolverhampton to take my coat and bag and put them in the shuttle car that ran between the depot and the bus station. When I got them back, I could get on the next available bus to Wolverhampton.

I was still parched and went off in search of refreshment.

In Digbeth on a Sunday night.

I found the main road and started walking down towards the car showrooms. There were a few pubs that looked like they catered for the alky end of the market, some "adult" bookshops, clothing stores, The Custard Factory, nightclubs and derelict stores.

There was a Subway. Which had closed at 9pm.

I crossed the road and walked back in the direction I'd come from.

There were derelict sites, a Banqueting suite (yeah, right), the old bus station being refurbished and the greasy spoon trailer that sat in the car park of The Dubliner was closed as there was no custom from the bus station for the time being.

I was desperate enough to try The Dubliner but a vicious cat fight broke out in the doorway and spilled out onto the pavement.

I crossed the road away from the pub and towards a chippy.

I ordered chips and two cans of Diet Coke. The bottles were Coke Light and not in English. The chips were horrible. The cold drinks were great.

I walked back to the temporary bus station.

And waited.

10:30

And waited.

11:05

And waited.

I put in a £1 and checked my emails on the PAYG computers that were bolted into a corner of the waiting room.

Nope. Nothing.

And waited.

11:35

The girl from the INFORMATION desk came over, waved her hand in the general direction of the desk and asked if that was my stuff.

I looked over and almost didn't recognise them. Coat and bag. Oh, yes, I said. I can get the 11:45 bus too. Just in time.

Oh, no. She said. It hadn't arrived. It wasn't going to. There were no passengers who wanted to go this far.

I went outside to check.

One small shuttle car. Check.

One large National Express coach being shut down to be returned to the depot. Check.

The INFORMATION girl followed me out as I tried to explain to the two drivers what had gone wrong.

They ignored me completely as the INFORMATION girl explained what I needed.

One of the drivers 'phoned Head Office.

The sensible thing would have been to return the bus to the depot and transport me in the car. The driver had to ask permission.

Nope.

Any passenger had to be driven in the coach.

Reluctantly, one of the drivers took the shuttle car back and the the second started up the coach again.

I only had hand luggage, so the luggage hold check was a bit of a nonsense but it had to be done.

He fired her up, I got on and sat in the seat behind him and we chatted all the way to Wolverhampton.

To cap it all, he knew where All Saints was and could have driven me if not to my front door, then to the bottom of my road. Now I was in a coach, he had to take me to the Coach Station.

Brilliant.

Tired and extremely pissed off, I walked home to get some fresh air.

It has not been the best of weekends.

Note to self.....

1) Fire up the mp3 player and bring it with you

2) Find, clean and bring the ear plugs

3) Next time, bring a cold drink.

I'm knackered. I'm so tired, I was staggering this morning and had to call in sick. It was like being drunk.

This isn't good.

Toot still sells

2009-09-04T23:42:00.001+01:00

Hands up who else can see a big bar of soap and a pan scrubber?

Stripping and survivorship

2009-09-03T21:59:00.006+01:00

I did a bit of paint stripping on Sunday.

I wore my old clothes and my Totector Pioneer steel toe cap shoes. I'd worn them before when I'd gone to do DIY including paint stripping.

They felt very soft and comfortable.

I used concentrated sodium hydroxide which I painted on and watched as 120 years worth of paint came off as a kind of goo - the consistency of half melted chocolate.

Very dangerous chocolate.

As I walked around the house, I found I was leaving black lumps behind.

I thought it was mud and dirt from when I last did the gardening and, when it was time to start packing up with one side of the door almost completely stripped, I cleaned up the 'soil'.

I sat down to do some sewing and when I got up found more black stuff under the chair.

I sat down and took one of the shoes off to see how dirty they really were when and that's when I realised that it was the soles of the shoes disintegrating.

The chemical paint stripper I used the last time has soaked into the shoes and reduced the thick cleated soles to the consistency of sponge cake. Great lumps of the cleated soles were flapping and falling off.

I had to throw the shoes away.

After 12 years.

It was a wrench.

I kept the shoelaces.

You know, just in case.

Dad's back in hospital. Getting more toes removed. Terrific. I'm visiting him this weekend.

I've been looking at the NHS website for jobs.

A recent report has suggested that approximately 10% of the workforce needs to be fired so that the NHS can come within budget.

May I make a suggestion?

Just a little one.

Stop advertising jobs like this........

JOB DESCRIPTION

POST TITLE: Administration Assistant – Survivorship Project

DIRECTORATE: Strategy and Redesign

LOCATION: Waterlinks House, Richard Street, Aston,
Birmingham, B7 4AA

ACCOUNTABLE TO: Locality Commissioning Director

GRADE: Band 4

SALARY RANGE: £17,732 - £21,318 per annum (pro rata for part time)

CONTRACT: 2 year fixed term contract

HOURS: 37.5 per week

JOB SUMMARY:
The post holder will work closely with the Planned Care Team within the Strategy and
Redesign Directorate to provide full administrative support for the Survivorship
Project.

The PCT is a national test site working with NHS Improvement for the Survivorship
Project. The project aim being to improve support services for breast cancer patients
in the survivorship phase of their cancer journey. The post holder will be a key part of
the project team, providing administrative support to all the project groups and being
a central point of contact for the team.

MAIN DUTIES:

 To provide clerical support to the Survivorship Project team.

 To take accurate minutes at key meetings including the Project Operational
Group, Project Board, Work stream Groups and ensure these are promptly
circulated to appropriate contacts.

 To provide data inputting support to project, accurately entering confidential
patient data and producing statistical reports as part of the project outcomes
and evaluation process.

 To maintain and update a patient database as part of the project.

 To arrange venues, refreshments and other arrangements for meetings.

 To undertake regular administrative tasks including photocopying and filing.

 Type letters, reports and other documents – using shorthand and/or
audiotape and written format.

 To support the project via the gateway process.

 Deal with incoming post and emails on a day-to-day basis including
confidential material, chasing progress and taking relevant action where
necessary.

 Be the initial point of contact for personal or telephone callers to the office,
taking messages and redirecting calls as appropriate.

 To help produce and distribute communication items for the Project.

 Preparing and providing appropriate hospitality.

 Act as a key contact point for the project team providing proactive diary
management.

 Liaise as required with managers within the Directorate, managers within the
trust, and other outside agencies.

 Develop and maintain a comprehensive, up to date and accurate filing system
whilst working towards a paperless office environment by developing and
maintaining a consistent policy on working more efficiently and smarter as an
organisation with respect to communications and record keeping.

 To arrange and co-ordinate meetings within the department – preparing and
distributing agendas and notes.

 Provide cover and support to other PAA staff within the department and other
directorates as required including occasional relief on reception, as agreed with
the post holder and Locality Commissioning Director.

 Ordering of stock and non stock items, dealing with delivery notes and
preparing of invoices for signature.

 To support team events, travelling throughout the NHS Birmingham East and
North area if necessary.

 To represent and promote the trust at all times and on all occasions.

 To undertake additional duties commensurate with the grade as agreed by
the Locality Commissioning Director.

INVESTING IN PEOPLE

The Trust is committed to supporting the development of all staff. All employees
have a responsibility to participate in regular appraisal with their manager and to
identify performance standards for the post. As part of the appraisal process
employees have a joint responsibility with their line manager to identify any learning
and development needs in order to meet the agreed performance standards.

DEVELOPMENT

All employees have a responsibility to participate in regular appraisal with their
manager and identify performance standards for the post. As part of the appraisal
process there is a joint manager staff responsibility to identify learning and
development needs to meet the performance standards required of the post holder.

HEALTH AND SAFETY

Attention is drawn to the responsibility of all employees to take reasonable care for
the health and safety of themselves and other people who may be affected by their
actions at work.

EQUAL OPPORTUNITIES

The Trust both recognises and celebrates diversity. The Trust is committed to Equal
Opportunities in employment and seeks to eliminate unlawful racial, sexual or
disability discrimination, to promote equality of opportunity and promote good
relations between staff and clients of differing groups.

INFECTION PREVENTION AND CONTROL

NHS Birmingham East and North is committed to reducing Healthcare Associated
Infection. All employees are expected to abide by Infection Prevention and Control
policies relevant to their area of work, and undertake the necessary level of training.
This will be appraised through the KSF review process or other relevant professional
review process.

SMOKING

The Trust actively discourages smoking, and has banned it in all premises, grounds
and vehicles, owned or operated by them

MOBILITY

Whilst the post holder will be based at one of the buildings managed by the Trust you
will be expected to travel within the Trust area and on occasions across Birmingham.
We reserve the right to move the location of this post to any centre currently
managed by this Organisation.

CONFIDENTIALITY

Your attention is drawn to the confidential nature of information collected within the
National Health Service.

The unauthorised use or disclosure of patient or other personal information is
regarded as gross misconduct and will be subject to the Trust’s Disciplinary
Procedure and could result in a prosecution of an offence or action for civil damages
under the Data Protection Act 1998.

JOB DESCRIPTION

This job description will be subject to discussion and review on an annual basis
within the appraisal process.

Post holders signature: ………………………………………………..

Date: ………………………………………………. .

NHS Birmingham East and North

PERSON SPECIFICATION

JOB TITLE: Administrative Assistant

ESSENTIAL DESIRABLE EVIDENCE

QUALIFICATIONS AND TRAINING

(Level of education, specific qualifications,
professionally qualified specialised training,
training requirements for the job)

 Good standard of general education (e.g. 5 GCSE
grades A-C including English) or equivalent

 RSA 2 word processing/typing or equivalent

 Competent in the use of Microsoft Office Applications
to ECDL standard

 Secretarial qualification

 Shorthand qualification

 Audio typing qualification

 Application form

 Interview

 References

 Certification

 Testing

EXPERIENCE

(Length, type and level of work related
experience)

 Experience in an administrative/secretarial capacity

 Experience of accurately inputting data

 Experience in an NHS organisation

 Application form
 Interview

 References

 Certification

 Testing

SKILLS/KNOWLEDGE

(Range and level of skills, depth of knowledge
required for the job)

E.g. IT skills (word processing, spreadsheets,
databases), Communication skills (verbal, written,
presentations), Organisational skills, Analytical/
Problem solving skills, Physical skills.

 Excellent organisational and communication skills

 Ability to produce error free and well presented material
demonstrating a high level of accuracy

 Ability to work on own initiative demonstrating sound
judgement abilities

 Sound understanding of Microsoft Excel, Word and
Outlook

 Excellent verbal and written communication skills

 Ability to maintain a good rapport with individuals

 Ability to speak in a clear and articulate manner

 Time management, work prioritisation and planning
skills

 Personal integrity and ability to demonstrate complete
confidence

 Understanding of Internet Explorer and Intranet

 Application form

 Interview

 References

 Certification

 Testing

APTITUDES AND ATTRIBUTES

(Communication and interpersonal skills,
organisational skills, ability to work on own
initiative, to strict protocols/procedures and time
scale, motivation, disposition and flexibility)

 Flexible working approach – team player

 Genuine interest in communications and involvement

 Flexible working times (on occasions)

 Proactive

 Enthusiastic and positive

 Tactful and diplomatic

 Understanding of Patient and Public
Involvement and PALS

 Application form

 Interview

 References

 Certification

 Testing

OTHER JOB REQUIREMENTS

(Physical/health requirements, specific
requirements e.g. ability to travel)

 Passed fit by Occupational Health Service

 Able to travel and attend events/meetings according to
operational needs of the post

 Car driver/owner with full current UK
driving licence

 Application form

 Interview

 References

 Certification

 Testing

 Cleared by Occupational
Health

There is no way on earth that anyone would seriously tell a breast cancer sufferer in remission that he/she has entered the survivorship phase of their cancer journey. Would they?

And just what is a Locality Commisioning Director?

That's the best part of 18k pa for an Admin Assistant who can drive.

The tragic part is that someone will fire the Healthcare Assistants, Porters and Cleaners, sorry, Front of House Assistants so that Admin Assistants based in an office nowhere near a hospital and duplicating work done elsewhere can remain employed.

If I had the misfortune to suffer from cancer and was seriously told that I had entered the survivorship phase of my cancer journey I wouldn't know who to stop slapping first.

Good grief.

Weekends - a time to relax, unwind and have a little fun

2009-08-18T21:00:00.004+01:00

Done

I borrowed some books from the library

I took some old clothes to SENSE

Took an old ball of wool to Tettenhall for a charity collection

I did 6 loads of laundry - delicate, dark delicate, jeans, colours, more colours and towels

Gave myself a pedicure - my corns have been very painful of late and my feet looked like something out of a Ped Egg ad.

Dyed my eyebrows and eyelashes - my roots were showing

Counted out and paid £5 in 5ps into my somewhat pathetic savings account

Shredded my confidential waste in time for the recycling collection on Tuesday

Got up-to-date ministatements to see how much money I don't have

Tested the new mail order poultice paint stripper on some old woodwork

Bought three nice tops from Cancer Research where the volunteer pensioner behind the till practiced service with a snarl..........

I brought the tops to the till where she poked at the till buttons with a face like thunder.

As she took each top off its hanger, she let it drop to the floor as she held it up by the ticket. She then rolled the top into a ball and left it on the very end of the counter.

One of her colleagues saw what was happening, gave me an apologetic smile and refolded the tops a bit more carefully into a plastic bag.

The total came to £7.20 and I held out my debit card. Mrs Meldrew snatched it off me and flopped her hand to the counter as she told me that she didn't "do" cards.

Making no allowance for her colleague's hearing, she turned right and roared to the back of the shop over the head of her silent colleague "BRENDA! I'M OFF NOW!"

A woman, presumably Brenda shouted back "Yorright love! See you Monday!"

With no acknowledgement to me at all, Mrs Meldrew handed my card to the silent woman beside her and came out from behind the counter with a stuffed Cancer Research carrier bag and a handbag shouting "I NEED TO CATCH ME BUS! IF I DON'T CATCH THIS ONE THERE WON'T BE ANOTHER ONE TILL MONDAY!"

Brenda, unaware of what was happening towards the front of the shop, chuckled and wished the old bat all the best.

I got a smile from the silent woman and a free carrier bag.

I downloaded a 104 page instruction booklet from Sony on how to operate the Sony Cybershot DCS-P9 camera I got third hand from Kid Brother when he gave me my laptop for my 40th birthday.

I had to reload the printer driver onto the laptop as the printer had some kind of nervous breakdown printing 104 pages (4 to a page)

Charged up the camera, plugged it into the computer and got them talking to each other.

Sorted out the music on my MP3 player and charged that up.

And then on Sunday.....

Took the busted television and the video to the 'local' tip........

The television was also a Sony. A Trinitron. State of the art in its day but now a busted piece of rubbish.

I got the luggage trolley, took it upstairs and loaded the television onto it.

Getting it down the stairs without it falling, breaking or making too much noise nearly killed me.

I dragged it to the end of the road and turned left to the bus stop.

Three buses later, it became apparent that no driver was going to take me. The television was too big.

I walked it to the tip.

All Saints to Lanesfield.

3 miles.

Lugging a monster television behind me on a trolley and a video in a carrier bag in my other hand.

I got as far as Phoenix Park when an eldely Asian couple caught up with me. She was using two walking sticks to get along and he was using one.

We smiled and said good morning to each other before they overtook me and hobbled off into the distance doing about 3 mph to my 1.75 mph.

There were a couple of skips along the way, but it was broad daylight and there were too many people waiting at bus stops. Too many witnesses.

And besides, the television was too heavy to get up into the skips.

I was starting to lose hope when I finally got to the last couple of road crossings to the Black Country Route.

Then I had to go further uphill as the road off the BCR went up at a steep angle. I finally found the tip (the queue of cars was a big clue) and walked through the pedestrian entrance to the tip.

The pavement ahead of me was filled with signboards telling the car drivers which bay to throw their rubbish into. There was almost no room for me let alone my television.

I wobbled past the first sign, lifting it up on one corner to get it out of my way when I was approached by one of the tip attendants waving his hand at me.

He told me to get back into my car and not to queue jump.

What?

He repeated. Get back into my car because there was no queue jumping.

Car?! I hadn't even got a bus!

I told him that I hadn't got a car - I had walked.

He suddenly became very friendly and apologetic, lifting the signs out of my way and throwing my video away for me. Carrier bag and all.

I climbed the steep incline to the bay area and heaved the television to the container where televisions and monitors were collected.

I left via the only pavemented area by the bays. Cars were parked up and people were throwing away all sorts.

One pensioner was throwing away engraved smoked glassware and fine china. Good car boot material.

Another woman was told that the bags of garden rubbish would have to be emptied and not thrown away bagged. Her Volvo was filled with dozens of bulging, black, bin bags.

The strict no vans policy was enforced with upper height barriers I could touch. 4x4s wouldn't have had a chance.

I caught the bus back to Wolverhampton and got home to do yet more housework.

Still To Do

Sewing - three pairs of jeans that need adjusting, an umbrella that's falling off its frame for the want of a few stitches and a shirt needs buttons sewing on

Filling the holes in the walls of the middle bedroom

Finishing the woodwork with the poultice stripper and concentrated caustic soda (sodium hydroxide)

Gardening - the weather (all sunshine and showers) has meant that there are now weeds bigger than me out there. I really need to get motivated and sort that out.

Post a letter - I have had it in my bag for nearly a fortnight and every evening I come home with it again. It's only the Poll Registration form but it needs to go.

And on, and on, and on.

There is so much to do I can't think straight.

Next weekend it's back down to London again to see Dad and do the housework down there.

Brilliant.

I need to ease up though. I've hurt my bingo wings dragging that bloody television to its death.

This isn't just diet cola..............

2009-07-05T17:02:00.007+01:00

CARBONATED LOW CALORIE COLA FLAVOUR SOFT

DRINK WITH SWEETENER

INGREDIENTS

Carbonated Water=Barley Malt Extract=Natural Flavourings=Phosphoric

Acid=Sweetener:Sucralose=Fruit & Vegetable Concentrates (Black

Carrot=Hibiscus)=Emulsifier: Gum Arabic=Caffeine.

ALLERGY INFORMATION

Barley, Gluten.

INFORMATION

i The natural colours and flavours used in this product may

produce a slight haze or sediment on storage.

..........this is Marks and Spencers diet cola.

Good Grief

2009-06-03T21:49:00.006+01:00

It's been a long and hectic couple of months.

Dad isn't very well at all. He had a heart attack, had a collagen stent fitted and spent over two months in hospital recovering.

Badly.

He became what is euphemistically referred to as "altered". This translated into essentially senile and it was very upsetting watch.

He was transferred from the heart ward to an elderly care ward from one hospital to another and then yoyo'ed back and forth from ward to ward in the second hospital.

There were some nightmare patients. One, Brian, refused to accept that he couldn't walk and would repeatedly roar for help long after he had been told that he couldn't get out of his chair.

Dad, lairly himself, would threaten violence every time something happened to make Brian cry out. That didn't make him popular with the other patients.

The predominantly Filipino staff were brilliant and had dog's abuse to put up with. How they kept on smiling was beyond me. They are heroes. Honestly.

After being treated for infection after infection (acquired in hospital, but frankly, self inflicted), he was allowed out a couple of weeks ago with a series of tablets in little compartmentalised boxes.

He has a personal carer visiting him once a day and whose presence he resents every time, a nurse visits occasionally, MwK visits at least once a day, most of the time twice a day and I try to visit on the weekends when I'm not tied up with stuff like Elderly Uncle, bills and life in general.

Kid Brother has been on holiday for three weeks (spending all that time incommunicado) and even on his return didn't contact anyone straight away as he was feeling tired.

The poor love.

I'm knackered. I have no weekend to myself, so all the housework (laundry etc) has to be done in the evenings.

The cheapest National Express tickets are at awkward times (I really don't enjoy getting home in the early hours of Monday morning after four hours stuck on an overheated, stinking coach) but they're cheap.

I'm skint. I am bobbing along the bottom of my £1000 overdraft and I'm still in debit after my wages are paid in to my bank account.

MwK has done a huge amount to Dad's house including repainting the kitchen, back living room and all the paintwork. I painted the small hall.

He sanded and varnished two of the rooms left empty by the Stinky Old Bat, has acted as Point Man for all of Dad's friends who want to visit and went to work as well.

Dad had severe mobility problems before his heart attack and is now housebound. He now has a little key safe by the front door so that he doesn't have to get up to open the front door to callers.

Whilst in hospital he acquired bed sores after refusing to get out of bed for gentle exercise and now complains bitterly to anyone who will listen about the pains in his feet. All the while doing nothing to help himself.

He can cook a pot of porridge in the mornings and, later, cook sausage and mash. But only if someone has peeled and cut up the spuds for him.

He is too weak and lethargic even to go outside for a little potter in the garden.

All the while he'll complain about how MwK is doing nothing to help him and how he's a waste of space.

I've tried telling him that without MwK he'd still be in hospital or, worse in a nursing home, but Dad isn't having any of it.

Elderly Uncle has deteriorated and is having trouble swallowing. He's effectively palsied into a near foetal position and his chest bubbles when he coughs but he's still here. Or rather, he's still a two hour train and bus journey away.

In short, it's been grim, it is grim and the situation is likely to remain grim for the forseeable future.

Talk amongst yourselves for a while.......

2009-05-11T21:16:00.017+01:00

Play this......

....and look at these

I'll be back. I'm busy.

Sorry

Dark, dark days

2009-03-16T21:37:00.002Z

I've just got a 'phone call from my brothers saying that my Dad had suffered a heart attack.

He's in hospital and I'm going down to London tonight.

No idea other than that. He hasn't been very well anyway so this is going to hit him very hard.

Wish us luck.

Okay now, just breathe

2009-03-12T16:21:00.000Z

I've just had the crappiest two days that I've ever had in a very long time.

It started yesterday with smart clothes and a pretty bad interview.

One of the interviewers brought me up from Reception and I was brought up two floors (no lift) to a conference room.

She was a very small, thin and very quietly spoken girl who I assumed was the HR body.

He was brasher and did most of the talking. I addressed most of the answers to him until after I found out that the quiet shy girl was in fact the line manager for the post I had applied for.

After a long interview with the warning that I'd hear about second interviews some time next week (translation "don't call us, we'll call you"), I was taken back to Reception.

I went back to work.

After a long day, I went to the ATM at HSBC for a ministatement. Where I found this

Mar11 O2(UK)LTD PREPAY 30.00-

What?

I'm with Orange PAYG?

WTF?

I went home in a strop and called HSBC telephone banking system. Where I had to stay silent and not type any details into the handset in order to get through to a customer services advisor.

Then I had to set up my telephone banking security stuff as I was a "heavy user" of the ATM and in-branch services.

Then I was "helpfully" told that as all my card security details (including the little 3 digit security code on the signature strip) had been used to perform the transaction at 3:18pm on Tuesday 10th March 2009, I was automatically a suspect.

I was then given the third degree.

Where did I usually keep my card? Did I live with anybody? Did they know where I kept my card? What internet sites did I use? Did I ever lose sight of my card when paying for anything in person? Did any of my colleagues at work know where I kept my card? Had I given my card to anybody to use?

After answering these and many, many other questions, I cancelled and cut up my own card, reported the fraudulent activity and was told that if I could bring two forms of photo ID, proof of address and my cheque book then I could withdraw my money from the counter.

So not on Saturdays then.

Today, I woke up and called my boss. I was going to be in late as someone had done some identity theft thing on me and I had to sort it out.

I gathered everything together and marched out to the bank.

The customer services guy was not very helpful, but he was a bit more sympathetic that the advisor in the 'phone. Strangely, he told me not to go to the police as that was HSBC's job once the fraudulent transaction was investigated.

I went to the counter and withdrew cash and went on to the O2 shop.

Who were no help at all.

As far as they were concerned it was just my say so and until HSBC notified them of the transaction they weren't going to do anything.

Well, why would they?

Their 'phones are being paid for, they're making a healthy profit and the fact that at least one of their customers is a thieving scumbag is neither here nor there, really.

They also told me not to bother calling the police.

Why? Would that mean that you'd have to justify your salaries?

Then I went to work, arriving at 11:30.

And it was a pitifully bad day. I was fuming all the while, my boss had told people that I was going to be late and why so everyone was interested in knowing what had happened and telling me what had happened to them and no noe could explain why HSBC told me not to go to the police.

I went straight home and used my newly set up telephone banking details to find out my current balance. Nope. No more thefts. Still there.

I'm now twice as paranoid about security than I was before and I still have no idea how the thieving scumbag managed to get my card details.

The £30 to O2 was a test purchase to see if the card was live, according to the trawl through the moneysavingexpert.com forums and none of the posters has a clue about how it was done either.

Very reassuring.

Result!

2009-03-04T15:07:00.002Z

I've got a job interview.

The people I applied to on Friday have just rung me up and wanted to know if I could be available next week.

I tried not to shriek and hop up and down, you know, I did my best to sound cool.

"Oh, I can be."

Then the guy said he'd send a formal letter.

Whoo Hoo!

There's next to no DIY being done - I'm still stuck on the door, almost literally, but this has been a good week so far.

!I'm so excited and I just can't hide it!

I come here too often

2009-03-03T18:53:00.003Z

After the furniture arrived, I tried to get the drawer to fit into the chest, washed the drop leaf table and wrapped my lock with a small screwdriver into a plastic bag and took it with me to Wolverhampton Antiques Market.

Going to the Indoor Market is like going back in time. The Indoor Market was built in the 1960s and even though there is now a snazzy new entrance way, it's still the same old building behind it. The terrazzo floor, the typeface on the signs, the woodwork, the door handles around the place all remind me of when I was growing up. Nothing has changed since the 1970s at least.

The Antiques Market had been situated in the basement. However, as the years went on, the traffic systems changed and became one way, the market was rebuilt and "improved" and finally the car park was removed. Eventually, there were so few customers that businesses started to move out. Leaving so many empty stalls upstairs that the Antiques Market was moved to the ground floor and now occupies Avenue Six. Antiques Avenue.

All I was looking for was a junk shop. What I was looking for (small cottage rim knob imperial size) was the kind of thing that ends up in house clearance places. There was a guy who had a small chest of display drawers with different knobs and handles in them - "brass knobs", glass knobs", "ceramic knobs" and so on.

After about ten minutes of looking, he found one near perfect match. The only problem was that someone had drilled another hole into the collar of the knob to fit a different screw (the original was lost more than likely).

I had an original screw so both could be fitted and there will be no hole visible once it all comes together. And I could have the spindle as well. £1.

I handed him a fiver.

He didn't have any change. Did I have a pound?

I fished around in my pocket and found enough small change to makes the total. Then I started browsing and spent £1.25 on records.

Then I went to The Lunch Box and had an omelette, chips, salad and a can of Diet Coke for £3.20. It wasn't a restaurant so much, as a, well as a greasy spoon with pretensions. The decor was tired old 1970s coffee bar and the windows were steamed up.

I handed the ginormous plate back to the cook and braced myself to go out into the worsening weather.

I thought about "pudding". There was only one place to go. Baskin Robbins. I love ice cream. I have a fiendish sweet tooth. It's expensive so that always makes me think twice about going. I don't have a freezer, so if I bought a tub of ice cream I'd eat the entire lot or else it would go to waste.

So, I've always kidded myself, as an occasional treat, I go to Baskin Robbins in the Mander Centre.

I took out another £10 and went to the counter. The girl behind grabbed a cup straight away and said

"Is that 2 or 3 scoops today, then?"

I stood. Trying to work out what promotion this was. I hadn't even decided what flavour/flavours to have.

My confusion must have been pretty evident.

"You usually have 2 scoops, don't you?"

Oh. My. God.

So much for occasional treats. I've been there so often, she recognised me.

The embarrassment.

The shame.

The calories.

The wake up call!

I was too embarrassed to mumble and walk away so I said "Er, yeah, two scoops."

A few moments later, I still had trouble deciding. She asked if I wanted to taste some praline cheesecake number. I said no. And suddenly, there was nothing there that looked appetising any more.

There was a boysenberry mix that had greasy looking colourless lumps that look like the gristly bits in processed ham and a purple and blue swirly one that looked like a kid had swirled two pots of paint together.

I went for the two white ones that had no lumps or swirly bits. Vanilla and coconut. And a little reminder to myself, not to go there again for a loooooooong while.

The coconut tasted as if someone had put dessicated coconut in there. I don't like dessicated coconut.

It wasn't very nice at all. Suddenly, ice cream isn't all that nice.

I'm not done yet, not by a long chalk, but I'm happy

2009-03-03T11:31:00.005Z

I went to bed at 4am.

I have tried to strip the door in the middle bedroom and I'm getting fed up.

It's the door which is on the cupboard which allows access to the loft. There is a thumb latch lock which is activated from the outside of the door. The thinking behind that was security obviously.

The lock on the outside of the door prevented someone accessing the house from the roof which is part of a long terrace. Anyone could up into the loft and get into anyone else's house in the terrace through these loft hatches.

The thick loads of paint that stretch back nearly 120 years is clinging to the door by its fingernails. I know, paint doesn't have fingernails, it's a figure of speech.

Heat gunning it reduces the older layers to a kind of tar that sticks to any scraper I'm using.

Heat gunning the lock did nothing. The paint refused to budge.

So, I used paint stripper on the lock which was completely seized with paint. The paint was larded on so thickly, that I couldn't even see the slots on the screwheads.

Hours later, after gassing myself with huge amounts of paint stripper and then scraping, poking and worrying at the lock and screws with scalpels, bradawls, scrapers and screwdrivers - I was able to unscrew the lock from the door.

Then, after more paint stripper, I was able to take the lock apart to give it a really good clean. That's right. I took the entire lock apart.

Living in the Black Country where people are so proud of their manufacturing heritage, you very quickly learn that lock making played a huge part in the local economy of the 18th, 19th and early 20th centuries.

From metal production, manufacturing the parts, coating the exposed metal (japanning) and assembling the finished locks, there are books, museum exhibits, statues and newspaper articles about how important lock making was to the Black Country and Wolverhampton and Willenhall in particular.

The locals' capacity for maudlin nostalgia extends to a local history weekly newspaper called The Bugle which routinely shows sepia printed photos on its cover every issue. Poor people outside their homes in the street, women in crinolines, men at work in dreadful looking workshops, shopkeepers posing outside their shops which has all manner of meat and poultry hooked up in the open air and posed studio photographs usually with an appeal for information on who the photograph is of.

Google a guy called Carl Chinn. Every Thursday (jobs day), he has a two page article in the Express and Star usually including the reminiscences of some old pensioner biddy who remembers horse and carts, how they went on the tram on special occasions, the name of some local shopkeeper and how life was so hard but everyone was poor and happy. Every. Bloody. Week.

He also has a series of columns in the Mail newspapers, The Birmingham Post and is a massively popular local speaker. Carl Chinn, the professional Brummie who is trying to preserve the local accents. Jeebus.

Anyway, back to the lock. The mechanism is so simple it's genius. That was the whole point. The simple mechanism meant anyone could put the lock together as quickly and cheaply as possible. Any uneducated chimp could put the lock together in a matter of minutes. Hundreds could be assembled by one person in a day.

The layers of paint had built up and the thumb latch was completely seized with paint. I took it apart, cleaned everything with paintstripper and Brasso, thoroughly dried all the pieces and drenched everything in WD40. After reassembling the lock, I tried it and it worked. It. Worked. IT WORKED. Whoo hoo.

The paint seized thumb latch meant the door knobs on either side of the door worked, but the lock couldn't be, well, locked.

So some bright spark unscrewed the knob on the inside of the door - putting it's little screw back into the spindle to stop the spindle being pulled free of the door every time someone opened it. So the door was effectively locked for anyone inside the cupboard.

Of course, that could have been decades ago and there is no sign of any door knob lying around the house anywhere.

I need one small brass cottage rim knob and a washer. Imperial measure.

And hey, guess what, they come in pairs. And metric.

But, I'm happy. I've got the last original feature in my house working.

And the furniture has arrived.