So, I'm in my last week and I don't really care. I've moved on to a teeny terminal to allow "The Apprentice" full access to the fountain of knowledge that was my PC. I can barely do anything on the terminal which is annoying on one hand and liberating on the other as any real work must go to the apprentice as I relax offering occasional advice.
The Apprentice never did write any more down, you would have thought this meant he has supreme confidence but he definitely doesn't display it.
There was a storm of biblical proportions last week and I had to leave work early as my house was flooding and my daughter's school was closing. Well I say my house was flooding my lovely wife rang me at work saying that my MOT certificate was soaking wet by the back door and she was assuming it was letting in. Now I don't know about you but that conjures the requirement of sand bags, sad images of cracked, water damaged wedding photos floating on the water's surface and frowning old couples saying that they've lived there for fifty years and the rains never been so bad, blockading the door against the tide created by the rain, battening down the hatches, etc. I got home to a dry house with a barely rain wet back garden. My wife explained that it wasn't that bad to which I explained that her prior phone call made it sound as though our house may wash up somewhere on the coast of Italy.
What had actually happened is during this torrential downpour our bedroom window had been left open and it had taken in soaking through the curtain, piles of my clothes, the carpet and the downstairs ceiling, I've come to the conclusion it must have dripped through the ceiling on to the MOT certificate, the patch on the ceiling is directly above the back door and my wife hadn't noticed it.
Anyway this is all a round about explanation as to why I wasn't at work Thursday afternoon and Friday day. On Monday Righty approached me saying that he'd asked the apprentice to do something at it had gone over his head. We had a meeting to discuss the issue Righty, the apprentice and I. After the resolution I realised that the apprentice lacks problem solving skills, something that that's in quite demand for the job. Like I said though, it's my last week and I don't really care.
Righty suggested I go over the road to the Chinese all you can eat buffet with a few people on Friday at 2 and I can go straight home afterwards, though of course this is more a vehicle so HE can go for lunch at 2 and leave afterwards but I'm not so pedantic as to point this out or decline the offer, well I say "offer", the company won't be stumping up for the meal we all have to pay for ourselves the company paying for it would be in direct violation of it's "we hate Adam" policy. It's a very strict policy.
Took my two youngest daughters and son to see the Olympic torch relay near home over the weekend. My wife assured me that it could be a life changing experience. It wasn't. She also however said it was a "once in a lifetime experience" so at least I can be glad about that. The best way I could put it would be to say it was like an odd mix of cross-country running and arson, sponsored by Coca-Cola. I stood with my daughters on a shoulder each as Coca-Cola people went by NOT offering my outstretched hand a free bottle of Coke Zero, then a bunch of Samsung staff NOT offering me a (paper, Samsung on one side, Union Jack on the other) flag. "I have a child on each shoulder! Who is in more need of a drink and a flag?" I thought. Well, Samsung have made my list, when the revolution comes SKY, O2 and now Samsung are going to get it first! Not Coca-Cola though, I can't stay mad at them, they've done such great work with Christmas.
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Friday, 22 June 2012
22nd June 2012 - MOT & The Apprentice
Speaking to my wife about cars, she wanted us to both get new ones over the next couple of years. "I'm happy with my car, there's nothing wrong with it" I said, I've been driving a relatively short time yet over the few years I've had a plethora of cars in various states of disrepair including an old diesel Renault Clio which would collect rain water through the sunroof seal then leak it through the interior light on to your lap when you turned corners giving you the appearance of having wet yourself, ironically if you were sitting in the seat opposite witnessing this you probably would wet yourself laughing.
The MOT is due on my current car today, I hate MOTs it's like randomly going to the doctor's when there's nothing wrong with you and being told they need to amputate your arm.... and change your windscreen wipers. I had spoken too soon when I said "there's nothing wrong with it", I mean being my car there were a few things wrong with it, you can only open the central locking from the boot lock, slow puncture on the front driver tyre, scratch on the windscreen where the wiper blade misplaced and ground a curve and there is a common problem in it's model in which the door seal allows the rear carpets to get waterlogged but I can accept these as the "charm" of it, obviously by charm I mean flaws I can't afford to repair. Anyway a mere couple of days after expressing the solidity of my car I pulled up at home and pressed my electric window button to raise, to which it gave a pathetic whirl, growl then silence. My window. Stuck open. Eventually I with the door open and a hand either side of the window managed (whilst grimacing like a World's strongest man contestant) to drag it up giving it the appearance of being closed with the slight fear of it collapsing either out of the car, shattering on the street or retreating down into the door, another charm to add to the list.
I dropped my car at the garage for it's MOT last night as I work far from home and it would add time on my ridiculously early, public transport journey in the morning (on a side note it costs an arm and a leg to catch a bus nowadays doesn't it? That's where they get you, once you are left with one arm and one leg you can no longer drive and HAVE to continue catching buses). In general my wife would like me to do any dealing with mechanics and the likes, she thinks they take advantage of women's ineptitude with cars. I have an ineptitude with cars as I've mentioned before. I very much doubt mechanics, or any other tradesmen with knowledge I don't have are any less likely to rip me off than they would her to be honest. My lack of nous with cars rolls off me, they probably smell it like sharks do blood, if anything a man who doesn't know about cars is even more susceptible to being ripped off as they can play on your machismo "Oh yeah I mean you know we had to strip the carburettor" - "Of course the carburettor, you have to strip that .... (God help me that sounds expensive)". Nodding and saying "oh right" and "sure" isn't enough, I'm rubbish at blagging and I'm sure that any oily dungaree wearing, grizzled spanner jockey can see I haven't got a clue the same way I can see it when I'm explaining something about computers to someone who wants something fixed and their eyes glaze over as their brain gives up like it's leaving a library that doesn't have the book it wants.
Speaking of which I've just started training the new guy at work, it's not the guy I had recommend but he's a nice enough bloke and seems to have some modicum of understanding. He doesn't write much though, I've been wondering whether writing stuff is my "thing" and regular people just remember tons, I don't think so, I think he'll struggle, a week's worth of training and he has about one side of A4. Either he's a master of shorthand or he thinks he'll remember everything. Would it be impolite to say he should write some more? I talk and click about on the PC for a couple of hours, he just watches, I wonder if he's glazed over, I wonder if his brain has left the library leaving the shell of an apprentice unable to write. At times it takes all I have not to yell "write something you imbecile! What do you think you are? A video camera?"
My job's not been that hard to explain to be honest, I've been doing it 5 years, I have built an efficient system of going about daily tasks and whilst insulted the apprentice (Ha. I'm like Alan Sugar, only of course I can't fire the guy because I'm leaving myself and I didn't pick the guy I selected someone else. I'm not really like Alan Sugar after all am I?) feels my 5 years of work can be summed up on one side of A4 I'm now trying to leave him to it in the hope that the actual experience of doing it will help him retain the information.
In the end what do I care if the week after I leave he looks on both sides of his paper for an answer that isn't there? Only that I've no doubt it'll be "Adam didn't show me that." Why do I still care about my reputation at a place that I not only will never return to but actively dislike? Having a conscience is so annoying.
Thursday, 14 June 2012
1st - 14th June 2012 - D'an South and Oop North.
Again I've left it to long and my daily memories are bunched and confused in time...
Went to Filey for a long weekend, Haven caravan holiday with the family, it was fun, the weather was terrible though, not as bad as it was in Wales where it flooded. How much must it have to rain in Wales to flood there!? Got myself a new rain jacket, I've needed one for years and some new trainers as I was wearing suede red ones my daughters refer to as "ruby slippers" which the wet weekend would no doubt ruin. You may think a rain jacket and trainers aren't mention worthy but for me this was a flamboyant extravagance. As it was we were blessed with a single, half-sunny day that we could go to the beach on. We started watching Euro 2012 which has been entertaining, always nice to have a bit of football available and my youngest two girls are still showing a bit of interest after their recent visits to Villa Park.
As they get older the differences between my two youngest daughters seems to widen, my youngest daughter is terrified of water after my mother-in-law tried to drown her.... Well she didn't try, that is melodromatic, she let her go under the water and we fear it's sparked a life-long phobia, my 4 year old daughter actively adores the water, I have a feeling that if the sea hadn't been painfully, freezing cold she probably would have just swam away in it to live as a mermaid, my youngest daughter opted to build sandcastles and avoid Davey Jones' locker at all costs.
The weekend before we went to London for the wedding of one of my wife's old uni friends. She was marrying into jainism, I'd never heard of jainists before but I don't like Janye Torvill or Jane Austen much so I could half undertstand why you'd set up a hate group against them, turns out it's more of a Hindu offshoot though. The service was well explained throughout and it was intriguing to see the see the differences and similarities between a Hindu and Christian wedding cermony. My wife braved a fair bit of asian food which was brave considering she has a known aversion to any foodstuff spicier than milk. It's funny really, I will occasionally have the odd curry now and again from the canteen at work but I would never choose to eat indian take-out or at a restaurant, with it's popularity in english culture it always strikes me as amazing that my wife and I found each other, two people who would never dream of dragging the other out for an indian.
Whilst we were in London (stopping at my wife's sister and her boyfriend's house) we took in the sights of London for the Jubilee, my 4 year old had an interest in all things royal family thanks to the jubilee focus at her school. We took her to "the Queens house" which unfortunately was heavily barricaded due to them setting up her concert (the Queen didn't perform at the concert, I bet she could do a mean Bohemian Rhapsody though). Sister in Law then took us to Hyde Park for a Jubilee show which ended in a large Disney performance, I don't know what Disney has to do with the Queen reigning for 60 years but the kids loved it.
After being given so many bank holidays with Prince Will's wedding and the Queen's Jubilee I have a new found appreciation for the royal family, almost as much as my two youngest daughters who at any given time have been recently bursting out with "Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves Britain will neeeeeeever be slaves" and the first verse of "God Save the Queen" (my house sounds like an EDL rally!) to be fair I'd be happy for them to just take control of the country (the royal family, NOT the EDL) God knows the illusion of choice between three toffs with a lust for power who promise the World and deliver despair doesn't work.
I have finally been given my freedom date from Amistad, 6th of July, giving me a start date of 9th of July with MI5 that's all confirmed and set to go, had a phone call from them to tell me they's made an error and will be paying me more - bonus!
When I intitially applied for the job it was for less than what I'm currently paid, when the contract was offered to sign it matched my current wage, now I'll be paid slightly more.
The guy I had backed/ recommended and traded e-mails with a month with failed to get the job, I was gutted for him, it was a close race between him and the "winner" apparently. No-one did particularly well in the database I set up, funny as I had made it easier than the one I faced for MI5, maybe I'm better than I thought.
The new guy starts next Monday (18th June), I am to train him and stand in boss Righty quietly (I wouldn't have even thought he was capable of being quiet before this) said "I know it's a bit insulting as you're leaving because of your hours but do you fancy working 8-4 to train the new guy" I laughed to myself as I said I would need to speak to my wife about our arrangements in the mornings if suddenly I was back at work, he grumbled understandings and said I could work whatever I liked.
It turned out 8-4 was fine for me so I agreed so I'm back in a bustling work environment rather than the evening solitary confinement and missing my kids I had been consigned to.
It strikes me as odd that someone is leaving as disgruntled as I am with working here should be responsible for training someone entering the new job with enthusiasm. There's every potential that at best I'll be half-hearted and at worst poisonous with a will for him to fail. I am professional I guess and I do like teaching people things so that will be in his favour. Righty has said "teach him everything you know" ... "yes" I thought "because after working in a role for 5 years, and applying a degree as well as other job specific qualifications to it I will be able to transfer this knowledge to some fresh face who can't manage to pass basic excel and access tests in 3 weeks, especially for a company I now despise, I might just give him my car as well, why not?" rather than articulate this thought I just replied no problem.
I've begun to genuinely hope the company fails, it's a horrible, bitter feeling but to be honest anyone I care about here (which is virtually no one) would have no problem doing the job elsewhere.
30th/ 31st of May 2012 - Pagliacci and Mouse Trap
Last night my lovely wife was making the sandwiches for our childen's school lunches when she exclaimed "oh no, we have no bread, well... We have pitta bread" I adopted a Mr.T voice and bellowed "I'd pitta tha' foo's!" My wife didn't find this funny, I can only assume it was "too soon" after her realisation and grief over the lost bread. It's a much held belief that only idiots laugh at their own jokes, this is obviously wrong as I laugh at mine all the time. I mean if I myself didn't think they were funny what would be the point of attempting to make someone else laugh with them?
I have an apple danish with my lunch today, because I'm worth it. I used that slogan as "maybe she's born with it" didn't seem applicable, it's less gender neutral and if I had have been born with it it would most definitely have gone off by now making it far less of a treat. Also today I should be getting my freedom date, Uhuru from Amistad, new temporary boss Righty and my actual boss should have been discussing candidates and CVs with my answer coming today, though Righty isn't here he's at helping out the old boss where she has moved Grr! Hope that isn't a hindrance. I've been plugging (Promoting. Not the 30's gangster slang for relentlessly shooting someone with a tommy gun) a lad who's e-mailed me a few times regarding the job he works on nights currently and sees my job as an ideal way to crawl from his nocturnal existence to my horrible hours without losing pay as it's a step up for him.
I've worked in the role the guy is before and appreciate his desire to learn and do a job befitting of what he's capable of, he seems technically sound, and I've been mentoring him in a way by e-mail, leaving him files on my computer and printed out Access excercises for him to scurry up in his night shift and collect, luring the mouse to to my career trap with a chunk of educational cheese. When I'm writing my helpful e-mails and such to him I wonder to myself am I trying to help him or free myself? In truth it's probably both I hope he gets my job now after the trouble we've gone to.
17th -29th of May 2012 - The Muddy Feet of Petulance
Loads of eventful stuff has happened and in true Adam fashion I've let it all build up and considered just giving up blogging as hard work. But nay! I shall carry on.... I don't know if what I write here will be in any kind of chronological order or that it even matters whether it is or not.
My wife and I spent a whole evening watching the Champion's League final. I was willing to let it slip by me to be honest and she had decided to record it. In the end we watched it just under an hour later than it started so we had an otherwise media blackout to dodge the score being ruined. It was an exciting match coming up to the end I felt like a dyed in wool Chelsea fan. Not that I would ever switch my allegiance of course but I admired their fight and I hold on to the old "support the english team" mentality that the perennial "big 4" and team rivalry seems to have all but killed off nowadays.
As it was recorded once Drogba slotted the final penalty home it switched off. Immediately. I was gutted not to see the celebration, I thought as a temporary Chelsea fan my my emotional investment at least warranted me the pay off of celebration. So we went to watch the subsequent celebrations on the "+1" channel but it was a bit behind so we watched the end of the celebrations on the original channel and the beginning of them on the "+1" channel, if that makes sense? If it doesn't it doesn't really matter, but does explain why time travel hasn't been cracked yet. What genius it is nowadays that you can record TV watch it then catch it up on the exact channel an hour later, we've come a long way from putting tape over the broken tab of a VHS cassette and having to wait for it to rewind, well I say we, I can't take any credit for it obviously.
We went for a walk in the park, my wife, my kids and we bumped into my dad with my younger brother and sister who were at an old car show there. I don't really like cars, I mean I appreciate good looking ones or as a means of travel of course but I have little interest in makes and models or engine parts, I sometimes wish I did, like if I have to take my car to a mechanic and they say that it has a damaged unicorn horn and the monkey lung needs replacing and it'll cost a bomb I wish I could reply "yeah, I thought it was the monkey lung, I can pick one up for pennies and do it myself cheers" (by the way I realise that cars don't have unicorn horns or lungs, monkey's or otherwise... Well I say that with 70% certainty). In any case I think that time is dead, cars are so "electrified" (not in the Danny Zuko Grease kind of way) nowadays that you're unlikely to see a bloke trying to fix an engine with pure testosterone, sweat and a spanner alone.
So anyway our welly clad clan strolled through the park's forest and eventually came to some steep steps down to a pond where geese and their goslings were swimming around, my 2 year old bravely ambled up and down the stairs I commented on her ability and lack of fear and then, just walking, attempting no feat whatsoever she fell over covering herself in mud and tears. My wife consoled her telling her that everyone was muddy from the walk. Everyone was, but me, who had remained pristine. My wife cunningly suggested to our two year old that she should put some dirt on me, smiling through the tears she lifted a speck of mud from her dirt smeared trousers to gently place on mine when my four year old's filthy welly sole came flying like Hulk Hogan's "big boot" to scrape against and defile my beautifully clean jeans. It was so quick it was almost as if she had waited the whole walk, no her whole life for the opportunity to get my trousers dirty. I frowned as everyone else laughed out loud in the park's forest path.
At work on the good ship Amistad I've been asked by Righty to devise a database test the likes of which I faced at MI5 couldn't decide whether or not this was more or less of an insult than having to write my own job description I think less, if only because I'll enjoy doing it. I decided to make it significantly easier than the one I had to tackle. Firstly because Access isn't necessary for my role, it's just something I decided to learn and secondly as I'm not particularly bothered if the candidate for my job is actually any good or not, on the contrary I hope they're terrible.
I'd already thought it odd that Righty had asked me for this and that he was so heavily involved in the recruitment of my replacement, especially as my replacement was on his level when I presented a holiday form to my boss and he explained that I would have to ask Righty. "Bizarre" I thought until Righty said yeah I'll sort that out, did you not have the e-mail? I'm covering the boss. I DID have the email, last week only I'd totally missed it. "Go Righty!" I thought, I mean like I said he is skilled, competent and has common sense, something that is nowhere near as common as it's name would suggest and I can appreciate that, he's even managed to make it a good week without screaming it from the rooftops I expected that he would be the type who would recieve power like "the quickening" from Highlander (In the Highlander films when one immortal kills another ((I know not really "immortal" then)) he takes their power with the quickening which is usually like a big electrical storm whilst the victor roars/ screams with victory) I wonder if he was trying to spare my feelings. He doesn't seem the sort to do that either, not that I'd be interested in the job in the slightest (even if I wasn't trying to leave with all my might) I have no desire to be some "leader of men", none at all. I much prefer knowledge to power and I don't like asking someone to do something I believe I can do better. Intellect isn't valued at Amistad, it's all about who can tell people what to do the best, at MI5 I get the impression (especially from The Doctor) that knowledge is king.
My wife and I spent a whole evening watching the Champion's League final. I was willing to let it slip by me to be honest and she had decided to record it. In the end we watched it just under an hour later than it started so we had an otherwise media blackout to dodge the score being ruined. It was an exciting match coming up to the end I felt like a dyed in wool Chelsea fan. Not that I would ever switch my allegiance of course but I admired their fight and I hold on to the old "support the english team" mentality that the perennial "big 4" and team rivalry seems to have all but killed off nowadays.
As it was recorded once Drogba slotted the final penalty home it switched off. Immediately. I was gutted not to see the celebration, I thought as a temporary Chelsea fan my my emotional investment at least warranted me the pay off of celebration. So we went to watch the subsequent celebrations on the "+1" channel but it was a bit behind so we watched the end of the celebrations on the original channel and the beginning of them on the "+1" channel, if that makes sense? If it doesn't it doesn't really matter, but does explain why time travel hasn't been cracked yet. What genius it is nowadays that you can record TV watch it then catch it up on the exact channel an hour later, we've come a long way from putting tape over the broken tab of a VHS cassette and having to wait for it to rewind, well I say we, I can't take any credit for it obviously.
We went for a walk in the park, my wife, my kids and we bumped into my dad with my younger brother and sister who were at an old car show there. I don't really like cars, I mean I appreciate good looking ones or as a means of travel of course but I have little interest in makes and models or engine parts, I sometimes wish I did, like if I have to take my car to a mechanic and they say that it has a damaged unicorn horn and the monkey lung needs replacing and it'll cost a bomb I wish I could reply "yeah, I thought it was the monkey lung, I can pick one up for pennies and do it myself cheers" (by the way I realise that cars don't have unicorn horns or lungs, monkey's or otherwise... Well I say that with 70% certainty). In any case I think that time is dead, cars are so "electrified" (not in the Danny Zuko Grease kind of way) nowadays that you're unlikely to see a bloke trying to fix an engine with pure testosterone, sweat and a spanner alone.
So anyway our welly clad clan strolled through the park's forest and eventually came to some steep steps down to a pond where geese and their goslings were swimming around, my 2 year old bravely ambled up and down the stairs I commented on her ability and lack of fear and then, just walking, attempting no feat whatsoever she fell over covering herself in mud and tears. My wife consoled her telling her that everyone was muddy from the walk. Everyone was, but me, who had remained pristine. My wife cunningly suggested to our two year old that she should put some dirt on me, smiling through the tears she lifted a speck of mud from her dirt smeared trousers to gently place on mine when my four year old's filthy welly sole came flying like Hulk Hogan's "big boot" to scrape against and defile my beautifully clean jeans. It was so quick it was almost as if she had waited the whole walk, no her whole life for the opportunity to get my trousers dirty. I frowned as everyone else laughed out loud in the park's forest path.
At work on the good ship Amistad I've been asked by Righty to devise a database test the likes of which I faced at MI5 couldn't decide whether or not this was more or less of an insult than having to write my own job description I think less, if only because I'll enjoy doing it. I decided to make it significantly easier than the one I had to tackle. Firstly because Access isn't necessary for my role, it's just something I decided to learn and secondly as I'm not particularly bothered if the candidate for my job is actually any good or not, on the contrary I hope they're terrible.
I'd already thought it odd that Righty had asked me for this and that he was so heavily involved in the recruitment of my replacement, especially as my replacement was on his level when I presented a holiday form to my boss and he explained that I would have to ask Righty. "Bizarre" I thought until Righty said yeah I'll sort that out, did you not have the e-mail? I'm covering the boss. I DID have the email, last week only I'd totally missed it. "Go Righty!" I thought, I mean like I said he is skilled, competent and has common sense, something that is nowhere near as common as it's name would suggest and I can appreciate that, he's even managed to make it a good week without screaming it from the rooftops I expected that he would be the type who would recieve power like "the quickening" from Highlander (In the Highlander films when one immortal kills another ((I know not really "immortal" then)) he takes their power with the quickening which is usually like a big electrical storm whilst the victor roars/ screams with victory) I wonder if he was trying to spare my feelings. He doesn't seem the sort to do that either, not that I'd be interested in the job in the slightest (even if I wasn't trying to leave with all my might) I have no desire to be some "leader of men", none at all. I much prefer knowledge to power and I don't like asking someone to do something I believe I can do better. Intellect isn't valued at Amistad, it's all about who can tell people what to do the best, at MI5 I get the impression (especially from The Doctor) that knowledge is king.
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
16th of May 2012 - Megacide, Acid Rain and "Pandas: They're Alive"!
At the good ship Amistad still, get the impression my boss is avoiding me, had a solitary e-mail from him today with the request of a report that took all of two minutes.
There are things I could busy myself with I suppose, I heard there was a busy morning with my absence "Oh well" I said sarcastically to Lefty "I only wish I could have been here" we chuckled darkly and he went on to tell me more about a problem he has with wasp nests in his shed that he's been speaking of for the past few days.
This is only a continuing discussion as I once had a wasp nest in my garden shed and I explained how I dealt with it armed only with a jam jar, a can of fly/ wasp spray, a laminate floor saw and a bag of testosterone (my own metaphorical testosterone, I didn't amp up the wasp's rage, heighten their propensity to catch a potentially woman killing strand of flu or instil an innate deterrent to housework with some kind of serum in a tiny wasp serving hyperdermic needle).
He read a number of website suggestions (including the manner I had used) at one point he read "if I don't want to kill the wasps I have to take the queen 3 miles away so she doesn't return and rebuild" I imagined Lefty with the queen (the wasp queen, not Queen Elizabeth II) on the passenger seat of his car (with the set belt over it of course) putting it out in some field miles away from home and leaving it before turning around and heading back "charming." I thought "no way to treat wasp royalty" my thoughts then flicked to the queen wasp I dispatched in a still jam coated jar within a bag, within a wheelie bin. Anyway Lefty was explaining how since we last talked he had used foam to fill cracks in his shed. I wondered why he didn't just man up and do what I did, didn't say that though. With retrospect I wish I'd man'd it up even further with an Arnie-esque death quip like "Hey your majesty! Let's JAM!”
Speaking of blighting the environment one thing I have been doing at work is printing processes for my job (for the next sucker to take the mantle), As I lifted a catalogue of report instructions from the printer I pondered the amount of trees I must have killed to make it or was this perhaps recycled paper? I'm not very environmentally conscious I believe this is because School's lies have diminished any threat to the environment in my view.
Let me explain, when I was school there was talk of acid rain. ACTUAL ACID RAIN. What happened to that? There was a hole in the O-Zone layer and there was every chance we were going to melt to a horrible death whilst waiting for the school bus under a torrent of acidic rain. You never hear of acid rain or the O-Zone layer any more, are either of these still a threat? Did either of them ever even exist? Then elephants, I was told that my children would likely never see the likes of elephants and pandas, such was their limited number and the voracity of man and man's effect on the environment. Flash-forward to now and three of my four children have seen them (I don't think my baby son has but that's down to lack of interest and opportunity NOT because they're all dead!) if I die before all the elephants and pandas I will be most annoyed!
I saw a news report recently saying that from some fossilised something or other they can re-create woolly mammoths within a few years. Mammoths! Long extinct mammoths! And we're worried about saving common elephants! You can't throw a stone without hitting an elephant.... Well in the zoo or some kind of elephant reserve you couldn't. What other lies did they peddle in school? Next I'll be hearing that writing in a red pen isn't in fact rude.
There are things I could busy myself with I suppose, I heard there was a busy morning with my absence "Oh well" I said sarcastically to Lefty "I only wish I could have been here" we chuckled darkly and he went on to tell me more about a problem he has with wasp nests in his shed that he's been speaking of for the past few days.
This is only a continuing discussion as I once had a wasp nest in my garden shed and I explained how I dealt with it armed only with a jam jar, a can of fly/ wasp spray, a laminate floor saw and a bag of testosterone (my own metaphorical testosterone, I didn't amp up the wasp's rage, heighten their propensity to catch a potentially woman killing strand of flu or instil an innate deterrent to housework with some kind of serum in a tiny wasp serving hyperdermic needle).
He read a number of website suggestions (including the manner I had used) at one point he read "if I don't want to kill the wasps I have to take the queen 3 miles away so she doesn't return and rebuild" I imagined Lefty with the queen (the wasp queen, not Queen Elizabeth II) on the passenger seat of his car (with the set belt over it of course) putting it out in some field miles away from home and leaving it before turning around and heading back "charming." I thought "no way to treat wasp royalty" my thoughts then flicked to the queen wasp I dispatched in a still jam coated jar within a bag, within a wheelie bin. Anyway Lefty was explaining how since we last talked he had used foam to fill cracks in his shed. I wondered why he didn't just man up and do what I did, didn't say that though. With retrospect I wish I'd man'd it up even further with an Arnie-esque death quip like "Hey your majesty! Let's JAM!”
Speaking of blighting the environment one thing I have been doing at work is printing processes for my job (for the next sucker to take the mantle), As I lifted a catalogue of report instructions from the printer I pondered the amount of trees I must have killed to make it or was this perhaps recycled paper? I'm not very environmentally conscious I believe this is because School's lies have diminished any threat to the environment in my view.
Let me explain, when I was school there was talk of acid rain. ACTUAL ACID RAIN. What happened to that? There was a hole in the O-Zone layer and there was every chance we were going to melt to a horrible death whilst waiting for the school bus under a torrent of acidic rain. You never hear of acid rain or the O-Zone layer any more, are either of these still a threat? Did either of them ever even exist? Then elephants, I was told that my children would likely never see the likes of elephants and pandas, such was their limited number and the voracity of man and man's effect on the environment. Flash-forward to now and three of my four children have seen them (I don't think my baby son has but that's down to lack of interest and opportunity NOT because they're all dead!) if I die before all the elephants and pandas I will be most annoyed!
I saw a news report recently saying that from some fossilised something or other they can re-create woolly mammoths within a few years. Mammoths! Long extinct mammoths! And we're worried about saving common elephants! You can't throw a stone without hitting an elephant.... Well in the zoo or some kind of elephant reserve you couldn't. What other lies did they peddle in school? Next I'll be hearing that writing in a red pen isn't in fact rude.
Monday, 14 May 2012
14th of May 2012 - Free Adam!
Oh...By the way the call was from MI5 (or the company I will henceforth refer to as MI5) and I accepted. "Yay Adam! You got what you wanted!" I hear you cry. Not yet I haven't as when I took the news to work that as I was leaving (As I announced I would if the God Managers at my current job decided to switch my hours completely) I was met initially by happiness that I'd found a new job.
Well I say happiness.... It was very odd. I sat with my boss who had been the conduit through which the two God managers on high communicated to me who sat as I said. "I just wanted to give you notice, I've found a new job." He replied "Oh good, good" his tone was pleasant he was smiling but his face reddened and he had a bit of an odd nervous twitch in his eye going on, We discussed what it was doing and I explained that it was a better job for me and a little closer to home. I had said to my new boss to be that I'd need at least 4 weeks notice. I checked with HR before and my contract says for the time I've been with the company they could request up to 2 months!
You can probably see where this is going can't you?
So my boss said he would consider what is required and get back to me and I'd have to put my notice in writing ..... Only he didn't get back to me..... And you can only put your written notice in when you can state the date you're leaving.
Clever eh?
Or NOT clever as I've seen this little ruse used before! I marched up at the end of last week and said "have you thought about how long I'm required?" his tone had changed to sheepish, his face looking as though if it could all just crawl into his mouth and he could close it it would have been an impassable option. He said (of course) that I would be required to stay for the full 2 months, unless someone can be brought in to cover my role and is up to speed in which case I can leave in 6 weeks. I was also asked if I could write a job description for my job, I almost laughed aloud at this point.
I'm a large, relatively quite man, not aggressive in the slightest. I don't hide emotion well though. My face will always betray me should I pretend to agree. I don't bother pretending to agree to things now, I don't bother with small talk and if I see someone I don't want to talk to I will actively avoid them and to be honest "them" is most people. What a waste of time seeing someone you didn't talk to at school for example is when they stop to ask what you're doing now. If we had any kind of connection then they would know. There are a number of ways of doing this, my favourite is probably the old "just keep moving, one word greeting in passing and carry on" you may at times have to leave embarrassed people who are turning on the spot with an open mouth loaded with discussion but every war has it's casualties
This is moving away from the point though. Standing there at my boss' desk I felt incredulous, this must have shown as my already apprehensive boss was seemingly cowering with his explanation. It was odd seeing him like this as he is generally cocky and full of bravado, not in a particularly obnoxious way, I don't actually dislike him which in fairness is a credit to him as it doesn't take much for me to dislike someone.
So here I am stuck for 2 months, my office has become Amistad. I told other members of staff I will now only be referred to as my employee number and will have "Free 39031!" T-Shirts printed for anyone willing to join the protests.
What annoyed me most was that when I said if my hours are changed and my family affected I will leave they scoffed, they as good as laughed at my threat making me feel like an expendable goldfish. Now this goldfish has found wings it seems I'm indispensable to the fishbowl! They couldn't possibly live without me and will hold me as long as they are legally able.
I told Lefty of the news today, he replied "well, you don't REALLY have to stay for two months do you?" he gave an impish grin. I replied "I'm not going to burn the place down, it's not worth killing a few and putting the rest out of jobs just so I can start a new one" his face flashed from horror to laughter. It was easier to say this than explain that my boss was my reference and I don't want to give MI5 the idea I'm the type to break a contract, no, if they want me for two months so be it. MI5 have accepted it and I'll be counting down the days till I can rise victorious from these shackles of hypocrisy!
Well I say happiness.... It was very odd. I sat with my boss who had been the conduit through which the two God managers on high communicated to me who sat as I said. "I just wanted to give you notice, I've found a new job." He replied "Oh good, good" his tone was pleasant he was smiling but his face reddened and he had a bit of an odd nervous twitch in his eye going on, We discussed what it was doing and I explained that it was a better job for me and a little closer to home. I had said to my new boss to be that I'd need at least 4 weeks notice. I checked with HR before and my contract says for the time I've been with the company they could request up to 2 months!
You can probably see where this is going can't you?
So my boss said he would consider what is required and get back to me and I'd have to put my notice in writing ..... Only he didn't get back to me..... And you can only put your written notice in when you can state the date you're leaving.
Clever eh?
Or NOT clever as I've seen this little ruse used before! I marched up at the end of last week and said "have you thought about how long I'm required?" his tone had changed to sheepish, his face looking as though if it could all just crawl into his mouth and he could close it it would have been an impassable option. He said (of course) that I would be required to stay for the full 2 months, unless someone can be brought in to cover my role and is up to speed in which case I can leave in 6 weeks. I was also asked if I could write a job description for my job, I almost laughed aloud at this point.
I'm a large, relatively quite man, not aggressive in the slightest. I don't hide emotion well though. My face will always betray me should I pretend to agree. I don't bother pretending to agree to things now, I don't bother with small talk and if I see someone I don't want to talk to I will actively avoid them and to be honest "them" is most people. What a waste of time seeing someone you didn't talk to at school for example is when they stop to ask what you're doing now. If we had any kind of connection then they would know. There are a number of ways of doing this, my favourite is probably the old "just keep moving, one word greeting in passing and carry on" you may at times have to leave embarrassed people who are turning on the spot with an open mouth loaded with discussion but every war has it's casualties
This is moving away from the point though. Standing there at my boss' desk I felt incredulous, this must have shown as my already apprehensive boss was seemingly cowering with his explanation. It was odd seeing him like this as he is generally cocky and full of bravado, not in a particularly obnoxious way, I don't actually dislike him which in fairness is a credit to him as it doesn't take much for me to dislike someone.
So here I am stuck for 2 months, my office has become Amistad. I told other members of staff I will now only be referred to as my employee number and will have "Free 39031!" T-Shirts printed for anyone willing to join the protests.
What annoyed me most was that when I said if my hours are changed and my family affected I will leave they scoffed, they as good as laughed at my threat making me feel like an expendable goldfish. Now this goldfish has found wings it seems I'm indispensable to the fishbowl! They couldn't possibly live without me and will hold me as long as they are legally able.
I told Lefty of the news today, he replied "well, you don't REALLY have to stay for two months do you?" he gave an impish grin. I replied "I'm not going to burn the place down, it's not worth killing a few and putting the rest out of jobs just so I can start a new one" his face flashed from horror to laughter. It was easier to say this than explain that my boss was my reference and I don't want to give MI5 the idea I'm the type to break a contract, no, if they want me for two months so be it. MI5 have accepted it and I'll be counting down the days till I can rise victorious from these shackles of hypocrisy!
10th of May 2012 - Stay and Play and Brag and Annoy
My two year old daughter loves playgroups, stay and plays or whatever you call them. I do not. I love her though so I will occasionally make the sacrifice as the hours I work mean these are the small hours I can spend with her and my son who probably doesn't care about staying or playing much prefering to chew anything he's not supposed to have which is considered a developmental stage of an eight month old. So on this day I decided to take them to a stay and play group which is run by members of a nursery two of my daughters have been to. Now I don't like children. I know I have four, and I love them but outside of this children are just annoyances who may or may not do something I probably won't be able to tell them off for as I'm not their dad and they've been raised wrong.
You quite often see parents ESPECIALLY at stay and plays talking about styles of parenting. There are no "styles" your kid is either a menace or well behaved and 9/10 times this is solely down to whether parents raised them right or wrong. If you did it right your children will revere and respect you if not they will dismiss your requests and do what they want....Snatch, bully, get fat, break things that aren't theirs, murder.... So it never ceases to amaze me that these future murderers are always cooed over by their mothers at these things. I'm sat nicely reading a book with my son and daughter and some snotball toe-rag waddles up turning pages and trying to pull the book from me whilst his mother who was only just bragging how fantastic he was almost whispers "no leave that one look at this!" he of course does nothing to acknowledges such requests. With retrospect I should have asked my daughter to slide of the chair creep behind him and drop him with a kidney punch.
But then it would be I potentially raising a murderer although a cool assassin type with a code of honour not some serial monster so I'd still have done a better job.
I don't brag about my children's abilities, I have high expectations of them and they are beautiful, as their father you'd expect this and it's something I reserve discussing with my wife or my children, if anyone outside remarks these things of my children I'll simply thank them. I cant stand people who enforce their childs ability or looks on others because the truth is most the time they're not stating facts, just their own feelings as parents your kid just looks like a kid to everybody else and they're most likely not the best in the world at anything so appreciate who they are rather than how best you can vicariously project. Another bug bear of mine is people entering their child in "Cutest this ..." or "Face of that..." and requesting everyone on Facebook vote for them. If you have to ask for votes not only is your child not the cutest but you're a mother who everyone hates because you keep asking everyone to vote for your stupid, average looking kid every week!
Did I say I don't like playgroups?
You quite often see parents ESPECIALLY at stay and plays talking about styles of parenting. There are no "styles" your kid is either a menace or well behaved and 9/10 times this is solely down to whether parents raised them right or wrong. If you did it right your children will revere and respect you if not they will dismiss your requests and do what they want....Snatch, bully, get fat, break things that aren't theirs, murder.... So it never ceases to amaze me that these future murderers are always cooed over by their mothers at these things. I'm sat nicely reading a book with my son and daughter and some snotball toe-rag waddles up turning pages and trying to pull the book from me whilst his mother who was only just bragging how fantastic he was almost whispers "no leave that one look at this!" he of course does nothing to acknowledges such requests. With retrospect I should have asked my daughter to slide of the chair creep behind him and drop him with a kidney punch.
But then it would be I potentially raising a murderer although a cool assassin type with a code of honour not some serial monster so I'd still have done a better job.
I don't brag about my children's abilities, I have high expectations of them and they are beautiful, as their father you'd expect this and it's something I reserve discussing with my wife or my children, if anyone outside remarks these things of my children I'll simply thank them. I cant stand people who enforce their childs ability or looks on others because the truth is most the time they're not stating facts, just their own feelings as parents your kid just looks like a kid to everybody else and they're most likely not the best in the world at anything so appreciate who they are rather than how best you can vicariously project. Another bug bear of mine is people entering their child in "Cutest this ..." or "Face of that..." and requesting everyone on Facebook vote for them. If you have to ask for votes not only is your child not the cutest but you're a mother who everyone hates because you keep asking everyone to vote for your stupid, average looking kid every week!
Did I say I don't like playgroups?
Friday, 11 May 2012
8th of May 2012 - MI5
Had my interview with what I suspected was MI5 after all the necessary hurdles to simply apply for the job. It wasn't MI5, it was the actual job role that they'd specified in the advertisement. Gutted. It's highly unlikely that this company will issue me with a pistol and a license to kill, I doubt they'll even give me one of the two.
Had to take a database excercise test first, as if the stringent tests thus far hadn't been enough. I wondered if I might have to dress in a spandex superhero costume and dodge missiles whilst they yelled interview questions over the sound of the blasts at me. I didn't. Perhaps if I had suggested this they would install it for the next poor soul who dared seek employment with them.
I had worried about the database exercise to the point where I was hoping I'd get the job with Penfold and Barry-A-Like before the interview so I could cancel it and save making an idiot of myself, I was out of my depth with this job, my tireless wife had submitted my CV for it and after I read what was required I found I was without not only experience but even base knowledge of most of it though I did like the look of the role itself.
Thinking I wouldn't get anywhere I ventured on with the application, since they continued throwing tasks at me I thought it'd be rude not to complete them and now I found myself driving up to their offices bursting for a wee and having forgotten to buy a bottle of water to sip during the interview, not only making me appear prepared and professional but saving my voice from devolving to that of a starving toad. Then I saw it in the distance, an oasis, a small McDonalds. Oh McDonalds your golden arches a beacon to the needy...
After eventually arriving I waited for quite a while until I was met by a member of staff carrying a laptop (I mean at the interview by the way, not at McDonalds) "what evils does that laptop hold?" I wondered, what dastardly database devilry. I can only proficiently create a database with Microsoft Access, I'm sure otherwise I could knock something together using a mix of tech common sense and experience but within a test time limit I feared I would look an absolute imbecile if I offered up some primary school child's messy drawing equivalent of a database when I'd had the audacity to survive the application process so far.
After being herded to a first aid room by laptop man (who didn't carry the air of seniority you'd expect of management more of a "team member" or guide so I was quite comfortable in his company) he explained all the meeting rooms were full so I'd have to complete the test within. it was a small room with a desk, chair and a first aid bed. Laptop man joked, "if you need a lie down, feel free" I imagined being halfway through the test and a previous applicant being dragged in, his suit blackened with scorch marks, babbling "You'll never survive this! They'll kill us all!" whilst also appreciating that laptop man had actually cracked a joke. I've seen how easily the formality of interview situations kill even the idea of attempting a quip.
I was handed a sheet, given my time limit and laptop man said the golden words "it's all in Microsoft Access". Access, it's as though Bill Gates had flown in on a cloud outside the window stuck an upturned thumb toward me and winked before zooming off to make money somewhere. I ploughed through the test, noticing the clever little trick questions "I wonder if that will trip up the other applicants" I thought, rather I hoped. I actually quite enjoyed it sad though that is.
Following the test I had my interview, I said goodbye to laptop man and asked his name which he gave and wished me the best of luck, he seemed quite genuine too, not the "all the best x" type luck you write in a card for someone you barely know.
The interview was before a panel of three the would be manager of the applicant who was either irish or scottish, I often get them mixed up if I'm not really honing in, a woman who remained largely silent, and a doctor (yes a doctor, I'm not sure what kind of doctor but he was apparently the technical expert) when "the Celt" said the doctor was the technical expert I was thankful, mainly as it meant he was neither a psychologist there to read my every body gesture and utterance or a GP/ Surgeon to stitch me up should the all out assault of the interview get out of hand. The Doctor, (not Doctor Who but the one in my interview, who to be honest thinking about it probably wouldn't have made a bad Doctor Who) had a wild mane of hair and was full of enthusiasm, he looked like someone who admired the intricate detail of things and therefore had an appreciation of life I would say like a young, over-eager Bob Geldof, "perhaps the anti-Penfold" I thought. He demonstrated this by asking question upon question which were completely irrelevant such as "where do you sit in your current job?" literally where, so he could paint a mental picture of me working. Bizarre. I played along though, once I'd described how I sat I even made a comedy gesture of myself typing on a computer at which he grinned.
I felt a lot more myself in this interview, they were interested in me as a person rather than just "have you ever been in situation where....?" (never "you lost your keys and your mobile phone" ever, shame) I got the feel that being a personality fit mattered to them rather than just ticking a few ability boxes and after the gruelling process of getting this far I was surprised they'd found a new way to be picky. It seemingly went well, I half enjoyed the interview, I'm confident in what I am able to do and in most cases that I would be able to learn if presented with the challenge something new so I was like I said "myself" and completely honest.
Talking to my wife about interviews, I get the impression she would like me to kick the interview room door off it's hinges and yell them "I have the World on a stick!" as I think she reckons I crawl shaking like a lamb into the room and shroud my head in my suit jacket popping my head out only to squeak one word answers to the questions. Problem is eventually there's a chance that work will expect me to bring in the world and I don't have it, I don't even have the stick. I just tried to be as Adamy as I could be within the constraints of a suit and an interview environment.
I really enjoyed the place and the people and I hoped beyond hope I would get the job, I asked when I would hear from them, they said that they had to interview someone late next week so it would be two weeks before I would find out, they were intrigued by the question and asked whether I had anything else on. I said I'd just had my 2nd interview with Penfold and Barry-a-like (I actually used their company's name so as not to appear like a lunatic of course, something in me thought that the Doctor might actually have preferred it if I had said something like that though).
I went to my mum's house with my wife and kids and mulled over my situation, could I afford to turn down the first job which is around the corner from my house and I'd only have to work half day on Friday though I don't think I'd enjoy it half as much as working with the Doctor who as good as said he would mould me into a databasing version of a kung-fu master, which probably isn't appealing to many but I do enjoy building a database ....and kung-fu films. Within an hour of us all discussing it my phone rang with a job offer.....
Had to take a database excercise test first, as if the stringent tests thus far hadn't been enough. I wondered if I might have to dress in a spandex superhero costume and dodge missiles whilst they yelled interview questions over the sound of the blasts at me. I didn't. Perhaps if I had suggested this they would install it for the next poor soul who dared seek employment with them.
I had worried about the database exercise to the point where I was hoping I'd get the job with Penfold and Barry-A-Like before the interview so I could cancel it and save making an idiot of myself, I was out of my depth with this job, my tireless wife had submitted my CV for it and after I read what was required I found I was without not only experience but even base knowledge of most of it though I did like the look of the role itself.
Thinking I wouldn't get anywhere I ventured on with the application, since they continued throwing tasks at me I thought it'd be rude not to complete them and now I found myself driving up to their offices bursting for a wee and having forgotten to buy a bottle of water to sip during the interview, not only making me appear prepared and professional but saving my voice from devolving to that of a starving toad. Then I saw it in the distance, an oasis, a small McDonalds. Oh McDonalds your golden arches a beacon to the needy...
After eventually arriving I waited for quite a while until I was met by a member of staff carrying a laptop (I mean at the interview by the way, not at McDonalds) "what evils does that laptop hold?" I wondered, what dastardly database devilry. I can only proficiently create a database with Microsoft Access, I'm sure otherwise I could knock something together using a mix of tech common sense and experience but within a test time limit I feared I would look an absolute imbecile if I offered up some primary school child's messy drawing equivalent of a database when I'd had the audacity to survive the application process so far.
After being herded to a first aid room by laptop man (who didn't carry the air of seniority you'd expect of management more of a "team member" or guide so I was quite comfortable in his company) he explained all the meeting rooms were full so I'd have to complete the test within. it was a small room with a desk, chair and a first aid bed. Laptop man joked, "if you need a lie down, feel free" I imagined being halfway through the test and a previous applicant being dragged in, his suit blackened with scorch marks, babbling "You'll never survive this! They'll kill us all!" whilst also appreciating that laptop man had actually cracked a joke. I've seen how easily the formality of interview situations kill even the idea of attempting a quip.
I was handed a sheet, given my time limit and laptop man said the golden words "it's all in Microsoft Access". Access, it's as though Bill Gates had flown in on a cloud outside the window stuck an upturned thumb toward me and winked before zooming off to make money somewhere. I ploughed through the test, noticing the clever little trick questions "I wonder if that will trip up the other applicants" I thought, rather I hoped. I actually quite enjoyed it sad though that is.
Following the test I had my interview, I said goodbye to laptop man and asked his name which he gave and wished me the best of luck, he seemed quite genuine too, not the "all the best x" type luck you write in a card for someone you barely know.
The interview was before a panel of three the would be manager of the applicant who was either irish or scottish, I often get them mixed up if I'm not really honing in, a woman who remained largely silent, and a doctor (yes a doctor, I'm not sure what kind of doctor but he was apparently the technical expert) when "the Celt" said the doctor was the technical expert I was thankful, mainly as it meant he was neither a psychologist there to read my every body gesture and utterance or a GP/ Surgeon to stitch me up should the all out assault of the interview get out of hand. The Doctor, (not Doctor Who but the one in my interview, who to be honest thinking about it probably wouldn't have made a bad Doctor Who) had a wild mane of hair and was full of enthusiasm, he looked like someone who admired the intricate detail of things and therefore had an appreciation of life I would say like a young, over-eager Bob Geldof, "perhaps the anti-Penfold" I thought. He demonstrated this by asking question upon question which were completely irrelevant such as "where do you sit in your current job?" literally where, so he could paint a mental picture of me working. Bizarre. I played along though, once I'd described how I sat I even made a comedy gesture of myself typing on a computer at which he grinned.
I felt a lot more myself in this interview, they were interested in me as a person rather than just "have you ever been in situation where....?" (never "you lost your keys and your mobile phone" ever, shame) I got the feel that being a personality fit mattered to them rather than just ticking a few ability boxes and after the gruelling process of getting this far I was surprised they'd found a new way to be picky. It seemingly went well, I half enjoyed the interview, I'm confident in what I am able to do and in most cases that I would be able to learn if presented with the challenge something new so I was like I said "myself" and completely honest.
Talking to my wife about interviews, I get the impression she would like me to kick the interview room door off it's hinges and yell them "I have the World on a stick!" as I think she reckons I crawl shaking like a lamb into the room and shroud my head in my suit jacket popping my head out only to squeak one word answers to the questions. Problem is eventually there's a chance that work will expect me to bring in the world and I don't have it, I don't even have the stick. I just tried to be as Adamy as I could be within the constraints of a suit and an interview environment.
I really enjoyed the place and the people and I hoped beyond hope I would get the job, I asked when I would hear from them, they said that they had to interview someone late next week so it would be two weeks before I would find out, they were intrigued by the question and asked whether I had anything else on. I said I'd just had my 2nd interview with Penfold and Barry-a-like (I actually used their company's name so as not to appear like a lunatic of course, something in me thought that the Doctor might actually have preferred it if I had said something like that though).
I went to my mum's house with my wife and kids and mulled over my situation, could I afford to turn down the first job which is around the corner from my house and I'd only have to work half day on Friday though I don't think I'd enjoy it half as much as working with the Doctor who as good as said he would mould me into a databasing version of a kung-fu master, which probably isn't appealing to many but I do enjoy building a database ....and kung-fu films. Within an hour of us all discussing it my phone rang with a job offer.....
Thursday, 3 May 2012
3rd Of May 2012 - Caught Clean Handed
Had my second interview this morning, went pretty much the way of the first one, Penfold gazing at me like I was eyeing up his only daughter and Barry-A-Like looking quietly impressed. He's enigmatic Penfold, I get the sense that you could never read what he's thinking, still don't know his real name either, maybe he just said some made up name in a purposeful manner that I couldn't understand to maintain his level of aloofness. It's hard to put your true character across in an interview, it is so formal and constrained I try to remain light hearted and laid back as I am but quips are disarmed and it feels as though you are talking to people who are viewing you through the scope of a rifle.
Penfold probably would have fired if he had a rifle, he doesn't look very happy with what life is currently offering him. I think if I do get the job I better warn everyone he looks like a man on the edge to me and not to lend him their rifle. I really don't know how it went, it's odd knowing there were two of us left vying for the job, I wonder if he needs this job more than me, we don't know each other, we don't know how good the other is, it's like two people playing a tennis final with blindfolds on, well it's not really like that at all, well I hope not, I'm rubbish at tennis.
Righty regaled me with a story that when he was leaving work yesterday afternoon the police were arriving and he asked what happened this morning, he was told a manager on our level had phoned the police because he could smell alcohol on a driver making a delivery. The person who had told Righty this story apparently chuckled as he explained that everyone else thought the alcohol smell was most likely some of that anti-bacterial hand gel that they have in the office that a few people had recently used. The police turned up, the breathalyser they had didn't work so they had to go away and return back later (by which time the driver was becoming more agitated) with a new breathalyser some two hours after the original call. He was all clear and eventually let go irate that he had been holed up and accused of drinking. The manager himself approached Righty later (whilst I was there) saying "I heard you were wondering why the police were here?" and then went on to explain how this driver was so obviously out of his tree and wreaked of booze but the two hours had allowed him to sober.
It's a funny thing perspective. I wondered whether the manager in question had potentially saved lives or whether perhaps he was an idiot. Better to be safe than sorry they say. That's why I never apologise. Much better to be safe.... In the knowledge that you are/ were right.
Penfold probably would have fired if he had a rifle, he doesn't look very happy with what life is currently offering him. I think if I do get the job I better warn everyone he looks like a man on the edge to me and not to lend him their rifle. I really don't know how it went, it's odd knowing there were two of us left vying for the job, I wonder if he needs this job more than me, we don't know each other, we don't know how good the other is, it's like two people playing a tennis final with blindfolds on, well it's not really like that at all, well I hope not, I'm rubbish at tennis.
Righty regaled me with a story that when he was leaving work yesterday afternoon the police were arriving and he asked what happened this morning, he was told a manager on our level had phoned the police because he could smell alcohol on a driver making a delivery. The person who had told Righty this story apparently chuckled as he explained that everyone else thought the alcohol smell was most likely some of that anti-bacterial hand gel that they have in the office that a few people had recently used. The police turned up, the breathalyser they had didn't work so they had to go away and return back later (by which time the driver was becoming more agitated) with a new breathalyser some two hours after the original call. He was all clear and eventually let go irate that he had been holed up and accused of drinking. The manager himself approached Righty later (whilst I was there) saying "I heard you were wondering why the police were here?" and then went on to explain how this driver was so obviously out of his tree and wreaked of booze but the two hours had allowed him to sober.
It's a funny thing perspective. I wondered whether the manager in question had potentially saved lives or whether perhaps he was an idiot. Better to be safe than sorry they say. That's why I never apologise. Much better to be safe.... In the knowledge that you are/ were right.
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
2nd of May 2012 - Slugs, they're faster than you think
In again, boss is still sick, I wonder if I could just sit in the office and do nothing but click between spreadsheets for eight hours? The only thing stopping me is my own boredom I think. When I was a child and I would say (as all children with a house full of activites and a world of opportunities available say) "I'm Bored" my dad used to say "you're not bored, you're boring" who knows, maybe my dad knows best and I should commit myself to doing nothing all day, wouldn't want to be boring.
I wonder if in a few years my children will be moping about, huffing, groaning and wailing in the hope that I will ask them "what's wrong?" so they can retort that they are "so bored", I guess they will as "kids having nothing to do" is still cited as the reason for youth crime, despite the kids of today perhaps having more to do than any other generation preceeding them. I'm not sure what it is that criminal kids wanted to do, perhaps they want to ride dolphins to the moon and since the Government or local council has not made this available they mug people? I think the general thing blamed is the "closed community centre" which the criminal youth of course would never have attended anyway.
I do so hate when the line "...because the kids have nothing to do" is rolled out, maybe I'm being too harsh, perhaps posters of my dad wagging a finger with the slogan "YOU'RE NOT BORED, YOU'RE BORING!" should adorn the innercity streets and kids would see it and think "hey, Adam's dad's right, maybe I'll pick up a football or go to the library instead of smashing a window or snatching a purse and winding up in juvenile detention".
Last night I was feeding the guinea pigs when I noticed an infestation of slugs making their way into the bottom floor of their hutch (the pigs live in the top floor, yes, they live like rockstars) I had to scoop them out into a bag and throw it in the bin (the slugs, not the guinea pigs) I'm not sure what the correct procedure for slug disposal is but it seemed a better bet than my wife's suggestion which seemingly by hand gesture appeared to be scoop them and flick them into next door's garden. It's just as well she's an interpreter and not an exterminator. She did later explain she meant flick them down our own garden. I'd have preferred next door's.
We need to get some copper or salt down, I went for the salt but we only have coarse, rock sea salt, we weren't sure if pouring that out would work and the other option of me actually working my way along the guinea pig hutch grinding the salt mill like some insanely hungry, french Wil E Coyote (Do the french eat slugs as well as snails? You'd have thought they'd be less work) wasn't really appealing to me. They're quite quick slugs, I was surprised, I'd not really paid attention to them before but they cover a distance more swiftly than you would imagine, I guess they're not hampered by carrying a shell like their snail cousins, I reckon a slug would leave a snail standing .... Or whatever a still snail is actually doing. Are they related? I mean they look the same to me, I'm finding I know very little about slugs and snails right now.
1st of May 2012 – Seconds Out, Round Two
I've been offered a second interview! I'd waited to the point where honestly I was thinking that either I was so poor in the 1st interview that they couldn't even be bothered to tell me they hated me or there had been some massacre occur there by an unstable interviewee after Penfold had given him a funny look, or a REALLY angry Villa fan who thought that perhaps Barry-A-Like looked a little too Barry like. It turns out they want me to go back in for round two though (ding ding).
I've also been offered another interview with a different company that has thus far made me jump through hoops to apply. My initial application with CV and cover letter was met with an online questionnaire, passing this I then had to complete two reasoning tests by an outsourced company online, then I had to retrieve the Holy Grail and uncover the secrets of the Philosopher's Stone. OK, I didn't have to do the last two but I would sincerely hope that when I arrive for this interview they will tell me that the job description advertised was a ruse and I will actually be operating on Her Majesty's Secret Service and issued a PP9 pistol and an agent number.
It's hard work this getting a job lark, no wonder people opt to drink cans of Stella outside the Job Centre in tracksuit bottoms, I always thought they were perennial dole dossers, now I know they are steeling themselves with Dutch courage before returning to "the front"…..That or they're perennial dole dossers.
Work's busy, my manager's off sick. Righty, Lefty and I addressed one of those "world is going to end" work issues, Righty in his usual cynical opinion reckons our manager will take the plaudits for our work as he rang to see how it was going, I say cynical, he's probably right. Our manager is one of those who will spout "think outside the box!" it's one of the things that puts me off my job. I don't like to think outside the box, I like the box, if the box didn't work then there wouldn’t be a box at all probably just a bunch of hippies working on the fly who'd wind up killing themselves with their own stupidity. I can't wait to leave. I hope it sticks and twists a hole where I have left and it all comes crashing down. I know that sounds bitter but that is because I've been as good as told that I either don't have the bottle to leave or that I have no value and they'd rather I leave .... and because I'm bitter.
I've also been offered another interview with a different company that has thus far made me jump through hoops to apply. My initial application with CV and cover letter was met with an online questionnaire, passing this I then had to complete two reasoning tests by an outsourced company online, then I had to retrieve the Holy Grail and uncover the secrets of the Philosopher's Stone. OK, I didn't have to do the last two but I would sincerely hope that when I arrive for this interview they will tell me that the job description advertised was a ruse and I will actually be operating on Her Majesty's Secret Service and issued a PP9 pistol and an agent number.
It's hard work this getting a job lark, no wonder people opt to drink cans of Stella outside the Job Centre in tracksuit bottoms, I always thought they were perennial dole dossers, now I know they are steeling themselves with Dutch courage before returning to "the front"…..That or they're perennial dole dossers.
Work's busy, my manager's off sick. Righty, Lefty and I addressed one of those "world is going to end" work issues, Righty in his usual cynical opinion reckons our manager will take the plaudits for our work as he rang to see how it was going, I say cynical, he's probably right. Our manager is one of those who will spout "think outside the box!" it's one of the things that puts me off my job. I don't like to think outside the box, I like the box, if the box didn't work then there wouldn’t be a box at all probably just a bunch of hippies working on the fly who'd wind up killing themselves with their own stupidity. I can't wait to leave. I hope it sticks and twists a hole where I have left and it all comes crashing down. I know that sounds bitter but that is because I've been as good as told that I either don't have the bottle to leave or that I have no value and they'd rather I leave .... and because I'm bitter.
Friday, 27 April 2012
26th of April 2012 - Developing the Disenchanted
Not really eventful. Had my yearly development review at work, I'm usually really anxious, desperately scrambling to ensure I've met my set objectives. This year, I literally couldn't care less. I very much doubt that my manager would have been surprised if during the discussion I drew a katana and committed Seppuku in the corner of the room (unless he is a secret samurai enthusiast in which case he may have wondered why I didn't use a tanto) such was the cloud of my discontent. There is no desire for me here, no want for development of me or the company. On the contrary, the only development I would welcome would be a bulldozer running through the place and a Lidl built on top of it. Not that I like Lidl, I wouldn't come anywhere near the place anyway, just because they're popping up everywhere and I'd rather that than a mass of rubble and destruction, on second thoughts, scrap the Lidl.
I outlined my misery, not that it matters. My manager would have got a more positive annual development review from Eeyore. Despite my saying I'm searching for other jobs he is determined to believe that I am still a happy member of the company family, hoping to drive it to it's success. His suggestions were to be a better Adam, an overly productive and pro-active Adam with all the Gung-ho action and good stuff surrounding me he would then have ammunition to fire back at the God managers and put me back to my previous hours (I wish, I thought, I had some ammunition to fire at them). The problem with this however is what manager in his right mind would move a person to different hours, find them more productive then think it would be a good idea to move them back? No, of course not I would only fuel the opinion that changing my hours was right idea, which it was not!
So I sat, giving "yes"s and "no"s in the appropriate gaps of conversation, defeated, I have long since realised that this is how it's going to be, why fight anymore? Why pretend that even if my hours were restored that I would still want to work here? They have shown their hand, I'll do my job for the money it pays, no more, no less. They will have an Adam at the rate they value him, no bargain.
On the plus side my brilliant wife had been to Pizza Hut earlier in the day and got me a mushroom and onion pizza, I don't like mushrooms but they had given her this mistakenly instead of the chicken and pepperoni pizza she had ordered for me, and on realising the mistake, for free. I'm not one to look a free, microwaved, take-out pizza with a topping I don't like in the mouth, diet be damned.
I outlined my misery, not that it matters. My manager would have got a more positive annual development review from Eeyore. Despite my saying I'm searching for other jobs he is determined to believe that I am still a happy member of the company family, hoping to drive it to it's success. His suggestions were to be a better Adam, an overly productive and pro-active Adam with all the Gung-ho action and good stuff surrounding me he would then have ammunition to fire back at the God managers and put me back to my previous hours (I wish, I thought, I had some ammunition to fire at them). The problem with this however is what manager in his right mind would move a person to different hours, find them more productive then think it would be a good idea to move them back? No, of course not I would only fuel the opinion that changing my hours was right idea, which it was not!
So I sat, giving "yes"s and "no"s in the appropriate gaps of conversation, defeated, I have long since realised that this is how it's going to be, why fight anymore? Why pretend that even if my hours were restored that I would still want to work here? They have shown their hand, I'll do my job for the money it pays, no more, no less. They will have an Adam at the rate they value him, no bargain.
On the plus side my brilliant wife had been to Pizza Hut earlier in the day and got me a mushroom and onion pizza, I don't like mushrooms but they had given her this mistakenly instead of the chicken and pepperoni pizza she had ordered for me, and on realising the mistake, for free. I'm not one to look a free, microwaved, take-out pizza with a topping I don't like in the mouth, diet be damned.
Thursday, 26 April 2012
25th of April 2012 - Breakfast Breakpoint
My morning started with a battle of wills with my oldest daughter (7) who has decided that she no longer likes toast. Doesn't. Like. Toast. Who doesn't like toast!? I bet Hitler didn't like toast, he didn't like loads of stuff, if my daughter thinks I'm going to let her go that route she's got another thing coming!
There are wheat intolorant people out there who can only dream of the luxury of toast and here my daughter shuns it. I made her eat her toast. If she carries on she'll only eat the petals of some flower that only blooms every 20 years or something. I mean I was a little fussy as a child about food but you can't turn down toast, it's a basic food group, isn't it? I don't know, I'm no dietician, all I know is that if you don't have carbs it makes you mental.
Her mum (NOT my wife) said "She's gone off bread and cereals but she will eat croissants, pancakes, waffles and brioche" That's right, her mother has allowed her to become upper class.... and french.... and Hitler!
In what world does a 7 year old little girl demand croissants over Sugar Puffs or pancakes over toast at breakfast? Not my world I tell you! Not in my name!
So after watching her eat toast at a snails pace (as her bites made all the damage of a sparrow's peck each time, underlining her obvious disgust at being forced to each such an offensive food stuff) I took two of my girls to school in the pouring rain and dashed back to get there for my wife to leave for work.
So I had my youngest daughter (2) and son (7 months) for a little while before I had to take them off to the childminder's, as I got them ready I said "can you get your trainers on please?" my daughter retrieved her trainers placed them next to me (as I was getting my son ready) and said "Daddy, it's very rainy I think I should wear my boots" I looked at her for a moment and replied "that sounds like something your mum would say, do you think she'd want you to wear boots?" she looked as me with the identical look my wife would give me if I'd been an idiot about something which prompted me to say "Yes. Get your boots on" and she skipped off gleefully to her wellies.
I think if one more person says "What happened to your hair?" at work I may just attack them like a rabid chimp. I did think at one point I'd just start chirping witty anecdotes like "lazer limbo", "I put it in the tumble dryer" or "nothing, my head has inflated" but I think next time I'll just plant my hands on my hips, throw my head back and give a Ming the Merciless type laugh in a hope the sarcasm suitably embarrasses them, everyone, it seems, is a comedian.
There are wheat intolorant people out there who can only dream of the luxury of toast and here my daughter shuns it. I made her eat her toast. If she carries on she'll only eat the petals of some flower that only blooms every 20 years or something. I mean I was a little fussy as a child about food but you can't turn down toast, it's a basic food group, isn't it? I don't know, I'm no dietician, all I know is that if you don't have carbs it makes you mental.
Her mum (NOT my wife) said "She's gone off bread and cereals but she will eat croissants, pancakes, waffles and brioche" That's right, her mother has allowed her to become upper class.... and french.... and Hitler!
In what world does a 7 year old little girl demand croissants over Sugar Puffs or pancakes over toast at breakfast? Not my world I tell you! Not in my name!
So after watching her eat toast at a snails pace (as her bites made all the damage of a sparrow's peck each time, underlining her obvious disgust at being forced to each such an offensive food stuff) I took two of my girls to school in the pouring rain and dashed back to get there for my wife to leave for work.
So I had my youngest daughter (2) and son (7 months) for a little while before I had to take them off to the childminder's, as I got them ready I said "can you get your trainers on please?" my daughter retrieved her trainers placed them next to me (as I was getting my son ready) and said "Daddy, it's very rainy I think I should wear my boots" I looked at her for a moment and replied "that sounds like something your mum would say, do you think she'd want you to wear boots?" she looked as me with the identical look my wife would give me if I'd been an idiot about something which prompted me to say "Yes. Get your boots on" and she skipped off gleefully to her wellies.
I think if one more person says "What happened to your hair?" at work I may just attack them like a rabid chimp. I did think at one point I'd just start chirping witty anecdotes like "lazer limbo", "I put it in the tumble dryer" or "nothing, my head has inflated" but I think next time I'll just plant my hands on my hips, throw my head back and give a Ming the Merciless type laugh in a hope the sarcasm suitably embarrasses them, everyone, it seems, is a comedian.
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
24th of April 2012 - Cometh the Hour...
So. I had the big interview. Woke up at the crack of dawn, gave myself a little time, I made a cup of tea (I'd run out of coffee) after an argument with myself as to whether some caffiene in my system would soothe me some or send me over the edge of a nervous chasm, in the end my mind just screamed "JUST GIVE ME THE FREAKIN' CAFFIENE!" which won. I'd done a little written prep which I'd hoped to have another good read through but the time just evaporated and I had to set off with only a single gulp of tea which in a way was a compromise, if not a waste of tea.
Got there early though not as early as I'd hoped as the site was split over two buildings across and down the road from each other, once I'd sorted this I went and sat and waiting for my executioner, well interviewer but by the rate I was sweating you could have thought either. He came down dressed in black (no hood) and I'd put him as a taller Gareth Barry, not so Barry like that I wanted to leap across the table throttling him whilst yelling "Judas! JUDAS! Look what you began!" so that was a positive for my interview performance. Barry-a-Like said he was waiting for his colleague who promptly arrived, a shortish, older, balding black man who despite wearing stylish glasses looked like Penfold from Dangermouse (He didn't say "Crumbs!" or "Ooh-Eck!" Once though. Disappointing)
Penfold said what his name was on two occasions (it wasn't Penfold), I have no idea what he said it was, it was unusual but that's as much as I could gather. I'll just have to hope and pray that I never have to address him by name and if by some miracle I do get the job avoid it's use at all costs until I see it written down or hear someone else say it with clarity, judging by me not grasping it on two attempts though I can only imagine that EVERYONE who works there avoids his name so I'll probably have to eye the ID card he was wearing.
The interview went as well it could, I bragged about what I've done, I bragged about what I can do I said how very, very much I would love to be a part of their brilliant business til my voice was so dry I was hoping Penfold or Barry-a-Like might offer me a glass of water. They didn't offer me a glass of water. In the end I'm short of a lot of what they need and I know jobs are being swamped with people with the adequate, appropriate experience and qualifications so if I'm unsuccessful I won't be too shaken, toward the end Barry-a-Like said that there is to be another round of interviews where they will be assessing whether we are relevant to the roles with questions about what we've done. "I've just bragged myself dry about what I've done!" I thought (obviously I didn't say that, I can imagine it wouldn't have been good interview etiquette).
Another interview? I feel like I'm releasing a film or something. I wonder if being told there is a second set of interviews is a positive, I mean if I wasn't going to get there why even bring them up? I didn't ask, that said Barry-a-Like (who seemed to prefer me to Penfold who seemed to be watching me with suspicion or wariness as opposed to Barry-a-Like's enthusiasm - this may have just been down to their differences in age though or completely in my imagination) could have just mentioned it as he evil like his name sake. Maybe they're related, definitely can't rule that out. So now it's just a matter of waiting.
Got there early though not as early as I'd hoped as the site was split over two buildings across and down the road from each other, once I'd sorted this I went and sat and waiting for my executioner, well interviewer but by the rate I was sweating you could have thought either. He came down dressed in black (no hood) and I'd put him as a taller Gareth Barry, not so Barry like that I wanted to leap across the table throttling him whilst yelling "Judas! JUDAS! Look what you began!" so that was a positive for my interview performance. Barry-a-Like said he was waiting for his colleague who promptly arrived, a shortish, older, balding black man who despite wearing stylish glasses looked like Penfold from Dangermouse (He didn't say "Crumbs!" or "Ooh-Eck!" Once though. Disappointing)
Penfold said what his name was on two occasions (it wasn't Penfold), I have no idea what he said it was, it was unusual but that's as much as I could gather. I'll just have to hope and pray that I never have to address him by name and if by some miracle I do get the job avoid it's use at all costs until I see it written down or hear someone else say it with clarity, judging by me not grasping it on two attempts though I can only imagine that EVERYONE who works there avoids his name so I'll probably have to eye the ID card he was wearing.
The interview went as well it could, I bragged about what I've done, I bragged about what I can do I said how very, very much I would love to be a part of their brilliant business til my voice was so dry I was hoping Penfold or Barry-a-Like might offer me a glass of water. They didn't offer me a glass of water. In the end I'm short of a lot of what they need and I know jobs are being swamped with people with the adequate, appropriate experience and qualifications so if I'm unsuccessful I won't be too shaken, toward the end Barry-a-Like said that there is to be another round of interviews where they will be assessing whether we are relevant to the roles with questions about what we've done. "I've just bragged myself dry about what I've done!" I thought (obviously I didn't say that, I can imagine it wouldn't have been good interview etiquette).
Another interview? I feel like I'm releasing a film or something. I wonder if being told there is a second set of interviews is a positive, I mean if I wasn't going to get there why even bring them up? I didn't ask, that said Barry-a-Like (who seemed to prefer me to Penfold who seemed to be watching me with suspicion or wariness as opposed to Barry-a-Like's enthusiasm - this may have just been down to their differences in age though or completely in my imagination) could have just mentioned it as he evil like his name sake. Maybe they're related, definitely can't rule that out. So now it's just a matter of waiting.
Monday, 23 April 2012
23rd of April 2012 - The Early Goldfish?
Got the big interview tomorrow, 7:30AM, still rocked by that one, hopefully this early bird will catch the salary paying worm. I'm not that hopeful though, I reckon that if they thought I was a contender they would have given me a reasonable time slot, or maybe it's a test of my commitment to employment with them, who knows. I have some of the experience and qualifications they're after, there's a whole bunch of stuff I don't have though, so it at least if I fail in my attempt it's not because my interview game stinks, well not solely down to my stinking interview game. I'll need to be the best Adam I can be, going at that time will at least mean I'll be lacking the excess energy that could feed my nerves. Got a new suit just need to write up some prep, shave and get in my zone .... Like I have a "zone".... I hate talking about myself, an odd thing to admit on a blog I grant you but can't stand the vanity and arrogance that is required.
Do businesses actually ever hire the person they interview? I suppose if they hire an out and out arrogant muppet ... So just for tomorrow I must don my Fozzie outfit "Wokka wokka wokka!".
It's St.George's day today, so I'll be celebrating that as I usually do. By doing nothing and finding out it's St.George's day on the radio in the late afternoon. It's the modern day equivalent of a street party.
Reaching a compromise on my diet, had a tiny turkey salad and a pack or Revels. I’ve come to a conclusion that if I starve myself of everything that tastes nice I will most likely gorge like Henry VIII every weekend, if I just eat well and moderate things that taste nice (a battle in itself) I am less likely to have Incredible Hulk-esque flip outs where I eat everything “good” my eyes meet and wake from a sugar coma sometime late on Sunday.
Do businesses actually ever hire the person they interview? I suppose if they hire an out and out arrogant muppet ... So just for tomorrow I must don my Fozzie outfit "Wokka wokka wokka!".
It's St.George's day today, so I'll be celebrating that as I usually do. By doing nothing and finding out it's St.George's day on the radio in the late afternoon. It's the modern day equivalent of a street party.
Reaching a compromise on my diet, had a tiny turkey salad and a pack or Revels. I’ve come to a conclusion that if I starve myself of everything that tastes nice I will most likely gorge like Henry VIII every weekend, if I just eat well and moderate things that taste nice (a battle in itself) I am less likely to have Incredible Hulk-esque flip outs where I eat everything “good” my eyes meet and wake from a sugar coma sometime late on Sunday.
21st/22nd of April 2012 - The First Cut is the Deepest and Psychological Carbo Loading
Had my haircut, this may not seem worth a mention but when you have a 2ft afro people notice. I must neaten up, have an interview at 7:30 on Tuesday (YES 7:30AM!). There's a new barber/ hairdressers opened around the corner from my house, I did have the fear that on entry with the question "Do you do afro hair?" whilst pointing at my voluptuous barnet the barbers would douse themselves with shaving alcohol or hairspray, set themselves alight and throw their burning bodies out through the front window (all whilst screaming with panic). When the barber simply replied "sure, what do you want to do with it?" I must've stood stunned and a truth be told a little disappointed for a good minute.
As a general rule I don't like barbers, they seem to have their own agenda, I say "this short" they go 2 inches shorter as though they get paid by the lb, so a trim becomes a full-on cut or a cut becomes a scalp. Most of the time I expect them to bat their mouths whilst yelling a native american war cry after they tell me what I owe them, I suppose the only thing that stops them doing that is that it would most likely stop you tipping them, and tip them you should because God knows they did more than you asked for.
This barber wasn't like that though, he actually listened to what I said, I couldn't believe it. I think I'll make him my barber wife or whatever you call the person you choose to cut your hair indefinitely. (Mental Note: I must be careful not to refer to him as my barber wife in any casual small talk we have as he cuts my hair, this may ruin the "relationship" and my hair)
SMASH!!!
That is the sound or rather the onomatopoeia of my diet going out the metaphorical window, well through it, like the imagined burning barbers. I wholeheartedly blame my wife who asked whether I could pick up some McDonald's for the kids. It was the same as sending a trembling, recovering alcoholic to the off licence to pick a drink up for them (a soft drink of course). I mean in fairness she did say she could have gone, but the damage was done, the psychological, diet murdering damage.
It wasn't a complete relapse, I did only have a chicken nugget happy meal .... (*whispering* with a double cheeseburger) .... It was more a "happy with a touch of guilt" meal, that said the happiness far outweighed the guilt, it didn't even have "guilt" written on the box.
I love McDonalds, to be honest I don't even know if I like the taste of the food, not because I hoover it like a starving dog (but I also DO do that) but I recall a business studies lesson I had many years ago which outlined the mental re-conditioning put upon you by companies of their like.
It goes that as a child McDonald's is generally considered a treat or reward so you hold it in good favour already, on top of that you get a toy with your meal, another reward simply for eating food that you like, not even factoring in that there's a good chance you will go to or even have your own party there at some point which will most likely harbour good memories of having fun playing with friends. That feeling doesn't leave you as an adult, so you find adults having McDonalds as they feel they "deserve" it or even feeling good or with the "warmth of their youth" eating them.
It's all very clever, genius in fact, it's there in the name "Happy" meal what other food tells you the emotion you should feel as you eat it? (Heinz are missing a trick with "You're feeling a bit better, Tomato Soup" though it's probably not quite as snappy)
It's so subtle and effective, I mean you would probably say something if every time you went to McDonalds your children were abducted by psychiatrists dressed as Ronald McDonald, the Hamburgalar and Grimace (The big purple thing, who you don't see any more, maybe they got rid as he looks like he's encouraging obesity ... and purpleness?) and were exposed to brainwashing propaganda videos with their eyes taped open. Yet the same thing is happening. Well obviously not exactly the same but the end results are similar, without the fear of clowns, burger thieves and overweight purple people you'd no doubt develop.
Anyway after the McDonalds the weekend descended into what can only be described as "take-out debauchery", but now I have clambered, greasy and satiated back on to the wagon.
Went to the football match, Villa v Sunderland, I expected McLeish to go for a draw, we drew, so he'll be happy, maybe he did lots of drawing as a child, I'm sure his work with a pencil is much better than that of a football manager, it wouldn't take more than a stickman to achieve this unfortunately. On the plus side a few fans behind me commented that with my new haircut I now "resemble a respectable member of society" they certainly know how to charm a fellow down at Villa Park, good work barber wife.
As a general rule I don't like barbers, they seem to have their own agenda, I say "this short" they go 2 inches shorter as though they get paid by the lb, so a trim becomes a full-on cut or a cut becomes a scalp. Most of the time I expect them to bat their mouths whilst yelling a native american war cry after they tell me what I owe them, I suppose the only thing that stops them doing that is that it would most likely stop you tipping them, and tip them you should because God knows they did more than you asked for.
This barber wasn't like that though, he actually listened to what I said, I couldn't believe it. I think I'll make him my barber wife or whatever you call the person you choose to cut your hair indefinitely. (Mental Note: I must be careful not to refer to him as my barber wife in any casual small talk we have as he cuts my hair, this may ruin the "relationship" and my hair)
SMASH!!!
That is the sound or rather the onomatopoeia of my diet going out the metaphorical window, well through it, like the imagined burning barbers. I wholeheartedly blame my wife who asked whether I could pick up some McDonald's for the kids. It was the same as sending a trembling, recovering alcoholic to the off licence to pick a drink up for them (a soft drink of course). I mean in fairness she did say she could have gone, but the damage was done, the psychological, diet murdering damage.
It wasn't a complete relapse, I did only have a chicken nugget happy meal .... (*whispering* with a double cheeseburger) .... It was more a "happy with a touch of guilt" meal, that said the happiness far outweighed the guilt, it didn't even have "guilt" written on the box.
I love McDonalds, to be honest I don't even know if I like the taste of the food, not because I hoover it like a starving dog (but I also DO do that) but I recall a business studies lesson I had many years ago which outlined the mental re-conditioning put upon you by companies of their like.
It goes that as a child McDonald's is generally considered a treat or reward so you hold it in good favour already, on top of that you get a toy with your meal, another reward simply for eating food that you like, not even factoring in that there's a good chance you will go to or even have your own party there at some point which will most likely harbour good memories of having fun playing with friends. That feeling doesn't leave you as an adult, so you find adults having McDonalds as they feel they "deserve" it or even feeling good or with the "warmth of their youth" eating them.
It's all very clever, genius in fact, it's there in the name "Happy" meal what other food tells you the emotion you should feel as you eat it? (Heinz are missing a trick with "You're feeling a bit better, Tomato Soup" though it's probably not quite as snappy)
It's so subtle and effective, I mean you would probably say something if every time you went to McDonalds your children were abducted by psychiatrists dressed as Ronald McDonald, the Hamburgalar and Grimace (The big purple thing, who you don't see any more, maybe they got rid as he looks like he's encouraging obesity ... and purpleness?) and were exposed to brainwashing propaganda videos with their eyes taped open. Yet the same thing is happening. Well obviously not exactly the same but the end results are similar, without the fear of clowns, burger thieves and overweight purple people you'd no doubt develop.
Anyway after the McDonalds the weekend descended into what can only be described as "take-out debauchery", but now I have clambered, greasy and satiated back on to the wagon.
Went to the football match, Villa v Sunderland, I expected McLeish to go for a draw, we drew, so he'll be happy, maybe he did lots of drawing as a child, I'm sure his work with a pencil is much better than that of a football manager, it wouldn't take more than a stickman to achieve this unfortunately. On the plus side a few fans behind me commented that with my new haircut I now "resemble a respectable member of society" they certainly know how to charm a fellow down at Villa Park, good work barber wife.
Friday, 20 April 2012
20th of April 2012 - Lionbarholics Anonymous
Still no carbs.
It's only day two, when people talk to me they take on the shape of the pasta which best fits their bodyshape but with mouths, like in an old Tom & Jerry cartoon. A bit of fusilli just asked me whether I can get a report done for the afternoon, no problem my twisted friend.
I should be able to break the addiction though, should be easy enough. I liken my "addictions" to firework rockets, I'm not a very good addict, I tend to get intensely obsessed with things like a series of books, PS3 games or, in the past, exercise where I have to do and know everything about the subject of my obsession but then as suddenly as the interest came on it wanes and something else has me hooked. An excellent example is that I've only ever "100% completed" one console game (and true to my "fireworks" I've had hundreds), "Harry Potter years 1-4" and I did this whilst I was reading the books and watching the films.
Similar in music, I don't have a favourite artist per se, no one person or band could possibly hold my interest for long enough to call me a fan so I'm left with an eclectic if not extreme mix of interests I chuckled to myself the other day as I listened to an old MP3 player (I had dug out of the recess of my PC draw) whilst I drove to work as it played alphabetically from UK Grime artist J.M.E to Kajagoogoo's "Too shy" from urban street to camp New Wave 80's .....
All of a sudden my thoughts have just been pulled to the idea of a Lion bar, they're dancing in my mind. I'd kill a lion for a lion bar right now, well I'd try, I doubt I'd have the energy as I've had no carbs.
Not to worry though I have chicken slices and a cherry muller light for lunch, who needs the sweet taste of Lion (the chocolate, not the animal, though lion meat would most likely be permitted on my diet unlike it's chocolate ,nobbly, bar-shaped namesake).
Added to my lunch, a small tub of lettuce, red onion, cucumber and a hard boiled egg, these are all diet legal, I wonder if I could eat the plastic tub that holds them? Probably not.
After sprinkling the chicken slices on the salad I sat to eat to the chimes of "what's that?" and "I didn't think men went on diets?" looking down at the meal I thought perhaps I'm not a man, perhaps I am a part goat person like Mr.Tumnus in the Chronicles of Narnia though after I finish my paltry meal it's highly unlikely I'll do a goat-man dance and play a merry tune on the flute, what I did do was pine at the lion bars sat in the confectionary section of the canteen.
It's only day two, when people talk to me they take on the shape of the pasta which best fits their bodyshape but with mouths, like in an old Tom & Jerry cartoon. A bit of fusilli just asked me whether I can get a report done for the afternoon, no problem my twisted friend.
I should be able to break the addiction though, should be easy enough. I liken my "addictions" to firework rockets, I'm not a very good addict, I tend to get intensely obsessed with things like a series of books, PS3 games or, in the past, exercise where I have to do and know everything about the subject of my obsession but then as suddenly as the interest came on it wanes and something else has me hooked. An excellent example is that I've only ever "100% completed" one console game (and true to my "fireworks" I've had hundreds), "Harry Potter years 1-4" and I did this whilst I was reading the books and watching the films.
Similar in music, I don't have a favourite artist per se, no one person or band could possibly hold my interest for long enough to call me a fan so I'm left with an eclectic if not extreme mix of interests I chuckled to myself the other day as I listened to an old MP3 player (I had dug out of the recess of my PC draw) whilst I drove to work as it played alphabetically from UK Grime artist J.M.E to Kajagoogoo's "Too shy" from urban street to camp New Wave 80's .....
All of a sudden my thoughts have just been pulled to the idea of a Lion bar, they're dancing in my mind. I'd kill a lion for a lion bar right now, well I'd try, I doubt I'd have the energy as I've had no carbs.
Not to worry though I have chicken slices and a cherry muller light for lunch, who needs the sweet taste of Lion (the chocolate, not the animal, though lion meat would most likely be permitted on my diet unlike it's chocolate ,nobbly, bar-shaped namesake).
Added to my lunch, a small tub of lettuce, red onion, cucumber and a hard boiled egg, these are all diet legal, I wonder if I could eat the plastic tub that holds them? Probably not.
After sprinkling the chicken slices on the salad I sat to eat to the chimes of "what's that?" and "I didn't think men went on diets?" looking down at the meal I thought perhaps I'm not a man, perhaps I am a part goat person like Mr.Tumnus in the Chronicles of Narnia though after I finish my paltry meal it's highly unlikely I'll do a goat-man dance and play a merry tune on the flute, what I did do was pine at the lion bars sat in the confectionary section of the canteen.
Thursday, 19 April 2012
19th of April 2012 - The Hunger Games
I am wandering through a decimated, post-apocalyptic wasteland, fighting for survival.
This land is my kitchen, that's right, my wife and I have agreed to a suicide pact, more conventionally known as a "diet".
This one is popular with her friends on Facebook apparently and has been getting all the usual rave reviews "You know so and so did it? She lost 15 stone in a week! She was only 13 stone to begin with!". I can't help but feel I'm missing a trick not going into the diet business, I could charge big fees and send hand written cards simply reading "Contract the Ebola Virus!" or "Lop off a Limb!" I bet that's not even illegal I mean obviously I wouldn't actually send the Ebola Virus or hacksaws in a jiffy bag, postage prices are ridiculous nowadays.
Anyway, my wife and I are at "Stage One" we can't eat carbs. No carbs!? I assume Stage Three is rigor mortis, I wonder how long it will be before I am reduced to some kind of carb zombie "Caaaaaaaarbs! Caaaaaaaarrbs!" with my wife pulling me away from chewing raw potatoes in the supermarket.
It hasn't always been like this, growing up I'd always been tall and skinny. I know to see me now, a life-sized Mr.Greedy (but wearing clothes - usually), you wouldn't believe it but I used to wish I could put on some weight. My wishes have become reality but not in the Disney way, in the evil, Eastenders way.
My body had led me to believe that my waistline was invincible, that a few crunches here and there and I could fill my face with McDonald's and cakes to my heart's content (well, not my heart's content obviously, I'm sure my heart would much prefer I steer clear of clogging it up with sweet, delicious fat), as time wore on I even started regularly working out, eating healthy, reading men's health mags and generally getting a bit buff. Then I met my lovely wife and my metabolism met it's nemesis. Happiness. The combination of laziness and being content with life has degraded me from a lean machine to a P reg., clapped out people carrier.
At work I'm sat at a desk split into a quadrant, four people facing the middle, directly opposite me is a large colour printer, it doesn't talk much, to my left is a level-headed, nice bloke, the type you'd expect would ask a stranger if his car needed a push if he saw them struggling. On my right is harsher, brash bloke. I generally wouldn't abide such a character but he is competent and I've found that is a surprisingly rare commodity so I can respect that. "Lefty" just offered me a McVities chocolate biscuit to go with my coffee (black with one sugar for diet purposes) I declined, unknown to him my simple "no, thanks" was the result of a near cataclysmic internal battle:
Little Devil Adam: Are you insane!? It's not JUST a chocolate biscuit, it's McVities!
Little Angel Adam: I'm pretty sure that's carbs and even if not....
Little Devil Adam: Carbs shmarbs! Get dipping, warm, wet biscuit, melted chocolatey goodness....
*Little Angel Adam knocks out Little Devil Adam with a sledgehammer and gives me a threatening look as his shoulders heave up and down with the ragged breath of effort*
I wonder if when he twisted the packet closed Lefty noticed the flash of pain and longing behind my eyes, this is definitely what it feels like when doves cry, well, when they're hungry anyway.
This land is my kitchen, that's right, my wife and I have agreed to a suicide pact, more conventionally known as a "diet".
This one is popular with her friends on Facebook apparently and has been getting all the usual rave reviews "You know so and so did it? She lost 15 stone in a week! She was only 13 stone to begin with!". I can't help but feel I'm missing a trick not going into the diet business, I could charge big fees and send hand written cards simply reading "Contract the Ebola Virus!" or "Lop off a Limb!" I bet that's not even illegal I mean obviously I wouldn't actually send the Ebola Virus or hacksaws in a jiffy bag, postage prices are ridiculous nowadays.
Anyway, my wife and I are at "Stage One" we can't eat carbs. No carbs!? I assume Stage Three is rigor mortis, I wonder how long it will be before I am reduced to some kind of carb zombie "Caaaaaaaarbs! Caaaaaaaarrbs!" with my wife pulling me away from chewing raw potatoes in the supermarket.
It hasn't always been like this, growing up I'd always been tall and skinny. I know to see me now, a life-sized Mr.Greedy (but wearing clothes - usually), you wouldn't believe it but I used to wish I could put on some weight. My wishes have become reality but not in the Disney way, in the evil, Eastenders way.
My body had led me to believe that my waistline was invincible, that a few crunches here and there and I could fill my face with McDonald's and cakes to my heart's content (well, not my heart's content obviously, I'm sure my heart would much prefer I steer clear of clogging it up with sweet, delicious fat), as time wore on I even started regularly working out, eating healthy, reading men's health mags and generally getting a bit buff. Then I met my lovely wife and my metabolism met it's nemesis. Happiness. The combination of laziness and being content with life has degraded me from a lean machine to a P reg., clapped out people carrier.
At work I'm sat at a desk split into a quadrant, four people facing the middle, directly opposite me is a large colour printer, it doesn't talk much, to my left is a level-headed, nice bloke, the type you'd expect would ask a stranger if his car needed a push if he saw them struggling. On my right is harsher, brash bloke. I generally wouldn't abide such a character but he is competent and I've found that is a surprisingly rare commodity so I can respect that. "Lefty" just offered me a McVities chocolate biscuit to go with my coffee (black with one sugar for diet purposes) I declined, unknown to him my simple "no, thanks" was the result of a near cataclysmic internal battle:
Little Devil Adam: Are you insane!? It's not JUST a chocolate biscuit, it's McVities!
Little Angel Adam: I'm pretty sure that's carbs and even if not....
Little Devil Adam: Carbs shmarbs! Get dipping, warm, wet biscuit, melted chocolatey goodness....
*Little Angel Adam knocks out Little Devil Adam with a sledgehammer and gives me a threatening look as his shoulders heave up and down with the ragged breath of effort*
I wonder if when he twisted the packet closed Lefty noticed the flash of pain and longing behind my eyes, this is definitely what it feels like when doves cry, well, when they're hungry anyway.
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
18th April 2012 - Gizza Job
Been looking for a new job for a few weeks, I do have a job, I've had a job with a company for 8 years. Actually I've had a job since I was old enough to drag a ten megaton bag of the free press* up and down the wealthier side of my area whilst listening to my dad's old tape cassette single of MC Hammer's "Yo!! Sweetness" on repeat on a beat up white (with black tape in critical places) portable cassette player. I'd call it a "walkman" but to do so would offend Sony so greatly I'd probably have a lawsuit on my hands. If I remember rightly the player used to be my dad's and he'd got a better one, that probably wasn't difficult. There were some plus sides to it though, it had a radio on it so should the incessant yells of "Yo Sweetness! Is my weakness!" (radio edit and boilerhouse remix) grow tiresome or the cramping in my legs was so great I couldn't do "the running man" if I tried I could listen to perhaps a fuzzy version of the news or some sport and it was made before (or in spite of) companies deciding that they should probably limit the volume as deafened listeners/ customers will have no need for the next model.
Honestly I would crank it up to a point where it could have been any song in the world playing and it sounded like King Kong roaring at you and clapping you about the head on both sides in time to what might possibly have been music. Did the job though, took my mind off the sore, ink blackened fingers from posting papers through snapping letterboxes, the fact that I was sweating whilst it wasn't particularly warm and drowned out the angry dogs who it would seem weren't over keen on the free press, can't see why, it's free after all.
A good many years on though I'm not looking for a paper round, I'm spreading my wings and looking for something better suited to the skill sets I've developed (hark at me) and because my employers are self-important gits with no respect for my welfare and who have gravely misjudged my ability and contribution, not that I'm bitter of course.
I have a 42 mile round trip to work and "for business reasons" which haven't really been disclosed to me (because I know full well that the "reason" is merely the request of some almighty "God-Manager") my hours have been changed from 8-4 to 12-8, with the hour it takes me to get in and out of work I will rarely see my kids (particularly the 2 at school) and barely see my wife. After raising this issue the conversation went: (through the medium of my line manager of course, should a God-Manager himself speak to me I would surely be reduced to ash and dust in the wind!)
Me: But I won't see my family
Line Manager: Make a counter-proposal they (the God-Managers on high) may come around.
##I write an A4 sheet on why these hours don't make sense from a business standpoint and will be so detrimental to my family, particularly my wife who will in effect become a single mother of three and how I'll be forced to leave should the hours be put in place##
Line Manager: ....The role hours stand.
Me: So what happens if I refuse to work those hours?
Line Manager: That's where the role is going.
Me: Then I'll be actively seeking alternative employment.
Line Manager: OK.
"OK". After working for a supposedly "family friendly" company for 8 years, this particular contract for 5, I'm probably the only person on site who can do anything with a computer beyond make a colourful table and my potential departure is dismissed with "See ya!" I guess unemployment being what it is who am I but an easily replaced goldfish? Flush me, get the kids a new one, they'll never even know.
It's most annoying as I feel almost scoffed at by the God-Managers, to spend time with family is obviously a sacrifice they made some time ago, to work all the hours sent a week for exorbitant wages and flash company cars, I'd much rather ask my kids about their day, put them to bed and them know who I am than how much I can buy them and why their house is so big.
It's not the end of the world though, I'm relatively young, confident in my own ability and truth be told I'd outgrown my current role some time ago, I was just a mix of loyal, comfortable and lazy. Now I've been forced to do something I should already have been doing.
My fantastic wife has been the driving force, she's all over my CV urging me to say I'm Champion of the World, Master of the Universe, slayer of the wicked, defender of the weak..... I personally would have gone for the brutally honest route "I have a degree with computamajigs and can do stuff with big numbers well" but apparently her way is what everyone does. She seems to know best, I've not gone for a job for years, for all I know nowadays applicants must fight to the death gladiator style (in suit and tie of course) and there are so many applicants for every job she's put me in for this recruitment process would probably be more popular than you would think (it would also cut unemployment figures if the Government is reading this)
After a few knockback e-mails saying "if you don't hear anything from us, we don't want you" and then e-mails saying "yeah, we don't want you. We will keep your CV though just in case someone in HR decides to write a fictional novel and is short of random character names" my confidence buckled. We'd discussed other opportunities, me starting a business idea I'd thought of, but even in desperation I don't know if I'm brave enough to do that, or me being a stay at home dad, it'd be great to have all that time with the kids, but I've worked all my life, my dad has always worked, even when his health meant he couldn't do what he'd done since he could work he looked for another job. A friend said that his dad says "It's always easier to get a job when you're in a job" when I told him of my predicament, Ironically his dad helped get me a job opening boxes when I was 16 (when I'd hung up my dayglo, free press bag).
Since then I've had a couple of call backs and I'm being penned in for an interview with a big company with a local plant soon. So this goldfish needs a haircut and new suit, a considerably larger suit than the one I wore to my last interview.... and perhaps a sword and shield?
*Ironically I never received the free press myself.
Honestly I would crank it up to a point where it could have been any song in the world playing and it sounded like King Kong roaring at you and clapping you about the head on both sides in time to what might possibly have been music. Did the job though, took my mind off the sore, ink blackened fingers from posting papers through snapping letterboxes, the fact that I was sweating whilst it wasn't particularly warm and drowned out the angry dogs who it would seem weren't over keen on the free press, can't see why, it's free after all.
A good many years on though I'm not looking for a paper round, I'm spreading my wings and looking for something better suited to the skill sets I've developed (hark at me) and because my employers are self-important gits with no respect for my welfare and who have gravely misjudged my ability and contribution, not that I'm bitter of course.
I have a 42 mile round trip to work and "for business reasons" which haven't really been disclosed to me (because I know full well that the "reason" is merely the request of some almighty "God-Manager") my hours have been changed from 8-4 to 12-8, with the hour it takes me to get in and out of work I will rarely see my kids (particularly the 2 at school) and barely see my wife. After raising this issue the conversation went: (through the medium of my line manager of course, should a God-Manager himself speak to me I would surely be reduced to ash and dust in the wind!)
Me: But I won't see my family
Line Manager: Make a counter-proposal they (the God-Managers on high) may come around.
##I write an A4 sheet on why these hours don't make sense from a business standpoint and will be so detrimental to my family, particularly my wife who will in effect become a single mother of three and how I'll be forced to leave should the hours be put in place##
Line Manager: ....The role hours stand.
Me: So what happens if I refuse to work those hours?
Line Manager: That's where the role is going.
Me: Then I'll be actively seeking alternative employment.
Line Manager: OK.
"OK". After working for a supposedly "family friendly" company for 8 years, this particular contract for 5, I'm probably the only person on site who can do anything with a computer beyond make a colourful table and my potential departure is dismissed with "See ya!" I guess unemployment being what it is who am I but an easily replaced goldfish? Flush me, get the kids a new one, they'll never even know.
It's most annoying as I feel almost scoffed at by the God-Managers, to spend time with family is obviously a sacrifice they made some time ago, to work all the hours sent a week for exorbitant wages and flash company cars, I'd much rather ask my kids about their day, put them to bed and them know who I am than how much I can buy them and why their house is so big.
It's not the end of the world though, I'm relatively young, confident in my own ability and truth be told I'd outgrown my current role some time ago, I was just a mix of loyal, comfortable and lazy. Now I've been forced to do something I should already have been doing.
My fantastic wife has been the driving force, she's all over my CV urging me to say I'm Champion of the World, Master of the Universe, slayer of the wicked, defender of the weak..... I personally would have gone for the brutally honest route "I have a degree with computamajigs and can do stuff with big numbers well" but apparently her way is what everyone does. She seems to know best, I've not gone for a job for years, for all I know nowadays applicants must fight to the death gladiator style (in suit and tie of course) and there are so many applicants for every job she's put me in for this recruitment process would probably be more popular than you would think (it would also cut unemployment figures if the Government is reading this)
After a few knockback e-mails saying "if you don't hear anything from us, we don't want you" and then e-mails saying "yeah, we don't want you. We will keep your CV though just in case someone in HR decides to write a fictional novel and is short of random character names" my confidence buckled. We'd discussed other opportunities, me starting a business idea I'd thought of, but even in desperation I don't know if I'm brave enough to do that, or me being a stay at home dad, it'd be great to have all that time with the kids, but I've worked all my life, my dad has always worked, even when his health meant he couldn't do what he'd done since he could work he looked for another job. A friend said that his dad says "It's always easier to get a job when you're in a job" when I told him of my predicament, Ironically his dad helped get me a job opening boxes when I was 16 (when I'd hung up my dayglo, free press bag).
Since then I've had a couple of call backs and I'm being penned in for an interview with a big company with a local plant soon. So this goldfish needs a haircut and new suit, a considerably larger suit than the one I wore to my last interview.... and perhaps a sword and shield?
*Ironically I never received the free press myself.
14th/15th April 2012 - Horses for Courses?
It was Grand National weekend, I've never really followed horse racing in any kind of way, though I know it is regarded as "the sport of kings" I more widely associate it with old men falling out of bookies wearing grubby, grey, diamond patterned jumpers (regardless of the time of year) and carrying cans of extra strong lager (regardless of the time of day) They don't appear to be of royal lineage. That probably says more about where I'm from than horse racing as a sport but it's been a sufficient deterrent for my interest.
The Grand National seems to be some portal however where everyone, prince to pauper, should be involved. This is made no more clear than it dominating BBC's Saturday TV schedule and one of my senior managers shaking a plastic jar at me and charging me £2 to pull out the name of a horse that for all I know he's completely made up (mental note: Try that myself next year). If I had a horse I'd call it "John" or "Rob" or something, just a normal bloke's name, even if it was a mare, no, ESPECIALLY if it was a mare, none of this "Purple Blunderbuss III" nonsense.
As I watched it (and I think it was the first time I ever had), my oldest daughter (7) after a few fences and tumbles and horses aimlessly continuing the race with no riders said "this is cruel" which I thought was quite an emotive comment from her. I know in some circles this is regarded as the case, that horse racing is cruel. I saw a horse that we had taken a shine to "Synchronised" had died after fracturing his legs in the race (before hand he had somehow evaded his rider and was freely running around until caught and calmed for the race which the family found entertaining) I see they argue that it's not cruel as horses love running and jumping. That's a rubbish argument, I love playing my PS3, would I love it so much if I was forced to play a particular game whilst ridden and whipped by a small man in a gaudy coloured jacket as other blokes also ridden by little men jumped over the back of my sofa, sometimes landing on me wearing metal shoes? I can imagine not so much. Another argument was that horses jump and break their legs outside of racing. An argument I'll remember should I ever find my self defending a murder rap. "your honour, he would have died at some point anyway if I hadn't done it so I bid for immediate release.”
It wasn't all doom and gloom as we rolled into Sunday and I prepared to watch my beloved Aston Villa on my laptop. No wait it WAS all doom and gloom as they slumped to another defeat by the end of which I had already stopped watching to clean out my daughters' guinea pigs, it's time to start questioning the team when guinea pig droppings are deemed respite from the match and when you consider watching your team on a foreign stream akin to watching your best mate tortured to death on a terrorist network, really awful.
This all said I must remain resolute as I have children to indoctrinate/ brainwash to the cause. My four year old daughter came to a match this season (We lost, 4-2 to Chelsea) but she really enjoyed it, it took the sting out of defeat as I marched back to the car with her on my shoulders still proudly clutching her new pink Villa scarf and waving a rather large Aston Villa flag. Even the grumbling fellow home fans smiled as they saw her steadfast support and refusal to let simple things like being pathetic and losing dent her spirit. It didn't take the sting out of my shoulders, back and legs however, holding her up to see for the whole match and parking so far away were errors with retrospect.
Friday, 13 April 2012
13th April 2012 - Sorry You're Leaving
Had a "Sorry you're leaving" card shoved under my nose by a morale Nazi this morning, don't really know the person leaving so I'm not particularly "sorry" but under the threat of an over enthusiastic smile and ball point pen I opened it.
The usual "good luck"s and the odd in-joke, you know the sort, "next time use the cat-flap! LOL!" or whatever.
I toy with the idea of writing "I don't know who you are but if your leaving is detrimental to my work load at all then I am indeed sorry - Adam x" I didn't write that, I thought that it would take up an excessive amount of space considering I didn't know them.
The alternative of course was to draw on the least used of the constantly recycled "wishes" I went with "all the best - Adam" no kiss, don't want her to get the wrong idea do I.
All the best, I'm sure she'll shed a tear over that one. Do I actually wish her all the best? I mean call me selfish but I'd much prefer "the best" for myself and people I actually know.
Oh well, too late now, I've written it and it was in ball point pen, I'd have to scribble it out and that would seem callous, would tipp-ex be callous? No forget it, then I'd have to think of something else to write and I've already invested too much into this stranger's card.
I've handed the card back and I'm left thinking if her life is filled with "all the best" what is left for the rest of us? If it is she had better find me out and thank me, she owes me big time.
The usual "good luck"s and the odd in-joke, you know the sort, "next time use the cat-flap! LOL!" or whatever.
I toy with the idea of writing "I don't know who you are but if your leaving is detrimental to my work load at all then I am indeed sorry - Adam x" I didn't write that, I thought that it would take up an excessive amount of space considering I didn't know them.
The alternative of course was to draw on the least used of the constantly recycled "wishes" I went with "all the best - Adam" no kiss, don't want her to get the wrong idea do I.
All the best, I'm sure she'll shed a tear over that one. Do I actually wish her all the best? I mean call me selfish but I'd much prefer "the best" for myself and people I actually know.
Oh well, too late now, I've written it and it was in ball point pen, I'd have to scribble it out and that would seem callous, would tipp-ex be callous? No forget it, then I'd have to think of something else to write and I've already invested too much into this stranger's card.
I've handed the card back and I'm left thinking if her life is filled with "all the best" what is left for the rest of us? If it is she had better find me out and thank me, she owes me big time.
Thursday, 12 April 2012
12th April 2012 - Charlie's Angels
Took the kids to the childminder on the way to work today. My lovely wife had already dressed the little scamps, I was left with the task of fashioning their hair into styles accepted by the outside world.
Probably not even a task for most, women especially it seems. So as I stared at the brush, the spray and two of my daughters I couldn't help but pity them as I pulled from one of only two styles I'm capable of achieving.
These are either a single pony tail which screams "I have no mother!!!" or some 70's style Charlie's Angel- esque do. I don't know why but as I pull the brush through their hair it seemingly inflates, I can only hope for their sake the 70's are in as when I offered to put a bobble in the hair of the older (4) of the two girls she said "no!" as though I'd asked if she wanted me to throw her off a cliff, she obviously wants to appear as though she has a mother even if this mother obviously has an affinity for 1970's Americana.
My 6 month old son on the other hand was no problem, in 2 minutes I had given him a "comb over" which gave me pause to remark "you'll be beating off the girl babies with a stick son, yes you will!" he smiled as I thought he probably will, since he's yet to walk or crawl and pulling hair and striking people seem to be his favoured form of communication.
Probably not even a task for most, women especially it seems. So as I stared at the brush, the spray and two of my daughters I couldn't help but pity them as I pulled from one of only two styles I'm capable of achieving.
These are either a single pony tail which screams "I have no mother!!!" or some 70's style Charlie's Angel- esque do. I don't know why but as I pull the brush through their hair it seemingly inflates, I can only hope for their sake the 70's are in as when I offered to put a bobble in the hair of the older (4) of the two girls she said "no!" as though I'd asked if she wanted me to throw her off a cliff, she obviously wants to appear as though she has a mother even if this mother obviously has an affinity for 1970's Americana.
My 6 month old son on the other hand was no problem, in 2 minutes I had given him a "comb over" which gave me pause to remark "you'll be beating off the girl babies with a stick son, yes you will!" he smiled as I thought he probably will, since he's yet to walk or crawl and pulling hair and striking people seem to be his favoured form of communication.
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