On Saturday morning, I spent a freezing four hours on Brighton seafront (sorry, Hove (actually) Lawns). I'd been alerted a week or so earlier to an ad on Gumtree for people to get involved in something very secret - the ad revealed that it was something to do with Earth350, the giant art side of climate change awareness group 350. I replied to the ad and received a very mysterious reply thanking me for volunteering to help co-ordinate the group! Had I? Well, apparently I had. It gave me a time and location and two very strict instructions - 1) Wear all black and 2) DO NOT REVEAL THE LOCATION PUBLICLY!
The general idea was that 1800 people were to make up the outline of King Canute attempting to hold back the sea, and the image was to be photographed from a plane. The clear (?) deep meaning was the futility of trying to control nature. The image itself had been designed by Thom Yorke of Radiohead (no, I wouldn't have known who he was either).
So like a pair of secret squirrels, Dade (one of the official photographers) and I headed for the seafront on Saturday morning. I peeled off at the Peace Statue to meet the other volunteers - as usual a random bunch of both locals and "outsiders". We were given a briefing which, to be honest, didn't tell us much other than the very Bond-esque use of codewords over the radio for emergencies, punch-ups (!) and lost children. We were then shepherded up to the main area and given very fetching blue ponchos for later, and hi-vis vests for now. For one horrible moment, I was reminded of being back at Gatwick on the airfield but the feeling passed quickly and fairly painlessly.
We finally found out that basically we were there to try to control the 1800-odd volunteers and interested passing public, directing the volunteers to where they needed to go to be assigned a space in the picture, explaining to the public what was happening, giving them the website address, telling them that there were enough volunteers thanks, and ensuring no-one from the press talked to anyone they shouldn't!
Suitably attired in our lovely stewards' hi-vis vests, we trailed after the co-ordinator, being deposited one at a time as a kind of human circumference marker. Some of the stewards were placed a disappointingly long way away from the action - I came very close to being one of them but successfully stared at my feet and shuffled about for long enough for someone else to be picked on. A very friendly music student and I were finally placed right by the edge of the picture. All this by about 10.45am, with the public participants not due to arrive until 11.30am and the actual photo not being taken until around 1pm!
The top temperature for the day was forecast to be around +2 with a chance of snow - brrrrrrr. My 2 layers, coat, scarf, fingerless gloves, one pair of socks and furry-lined boots quickly proved themselves inadequate (and yes, as most of you know, I don't particularly feel the cold!) So there was a lot of bouncing around, jumping up and down, swinging of arms etc to stave off hypothermia. Some of the earliest participants to arrive really should have dressed more suitably. One guy near me was wearing just a T-shirt and fairly thin trousers. The blue poncho he was given in order to be part of the picture really didn't afford him any protection from the rather brutal elements and he had to stand there for the best part of 90 minutes! Once the participants had started to arrive, there was at least the distraction of trying to direct them to where they needed to be and watching the whole thing take shape. The people in charge, who appeared to be a mixture of 350 staff (activists?) and a team of choreographers, plus the press and film crew were busy ushering the poncho-clad volunteers into the shape although, to be honest, from ground level it was almost impossible to tell how it was looking.
Finally, all was ready - the stewards were told to remove the hi-vis vests, replace them with the ponchos and blend in with the picture. There was a quick run-through, then a horn sounded, the plane appeared overhead and we all dutifully turned and pointed out to sea. We had to hold the position for a good five minutes until another horn signalled the end. There was a rather unimpressive self-congratulatory round of applause and that was that. The stewards took up their final positions along the street, attempting to stop 1800 people from all trying to cross the main road at once - an exercise in futility if ever there was one. We then discovered that we were also to do a quick sweep of the lawns, removing any obvious litter (presumably based on the "Take only photographs, Leave only footprints" ethos of ethical tourism), then we collected and sorted the discarded ponchos and we were done.
Dade and I wandered back home, accompanied by a rather pathetic flurry of snow, not entirely clear what the finished product would actually look like but glad that we'd taken the time to be part of something unusual, if nothing else.
I didn't even take my camera, so for a different view of the event and some great photos go HERE
Monday, 29 November 2010
Friday, 26 November 2010
Repair my arse!
Please note - the title is neither a request nor a demand! Admittedly, there should be a comma in there but I omitted it shamelessly for effect.
The point? The point is my washer/dryer. A few days ago, the dryer part of my combination washing machine/condenser dryer decided to give up the ghost. Washing machine = fine. Dryer = buggered. Needless to say, it's way out of its warranty so it was down to the Thomson Local Directory to suggest someone to come and fix it. Other people always seem to happen to just know someone who can do this sort of thing, but I don't. I randomly picked a company that said they did same-day repairs and didn't charge a call out fee. Within 4 hours, they said. 45 minutes later, Neil and his large toolbox were at the door. Promising, I thought.
I gave him the info, including the fact that I'd had the same problem before with this machine and what I'd been told it was (simply the heating element of the dryer part of the circuit board). "Leave me to it", he said. Dade and I retired to the safety of the living room to indeed leave him to it. There ensued grunting, dragging, crashing, swearing etc but to be honest, that wasn't surprising. I have a tiny kitchen which doesn't lend itself well to large appliances being hiked out from under the worktop and then taken apart. Shortly afterwards, we heard what sounded like rather a lot of water followed by Neil saying "Um, have you got any kitchen roll?" I entered the kitchen to find water everywhere - the floor, the worktops, the walls. He'd already used a teatowel to mop a load up. More mopping ensued and he said he was fine to carry on. Once back in the living room, the next worrying noise was a repetitive clicking, which I recognised as the ignition switch for the gas hob. I went back to the kitchen and found him attacking the ignition switch with kitchen roll while it clicked away happily. The fact that I had no idea where the actual cooker is plugged in didn't help as it meant I couldn't cut off the power to it so it continued to click for a good 20 minutes. At which point, Neil then said "Have you got a hairdryer?" Working on the assumption that he hadn't decided to suddenly sort out his coiffure, I retrieved my rarely used and frankly almost pointless hairdryer and delivered it to him. "It's like this", he said, "One of the hoses came off because it was too short and hadn't been installed correctly, and water went everywhere as you know. A lot of it went inside the machine so I need to dry it out before I can fix the dryer". I then watched him hang the hairdryer upside-down inside the machine - not inside the drum, but into the inner workings of it via the missing top cover. Unable to look, I went back in the sitting room to rejoin Dade who had been watching/listening to all this with, I'm sure, slight amusement but some sympathy! A couple of minutes later, we heard a loud pop and the now familiar clicking noise stopped. Given how annoying the noise had been, you'd have thought that would be a good thing but the addition of the loud pop into the mix gave it an air of disaster. Off to the kitchen with me again, where this time Neil said he'd been trying to dry out the igntion switch with the hairdryer, and had obviously shorted it. He was very quick to point out that 1) he's not an electrician so couldn't just fix it and 2) he's not qualified to touch gas cookers. I was starting to wonder if he was qualified to do anything at all. The upshot at this point was that the inner workings of the machine needed time to "dry out naturally" so he would come back the following afternoon at 2.30 to finish the repair (and at the same time, bring me one of those gas ignition lighter gun things so that I could light the gas hobs).
The next day, I got home at 2.29, eagerly awaiting Neil's arrival, as by this time both Dade and I were pretty desperate to do some washing. Neil turned up, disappeared into the kitchen again for half an hour then called me in. All ready to pay up and wave goodbye, I was a bit concerned to see him still sitting on the floor and all the lights on the front of the machine flashing. "Um, unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to get it fixed for you today", he said. "Oh well," I said, "as long as the washing machine's still working, I can dry stuff on the radiators for a few more days". "That's the thing", he continued. "I can't get it to work at all now. The flashing light code is telling me that there's a problem with the motor and the motherboard..." At this point, I was as bored as you probably are now. Ten more minutes of excuses and explanations were forthcoming, none of which changed the simple fact that 24 hours earlier, I'd had a washing machine but no dryer and now I had neither. Nor did he bring me a hob ignition thing, of course!
Neil's solution - "I have a mate who sells reconditioned washer/dryers, installs them, takes away the old one and gives you a 3-month guarantee on the recon one". Oh, you do, do you? How bloody convenient! He then offered to try and get me a second-hand motherboard and fit it for free, but if he couldn't do so, he would get his mate to call me to see if I was interested in buying a machine. Less than two hours later, and with no call from him about the motherboard, his mate called me and did indeed ask if I wanted to buy a replacement machine. I told him I had no idea yet as I was still waiting for a call from Neil. He hung up pretty fast when I didn't immediately say I wanted to buy from him. What a lovely little set-up they have going, eh? I'm trying not to be cynical but it's damn difficult.
The ad in the Thomson Local says that the company in question (who I have a feeling might just consist of Neil) is "insured". Hmm, interesting. Insured against completely knackering my washing machine, breaking my hob ignition button and soaking most of my kitchen, I wonder? Probably not.
I feel a trip/call to Citizen's Advice coming on. In the meantime, it's the launderette for us while I work out if/how to afford a new/replacement machine or how to sue him for everything he's got!
The point? The point is my washer/dryer. A few days ago, the dryer part of my combination washing machine/condenser dryer decided to give up the ghost. Washing machine = fine. Dryer = buggered. Needless to say, it's way out of its warranty so it was down to the Thomson Local Directory to suggest someone to come and fix it. Other people always seem to happen to just know someone who can do this sort of thing, but I don't. I randomly picked a company that said they did same-day repairs and didn't charge a call out fee. Within 4 hours, they said. 45 minutes later, Neil and his large toolbox were at the door. Promising, I thought.
I gave him the info, including the fact that I'd had the same problem before with this machine and what I'd been told it was (simply the heating element of the dryer part of the circuit board). "Leave me to it", he said. Dade and I retired to the safety of the living room to indeed leave him to it. There ensued grunting, dragging, crashing, swearing etc but to be honest, that wasn't surprising. I have a tiny kitchen which doesn't lend itself well to large appliances being hiked out from under the worktop and then taken apart. Shortly afterwards, we heard what sounded like rather a lot of water followed by Neil saying "Um, have you got any kitchen roll?" I entered the kitchen to find water everywhere - the floor, the worktops, the walls. He'd already used a teatowel to mop a load up. More mopping ensued and he said he was fine to carry on. Once back in the living room, the next worrying noise was a repetitive clicking, which I recognised as the ignition switch for the gas hob. I went back to the kitchen and found him attacking the ignition switch with kitchen roll while it clicked away happily. The fact that I had no idea where the actual cooker is plugged in didn't help as it meant I couldn't cut off the power to it so it continued to click for a good 20 minutes. At which point, Neil then said "Have you got a hairdryer?" Working on the assumption that he hadn't decided to suddenly sort out his coiffure, I retrieved my rarely used and frankly almost pointless hairdryer and delivered it to him. "It's like this", he said, "One of the hoses came off because it was too short and hadn't been installed correctly, and water went everywhere as you know. A lot of it went inside the machine so I need to dry it out before I can fix the dryer". I then watched him hang the hairdryer upside-down inside the machine - not inside the drum, but into the inner workings of it via the missing top cover. Unable to look, I went back in the sitting room to rejoin Dade who had been watching/listening to all this with, I'm sure, slight amusement but some sympathy! A couple of minutes later, we heard a loud pop and the now familiar clicking noise stopped. Given how annoying the noise had been, you'd have thought that would be a good thing but the addition of the loud pop into the mix gave it an air of disaster. Off to the kitchen with me again, where this time Neil said he'd been trying to dry out the igntion switch with the hairdryer, and had obviously shorted it. He was very quick to point out that 1) he's not an electrician so couldn't just fix it and 2) he's not qualified to touch gas cookers. I was starting to wonder if he was qualified to do anything at all. The upshot at this point was that the inner workings of the machine needed time to "dry out naturally" so he would come back the following afternoon at 2.30 to finish the repair (and at the same time, bring me one of those gas ignition lighter gun things so that I could light the gas hobs).
The next day, I got home at 2.29, eagerly awaiting Neil's arrival, as by this time both Dade and I were pretty desperate to do some washing. Neil turned up, disappeared into the kitchen again for half an hour then called me in. All ready to pay up and wave goodbye, I was a bit concerned to see him still sitting on the floor and all the lights on the front of the machine flashing. "Um, unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to get it fixed for you today", he said. "Oh well," I said, "as long as the washing machine's still working, I can dry stuff on the radiators for a few more days". "That's the thing", he continued. "I can't get it to work at all now. The flashing light code is telling me that there's a problem with the motor and the motherboard..." At this point, I was as bored as you probably are now. Ten more minutes of excuses and explanations were forthcoming, none of which changed the simple fact that 24 hours earlier, I'd had a washing machine but no dryer and now I had neither. Nor did he bring me a hob ignition thing, of course!
Neil's solution - "I have a mate who sells reconditioned washer/dryers, installs them, takes away the old one and gives you a 3-month guarantee on the recon one". Oh, you do, do you? How bloody convenient! He then offered to try and get me a second-hand motherboard and fit it for free, but if he couldn't do so, he would get his mate to call me to see if I was interested in buying a machine. Less than two hours later, and with no call from him about the motherboard, his mate called me and did indeed ask if I wanted to buy a replacement machine. I told him I had no idea yet as I was still waiting for a call from Neil. He hung up pretty fast when I didn't immediately say I wanted to buy from him. What a lovely little set-up they have going, eh? I'm trying not to be cynical but it's damn difficult.
The ad in the Thomson Local says that the company in question (who I have a feeling might just consist of Neil) is "insured". Hmm, interesting. Insured against completely knackering my washing machine, breaking my hob ignition button and soaking most of my kitchen, I wonder? Probably not.
I feel a trip/call to Citizen's Advice coming on. In the meantime, it's the launderette for us while I work out if/how to afford a new/replacement machine or how to sue him for everything he's got!
Tuesday, 23 November 2010
It's the Work, the Working, Just the Working Life
So - the market research call centre has availed itself of my services for just over two months now. It was never a job I'd considered before, especially as cold-calling seemed like the most demoralising way in the world to earn a crust. The job details were a little misleading, suggesting that we would be calling people who had either said they were happy to be contacted by phone or were actually expecting a call. Not so! Quite simply, various companies ask our market research company to conduct customer satisfaction surveys by telephone with their customers. However, it's safe to say that most of those customers have no idea that their contact numbers will be used in this way. No doubt, it's somewhere in the small print of their contracts, or one of those little tick boxes, but really - who reads those?
It's been an interesting experience if for no other reason than hearing the many and varied reasons people come up with for not being able/willing to participate in the survey at that time (or at all). Some of my favourites so far are:
- But I'm watching Countdown!
- I would but I'm just going out to buy plums.
- God, ten minutes is a REALLY long time!
- My son's got a blister so I can't possibly.
- It's Sunday - the day of our Lord. Sod off. (Spoken by a vicar!)
- Sorry, my biscuits will go soggy if I do it.
- I'm on a piss-up at the moment so it might not be the best time to be asking me questions.
- Are the government paying you to do this because you can't get a real job? (Asked to one of my colleagues)
- I'm in the bath so I would sound all bubbly if I talked to you.
- No, my wife won't want to do the survey. But, Emily (!) you sound very sweet and lovely so I can promise that Santa will look after you very, very well this year.
- I know you mean well, and it's probably an awful job, but I just don't want to talk to anyone at the moment. I'm so very very sorry.
- Can I take the survey in the shower?
- I can't stop now. I'm just looking for a hamster that's gone missing.
As expected, I've also been shouted at, sworn at, told where I can stick my survey, and generally abused! And of course, all of these tirades have to be met with a completely fake, sickly-sweet "Well, thank you for your time anyway. Goodbye." Mind you, by the time I've reached the second word of that, they've usually hung up.
It's easy to be pretty thick-skinned about these when they only occur once in a while but if several of them crop up consecutively, I'll admit it does get to me. One day last week, on a shift due to finish at 9pm, I was on the verge of walking out at 7pm. For a solid half an hour, everyone I spoke to was either rude, unhelpful, unco-operative, pissed off or all of the above. I have no problem with people simply refusing to take part, with "I don't want to do it" - I would say no too - but there's really no reason to shout and swear in the process.
One surprising thing I've learnt is that people really don't like being disturbed on a Sunday. I guess because I worked shifts for so long and weekends meant nothing to me, plus the fact that shops etc open seven days a week now, I forget that some people still consider Sundays to be sacrosanct, whether on religious grounds or not. I've also discovered (though I'm unconvinced by the truthfulness of some of the claims) that "traditional" Sunday lunchtime now starts at about 11.30am and runs right through until about 4.30pm.
I'm in a bit of a quandary about the job though. I can really only hack about five hours at a time (except at weekends when the shifts are all six or eight hours), but that means I only work about a 26-hour week. Given the stupidly low hourly rate (even on the bonus rate when you beat the target number of completed calls), that really doesn't give me an income I can live on. The upside of the job is the flexibility of being able to choose your own shifts on a weekly basis, and I can't deny that not having to start work until 4 or 5pm is quite nice! What I could really do with is a nice little part-time job on three full days a week, which I could mix with the obligatory three shifts at the call centre.
It looked like it might get a little more interesting when I was asked to coach some of the poorer performers regarding the quality side of the calls. I've only been there eight weeks, but I'm currently ranked number 2 in the whole centre, and my quality feedback is at 100%. After the coaching, there's potentially some mini-training that they might want me to run, along with a couple of other members of the phone staff. They're trying to get away from all training being done by supervisors as they believe, probably rightly, that people generally accept advice and coaching better from their peers - people who are actually also on the phones day in, day out. However, as with most other things there, the coaching wasn't very well organised and the actual potential training hasn't even been devised yet, nor have any days or times been chosen for it. The people I was speaking to wanted to know the details before they signed up to their refresher training (as it was all voluntary). Suffice to say, that little diversion actually isn't going to make me inclined to stick at the job any longer than I was already going to.
So the hunt continues for something else/additional, reasonably flexible but more interesting. At least the latter shouldn't be too hard!
It's been an interesting experience if for no other reason than hearing the many and varied reasons people come up with for not being able/willing to participate in the survey at that time (or at all). Some of my favourites so far are:
- But I'm watching Countdown!
- I would but I'm just going out to buy plums.
- God, ten minutes is a REALLY long time!
- My son's got a blister so I can't possibly.
- It's Sunday - the day of our Lord. Sod off. (Spoken by a vicar!)
- Sorry, my biscuits will go soggy if I do it.
- I'm on a piss-up at the moment so it might not be the best time to be asking me questions.
- Are the government paying you to do this because you can't get a real job? (Asked to one of my colleagues)
- I'm in the bath so I would sound all bubbly if I talked to you.
- No, my wife won't want to do the survey. But, Emily (!) you sound very sweet and lovely so I can promise that Santa will look after you very, very well this year.
- I know you mean well, and it's probably an awful job, but I just don't want to talk to anyone at the moment. I'm so very very sorry.
- Can I take the survey in the shower?
- I can't stop now. I'm just looking for a hamster that's gone missing.
As expected, I've also been shouted at, sworn at, told where I can stick my survey, and generally abused! And of course, all of these tirades have to be met with a completely fake, sickly-sweet "Well, thank you for your time anyway. Goodbye." Mind you, by the time I've reached the second word of that, they've usually hung up.
It's easy to be pretty thick-skinned about these when they only occur once in a while but if several of them crop up consecutively, I'll admit it does get to me. One day last week, on a shift due to finish at 9pm, I was on the verge of walking out at 7pm. For a solid half an hour, everyone I spoke to was either rude, unhelpful, unco-operative, pissed off or all of the above. I have no problem with people simply refusing to take part, with "I don't want to do it" - I would say no too - but there's really no reason to shout and swear in the process.
One surprising thing I've learnt is that people really don't like being disturbed on a Sunday. I guess because I worked shifts for so long and weekends meant nothing to me, plus the fact that shops etc open seven days a week now, I forget that some people still consider Sundays to be sacrosanct, whether on religious grounds or not. I've also discovered (though I'm unconvinced by the truthfulness of some of the claims) that "traditional" Sunday lunchtime now starts at about 11.30am and runs right through until about 4.30pm.
I'm in a bit of a quandary about the job though. I can really only hack about five hours at a time (except at weekends when the shifts are all six or eight hours), but that means I only work about a 26-hour week. Given the stupidly low hourly rate (even on the bonus rate when you beat the target number of completed calls), that really doesn't give me an income I can live on. The upside of the job is the flexibility of being able to choose your own shifts on a weekly basis, and I can't deny that not having to start work until 4 or 5pm is quite nice! What I could really do with is a nice little part-time job on three full days a week, which I could mix with the obligatory three shifts at the call centre.
It looked like it might get a little more interesting when I was asked to coach some of the poorer performers regarding the quality side of the calls. I've only been there eight weeks, but I'm currently ranked number 2 in the whole centre, and my quality feedback is at 100%. After the coaching, there's potentially some mini-training that they might want me to run, along with a couple of other members of the phone staff. They're trying to get away from all training being done by supervisors as they believe, probably rightly, that people generally accept advice and coaching better from their peers - people who are actually also on the phones day in, day out. However, as with most other things there, the coaching wasn't very well organised and the actual potential training hasn't even been devised yet, nor have any days or times been chosen for it. The people I was speaking to wanted to know the details before they signed up to their refresher training (as it was all voluntary). Suffice to say, that little diversion actually isn't going to make me inclined to stick at the job any longer than I was already going to.
So the hunt continues for something else/additional, reasonably flexible but more interesting. At least the latter shouldn't be too hard!
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Sunny and Share!
Little trip continued....
8am on the Monday morning saw me heading off on my little solo adventure. I'd randomly picked Whitchurch in Staffs for my first stop, and very pretty it turned out to be. It was a real mix of medieval and modern with an imposing church which, unusually these days, was open. As I'd arrived so early there was really nothing else to do so I had a little wander round in there - very cool stained glass windows and a small brass plaque in the floor which was catching the morning sun through the coloured glass beautifully. I've always enjoyed being alone in any building and, atheist though I am, churches always provide at least a very peaceful atmosphere. I had the place to myself for a good half an hour. As I left, my attempt to get into the wooden choir stalls was thwarted by the locked door at the top of the old stone staircase - one of those where years of footsteps have worn a smooth curve in each stair.
I emerged into the still-early sunshine and, spotting my reflection in a car window, decided I couldn't put off a haircut any longer (needless to say, that's not all I thought when I caught sight of myself, but the hair was the only immediately fixable thing!) The very first hairdressers I found on the High Street were able to offer me an appointment immediately so half an hour (and a very predictable "Been anywhere nice on holiday/Looking forward to Xmas? conversation) later, out I came with, as usual, the exact same haircut, just 2 inches shorter!
I found a little café which enticed me in with the offer of veggie sausage sandwiches for breakfast. It was a friendly place where everyone (except me) seemed to know everyone else by name. My steaming hot pot of Earl Grey came pretty quickly but I'd practically finished it when I heard a voice from the back say "Oh no, the veggie sausage girl!" I quite reasonably assumed they were talking about me, not least because the other customers were a couple of ambulancemen, a builder, two ancient pink-rinsed women and a guy with one leg. A rather harried-looking waitress then rushed to my side and said "SO sorry, we totally forgot - have another pot of tea on the house". Admittedly, I'd rather have had the sandwich for free but what the hell, swimming in Earl Grey tea wasn't a total disaster. At least once the sandwich came, it was worth the wait!
Duly sated, I surprised myself by successfully finding where I'd parked the car and hit the road, this time heading for Ironbridge, which Dade had said was worth a look. Again, a cute little place, straddling the banks of, um, a river. I'm sure I should know which one! I parked and went in search of the source of such metallic fame. I wandered across a small, unimposing bridge, looking up and down the river to see if I could see THE bridge - only when I reached the other side did I discover that I'd just been walking across it! As with so many other things in life, it was a lot smaller than I expected! I took random photos of it from the towpath, had a short wander along the banks and treated myself to a quarter of Everton Mints from one of those over-priced Olde Worlde Sweetie Shoppes.
Since it was still only lunchtime, I decided to head towards Telford but, on the way, see if I could find The Wrekin, a hill Dade had mentioned just a few times! The Sat Nav was no help but I very soon found a tiny white sign towards it. The roads got narrower and narrower, the hedges higher, the corners more twisty and at one point I swear I was actually driving on a cycle path. Now although this is my idea of driving heaven, my rally driving temptation was thwarted by the very real possibility of meeting something coming the other way. Just before I was about to give up any hope of actually finding it, there I suddenly was at the little car park for The Wrekin. With the promise of "spectacular views from the summit" I commenced the ascent. There were very few other people around but the ones I did see were decked out in hiking boots and walking canes, and looked rather fit. I climbed and climbed but I had to admit defeat before the top when most of my body gave out! I discovered on the way down that it was steeper than I'd realised on the way up so I reached the bottom rather faster than expected thanks to slippery gravel, ill-advised shoes and, of course, my poor single Achilles/calf muscle!
Photos of the weekend can be found HERE
Bored with my own company, I headed to Dade's place. I'm sure I heard Sid's little car gulp at the mountain of stuff it was going to be crammed with for the journey south the next morning though, given the strong winds that were forecast, I actually thought the extra weight might help glue the poor little thing to the road! We randomly passed the evening with chat, online TV and a HUGE Chinese takeaway. A perfectly good way to spend Dade's last evening there, before embarking on his own little adventure as my new flatmate and his independent photography career in Brighton. But of course that's for another blog...
8am on the Monday morning saw me heading off on my little solo adventure. I'd randomly picked Whitchurch in Staffs for my first stop, and very pretty it turned out to be. It was a real mix of medieval and modern with an imposing church which, unusually these days, was open. As I'd arrived so early there was really nothing else to do so I had a little wander round in there - very cool stained glass windows and a small brass plaque in the floor which was catching the morning sun through the coloured glass beautifully. I've always enjoyed being alone in any building and, atheist though I am, churches always provide at least a very peaceful atmosphere. I had the place to myself for a good half an hour. As I left, my attempt to get into the wooden choir stalls was thwarted by the locked door at the top of the old stone staircase - one of those where years of footsteps have worn a smooth curve in each stair.
I emerged into the still-early sunshine and, spotting my reflection in a car window, decided I couldn't put off a haircut any longer (needless to say, that's not all I thought when I caught sight of myself, but the hair was the only immediately fixable thing!) The very first hairdressers I found on the High Street were able to offer me an appointment immediately so half an hour (and a very predictable "Been anywhere nice on holiday/Looking forward to Xmas? conversation) later, out I came with, as usual, the exact same haircut, just 2 inches shorter!
I found a little café which enticed me in with the offer of veggie sausage sandwiches for breakfast. It was a friendly place where everyone (except me) seemed to know everyone else by name. My steaming hot pot of Earl Grey came pretty quickly but I'd practically finished it when I heard a voice from the back say "Oh no, the veggie sausage girl!" I quite reasonably assumed they were talking about me, not least because the other customers were a couple of ambulancemen, a builder, two ancient pink-rinsed women and a guy with one leg. A rather harried-looking waitress then rushed to my side and said "SO sorry, we totally forgot - have another pot of tea on the house". Admittedly, I'd rather have had the sandwich for free but what the hell, swimming in Earl Grey tea wasn't a total disaster. At least once the sandwich came, it was worth the wait!
Duly sated, I surprised myself by successfully finding where I'd parked the car and hit the road, this time heading for Ironbridge, which Dade had said was worth a look. Again, a cute little place, straddling the banks of, um, a river. I'm sure I should know which one! I parked and went in search of the source of such metallic fame. I wandered across a small, unimposing bridge, looking up and down the river to see if I could see THE bridge - only when I reached the other side did I discover that I'd just been walking across it! As with so many other things in life, it was a lot smaller than I expected! I took random photos of it from the towpath, had a short wander along the banks and treated myself to a quarter of Everton Mints from one of those over-priced Olde Worlde Sweetie Shoppes.
Since it was still only lunchtime, I decided to head towards Telford but, on the way, see if I could find The Wrekin, a hill Dade had mentioned just a few times! The Sat Nav was no help but I very soon found a tiny white sign towards it. The roads got narrower and narrower, the hedges higher, the corners more twisty and at one point I swear I was actually driving on a cycle path. Now although this is my idea of driving heaven, my rally driving temptation was thwarted by the very real possibility of meeting something coming the other way. Just before I was about to give up any hope of actually finding it, there I suddenly was at the little car park for The Wrekin. With the promise of "spectacular views from the summit" I commenced the ascent. There were very few other people around but the ones I did see were decked out in hiking boots and walking canes, and looked rather fit. I climbed and climbed but I had to admit defeat before the top when most of my body gave out! I discovered on the way down that it was steeper than I'd realised on the way up so I reached the bottom rather faster than expected thanks to slippery gravel, ill-advised shoes and, of course, my poor single Achilles/calf muscle!
Photos of the weekend can be found HERE
Bored with my own company, I headed to Dade's place. I'm sure I heard Sid's little car gulp at the mountain of stuff it was going to be crammed with for the journey south the next morning though, given the strong winds that were forecast, I actually thought the extra weight might help glue the poor little thing to the road! We randomly passed the evening with chat, online TV and a HUGE Chinese takeaway. A perfectly good way to spend Dade's last evening there, before embarking on his own little adventure as my new flatmate and his independent photography career in Brighton. But of course that's for another blog...
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
You know what? It's not grim oop North!
Yes, it's been ages since I've blogged! No, I don't have an excuse!
I'm going to sneak an announcement in here so that I don't have to do a whole separate blog about it - my plans to return to Spain are all on hold. I'm not going back in January. There are a lot of reasons, which I won't go into here, but the upshot is I'm staying put for the time being. So that's that done - on to the proper blog post.
Having the loan of a car again thanks to Cathy and Sid's little jaunt to the Orient, I finally managed to organise a few days away. I'd been meaning to get together with Hannah for ages - I met her in Spain in February 2008 and we'd then become really good mates in Madrid. She came back to the UK in October 2009 and we hadn't seen each other since. So the delights of the M25 and M40 delivered me (thanks to Cathy's Sat Nav and Sid's dinky little Citroen) to Madeley, to a little village in Staffordshire where Hannah's boyfriend's parents have a house that they built from scratch 30 years ago while they lived in a caravan in the garden with a newborn baby (Steve!)
Hannah and I spent the afternoon trying to find the ruins of a local manor house but, despite having fairly clear instructions, all we found was a muddy path, horses, a fallen tree for me to trip over and a fence which was inexplicably completely inoffensive when I grabbed it, but remarkably electrified when Hannah stuck her hand on it 10 minutes later. After a yummy dinner, the three of us struck out in the pitch dark to the local pub (local = a mile away). We'd planned to get there cross-country but having discovered quite how muddy it was, that looked like a bad idea. Instead, we walked on the pavement-less, streetlight-less road under an amazingly starry sky. I relied on night vision, Steve had a great, retro, heavy 80s torch which gave off about as much light as a glow worm, and Hannah attached her wind-up torch to her head. Between us, we managed to fend off the onslaught of oncoming traffic and made it in one piece to the pub. We duly took over the pool table (no mention will be made of the results) and the quiz machine, and sampled their finest brews. Soon it was time to take our lives in our hands and return to the house via the same dark road which had now turned into the equivalent of Brands Hatch due to the number of people now leaving the pub (why they didn't have the sense to walk there, I don't know!)
Sunday dawned and Hannah and I decided to get out from under Steve's feet by heading to a local car boot sale. Hannah invested in a pair of rather startled-looking wooden cats and two candlesticks for her fireplace. I bought fake Rolos and a packet of fig rolls (am I the only person that thinks they're the most nostalgic biscuits in the world?) Having deposited the cats at Hannah's place, we went to an Arts and Crafts Centre based at a farm - so twee that Hannah had never managed to drag Steve to it. Giving in to the hunger brought on by the car boot sale, I dived into a very tasty bowl of pumpkin and apple soup (it was Hallowe'en after all). We wandered round the farm part, oohed and aahed over tiny chicks, huge pigs, cute ponies and slightly smelly goats. Hannah cooed over the shop's Christmas decorations. I commented on the fact that it was "still bloody October!" We headed back to the house, took the dog on rather muddy walk then drove across town in a proper workman's white van to collect a table and chairs Hannah had bought for their conservatory. The area we picked it up from was clearly going for Hallowe'en in a big way - most of the houses were decked out with glowing pumpkins, cobwebs, skeletons and were expecting a deluge of scarily-clad children (and probably adults). Having delivered the furniture to its new home, we headed back for a scrumptious roast dinner before Steve went off for an evening's table tennis. That left Hannah and me to drink our way through the evening, generally putting the world to rights and catching up with nearly a year's random chat. An early night beckoned as they both had to get up for work the next morning and obviously I had to leave when they did.
It was a very chilled weekend in a lovely part of the country and it was definitely worth the wait to catch up with Hannah.
Enough? Thought so! The rest of the trip is for the next blog...
I'm going to sneak an announcement in here so that I don't have to do a whole separate blog about it - my plans to return to Spain are all on hold. I'm not going back in January. There are a lot of reasons, which I won't go into here, but the upshot is I'm staying put for the time being. So that's that done - on to the proper blog post.
Having the loan of a car again thanks to Cathy and Sid's little jaunt to the Orient, I finally managed to organise a few days away. I'd been meaning to get together with Hannah for ages - I met her in Spain in February 2008 and we'd then become really good mates in Madrid. She came back to the UK in October 2009 and we hadn't seen each other since. So the delights of the M25 and M40 delivered me (thanks to Cathy's Sat Nav and Sid's dinky little Citroen) to Madeley, to a little village in Staffordshire where Hannah's boyfriend's parents have a house that they built from scratch 30 years ago while they lived in a caravan in the garden with a newborn baby (Steve!)
Hannah and I spent the afternoon trying to find the ruins of a local manor house but, despite having fairly clear instructions, all we found was a muddy path, horses, a fallen tree for me to trip over and a fence which was inexplicably completely inoffensive when I grabbed it, but remarkably electrified when Hannah stuck her hand on it 10 minutes later. After a yummy dinner, the three of us struck out in the pitch dark to the local pub (local = a mile away). We'd planned to get there cross-country but having discovered quite how muddy it was, that looked like a bad idea. Instead, we walked on the pavement-less, streetlight-less road under an amazingly starry sky. I relied on night vision, Steve had a great, retro, heavy 80s torch which gave off about as much light as a glow worm, and Hannah attached her wind-up torch to her head. Between us, we managed to fend off the onslaught of oncoming traffic and made it in one piece to the pub. We duly took over the pool table (no mention will be made of the results) and the quiz machine, and sampled their finest brews. Soon it was time to take our lives in our hands and return to the house via the same dark road which had now turned into the equivalent of Brands Hatch due to the number of people now leaving the pub (why they didn't have the sense to walk there, I don't know!)
Sunday dawned and Hannah and I decided to get out from under Steve's feet by heading to a local car boot sale. Hannah invested in a pair of rather startled-looking wooden cats and two candlesticks for her fireplace. I bought fake Rolos and a packet of fig rolls (am I the only person that thinks they're the most nostalgic biscuits in the world?) Having deposited the cats at Hannah's place, we went to an Arts and Crafts Centre based at a farm - so twee that Hannah had never managed to drag Steve to it. Giving in to the hunger brought on by the car boot sale, I dived into a very tasty bowl of pumpkin and apple soup (it was Hallowe'en after all). We wandered round the farm part, oohed and aahed over tiny chicks, huge pigs, cute ponies and slightly smelly goats. Hannah cooed over the shop's Christmas decorations. I commented on the fact that it was "still bloody October!" We headed back to the house, took the dog on rather muddy walk then drove across town in a proper workman's white van to collect a table and chairs Hannah had bought for their conservatory. The area we picked it up from was clearly going for Hallowe'en in a big way - most of the houses were decked out with glowing pumpkins, cobwebs, skeletons and were expecting a deluge of scarily-clad children (and probably adults). Having delivered the furniture to its new home, we headed back for a scrumptious roast dinner before Steve went off for an evening's table tennis. That left Hannah and me to drink our way through the evening, generally putting the world to rights and catching up with nearly a year's random chat. An early night beckoned as they both had to get up for work the next morning and obviously I had to leave when they did.
It was a very chilled weekend in a lovely part of the country and it was definitely worth the wait to catch up with Hannah.
Enough? Thought so! The rest of the trip is for the next blog...
Sunday, 12 September 2010
Back to the land of the employed
Finally, I have a job!!! I've been back in the UK for just over two months, and I just realised that this is the longest I've gone without working since I was 18.
When I first returned, I had no reason to look for a job. I was only meant to be back for a few weeks to sort out the flat, and then head back to Madrid. But that was not to be, as most of you already know. So having made the decision to stay in the UK until the end of the year, I had to face the fact that money really doesn't grow on trees and I'd actually have to earn some!
The obvious answer, as many people said, would have been to cut short my career break and go back to Gatwick for a few months. However, there were a few issues with that idea:
1) If I'd gone back until December and then tried to recommence my career break, I'm quite sure they'd have said no and I'd have had to resign there and then.
2) Having been away for over a year, it's very unlikely that I'd have been able to go back to my previous office, leaving the possibility that I'd have to go back to the main airport terminal, doing the frontline job that I've not done since 2002. I'd be facing refresher training and then the prospect of working at an office which I already know has zero staff satisfaction and with a small number of people I swore I would never work with (again).
3) Transport - when I had a car, getting to and from Gatwick was easy. On public transport, I'd be faced with heading out of the flat some days around 5.45am for the walk to the station, then the delights of the train trip to the airport to be ready to start by 7am.
4) The bottom line - it would be a backward step. When I walked out of that office in February 2009, I was determined I would never go back. Realising I'd been in the Civil Service for just under 20 years was what made me go to Spain in the first place. The only reason I'm on a career break is just in case one day I get so utterly, seriously desperate for a job that I might actually bring myself to go back, briefly or otherwise. That day most certainly has not come, nor do I want it to.
So - job-hunting began in earnest at the end of July when I decided for sure I was staying put for a few months. Having never really done anything apart from the Civil Service (before the English teaching, of course) I really didn't know what on earth to look for, let alone what I was good at. I've never had to write a CV before so that was a learning curve (thanks go to Ange for her advice). I was quite sure that immigration had given me no transferable skills whatsoever, unless I wanted to go into another law-enforcement type job. However, the more I thought about it, and as various people pointed out, I'd basically spent 20 years doing a variety of administrative and customer service roles, and had at least had the chance to show I was fairly flexible (not bendy!) and up for a challenge with some of the things that job entailed.
I had a CV, now I needed a job to apply for. I'd registered with every temp agency I could think of and given a fairly wide list of criteria, yet three weeks later, I'd heard from none of them! I know there's a recession but I couldn't believe that not a single one of them had found one job that suited my stated preferences. In the last week, one of them has started to send me emails listing jobs I "may" be interested in. Bear in mind that what I asked them to look out for were jobs in secretarial/admin/typing/data entry/filing within 3 miles of Brighton. An email from them last week offered me: Weighbridge Operator, Small Dole; Quantity Surveyor, Guildford; Finnish speaking salesperson, Edinburgh! Call me fussy, but what on earth made them think I would/could do any of those?!
Next ports of call were the Friday-Ad, Evening Argus and Gumtree websites (yes, the one where I found the slightly bizarre naked admin assistant job!) There's a bewildering array of jobs out there, it appears, several of which I fired off my CV to, without getting so much as an acknowledgement, let alone an interview. Then finally, I heard back from one - a telephone market research job (no sales, which was very important to me). Last Tuesday, I had a face-to-face interview and had to do a 10-minute test call (which admittedly seemed to only prove that I could read from a pre-prepared script on screen and click the mouse a few times!), then the next morning they called to offer me the job.
No, it's not the most exciting job in the world, nor the best paid but it's a job, it's pretty flexible (choose your own shifts each week, and no weekday shift starts before 2pm!) and they offer temporary, short-term or long-term contracts. Training starts on Wednesday for two days, then work proper next week. My bank manager will be delighted!
Sunday, 29 August 2010
The amusing downside of job hunting
In my recent search for work, I've come across some interesting ads, especially on sites like Gumtree and the Friday-Ad, where ads are free.
Today was the best yet, however! On Gumtree, I found the following:
"Hello there
Im a self employed businessman looking for help. I work from home and I need a PA for general easy admin jobs, cleaning jobs, booking flights, hotels etc. Some travel will be required but only if it fits in with you.
Full time hours offered, part time too if needed. Great rates of pay, easy going environment. £80 an hour, no mistake.
Please reply for more info ."
Yes, you read that right - £80 an hour. Being a cynical, suspicious kind, all sorts of things ran through my head - cover story for drug runner? Prostitution? Money laundering? Still, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I thought "What the hell" and fired off an email for more info.
Within minutes, I had my reply, as follows:
"Hello
Before you read on I must stress to you that this is a very genuine job offer.
Im looking for a female to work with me at my place just as they would do normally but in underwear and in the nude while I work from home. The work is simple admin, bit of cleaning, general easy going jobs.
All above board, NO contact or touching, im just rich and bored and want to try something different. Will pay you daily in cash. £80 an hour. Sometimes you can come away with me when I do business and be my PA, il pay £100 an hour for that aswell as all expenses covered.
I'm looking for all kinds of females, different shapes and sizes, ages 18-50. This will be a very discreet agreement. I also must stress that this is an agreement between us both and no photos or filming will ever take place.
Please reply if interested with a recent pic and add me on MSN via this address.
Thanks for the interest."
Bloody hell! OK, so I was already suspicious but I can't say I expected quite that (despite one friend's suggestion - before I got the reply - that the guy might have a "uniform" he wanted me to wear! Good call!) My initial reaction was righteous indignation, shortly followed by tummy-ache inducing laughter, then bafflement, then the temptation to report the ad to Gumtree as inappropriate. I guess the ad itself wasn't exactly inappropriate, but it was certainly misleading (apart from the rate of pay, of course!) These rich, bored guys really exist?! Well, at least one of them does and he lives in Brighton. But really - how bored would he have to be to want me parading round the house naked?! And how desperate would I have to be for work?!
I start Monday.
Today was the best yet, however! On Gumtree, I found the following:
"Hello there
Im a self employed businessman looking for help. I work from home and I need a PA for general easy admin jobs, cleaning jobs, booking flights, hotels etc. Some travel will be required but only if it fits in with you.
Full time hours offered, part time too if needed. Great rates of pay, easy going environment. £80 an hour, no mistake.
Please reply for more info ."
Yes, you read that right - £80 an hour. Being a cynical, suspicious kind, all sorts of things ran through my head - cover story for drug runner? Prostitution? Money laundering? Still, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I thought "What the hell" and fired off an email for more info.
Within minutes, I had my reply, as follows:
"Hello
Before you read on I must stress to you that this is a very genuine job offer.
Im looking for a female to work with me at my place just as they would do normally but in underwear and in the nude while I work from home. The work is simple admin, bit of cleaning, general easy going jobs.
All above board, NO contact or touching, im just rich and bored and want to try something different. Will pay you daily in cash. £80 an hour. Sometimes you can come away with me when I do business and be my PA, il pay £100 an hour for that aswell as all expenses covered.
I'm looking for all kinds of females, different shapes and sizes, ages 18-50. This will be a very discreet agreement. I also must stress that this is an agreement between us both and no photos or filming will ever take place.
Please reply if interested with a recent pic and add me on MSN via this address.
Thanks for the interest."
Bloody hell! OK, so I was already suspicious but I can't say I expected quite that (despite one friend's suggestion - before I got the reply - that the guy might have a "uniform" he wanted me to wear! Good call!) My initial reaction was righteous indignation, shortly followed by tummy-ache inducing laughter, then bafflement, then the temptation to report the ad to Gumtree as inappropriate. I guess the ad itself wasn't exactly inappropriate, but it was certainly misleading (apart from the rate of pay, of course!) These rich, bored guys really exist?! Well, at least one of them does and he lives in Brighton. But really - how bored would he have to be to want me parading round the house naked?! And how desperate would I have to be for work?!
I start Monday.
Sunday, 22 August 2010
My plans they are a-changing
I may have to make "over-optimistic" my middle name. When I headed back to the UK at the beginning of July, I sincerely believed that 6 or 7 weeks would be enough to sort out my flat (my life?), rent it out and head back to Madrid.
When I got back to my flat, I realised that I may have been wearing rose-tinted nostalgia glasses. My poor flat revealed itself in all its shabbiness. I'd been away 16 months, with only a couple of brief trips back, both of which were filled with stuff that didn't really allow me to stand back and take a good look at my (or rather the mortgage company's) little piece of Brighton.
This time was different. Andy, and his belongings, were gone, leaving me to see the somewhat dilapidated truth. My flat was tired, a little sad looking and full of, well, tat!
A visit from a local rental agent brought it home with a bang. He seemed optimistic that I'd be able to rent it out pretty quickly provided a few things were dealt with. And then began the list:
New living room carpet (yes, I can't disagree with him there)
Replace cracked sash window panes (at least he didn't suggest replacing the entire windows and sash mechanisms)
Fire door to the kitchen (to comply with Health and Safety regulations)
Decent Chubb lock to my front door.
Replacement locks on all windows (not essential but certainly recommended)
On top of that, I'd already discovered that these days, in order to rent a property out and eliminate the risk of being sued by a tenant, landlords have to have certain checks done:
Gas safety certificate for boiler and gas hob (£35)
Energy efficiency certificate (£32)
Electrical safety certificate - check of all sockets and any electrical items to be left in the flat (£150!!)
All soft furnishings have to have the label showing that they're fire retardant still attached. Sofa - check. Mattress - yup. Futon mattress - nope. Throw cushions - a couple, yes, the rest, no. Plus the various bits of painting that I already knew I needed to do.
By the time I'd found all this out, there was only about five weeks left til my supposed return to Madrid and I was faced with this daunting list and not enough time or money to do it.
Cue slight panic followed by total rethink! In order to do everything necessary to the flat, I need money. Having pretty much gone through all the cash I brought back from Spain (which amounted to a paltry £400), the proceeds of two car boot sales and even spent (in advance) my payments for some CDs/DVDs that I've sent off to a company that buys them, as well as some audio typing work I've done, I don't have anywhere near enough to cover the costs of sorting the flat out.
So I had to bite the bullet and accept that I'll have to hang on here long enough to get a job, earn enough to do the work on the flat, and have enough to cover rent/deposit in Madrid.
The upshot is - I'm staying right here until early January. Being more inclined to boil my head in oil than return to the Civil Service (despite only being on a career break), I'm now job hunting. I've registered with temp agencies and am scanning Gumtree, the Friday-Ad and anywhere else I can think of for four months' earning potential. If anyone knows of a job going in central Brighton, let me know!!
When I got back to my flat, I realised that I may have been wearing rose-tinted nostalgia glasses. My poor flat revealed itself in all its shabbiness. I'd been away 16 months, with only a couple of brief trips back, both of which were filled with stuff that didn't really allow me to stand back and take a good look at my (or rather the mortgage company's) little piece of Brighton.
This time was different. Andy, and his belongings, were gone, leaving me to see the somewhat dilapidated truth. My flat was tired, a little sad looking and full of, well, tat!
A visit from a local rental agent brought it home with a bang. He seemed optimistic that I'd be able to rent it out pretty quickly provided a few things were dealt with. And then began the list:
New living room carpet (yes, I can't disagree with him there)
Replace cracked sash window panes (at least he didn't suggest replacing the entire windows and sash mechanisms)
Fire door to the kitchen (to comply with Health and Safety regulations)
Decent Chubb lock to my front door.
Replacement locks on all windows (not essential but certainly recommended)
On top of that, I'd already discovered that these days, in order to rent a property out and eliminate the risk of being sued by a tenant, landlords have to have certain checks done:
Gas safety certificate for boiler and gas hob (£35)
Energy efficiency certificate (£32)
Electrical safety certificate - check of all sockets and any electrical items to be left in the flat (£150!!)
All soft furnishings have to have the label showing that they're fire retardant still attached. Sofa - check. Mattress - yup. Futon mattress - nope. Throw cushions - a couple, yes, the rest, no. Plus the various bits of painting that I already knew I needed to do.
By the time I'd found all this out, there was only about five weeks left til my supposed return to Madrid and I was faced with this daunting list and not enough time or money to do it.
Cue slight panic followed by total rethink! In order to do everything necessary to the flat, I need money. Having pretty much gone through all the cash I brought back from Spain (which amounted to a paltry £400), the proceeds of two car boot sales and even spent (in advance) my payments for some CDs/DVDs that I've sent off to a company that buys them, as well as some audio typing work I've done, I don't have anywhere near enough to cover the costs of sorting the flat out.
So I had to bite the bullet and accept that I'll have to hang on here long enough to get a job, earn enough to do the work on the flat, and have enough to cover rent/deposit in Madrid.
The upshot is - I'm staying right here until early January. Being more inclined to boil my head in oil than return to the Civil Service (despite only being on a career break), I'm now job hunting. I've registered with temp agencies and am scanning Gumtree, the Friday-Ad and anywhere else I can think of for four months' earning potential. If anyone knows of a job going in central Brighton, let me know!!
Saturday, 31 July 2010
The things people want!
While I've been sorting out my flat, I've been trying to get myself some karma points by Freecycling some things. In the process, I've been trawling through the Brighton and Hove Freecycle sites, looking at the "Wanted" ads, to see if I can help out. I've got rid of a few bits but I've been constantly entertained by the weird and wondeful things some people actually look for on there, or their reasons for wanting them. For example:
Super King Size bed: Due to bad backs and too many pets we are looking of a super king size bed and mattress. (I'm still trying to work out that reasoning!)
Women Clothing: Any size 20 good. clean women clothing. (May want to work on the punctuation there)
Shelves, Car Seatbelts and a Chest of Drawers (OK, 1 and 3 I can understand, but 2?)
Ironing Desk (er yes, what the hell is that?)
Cement mixer (ah, now I'm sure I've got one lying around somewhere)
Archery equipment (damn, another hobby that didn't pan out, eh?)
Chicken poo (I really don't know what to say)
Bidet (this one was an offer - wonder how long it'll take them to find someone who wants something other people have washed their arse in!)
Piano - in tune or not as we only want it for photos (not sure if they want to put photos on it, or take photos of it!)
The one that made me laugh the most:
OFFER: 2 Freeview boxes: Two with remotes on offer. The Grundig works. The Humax is about 2 years old and I can't work it as I am a girl.
PS - Yay, I just noticed this is my 100th blog.
Super King Size bed: Due to bad backs and too many pets we are looking of a super king size bed and mattress. (I'm still trying to work out that reasoning!)
Women Clothing: Any size 20 good. clean women clothing. (May want to work on the punctuation there)
Shelves, Car Seatbelts and a Chest of Drawers (OK, 1 and 3 I can understand, but 2?)
Ironing Desk (er yes, what the hell is that?)
Cement mixer (ah, now I'm sure I've got one lying around somewhere)
Archery equipment (damn, another hobby that didn't pan out, eh?)
Chicken poo (I really don't know what to say)
Bidet (this one was an offer - wonder how long it'll take them to find someone who wants something other people have washed their arse in!)
Piano - in tune or not as we only want it for photos (not sure if they want to put photos on it, or take photos of it!)
The one that made me laugh the most:
OFFER: 2 Freeview boxes: Two with remotes on offer. The Grundig works. The Humax is about 2 years old and I can't work it as I am a girl.
PS - Yay, I just noticed this is my 100th blog.
Monday, 26 July 2010
Isn't sport meant to be good for you?
My attempt to get at least some exercise while I'm back in the UK, and to get back into much-missed racquet sports, got off to a reasonably good start on Friday evening.
Cathy had told me about a casual, drop-in tennis club so I thought I'd give that a try. As a warm-up, I decided to walk to the club - 40 minutes, mostly uphill. So I was knackered when I got there! They were very welcoming and I was thrown on court immediately as there were actually only two of us there at the advertised start time. I knocked up for half an hour with Richard, who I think was quite gentle with me as I told him I hadn't played for almost 18 months! More people turned up and we started the doubles matches. We were randomly paired up over the next two hours, I played with or against almost everyone there. Won our first match 6-2, then lost 3-6 and 4-6. Could have been a lot worse! It's a very sociable club so at the end I spent half an hour in the clubhouse with a much-needed beer before embarking on the long walk home. Other than my usual "wet rag" impression, and having a face the colour of someone who's about to have a heart attack, I didn't feel too bad. Then it all caught up with me. On Saturday and Sunday, everything ached! My calf muscles felt like someone was sticking knives in them and my shoulders were making alarming grinding noises. Still, I felt better for actually having done something!
By Monday, I'd just about stopped aching - so I went to a local badminton club! Again, they were a nice bunch though I think their website statement that they're mixed ability might have been a bit misleading. Some of them were VERY good! Still, I was pleased to find that despite not having played for 18 months, I could still actually play. All was going well - won the first match 21-15 then, like at the tennis, the groups mixed up. In the next match I spun/dived for an evil backhand smash from our opponents and felt (and heard) a rather nasty tearing sound from my right knee. OUCH! (Won the bloody point though!) Not wanting to wuss out, I carried on as the game was nearly over anyway and two points later it was over - we lost - and I hobbled off to see what the damage was. I was a bit concerned when I found that it hurt to bend it, straighten it or turn it! One of the others gave me some ibuprofen rub for it so I sat out for a game then decided there was only one way to find out if I should worry about it a bit more. So I played one more game (which we lost) - it stood up (no pun intended) to the challenge reasonably well, though I couldn't run backwards on it and I was very reluctant to twist. It seemed like a bad idea to risk it any further so, with 40 minutes still to go, I made my excuses and left.
This may be too much information but ... it was bloody hot in the hall so yet again, I could have wrung out everything I was wearing (clearly my DNA missed the class about "women don't sweat"!). However, I hadn't planned on using the changing room showers so I had no towel. Oh well, I thought! After my quick (cold) shower - gotta love private girls' schools - I attempted to dry off using my soggy sports gear! Memories of my school changing rooms came flooding back as I realised that it's actually impossible to get dry in them, towel or not. And to add a final insult to (actual) injury, I discovered that whilst I'd remembered to pack a change of clothes, I'd forgotten one rather vital item. To put it bluntly, I had to go commando for the walk home!!!
Anyway, my right knee just about survived the walk home although by the time I got into the flat, it was complaining, and I also found a strange dent in my left hamstring!
So - exercise. Good or bad for you? You decide.
Cathy had told me about a casual, drop-in tennis club so I thought I'd give that a try. As a warm-up, I decided to walk to the club - 40 minutes, mostly uphill. So I was knackered when I got there! They were very welcoming and I was thrown on court immediately as there were actually only two of us there at the advertised start time. I knocked up for half an hour with Richard, who I think was quite gentle with me as I told him I hadn't played for almost 18 months! More people turned up and we started the doubles matches. We were randomly paired up over the next two hours, I played with or against almost everyone there. Won our first match 6-2, then lost 3-6 and 4-6. Could have been a lot worse! It's a very sociable club so at the end I spent half an hour in the clubhouse with a much-needed beer before embarking on the long walk home. Other than my usual "wet rag" impression, and having a face the colour of someone who's about to have a heart attack, I didn't feel too bad. Then it all caught up with me. On Saturday and Sunday, everything ached! My calf muscles felt like someone was sticking knives in them and my shoulders were making alarming grinding noises. Still, I felt better for actually having done something!
By Monday, I'd just about stopped aching - so I went to a local badminton club! Again, they were a nice bunch though I think their website statement that they're mixed ability might have been a bit misleading. Some of them were VERY good! Still, I was pleased to find that despite not having played for 18 months, I could still actually play. All was going well - won the first match 21-15 then, like at the tennis, the groups mixed up. In the next match I spun/dived for an evil backhand smash from our opponents and felt (and heard) a rather nasty tearing sound from my right knee. OUCH! (Won the bloody point though!) Not wanting to wuss out, I carried on as the game was nearly over anyway and two points later it was over - we lost - and I hobbled off to see what the damage was. I was a bit concerned when I found that it hurt to bend it, straighten it or turn it! One of the others gave me some ibuprofen rub for it so I sat out for a game then decided there was only one way to find out if I should worry about it a bit more. So I played one more game (which we lost) - it stood up (no pun intended) to the challenge reasonably well, though I couldn't run backwards on it and I was very reluctant to twist. It seemed like a bad idea to risk it any further so, with 40 minutes still to go, I made my excuses and left.
This may be too much information but ... it was bloody hot in the hall so yet again, I could have wrung out everything I was wearing (clearly my DNA missed the class about "women don't sweat"!). However, I hadn't planned on using the changing room showers so I had no towel. Oh well, I thought! After my quick (cold) shower - gotta love private girls' schools - I attempted to dry off using my soggy sports gear! Memories of my school changing rooms came flooding back as I realised that it's actually impossible to get dry in them, towel or not. And to add a final insult to (actual) injury, I discovered that whilst I'd remembered to pack a change of clothes, I'd forgotten one rather vital item. To put it bluntly, I had to go commando for the walk home!!!
Anyway, my right knee just about survived the walk home although by the time I got into the flat, it was complaining, and I also found a strange dent in my left hamstring!
So - exercise. Good or bad for you? You decide.
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