Tuesday 8 November 2011
Thursday 27 October 2011
Tuesday 25 October 2011
Occupy Bristol! The movement is still going strong, but can we really change anything?
On Saturday 15th October the Occupy movement set up it's camp in Bristol, on College Green – right in front of the Cathedral. As with other similar occupations in various cities around the globe, the news was spread via social networking sites, and the local authority has obviously (politely so far) requested that they move on. The site has received regular visits from both the councils gypsy and traveller representative Ian Holding and the police representative Sargent Amanda Frame.
However, so far the only real problems either of them have had to deal with have been the lack of organisation concerning use of public toilets (Bristol City Council have refused to provide a portaloo) and the city's Friday and Saturday night revellers who, after a few two many, have tried to get inside the tents on site. Not the first issues that spring to mind when most people contemplate a fairly large scale act of civil disobedience. However, the Occupy movement (which began on Sept 17th with Occupy Wall Street and has now stretched to over 1500 cities around the globe) has been unlike other protests. There have been fewer of the usual protest staples – violence, noise, disruption to public services, and more notably, this movement seems to have lasting power, and so far shows little sign of dissipating. Instead, the Occupy movement seems to have gathered pace, determination, and more importantly, organisation since its start. And each localised movement seems to be in support of the others. It's a global phenomenon uniting people who feel genuinely let down by a powerful few.
When I heard that Bristol West MP Stephen Williams had not only addressed the protesters, but had after an impromptu phone call from one of them, taken time out of his busy schedule to visit them at the camp, it occurred to me that this really may be something different. Maybe politicians are starting to take notice. I ventured down to the site to see what was going on. I turned up on a dark and cold thursday evening for the agenda meeting, which was being held around a fire in a wheelbarrow, and to be honest, I was a little worried about it. I didn't know anyone, and I was concerned that wandering into the middle of a field on my own to tell a group of angry protesters I was a journalist was not going to go down well. Firstly, I stood out like a sore thumb, i.e., I don't look at all like a revolutionary, and secondly, some of the members were pretty riled up and clearly drunk. I decided to blend in for a bit and see what the meeting was about before saying anything. However, my concerns were completely ill founded. The drunk and rowdy contingent were immediately and politely removed by the other protesters, who made clear that drink and drugs weren't welcome at the site – that wasn't what this was about. What followed was avery well organised and democratic debate, and after confessing my journalistic intention to the group around the fire, they gladly agreed to meet me for interviews in the morning. Although, with no one in particular in charge, simply a group of people with shared concerns, I agreed to return in the daylight, and just wander round and speak to people about why they were here and what they hoped to achieve.
In the daylight, it was clear that it just short of a week, the protesters had achieved something very impressive indeed. Having initially no funds, and having never met each other, they had kept the green immaculate, kept the tents moving around in order not to damage the grass, set up a media centre, an information tent for passers by, a creative area where they were painting banners and a cooking crew. And it clearly wasn't simply a bunch of hippies either. The people I spoke to, both just lending a hand, or camping permanently varied hugely in their background, personality and the skills they were lending. However, they are all bonded by one thing – disillusion concerning the elected few who are supposed to represent us, and more importantly, the unelected few who so greatly influence them. In short, those gathered were simply a disgruntled sample of the public who had chosen to betray that truly British trait of grumbling a lot but taking little action, and instead had made a stand to be heard. I spoke to people running various parts of the site, who were happy to tell me why they had decided to join the protest, but all were very keen to point out that as a gathering of people with common interests, they all had slightly different reasons for joining the occupation, and that the opinions they expressed were theirs, and theirs alone.
James - Originally from Salisbury, teaches English as a foreign language both at home, and abroad. He has been camping at the site since the protest started a week ago.
'I hope this type of political action creates a space for a public forum and a new style of political discourse - because at the moment, no one is listening. I heard about it through Facebook. I see this as a way to implement change. Basically, the government is elected in to represent us, and at the moment, they simply aren't doing that. Voting for a group of people, none of whom really represent you is a poor substitute for getting directly involved yourself. But at the moment, what choice do we have? We need to change the structure from the bottom, we need to move outside the normal political framework, and formulate a new way. I think if enough people can come up with a better process, and consolidate those opinions, we can take our suggestions to the government, and I don't see how they can then deny the need to change. It's going to be incredibly difficult, but that's why everyone is here.'
Polly – Studying a masters in international political economy, and currently studying political finance, which is what made her join the occupation.
'It's not a protest. It's not a case of we will go if these things change. The problem is too big for that. We need a space to voice our differing concerns. One of mine is the monopoly that first bus have in Bristol, if they didn't have such a monopoly, the fares would be much more affordable. The Council are being fairly amicable, but they simply aren't addressing what we want. We've set up a communication and networking centre, and we are trying to keep in touch with all the other occupation sites, to gather their views. I believe in the movement in general - there needs to be some kind of change. I'm not a revolutionary, there are people here with much more extreme views than mine, but we are all united in feeling that something has to be done. We need accountability in politics, and a change concerning lobbying - that money needs to be taken out of politics. I think a lot of people have been waiting for something, and this seems to be it. We need a proper investigation into what happened with the banks. It's fraud, and thats a crime. The parliamentary watchdogs are a joke. The bankers, the government and the regulators are all involved.We need independent scrutiny of that. If people in government commit a crime, they should go to jail. If we commit a crime, we go to jail. We want to show the government that we aren't stupid. We can see whats going on, and we aren't happy. We've been printing leaflets, building mailing lists, setting up social networking accounts. We want to show we are rational, organised people who are ready to implement a change. And it's not just the people camping here, the public and local businesses have been really supportive.'
Sasha Patterson – Previously a public servant in London who now runs community projects.
'None of us knew each other, I heard about it on Facebook, and just turned up, and now I'm running the information tent! I was aware of occupy Wall Street, and people kept sending me information about Occupy London Stock Exchange. When I heard about Occupy Bristol, I wanted to show my support. It's all getting more organised as we go along. There was hardly anything here when we arrived, and now there are all these sections working together - it just show what you can achieve when you try. It's like a real democracy should be! We've had agenda meetings, we've come to consensus agreements, and we're getting on with it. At the moment British economics and cooperations are questionable to say the least. There are solutions available to the economic crisis, but the 1% at the top keep ruling in their own favour, and thats why we're in this mess in the first place. People aren't stupid, the public simply aren't given the information to understand whats going on, and if they were, they would get more involved. For me this is a movement. It's not a protest which is going to last for a week, a month, it's a movement against something that has been very wrong for a while. It's not just a bunch of people in a field, it's a meeting of people who have debated, raised issues, and are trying to make a difference in an informed way. It's really exciting. I just want to say to people come here and have a voice, or even just come along because it's a moment in history – this isn't going away. People are genuinely worried about where we will be in two years. I worked for ten years in a very well paid senior service job. But I got fed up of dealing with bureaucracy and people who didn't care, fed up of hearing about Blair's targets all the time. People don't realise how corrupt public services are now. That's why I decided to run community projects. People there are honestly trying to come together to achieve something, they support each other. People are ready for change, good news, hope. Personally, I want to know how long it will take us to get into the general British public's consciousness an understanding of the real issues. People know the economy is in a mess, but many don't know why. All we need is a clear explanation, and time for it to seep into public understanding. I really think there are solutions to these problems, and for me, this movement is about raising awareness. The government need to realise we're in for the long haul, and this is just the beginning.'
Sophia Collins – Runs a science education project
I heard about Occupy Bristol through Twitter. I think social media is the way most people find the news they trust now. People no longer trust the mainstream media. I came down on my own because I believe in what's being done here. It's such a positive thing. I was amazed by what a diverse and interesting group of people had joined forces. There's a sense of people being united. It's not just extremist political people, it's just normal members of the public who have a sense that what is happening to them is unfair. I've never done anything like this before. One of the most interesting things about this for me is that Steven Williams (Bristol West MP) actually came down to talk to me, a trainer in non-violent communications has been down to run a workshop for the occupiers, and members of the public who aren't involved in the camp come over just to talk. They're really happy that we are here as it provides a space for conversation. People can discuss the things they care about - they have somewhere to discuss their frustrations with whats happening to them and to hear other peoples experiences. The government need to recognise that we have a lot of support. The important thing is that this is only the visible part of Occupy Bristol. It's so much more that just what you can see here. So many people stop at the welcome stand and donate money, blankets, food – they just want to show support. We've been deciding between us how best to use the resources to keep this going. Interestingly, there seems to be more of a democracy here that there is within the government who are trying to criticise it. What we need is more consensus decision making and a move away from playground politics. We're getting more organised all the time, we've set up a bank account with the credit union, there's someone at the camp employed as treasurer, we agree on the amount of money we can spend on what – and that's all been achieved in a week between a group of people, most if whom have never met before. It's not just a bunch of wasters – it's a group of committed people, and there are so many people around the world doing the same. There's a real sense of being part of something bigger. '
So it seems Occupy Bristol is not just a bunch of hippies shouting about capitalism. And despite the objections of the council, there appears to be a dogged determination to stay put. The very different thing about this movement is that the vast majority seem happy to let them. In this case, no matter what they think about it, the government have been outvoted, and their decisions seriously called into question by an electorate who really appear to have lost the faith. It simply remains to be seen wether the unelected members of the community can call their elected representatives to account. They should be accountable for their actions - after all something is very wrong if people cannot trust elected officials ability to govern to the extent they feel they have to take matters into their own hands. At the very least the government must now know that their people are watching.
However, so far the only real problems either of them have had to deal with have been the lack of organisation concerning use of public toilets (Bristol City Council have refused to provide a portaloo) and the city's Friday and Saturday night revellers who, after a few two many, have tried to get inside the tents on site. Not the first issues that spring to mind when most people contemplate a fairly large scale act of civil disobedience. However, the Occupy movement (which began on Sept 17th with Occupy Wall Street and has now stretched to over 1500 cities around the globe) has been unlike other protests. There have been fewer of the usual protest staples – violence, noise, disruption to public services, and more notably, this movement seems to have lasting power, and so far shows little sign of dissipating. Instead, the Occupy movement seems to have gathered pace, determination, and more importantly, organisation since its start. And each localised movement seems to be in support of the others. It's a global phenomenon uniting people who feel genuinely let down by a powerful few.
When I heard that Bristol West MP Stephen Williams had not only addressed the protesters, but had after an impromptu phone call from one of them, taken time out of his busy schedule to visit them at the camp, it occurred to me that this really may be something different. Maybe politicians are starting to take notice. I ventured down to the site to see what was going on. I turned up on a dark and cold thursday evening for the agenda meeting, which was being held around a fire in a wheelbarrow, and to be honest, I was a little worried about it. I didn't know anyone, and I was concerned that wandering into the middle of a field on my own to tell a group of angry protesters I was a journalist was not going to go down well. Firstly, I stood out like a sore thumb, i.e., I don't look at all like a revolutionary, and secondly, some of the members were pretty riled up and clearly drunk. I decided to blend in for a bit and see what the meeting was about before saying anything. However, my concerns were completely ill founded. The drunk and rowdy contingent were immediately and politely removed by the other protesters, who made clear that drink and drugs weren't welcome at the site – that wasn't what this was about. What followed was avery well organised and democratic debate, and after confessing my journalistic intention to the group around the fire, they gladly agreed to meet me for interviews in the morning. Although, with no one in particular in charge, simply a group of people with shared concerns, I agreed to return in the daylight, and just wander round and speak to people about why they were here and what they hoped to achieve.
In the daylight, it was clear that it just short of a week, the protesters had achieved something very impressive indeed. Having initially no funds, and having never met each other, they had kept the green immaculate, kept the tents moving around in order not to damage the grass, set up a media centre, an information tent for passers by, a creative area where they were painting banners and a cooking crew. And it clearly wasn't simply a bunch of hippies either. The people I spoke to, both just lending a hand, or camping permanently varied hugely in their background, personality and the skills they were lending. However, they are all bonded by one thing – disillusion concerning the elected few who are supposed to represent us, and more importantly, the unelected few who so greatly influence them. In short, those gathered were simply a disgruntled sample of the public who had chosen to betray that truly British trait of grumbling a lot but taking little action, and instead had made a stand to be heard. I spoke to people running various parts of the site, who were happy to tell me why they had decided to join the protest, but all were very keen to point out that as a gathering of people with common interests, they all had slightly different reasons for joining the occupation, and that the opinions they expressed were theirs, and theirs alone.
James - Originally from Salisbury, teaches English as a foreign language both at home, and abroad. He has been camping at the site since the protest started a week ago.
'I hope this type of political action creates a space for a public forum and a new style of political discourse - because at the moment, no one is listening. I heard about it through Facebook. I see this as a way to implement change. Basically, the government is elected in to represent us, and at the moment, they simply aren't doing that. Voting for a group of people, none of whom really represent you is a poor substitute for getting directly involved yourself. But at the moment, what choice do we have? We need to change the structure from the bottom, we need to move outside the normal political framework, and formulate a new way. I think if enough people can come up with a better process, and consolidate those opinions, we can take our suggestions to the government, and I don't see how they can then deny the need to change. It's going to be incredibly difficult, but that's why everyone is here.'
Polly – Studying a masters in international political economy, and currently studying political finance, which is what made her join the occupation.
'It's not a protest. It's not a case of we will go if these things change. The problem is too big for that. We need a space to voice our differing concerns. One of mine is the monopoly that first bus have in Bristol, if they didn't have such a monopoly, the fares would be much more affordable. The Council are being fairly amicable, but they simply aren't addressing what we want. We've set up a communication and networking centre, and we are trying to keep in touch with all the other occupation sites, to gather their views. I believe in the movement in general - there needs to be some kind of change. I'm not a revolutionary, there are people here with much more extreme views than mine, but we are all united in feeling that something has to be done. We need accountability in politics, and a change concerning lobbying - that money needs to be taken out of politics. I think a lot of people have been waiting for something, and this seems to be it. We need a proper investigation into what happened with the banks. It's fraud, and thats a crime. The parliamentary watchdogs are a joke. The bankers, the government and the regulators are all involved.We need independent scrutiny of that. If people in government commit a crime, they should go to jail. If we commit a crime, we go to jail. We want to show the government that we aren't stupid. We can see whats going on, and we aren't happy. We've been printing leaflets, building mailing lists, setting up social networking accounts. We want to show we are rational, organised people who are ready to implement a change. And it's not just the people camping here, the public and local businesses have been really supportive.'
Sasha Patterson – Previously a public servant in London who now runs community projects.
'None of us knew each other, I heard about it on Facebook, and just turned up, and now I'm running the information tent! I was aware of occupy Wall Street, and people kept sending me information about Occupy London Stock Exchange. When I heard about Occupy Bristol, I wanted to show my support. It's all getting more organised as we go along. There was hardly anything here when we arrived, and now there are all these sections working together - it just show what you can achieve when you try. It's like a real democracy should be! We've had agenda meetings, we've come to consensus agreements, and we're getting on with it. At the moment British economics and cooperations are questionable to say the least. There are solutions available to the economic crisis, but the 1% at the top keep ruling in their own favour, and thats why we're in this mess in the first place. People aren't stupid, the public simply aren't given the information to understand whats going on, and if they were, they would get more involved. For me this is a movement. It's not a protest which is going to last for a week, a month, it's a movement against something that has been very wrong for a while. It's not just a bunch of people in a field, it's a meeting of people who have debated, raised issues, and are trying to make a difference in an informed way. It's really exciting. I just want to say to people come here and have a voice, or even just come along because it's a moment in history – this isn't going away. People are genuinely worried about where we will be in two years. I worked for ten years in a very well paid senior service job. But I got fed up of dealing with bureaucracy and people who didn't care, fed up of hearing about Blair's targets all the time. People don't realise how corrupt public services are now. That's why I decided to run community projects. People there are honestly trying to come together to achieve something, they support each other. People are ready for change, good news, hope. Personally, I want to know how long it will take us to get into the general British public's consciousness an understanding of the real issues. People know the economy is in a mess, but many don't know why. All we need is a clear explanation, and time for it to seep into public understanding. I really think there are solutions to these problems, and for me, this movement is about raising awareness. The government need to realise we're in for the long haul, and this is just the beginning.'
Sophia Collins – Runs a science education project
I heard about Occupy Bristol through Twitter. I think social media is the way most people find the news they trust now. People no longer trust the mainstream media. I came down on my own because I believe in what's being done here. It's such a positive thing. I was amazed by what a diverse and interesting group of people had joined forces. There's a sense of people being united. It's not just extremist political people, it's just normal members of the public who have a sense that what is happening to them is unfair. I've never done anything like this before. One of the most interesting things about this for me is that Steven Williams (Bristol West MP) actually came down to talk to me, a trainer in non-violent communications has been down to run a workshop for the occupiers, and members of the public who aren't involved in the camp come over just to talk. They're really happy that we are here as it provides a space for conversation. People can discuss the things they care about - they have somewhere to discuss their frustrations with whats happening to them and to hear other peoples experiences. The government need to recognise that we have a lot of support. The important thing is that this is only the visible part of Occupy Bristol. It's so much more that just what you can see here. So many people stop at the welcome stand and donate money, blankets, food – they just want to show support. We've been deciding between us how best to use the resources to keep this going. Interestingly, there seems to be more of a democracy here that there is within the government who are trying to criticise it. What we need is more consensus decision making and a move away from playground politics. We're getting more organised all the time, we've set up a bank account with the credit union, there's someone at the camp employed as treasurer, we agree on the amount of money we can spend on what – and that's all been achieved in a week between a group of people, most if whom have never met before. It's not just a bunch of wasters – it's a group of committed people, and there are so many people around the world doing the same. There's a real sense of being part of something bigger. '
So it seems Occupy Bristol is not just a bunch of hippies shouting about capitalism. And despite the objections of the council, there appears to be a dogged determination to stay put. The very different thing about this movement is that the vast majority seem happy to let them. In this case, no matter what they think about it, the government have been outvoted, and their decisions seriously called into question by an electorate who really appear to have lost the faith. It simply remains to be seen wether the unelected members of the community can call their elected representatives to account. They should be accountable for their actions - after all something is very wrong if people cannot trust elected officials ability to govern to the extent they feel they have to take matters into their own hands. At the very least the government must now know that their people are watching.
Friday 7 October 2011
I Quit. So what now? The Fear!
There comes a point (based on no scientific research whatsoever, it seems to me to occur in your late twenties if you're a woman, and mid thirties when you're a bloke) when you suddenly get the fear.
Mid way through a night out with mates, drunk and slurring, and dancing with no shoes on – you realise you've spent all the money in your wallet and head home, cursing the fact that you're going to feel like shit at work in the morning – that's the point when you think 'it's time to get serious'. This is usually consolidated by the walk to work in the same £piss-all p/h job you've had for the last year or so. You need to sort it out, get a career. You did all that studying at uni, culminating in all that debt you can't pay off working in a cafe/bar/shop, and aside from that, you've got brains in your head. You've got an applicable 'skill set', 'commercial awareness', or whatever it is employers are looking for. And it's time. The only problem is (well actually, one of many problems is) that you need to find a proper job. But where? The internet is awash with ads for 'graduate recruitment consultants (Salary £competitive with bonuses – earn 45k in the first year!) but wait. The only jobs available can't be finding other people jobs, as apparently, they don't exist. Otherwise they'd be advertised. Surely.
In addition to this, you need to find time to get the skills and experience to get the job you want - if there is indeed one available - but you need to keep your current minimum wage employment in order to pay the rent. And it's not like going back to uni is an option, unless your parents have a few grand spare they would like to lovingly bestow on you, and even then, it doesn't seem like those rich kids are doing any better at finding a job anyway. It's just that they aren't as under pressure to get one.
The reason I have launched into this frustrated whine is because I have recently done something, which a week ago seemed like a very brave, very sensible option. I quit my job because of all the reasons above, and then some. I had been in the same job for the last five years. Well, I started at the bottom, as part time bar maid to pay my way through uni, and when my perfect job did not, as promised, materialise, I ended up as general manager. For all intents and purposes, I was basically going slightly mad working in a job that I could see carrying on, exactly as it is now, forever and ever until I was one of those old crones, necking G&T's at ten in the morning and boring the arse off the new twenty something year old barmaids about how it was when I was their age. Also, I was working a roughly seventy hour week (pub management, for all the lack of respect most people give it, requires a lot of hard work) which was giving me no time at all to write – which is what I want to do. So, last week I quit. I handed my notice in, and Monday was my last day. I was so happy about it – it had taken guts and guile. I was out. I had time to find another job, I had gained useful and important skills. I had also found myself a part time job (as a barmaid in another pub, ahem) to tide me over. However, the being-big-and-brave buzz has started to wear off, and now I'm just in a panic.
After getting up the guts to pack the whole thing in, things suddenly seem different. Firstly, I have taken a massive pay cut. Secondly, the manager who hired me has just been fired, and now I don't know what's happening, and I'm with a bunch of new people I don't know. I'm finishing work at one in the morning again, and with a load of new, younger people who want to go out on the lash after their shift while I just want to go to bed. Also, this finding a 'proper job' is proving bloody difficult. And depressing. I have been scouring the internet for Journalism jobs. Copywriting jobs. Marketing jobs. Events management jobs. Editorial Jobs. Any job, in fact, that may give me the opportunity to at least get out of the pub trade and onto the right track. Even if it's only vaguely the right track. And to no avail. In fact, not even the courtesy of a rejection. I know there are hundreds of people applying for most jobs at the moment (I suppose that's why we need all these recruitment consultants - to spend their eight hour office day shredding seas of unwanted applications) but couldn't they at least fashion some kind of send-to-all email? 'We're sorry – you are one of hundreds of applicants who doesn't have the skills we're looking for'. If only so us job seekers don't keep desperately checking our emails every five minutes in the vain hope someone may have got back to us about, well, anything. More depressingly, just to save time, a lot of the jobs I have applied for pop up with a warning as soon as you press send on the email. A little notice appears before they've even cast a casually disapproving eye over your CV saying 'you probably won't hear anything from us – everyone is unemployed at the moment, and likely to stay that way. We important lot with a job really don't have the time to respond to the poor skint masses'. Or words to that effect.
So I suppose it's tie to extend the overdraft again. Dig out the credit card. Although, life's much easier now Cameron has reminded us to just pay it off. Thanks. I'd forgotten about it, I'll just grab that spare few hundred quid resting in my account and do it now. Cheers Dave.
The only response I have received so far was a call to say I was not getting a job because I'm 'overqualified'. Apparently because I have previous media experience, and published work, the risk assessment crew at this particular company decided I would probably leave in six months. Thanks. I wanted to explain that I have had the same rubbish job for the last five years, and if I didn't leave that, why would I leave this one? I actually wanted this one. I was happy to start at the bottom. I just want to get out! What they told us at uni, while cheerfully lending us thousands of pounds which they are now demanding back was that we would have better prospects. Give us all your cash and, at the end you'll be in a job you love, earning a satisfying living with that most useful of skills for the workplace – knowledge. Well, I'm now back doing what I was doing before uni, for the same wage. The only demonstrable life skill gained being the ability to deftly move debt between bank accounts to keep them off your back.
Could one of the vast army of recruitment consultants help me out please? Let's just give you an honest covering statement. I'm skint. I'm desperate, and I'm terrified of ending up an old alcoholic spinster landlady. I work hard, and I've got brains in my head and a lot of experience. Ah go on – Give us a job!
Mid way through a night out with mates, drunk and slurring, and dancing with no shoes on – you realise you've spent all the money in your wallet and head home, cursing the fact that you're going to feel like shit at work in the morning – that's the point when you think 'it's time to get serious'. This is usually consolidated by the walk to work in the same £piss-all p/h job you've had for the last year or so. You need to sort it out, get a career. You did all that studying at uni, culminating in all that debt you can't pay off working in a cafe/bar/shop, and aside from that, you've got brains in your head. You've got an applicable 'skill set', 'commercial awareness', or whatever it is employers are looking for. And it's time. The only problem is (well actually, one of many problems is) that you need to find a proper job. But where? The internet is awash with ads for 'graduate recruitment consultants (Salary £competitive with bonuses – earn 45k in the first year!) but wait. The only jobs available can't be finding other people jobs, as apparently, they don't exist. Otherwise they'd be advertised. Surely.
In addition to this, you need to find time to get the skills and experience to get the job you want - if there is indeed one available - but you need to keep your current minimum wage employment in order to pay the rent. And it's not like going back to uni is an option, unless your parents have a few grand spare they would like to lovingly bestow on you, and even then, it doesn't seem like those rich kids are doing any better at finding a job anyway. It's just that they aren't as under pressure to get one.
The reason I have launched into this frustrated whine is because I have recently done something, which a week ago seemed like a very brave, very sensible option. I quit my job because of all the reasons above, and then some. I had been in the same job for the last five years. Well, I started at the bottom, as part time bar maid to pay my way through uni, and when my perfect job did not, as promised, materialise, I ended up as general manager. For all intents and purposes, I was basically going slightly mad working in a job that I could see carrying on, exactly as it is now, forever and ever until I was one of those old crones, necking G&T's at ten in the morning and boring the arse off the new twenty something year old barmaids about how it was when I was their age. Also, I was working a roughly seventy hour week (pub management, for all the lack of respect most people give it, requires a lot of hard work) which was giving me no time at all to write – which is what I want to do. So, last week I quit. I handed my notice in, and Monday was my last day. I was so happy about it – it had taken guts and guile. I was out. I had time to find another job, I had gained useful and important skills. I had also found myself a part time job (as a barmaid in another pub, ahem) to tide me over. However, the being-big-and-brave buzz has started to wear off, and now I'm just in a panic.
After getting up the guts to pack the whole thing in, things suddenly seem different. Firstly, I have taken a massive pay cut. Secondly, the manager who hired me has just been fired, and now I don't know what's happening, and I'm with a bunch of new people I don't know. I'm finishing work at one in the morning again, and with a load of new, younger people who want to go out on the lash after their shift while I just want to go to bed. Also, this finding a 'proper job' is proving bloody difficult. And depressing. I have been scouring the internet for Journalism jobs. Copywriting jobs. Marketing jobs. Events management jobs. Editorial Jobs. Any job, in fact, that may give me the opportunity to at least get out of the pub trade and onto the right track. Even if it's only vaguely the right track. And to no avail. In fact, not even the courtesy of a rejection. I know there are hundreds of people applying for most jobs at the moment (I suppose that's why we need all these recruitment consultants - to spend their eight hour office day shredding seas of unwanted applications) but couldn't they at least fashion some kind of send-to-all email? 'We're sorry – you are one of hundreds of applicants who doesn't have the skills we're looking for'. If only so us job seekers don't keep desperately checking our emails every five minutes in the vain hope someone may have got back to us about, well, anything. More depressingly, just to save time, a lot of the jobs I have applied for pop up with a warning as soon as you press send on the email. A little notice appears before they've even cast a casually disapproving eye over your CV saying 'you probably won't hear anything from us – everyone is unemployed at the moment, and likely to stay that way. We important lot with a job really don't have the time to respond to the poor skint masses'. Or words to that effect.
So I suppose it's tie to extend the overdraft again. Dig out the credit card. Although, life's much easier now Cameron has reminded us to just pay it off. Thanks. I'd forgotten about it, I'll just grab that spare few hundred quid resting in my account and do it now. Cheers Dave.
The only response I have received so far was a call to say I was not getting a job because I'm 'overqualified'. Apparently because I have previous media experience, and published work, the risk assessment crew at this particular company decided I would probably leave in six months. Thanks. I wanted to explain that I have had the same rubbish job for the last five years, and if I didn't leave that, why would I leave this one? I actually wanted this one. I was happy to start at the bottom. I just want to get out! What they told us at uni, while cheerfully lending us thousands of pounds which they are now demanding back was that we would have better prospects. Give us all your cash and, at the end you'll be in a job you love, earning a satisfying living with that most useful of skills for the workplace – knowledge. Well, I'm now back doing what I was doing before uni, for the same wage. The only demonstrable life skill gained being the ability to deftly move debt between bank accounts to keep them off your back.
Could one of the vast army of recruitment consultants help me out please? Let's just give you an honest covering statement. I'm skint. I'm desperate, and I'm terrified of ending up an old alcoholic spinster landlady. I work hard, and I've got brains in my head and a lot of experience. Ah go on – Give us a job!
Wednesday 17 August 2011
'Ere Dave, what shall we do about 'Broken Britain'?
I have just read something appalling.
Now, I must admit that I did read this I the Daily Mirror, but I’m at work, and I work in a local boozer, so we have to have the red tops. Further fact checking aside, today’s paper contains an article about the terrible wages paid to the cleaners, pantry-dining room staff and the like at Eaton College, despite the head master being on a £180k a year salary. And as appalling this definitely is, the most worrying piece of information in the article was the assertion that David Cameron (who, in case you missed it, is currently roaming the country doing his usual PR speeches suggesting ways to fix ‘Broken Britain’ while gesticulating with his usual patronising flair) is the 19th British Prime Minister to be educated there. Now, pardon me if I’m wrong, but how the hell is someone who has spent their entire life happily hidden away dressed in a bow tie and tails, ignoring the poorly paid bastards that keep their immaculate little group of friends clean and fed supposed to have any clue what the hell is going on with the majority of the country? Do they even realise that some people earn a fraction of what they pay to attend this bastion of upper class Englishness per year? And these people still manage to raise children, work, and do their own cooking and cleaning all by themselves.
It seems quite possible that Cameron and his kind only noticed that people were a bit ‘miffed’ when they started lobbing Molotov cocktails through shop windows and nicking stuff. Not that I am defending looting and violence in any way. It just seems that it may have been avoided if the country was run by someone who had at least a vague idea about the majority of people who live in it. And I don’t just mean the poorly paid under-classes, but the working classes, hell, even the middle classes who had so little faith in the running of their country that they decided to clean up the riot mess themselves, and took to the streets, brooms in hand. After all,if you want something doing properly, you'd better do it yourself. Since he was eleven and started having his mess cleaned up by the poorly paid cleaners at Eaton, I doubt Cameron has lifted any domestic object other than the silver spoon he was given into his overfed mouth. And worse than that, he feigned horror and buddied up to those many Britons who condemned the thieves at the riots – prescribing tough measures for our ‘sick society’.
In his speech outside number 10, he spoke about the ‘complete lack of respect shown by these groups of thugs,’ about the ‘mindless selfishness and lack of responsibility’, and about how ‘their rights outweigh their responsibility’. We’ll, as appalling as their behaviour admittedly is, I wonder where they learned that set of values Mr Prime Minister? Maybe it would be a good idea to get off your moral high horse and level some of those judgments at the powerful structures in the UK, like politicians and the press. Although, at least all this ruckus has taken the heat off you and your pals for a while eh? Even your well-paid publicity officers couldn’t have orchestrated a distraction this epic. But just so you know, robbing expenses is just as much theft as nicking trainers from footlocker. You want to strip these ‘gangs’ of their uniform, ban their hoodies and scarves, well maybe we should do the same to you, and ban the dickie bow and the elocution lessons from the Eaton crew. Then we’ll all look the same, and sound the same, and maybe then there won’t be, as you put it, such a ‘culture of fear on our streets’. Although God forbid, you might get mistaken for a normal member of society, and have to pick up a broom and clean up some of the mess on the street yourself, rather than just spouting some well planned PR bullshit about it.
Now, I must admit that I did read this I the Daily Mirror, but I’m at work, and I work in a local boozer, so we have to have the red tops. Further fact checking aside, today’s paper contains an article about the terrible wages paid to the cleaners, pantry-dining room staff and the like at Eaton College, despite the head master being on a £180k a year salary. And as appalling this definitely is, the most worrying piece of information in the article was the assertion that David Cameron (who, in case you missed it, is currently roaming the country doing his usual PR speeches suggesting ways to fix ‘Broken Britain’ while gesticulating with his usual patronising flair) is the 19th British Prime Minister to be educated there. Now, pardon me if I’m wrong, but how the hell is someone who has spent their entire life happily hidden away dressed in a bow tie and tails, ignoring the poorly paid bastards that keep their immaculate little group of friends clean and fed supposed to have any clue what the hell is going on with the majority of the country? Do they even realise that some people earn a fraction of what they pay to attend this bastion of upper class Englishness per year? And these people still manage to raise children, work, and do their own cooking and cleaning all by themselves.
It seems quite possible that Cameron and his kind only noticed that people were a bit ‘miffed’ when they started lobbing Molotov cocktails through shop windows and nicking stuff. Not that I am defending looting and violence in any way. It just seems that it may have been avoided if the country was run by someone who had at least a vague idea about the majority of people who live in it. And I don’t just mean the poorly paid under-classes, but the working classes, hell, even the middle classes who had so little faith in the running of their country that they decided to clean up the riot mess themselves, and took to the streets, brooms in hand. After all,if you want something doing properly, you'd better do it yourself. Since he was eleven and started having his mess cleaned up by the poorly paid cleaners at Eaton, I doubt Cameron has lifted any domestic object other than the silver spoon he was given into his overfed mouth. And worse than that, he feigned horror and buddied up to those many Britons who condemned the thieves at the riots – prescribing tough measures for our ‘sick society’.
In his speech outside number 10, he spoke about the ‘complete lack of respect shown by these groups of thugs,’ about the ‘mindless selfishness and lack of responsibility’, and about how ‘their rights outweigh their responsibility’. We’ll, as appalling as their behaviour admittedly is, I wonder where they learned that set of values Mr Prime Minister? Maybe it would be a good idea to get off your moral high horse and level some of those judgments at the powerful structures in the UK, like politicians and the press. Although, at least all this ruckus has taken the heat off you and your pals for a while eh? Even your well-paid publicity officers couldn’t have orchestrated a distraction this epic. But just so you know, robbing expenses is just as much theft as nicking trainers from footlocker. You want to strip these ‘gangs’ of their uniform, ban their hoodies and scarves, well maybe we should do the same to you, and ban the dickie bow and the elocution lessons from the Eaton crew. Then we’ll all look the same, and sound the same, and maybe then there won’t be, as you put it, such a ‘culture of fear on our streets’. Although God forbid, you might get mistaken for a normal member of society, and have to pick up a broom and clean up some of the mess on the street yourself, rather than just spouting some well planned PR bullshit about it.
Friday 8 July 2011
Wednesday 22 June 2011
Sunday 19 June 2011
Riot! A Play about Ikea... Definitely a different kind of production.
I really enjoyed this peculiar offering from the Wardrobe Ensemble at Bristol Old Vic. Check out my review at
A Musical about Ikea!
A Musical about Ikea!
Thursday 31 March 2011
Would you like some manners with that pint, sir?
Before I say anything else, I would like to make one thing clear. I am not a mad feminist. I am generally concerned about the usual things women have cause to moan about – gender pay gaps, the fact that us ladies are often written off as old and past it much younger than men (I mean look at poor Moira Stewart. They would never have done that to Trevor McDonald), the unfair advantage given to beautiful women (and men for that matter) in most areas of life, that sort of thing. I also like watching Sex and the City, but despite what most men think, I don’t wish to emulate their shallow consumer driven lifestyle. I’m not even particularly interested in shoes. Wearing sky high heels only means I can’t get as drunk as I would like on nights out, so I’ll stick with flats, thank you very much. However, I do wish to voice a concern that has given me much grief this week. And the concern is men. Not in general you understand, but men in the work place - in my work place to be precise.
This is partly my own fault (and I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised) as I have ended up doing a ‘blokes’ job. I am manager of a group of mainly male employees, which for the most part, they don’t seem to like one bit. I am currently managing a pub, which before me was run by a group of middle aged men, who had all known each other for years and who, despite their little fallings out and disagreements, at least all gave each others opinions equal weight because for all intents and purposes, they were cut from the same cloth.
The other unhelpful factor in my transition is that before becoming manager I worked in the same pub as a barmaid. And everyone loves a young barmaid. Because we sell you beer, look pretty and pretend to flirt with you a bit. However, if we then end up in charge, in a position to throw you out or make business decisions, apparently barmaids just aren’t fun anymore. Barmaids aren’t supposed to understand anything about business, and as soon as they hint that they do, they aren’t to be trusted. And I have managed to get this attitude from all sides. Customers, workmates, and generally any man who thinks he could do the job better. Which is just about everyone. Because they’ve all been in a pub before. And seemingly that qualifies you to run one.
Didn’t Britain used to be full of landladies? You know, those great British treasures in the vein of Peggy Mitchell. Bit of a battleaxe, but good fun and took no nonsense, except off those ape-like sons of hers, but at least they could help her lug barrels about. I used to quite like Peggy Mitchell. But along with numerous other British type traditions, this one seems to have died. And I suppose I am quite young to be taking on such a job, but give me a bloody break! I have so far been patronised, openly bitched about and argued with, ‘advised’ that I am going about things the wrong way, or simply ignored completely. I arranged a meeting with an employment lawyer a few days ago, which the bookkeeper (a man in his forties) decided to sit in on. And they were a well-known reputable firm. Did this arsehole look at me once? Did he bollocks. After his initial poorly disguised shock that I was the manager in the first place, he proceeded to give me a fleeting glance every few minutes, and direct all the answers to my questions to the bookkeeper. I felt like a kid at a grown ups dinner table, to be seen and not heard. I eventually forced him to direct his attention to me by pointing out that I had called him in, and I was potentially going to hire him. I had to be downright pushy, which really annoyed me. I did not hire him, by the way.
It’s the same with the assistant manager. Despite reps, delivery men, contractors, accounts people or anyone else knowing I am the manager, and that I am usually the one that arranged the bloody meeting, they will still refer all questions and answers to the assistant, simply because he’s male. And I think I’m picking up some manly aggression due to it. I now spend practically all my time with men. I work with them, due to most of my friends being connected with work, as most peoples are, I end up spending my free time with them. For Gods sake, I live with two blokes also. I’m starting to crave a Sex and the City marathon and a night out in high heels. And despite my horror at the prospect, it seems you can be as ballsy as you like, but it’s true, the quickest way to get men to do anything is the age old skill of flattering their ego, and making them think it was their idea first, whilst batting your eyelashes a bit. So take note of this fellas. Women are only manipulative because you don’t fucking listen. And, Mr Lawyer, if a woman is potentially paying your wages, look her in the face for Christ sake. We aren’t stupid, and we are perfectly capable of doing our jobs. And the bits we don’t want to do, we’ll make you do, and we’ll make you think it was your own brilliant idea in the first place. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourselves.
This is partly my own fault (and I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised) as I have ended up doing a ‘blokes’ job. I am manager of a group of mainly male employees, which for the most part, they don’t seem to like one bit. I am currently managing a pub, which before me was run by a group of middle aged men, who had all known each other for years and who, despite their little fallings out and disagreements, at least all gave each others opinions equal weight because for all intents and purposes, they were cut from the same cloth.
The other unhelpful factor in my transition is that before becoming manager I worked in the same pub as a barmaid. And everyone loves a young barmaid. Because we sell you beer, look pretty and pretend to flirt with you a bit. However, if we then end up in charge, in a position to throw you out or make business decisions, apparently barmaids just aren’t fun anymore. Barmaids aren’t supposed to understand anything about business, and as soon as they hint that they do, they aren’t to be trusted. And I have managed to get this attitude from all sides. Customers, workmates, and generally any man who thinks he could do the job better. Which is just about everyone. Because they’ve all been in a pub before. And seemingly that qualifies you to run one.
Didn’t Britain used to be full of landladies? You know, those great British treasures in the vein of Peggy Mitchell. Bit of a battleaxe, but good fun and took no nonsense, except off those ape-like sons of hers, but at least they could help her lug barrels about. I used to quite like Peggy Mitchell. But along with numerous other British type traditions, this one seems to have died. And I suppose I am quite young to be taking on such a job, but give me a bloody break! I have so far been patronised, openly bitched about and argued with, ‘advised’ that I am going about things the wrong way, or simply ignored completely. I arranged a meeting with an employment lawyer a few days ago, which the bookkeeper (a man in his forties) decided to sit in on. And they were a well-known reputable firm. Did this arsehole look at me once? Did he bollocks. After his initial poorly disguised shock that I was the manager in the first place, he proceeded to give me a fleeting glance every few minutes, and direct all the answers to my questions to the bookkeeper. I felt like a kid at a grown ups dinner table, to be seen and not heard. I eventually forced him to direct his attention to me by pointing out that I had called him in, and I was potentially going to hire him. I had to be downright pushy, which really annoyed me. I did not hire him, by the way.
It’s the same with the assistant manager. Despite reps, delivery men, contractors, accounts people or anyone else knowing I am the manager, and that I am usually the one that arranged the bloody meeting, they will still refer all questions and answers to the assistant, simply because he’s male. And I think I’m picking up some manly aggression due to it. I now spend practically all my time with men. I work with them, due to most of my friends being connected with work, as most peoples are, I end up spending my free time with them. For Gods sake, I live with two blokes also. I’m starting to crave a Sex and the City marathon and a night out in high heels. And despite my horror at the prospect, it seems you can be as ballsy as you like, but it’s true, the quickest way to get men to do anything is the age old skill of flattering their ego, and making them think it was their idea first, whilst batting your eyelashes a bit. So take note of this fellas. Women are only manipulative because you don’t fucking listen. And, Mr Lawyer, if a woman is potentially paying your wages, look her in the face for Christ sake. We aren’t stupid, and we are perfectly capable of doing our jobs. And the bits we don’t want to do, we’ll make you do, and we’ll make you think it was your own brilliant idea in the first place. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourselves.
Thursday 10 March 2011
In My Life
When I was about seven, I remember sitting in the kitchen watching my Dad cooking dinner. I was perched on the kitchen unit, and he was attempting to make curry, following the strict instructions left by my Caribbean ma, who was currently working a night shift at the hospital. He was listening to the Beatles and I was concentrating intently to the lyrics to all the songs. The song I particularly remember was ‘In My Life’. He said it was one of his favourite songs, and he was singing it with an odd look on his face.
It was the first verse that fascinated me.
There are places I remember,
All my life, though some have changed,
Some forever not for better,
Some have gone, and some remain,
All these places have their moments,
With lovers and friends, I still can recall,
Some are dead and some are living,
In my life, I’ve loved them all.
I think that to me, having no sense of any relationship with friends or places that had any longevity (being seven and all) the lyrics seemed incredibly sad. But my dad was singing along looking strangely happy. So I asked him about it. I remember saying that I didn’t understand why he liked the song, or why it made him happy. The man was singing about his friends being dead, and that should make you sad, not happy. I proclaimed that I didn’t like the song, and I thought it was depressing and we shouldn’t listen to it anymore. My Dad looked very amused, which annoyed me even more, and told me that it was a lovely song, and that he thought I would like it very much when I was a bit older and understood what the words meant properly. He then asked me to taste the curry, and tell him if I thought my mum would like it. He said he couldn’t really cook before my mum had taught him, and that he had learned a lot of things from her. Then he put yellow submarine on for me, and I liked that a lot better.
The reason I was thinking about this is because I went to a funeral on Tuesday of a man in his fifties with whom I have worked for the past four years. When I started he was in charge of the entertainment, and had been for some years. He, the manager, his wife, and the owner had all started the business together a good number of years ago. He had been in lots of bands, and knew many musicians. Obviously I had only known him in middle age in light of a working relationship, but we had got on well and I was very sad about his death. The funeral was packed. There were hundreds of people, mainly musicians who he had met in England or America, at festivals, parties, bars and anywhere else you meet wandering creative souls. It was obvious they all loved him dearly. The fascinating thing was to see the innumerable ties, connections and memories that all these people had with one man, and the overarching and beautiful relationship he had had with one woman throughout the entire time. They all knew a different part of the same person, and she had known him throughout it all.
She remained calm and dignified during the whole thing, and I could only wonder in bemused awe at what a connection like that, that lasts so many years would be like. It made me wonder, as funerals do, about my life so far, and the various and varied relationships I have had over the years. About the parts of my own character and life I have shared with different people, who will most likely never meet each other, and who I cherish deeply and always will. There are some who have died, and there are the friends who remember them, and who I rarely see any more, but who are all bound by shared memories. There are newer friends, who don’t know the old, but mean equally as much to me. It is all these people, and the connections to them and the places you met that make up a life.
But the thing that struck me most of all was the desire to have someone who stays with you for the most part. Who can know you better than anyone else, and will love you unconditionally, and who will let you love them back. It made me both happy and sad to know that he was lucky enough to have had that on top of all the other fleeting but beautiful connections that someone makes in a life. And as indescribably sad as his partner must be, she must also feel blessed.
So thanks Dad, I do understand the words properly now, and I do like the song very much.
I’m also glad one of my many fond memories is getting so annoyed with you about it!
And to Chrissie, I’m so very sorry for your loss.
It was the first verse that fascinated me.
There are places I remember,
All my life, though some have changed,
Some forever not for better,
Some have gone, and some remain,
All these places have their moments,
With lovers and friends, I still can recall,
Some are dead and some are living,
In my life, I’ve loved them all.
I think that to me, having no sense of any relationship with friends or places that had any longevity (being seven and all) the lyrics seemed incredibly sad. But my dad was singing along looking strangely happy. So I asked him about it. I remember saying that I didn’t understand why he liked the song, or why it made him happy. The man was singing about his friends being dead, and that should make you sad, not happy. I proclaimed that I didn’t like the song, and I thought it was depressing and we shouldn’t listen to it anymore. My Dad looked very amused, which annoyed me even more, and told me that it was a lovely song, and that he thought I would like it very much when I was a bit older and understood what the words meant properly. He then asked me to taste the curry, and tell him if I thought my mum would like it. He said he couldn’t really cook before my mum had taught him, and that he had learned a lot of things from her. Then he put yellow submarine on for me, and I liked that a lot better.
The reason I was thinking about this is because I went to a funeral on Tuesday of a man in his fifties with whom I have worked for the past four years. When I started he was in charge of the entertainment, and had been for some years. He, the manager, his wife, and the owner had all started the business together a good number of years ago. He had been in lots of bands, and knew many musicians. Obviously I had only known him in middle age in light of a working relationship, but we had got on well and I was very sad about his death. The funeral was packed. There were hundreds of people, mainly musicians who he had met in England or America, at festivals, parties, bars and anywhere else you meet wandering creative souls. It was obvious they all loved him dearly. The fascinating thing was to see the innumerable ties, connections and memories that all these people had with one man, and the overarching and beautiful relationship he had had with one woman throughout the entire time. They all knew a different part of the same person, and she had known him throughout it all.
She remained calm and dignified during the whole thing, and I could only wonder in bemused awe at what a connection like that, that lasts so many years would be like. It made me wonder, as funerals do, about my life so far, and the various and varied relationships I have had over the years. About the parts of my own character and life I have shared with different people, who will most likely never meet each other, and who I cherish deeply and always will. There are some who have died, and there are the friends who remember them, and who I rarely see any more, but who are all bound by shared memories. There are newer friends, who don’t know the old, but mean equally as much to me. It is all these people, and the connections to them and the places you met that make up a life.
But the thing that struck me most of all was the desire to have someone who stays with you for the most part. Who can know you better than anyone else, and will love you unconditionally, and who will let you love them back. It made me both happy and sad to know that he was lucky enough to have had that on top of all the other fleeting but beautiful connections that someone makes in a life. And as indescribably sad as his partner must be, she must also feel blessed.
So thanks Dad, I do understand the words properly now, and I do like the song very much.
I’m also glad one of my many fond memories is getting so annoyed with you about it!
And to Chrissie, I’m so very sorry for your loss.
Friday 25 February 2011
Job Interview? Good Luck...
What happens to logical, otherwise articulate people in job interviews? I assume it isn’t just me that has this problem.
Getting an interview is not the issue. On a CV or covering letter you can sound like a normal, functional person. The same goes for when you actually manage to get the job. Once in, you’re often just as good at it as you said you were in your logical and articulate CV (or pretty damn close). However, no matter how much experience you have, or how capable you know you can be in the role, as soon as you walk through the door and are confronted by a boardroom and a suit, you suddenly transform into some kind of rambling idiot who is more akin to someone who has been let out on day release than a potentially capable member of whatever company it is you’re applying for.
I am still plagued by the ongoing and unsolvable problem that during my day-to-day life, whatever it is I’m doing (be it checking into Hotels or doing the payroll at work) I still feel like a big kid playing at being an adult. However, it’s only when I walk into a job interview that it feels like I’ve truly been rumbled. As soon as I see the suit looking back at me, I get that long forgotten feeling of being hauled into the headmaster’s office. I can already hear the line;
‘We’re very disappointed. Now I’m afraid we’re going to have to call your parents’.
The only upside is now that I’m a proper grown up, I can choose not to inform my mother that I’ve behaved so disappointingly, and can hide the fact that I still have no idea what I want to do with my life, and therefore avoid the lecture about ‘applying yourself and having a little direction’.
This has all sprung freshly into my mind as I recently got an interview for a job a genuinely think I would enjoy, and be very good at, thank you very much. However, the interview was yesterday, and I spent most of yesterday afternoon reliving the horror in those short sharp bursts the re-enter your consciousness like a malicious pixie poking you in the head and laughing, reminding you what a useless berk you are, despite the fact that you’re doing your best to lose yourself in red wine and conversation. The interview was for a part time journalist position with a lovely little company who want to help the community, and when I read the job spec, I was really excited. Not only did it sound like something I could do, but something I would enjoy, whilst simultaneously appeasing my social conscience a bit. The initial panic set in when my interviewer mentioned he was the financial director of a company. There go the alarm bells. I forgot instantly that I am actually a manager, and I can do my own finances responsibly (well, unless I see a really nice dress or something, but hey, I’m female, that’s standard). My first thought was ‘Shit. He’s a proper businessman’. Good start. Second pitfall of the whole debacle was the mention that someone else running for the post was currently working at the BBC.
‘Not the Beeb! I can’t compete with a proper jouro from the Beeb.’
And that was it, thus began the comedy of errors. I proceeded to madly flap my hands about in a show of gesticulation closely resembling semaphore for the alphabetically challenged. The manic nervous laughter kicked in. Closely followed by forgetting my interviewers name shortly after mentioning how good I am at remembering names, which, incidentally was one of the necessities of the role. It is as if your mind has an evil, or at least playful, side with a very bad sense of humour. It’s the side that normally laughs under its breath at other people’s humiliation. I suppose it’s probably karma for laughing at the woman I saw running to catch the bus and who went full pelt into the Perspex bus stop last week. Anyway, I digress.
Basically, the result was that after doing a very convincing impression of someone unable to perform any requirements of the role, a role which I had entered the room thinking I would be perfect for, I left feeling like a small child having who hasn’t worked hard enough, and is letting no one down but themselves. At least I didn’t get a letter home. However, my little sister had informed my mother that I had an interview. She called just I had got to the pub with a consolatory glass of red to see how it went. And the conversation began thus:
‘So it didn’t go very well then?’
‘Well, I’ll wait to hear ma’.
‘You should have done more research’.
‘Yes ma’
‘And where are you? It’s very noisy. Are you in the pub? You’re not drinking at this time of day are you Natalie…’
I might just skip the middleman and say I’m grounded for a week so I don’t have to go outside and deal with anyone. Better luck next time?
Getting an interview is not the issue. On a CV or covering letter you can sound like a normal, functional person. The same goes for when you actually manage to get the job. Once in, you’re often just as good at it as you said you were in your logical and articulate CV (or pretty damn close). However, no matter how much experience you have, or how capable you know you can be in the role, as soon as you walk through the door and are confronted by a boardroom and a suit, you suddenly transform into some kind of rambling idiot who is more akin to someone who has been let out on day release than a potentially capable member of whatever company it is you’re applying for.
I am still plagued by the ongoing and unsolvable problem that during my day-to-day life, whatever it is I’m doing (be it checking into Hotels or doing the payroll at work) I still feel like a big kid playing at being an adult. However, it’s only when I walk into a job interview that it feels like I’ve truly been rumbled. As soon as I see the suit looking back at me, I get that long forgotten feeling of being hauled into the headmaster’s office. I can already hear the line;
‘We’re very disappointed. Now I’m afraid we’re going to have to call your parents’.
The only upside is now that I’m a proper grown up, I can choose not to inform my mother that I’ve behaved so disappointingly, and can hide the fact that I still have no idea what I want to do with my life, and therefore avoid the lecture about ‘applying yourself and having a little direction’.
This has all sprung freshly into my mind as I recently got an interview for a job a genuinely think I would enjoy, and be very good at, thank you very much. However, the interview was yesterday, and I spent most of yesterday afternoon reliving the horror in those short sharp bursts the re-enter your consciousness like a malicious pixie poking you in the head and laughing, reminding you what a useless berk you are, despite the fact that you’re doing your best to lose yourself in red wine and conversation. The interview was for a part time journalist position with a lovely little company who want to help the community, and when I read the job spec, I was really excited. Not only did it sound like something I could do, but something I would enjoy, whilst simultaneously appeasing my social conscience a bit. The initial panic set in when my interviewer mentioned he was the financial director of a company. There go the alarm bells. I forgot instantly that I am actually a manager, and I can do my own finances responsibly (well, unless I see a really nice dress or something, but hey, I’m female, that’s standard). My first thought was ‘Shit. He’s a proper businessman’. Good start. Second pitfall of the whole debacle was the mention that someone else running for the post was currently working at the BBC.
‘Not the Beeb! I can’t compete with a proper jouro from the Beeb.’
And that was it, thus began the comedy of errors. I proceeded to madly flap my hands about in a show of gesticulation closely resembling semaphore for the alphabetically challenged. The manic nervous laughter kicked in. Closely followed by forgetting my interviewers name shortly after mentioning how good I am at remembering names, which, incidentally was one of the necessities of the role. It is as if your mind has an evil, or at least playful, side with a very bad sense of humour. It’s the side that normally laughs under its breath at other people’s humiliation. I suppose it’s probably karma for laughing at the woman I saw running to catch the bus and who went full pelt into the Perspex bus stop last week. Anyway, I digress.
Basically, the result was that after doing a very convincing impression of someone unable to perform any requirements of the role, a role which I had entered the room thinking I would be perfect for, I left feeling like a small child having who hasn’t worked hard enough, and is letting no one down but themselves. At least I didn’t get a letter home. However, my little sister had informed my mother that I had an interview. She called just I had got to the pub with a consolatory glass of red to see how it went. And the conversation began thus:
‘So it didn’t go very well then?’
‘Well, I’ll wait to hear ma’.
‘You should have done more research’.
‘Yes ma’
‘And where are you? It’s very noisy. Are you in the pub? You’re not drinking at this time of day are you Natalie…’
I might just skip the middleman and say I’m grounded for a week so I don’t have to go outside and deal with anyone. Better luck next time?
Friday 14 January 2011
Here We Go Again... 2011!
Well the hangover has finally worn off and having now emerged bleary eyed and hopeful, 2011 seems to have kicked off to a spectacular start. Once again, any faith in the New Year improving on any of the nonsense the previous year had to offer has been totally unfounded. Naïve I know. How are we to expect anything better, given the sorry state of affairs that reached its culmination but a few short weeks ago? The year kicked off with a political and economic situation so fucked to present as a solution not one, but a momentous union of two absolutely feckless upper class moron leaders who inspire, at best apathy, and at worst the desire to massacre the pair of them. Or at least cut off their expense accounts and make them go and live with the poor people. God forbid. The best hope we have so far is that they’ll manage to raise education fees to the extent that eventually no one will be informed enough to understand the intricate and self serving motives behind whatever it is they manage to screw up next.
It also seems to be a year in which everyone has lost faith in any modern relationship having even a hopeful and underlying chance of survival. Monogamy and lasting love seem to be a quaint fifties notion, cemented by the fact that most couples had to stay together bonded by financial necessity. This is a situation the current government seems keen to replicate by economically penalising those who mess up their relationships. To err is human. To financially castrate is divine. Apparently.
But hey, it’s not like any other applicable solution seems to have presented itself. Why not look backwards with rose tinted glasses (the modern addition may now be rose tinted 3D specs, although the fifties also had the 3D cinematic phenomenon sorted I believe) if the only alternative is to look forward into a world where having failed to distract ourselves with nightmarish fairy tales of potential terrorists lurking around every corner, the only distraction we now have is watching ‘celebs’ eating kangaroo bollocks in a fake jungle setting or the X Factor. I mean, who cares about relationships or politics when we can ponder whether or not Cheryl Cole will get her tattoos removed or if she’s screwing some dancer.
We can’t even afford to drown our sorrows down the pub anymore. So down to Tesco for some tinnies and back to the sofa it will have to be. And what are we urged to do in order to change this situation? Get famous. No one gives a damn how. Get your tits out maybe. Sing Over the Rainbow. Tell the Sun just how much Meow Meow messed up your life. Or ketamin messed up your kidneys. Or seek out the next fashionable drug to sweep the streets, name it something catchy and ban it without bothering to listen to any researchers on the matter. Just make sure the sensationalist media is listening. We don’t need research. Sod investigative journalism. We have Wiki Leaks or the anonymously tipped rumour mill to keep us going. Maybe try and catch some callous nutter chucking a cat in a bin on CCTV. Everyone will quickly forget about the larger tragedies and corruption the world.
The moral to 2011 seems to run thus; Don’t think, don’t expect anything to last, and for God’s sake don’t expect any of it mean anything. It’s not the modern mantra to strive for any substance. Unless a token glance into some Eastern spirituality will ease your conscience and give you a fleeting sense of purpose – do yoga or a meditation class for a couple of weeks. It is January and therefore time to resolve to try, and the rapidly fail at committing to something after all. We just need to keep chasing our fifteen minutes. Or money. Or just buy something. Or try for better looks. That’ll make us happy. And we can chase the dream for longer now that we can fill our faces with botox. No one will know the difference. If you pick that route they wont even see the frown lines or the pain and emptiness in your eyes at having failed so miserably to achieve a goal that was an ephemeral fallacy in the first place.
We’ll all be so beautiful that you wont even notice the pointlessness of it all.
It also seems to be a year in which everyone has lost faith in any modern relationship having even a hopeful and underlying chance of survival. Monogamy and lasting love seem to be a quaint fifties notion, cemented by the fact that most couples had to stay together bonded by financial necessity. This is a situation the current government seems keen to replicate by economically penalising those who mess up their relationships. To err is human. To financially castrate is divine. Apparently.
But hey, it’s not like any other applicable solution seems to have presented itself. Why not look backwards with rose tinted glasses (the modern addition may now be rose tinted 3D specs, although the fifties also had the 3D cinematic phenomenon sorted I believe) if the only alternative is to look forward into a world where having failed to distract ourselves with nightmarish fairy tales of potential terrorists lurking around every corner, the only distraction we now have is watching ‘celebs’ eating kangaroo bollocks in a fake jungle setting or the X Factor. I mean, who cares about relationships or politics when we can ponder whether or not Cheryl Cole will get her tattoos removed or if she’s screwing some dancer.
We can’t even afford to drown our sorrows down the pub anymore. So down to Tesco for some tinnies and back to the sofa it will have to be. And what are we urged to do in order to change this situation? Get famous. No one gives a damn how. Get your tits out maybe. Sing Over the Rainbow. Tell the Sun just how much Meow Meow messed up your life. Or ketamin messed up your kidneys. Or seek out the next fashionable drug to sweep the streets, name it something catchy and ban it without bothering to listen to any researchers on the matter. Just make sure the sensationalist media is listening. We don’t need research. Sod investigative journalism. We have Wiki Leaks or the anonymously tipped rumour mill to keep us going. Maybe try and catch some callous nutter chucking a cat in a bin on CCTV. Everyone will quickly forget about the larger tragedies and corruption the world.
The moral to 2011 seems to run thus; Don’t think, don’t expect anything to last, and for God’s sake don’t expect any of it mean anything. It’s not the modern mantra to strive for any substance. Unless a token glance into some Eastern spirituality will ease your conscience and give you a fleeting sense of purpose – do yoga or a meditation class for a couple of weeks. It is January and therefore time to resolve to try, and the rapidly fail at committing to something after all. We just need to keep chasing our fifteen minutes. Or money. Or just buy something. Or try for better looks. That’ll make us happy. And we can chase the dream for longer now that we can fill our faces with botox. No one will know the difference. If you pick that route they wont even see the frown lines or the pain and emptiness in your eyes at having failed so miserably to achieve a goal that was an ephemeral fallacy in the first place.
We’ll all be so beautiful that you wont even notice the pointlessness of it all.
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