At (Insert Expletive Here) Last!

I have been invited to an interview.
     Office Junior. Worcester.
     The actual job itself is situated a few minutes walk from the Crowngate Shopping Centre, but the interviews are being conducted through the recruitment website it was advertised through (in this case a company called 'Jark').
     The first time I was subjected to this form of interview process - about 6 and a half years ago, now - this was an incredibly strange and suspicious seeming practice to me, but I quickly learned that it's just the way some company's choose to do it. Out of I think 10 such interviews that I attended over a three year period, only one turned out to be bogus (in Birmingham, this was. I took one look at the supposed 'office' and didn't go in. Which turned out to be good, as the company - I forget the name - was plastered all over the internet soon after warning people that the company was a front for a lucrative scam).
     Anyway, I'm going to give it a shot. At worst, I've wasted the train fare, at best, I'll get a job. And even if not successful, your details are kept on the recruiter's file, which has the potential to prove incredibly useful later on (it was that which led to the job I have now).

I may get it, I may (given the lack of current experience) not. But the point is; I have been invited to an actual interview.

So I am very pleased.
     Yup.

=nods=

Alice x

...UPDATE...

Yeah. I think my initial pleasure was misplaced.
     Having sent a message agreeing on a time, I received a reply confirming it, along with a small list of the things I was expected to bring:

* Birth certificate or Passport
     - for proving country of origin.
* National Insurance Card or proof of National Insurance Number.
     - for proving eligibility to work in the UK.
* Details of bank account.
     - for...?

Yep. I've dealt with this before.
     It isn't a scam. Or at least, it is in my opinion, but legally speaking it's not. This is - most likely - a registration process to join the agency for a "small monthly / weekly fee", in return for which, I will be "guaranteed" work.
     The problem with that - not just for me (which was a while ago) but for others I know of far more recently - is that the type of work offered is so rarely in any way suitable as to make the registration utterly useless. In my case (Hewett Recruitment: Advantage Plus, it was called. To my knowledge this no longer exists, which hopefully means the company wised up and dropped it), I received repeated offers of - definitely - part time and - definitely - temporary contracts. In the case of my cousin - for another example - when she was made redundant recently (I must check the name of the one she joined), she was also offered work; of a completely unsuitable nature in completely unsuitable locations. Once she found a job under her own steam (she is now what I suppose could be called an Assistant Pharmacist) and all was well, she recalled the kind of conversation she ended up having with the eager and well meaning Personal Recruitment Specialist with rueful amusement:

" ...what? what do you mean you can't take on a 3 month contract for an essentially German speaking post in New Zealand? ...You need work in England, you say, and cannot speak German*? ...Well, are you sure??"

...Yep...

Anyway, I am still going on Tuesday.
     Sound crazy? Possibly, However, Jark is a genuine recruitment company - I've checked - and it may be on the up and up; fee paying registration may be a secondary and non essential part of an otherwise legitimate interview for an actual post, rather than an excuse to try and sign me up.
     If not, well, I've spent the money on the train fare, but gained some experience.
     Either way, I shall proceed with caution.

Alice x

* she does speak Italian quite fluently, though. 

Life Trundles On, Chez Collison:

* Grandmama's kitchen refit has finally (mostly) been fitted. The design promised 'more room for storage', so naturally there is now approximately half the amount of space that there was before.
     On the downside, this means that Grandmama - a perpetual and incurable hoarder of food and utensils - has had to get rid of a mass of stuff.
     On the plus side, however, this means that Grandmama - a perpetual and incurable hoarder of food and utensils - has had to get rid of a mass of stuff.
     ...And another plus; it does look terribly nice, and Grandmama is very pleased with it.

* Mother's recent attempt to broaden her mind has gone pretty much as expected. For a while, her usual Agatha Christi novel in the bathroom was replaced with Steven Hawking's "A Brief History Of Time". This led to four days of discontent and general defensiveness - as it became clear to Mother within one page that she hadn't the faintest idea what the celebrated scientific and mathematical genius was talking about - before she finally admitted defeat. Agatha has regained her rightful place on the shelf beside the 'throne' (as MJ calls it), and poor Steven's tome has been relegated to a pile of unwanted literature in the kitchen, destined for the Church raffle.

* ...speaking of Mother, she has finally heard back about her pension. With regards to the lump sum, it is due on 30th September - and is far higher than anticipated, which is very lucky, as Aunt 1 is going to need financial help soon if she is to continue Paddy's treatment regime, which is essential for him to a) live and b) be happy living - and with regards to the monthly payments, that will be slower getting off the mark due to the (stupid) way that the system is worked out, but we should apparently be good to go from November 4th onward.

* Bingo appears to be growing stiffer. We have upped the dose of painkiller to full, but only for two days. Right now we are two days on, two days off, and plan to carry on that way for a few weeks to see what happens. I know that it would be better for Bings to have the full amount every day - the thought of him being in even slight discomfort is a terrifying one for me - but his tummy just can't cope with it. Hopefully this will be an acceptable compromise.

* My trainers split across the back this morning, mid shift. They've lasted two months.
     =sighs=
     It would be far better if I could wear my waterproof boots to work, but I can't. They haven't broken in as well as I'd hoped. I took a risk, buying army boots, that they wouldn't stretch as much at the toes - how I wish I could have had the next size up, but it was hopelessly too big - and the risk didn't quite pay off. Nearly, but not quite. Dog walking wise, the boots are perfect: my feet stay dry, and I can walk on pretty much any terrain without the fear of slipping over due to the terrific grip they have. I can only wear the boots for approximately two and a half hours, however, before they begin to pinch my little pinky toes (as I have fractured them both - on separate occasions, thankfully - they are misshapen and fatter than the other toes, which really doesn't help), and three hours before the discomfort passes the baton over to pain.
     So, they are my official super-duper waterproof dog walking boots. I am not sorry I forked out the money for them. These boots will serve my hiking needs for many, many years to come.
     ...As for work, well, trainers are no good. They are too soft, and the seams are not strong enough to cope with the stress put on them by my insoles. So, back to boots I go. Ordinary run-of-the-mill boots, non-waterproof, strong enough to cope with the insoles - hopefully - yet soft enough that my little pinky toes are able to keep from crying.
     I've brought the next size up, though (which with this style is do-able)  just to be safe. So, we'll see...

* The Story is growing, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter. Carrying on like this, I should have finished it by January, which is my goal. It will be the third story I have written in full, and the first that has any real potential. The other two were written years before, and while they have some good ideas and some sections of them are quite good, I wasn't particularly happy with the result. I was stiff sort of 'finding myself', I think, writing wise (God, I hate that phrase!), and it shows.

* The money I've been waiting to hear about has been confirmed. It should be going in on October 10th. As soon as it's in, I'm ringing the college in Worcester and making an appointment to meet the head of the IT department. The sooner I'm enrolled, the better. Even if there's been a mistake, and I have to wait until January to start, I don't care: at least I'll be enrolled ready, and know that it's going to happen.

* My birthday is fast approaching. You know it's close when you find people are asking you sutble, non-obvious questions like; "...so, what did you want for your birthday...?".
     ...I'll be 32.
     Blah,..

* ...did I mention the trainers? Because they split today. Mid shift.

* I finally watched Suicide Squad the other day.
     Not bad. Not bad at all. I'll definitely be watching it again.

* I was the driving force behind stopping Felix - have I mentioned him? He is about 8 years old. and autistic (or so a trusted member of B&Q staff tells me); he comes in with his father every single weekday morning, and has a high fascination with all things mechanical and electrical - from having a meltdown this morning.
     God bless Petal. That mopping machine has stopped many a tantrum simply by driving slowly past, and it's always nice, but the huge beaming smile I got from Felix today was particularly sweet.


...and there you have it, lady and gent: the last few days in bullet points.
     Now, don't you feel special?

Alice X
   

Making Up Your Own Version Of History Is So Much Fun:

This time, it was the turn of Best Friend 0.5(1). 

     The origin of an elaborate and ornate clock in Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery was explained by Best Friend 0.5(1) thus…

***

In 1742, a dark time descended upon Birmingham.

It was the time of the Great Bakers’ Strike.

They had been unhappy for some time. The bakers had complaints a-many regarding their working and living situations. Their houses – behind the bakery – were cramped and decrepit; stifling in summer, frozen in winter, and falling apart at the rafters. The bakery itself was also in dire need of repair; the ovens intermittent and stubborn, oftentimes needing extensive coaxing to merely allow themselves to be lit.

But the most complained about aspect was none of these, dear reader. It was the amount they were paid.

            Contrary to other professions of similar status, which rose with a gentle but reliable consistency with the passing of time, their weekly wage had not risen in two decades or more. Why was not certain. The complaint had been taken to the Town Council more than once, but those in charge of such matters had reportedly bickered, passing the responsibility back and forth repeatedly between them before handing the matter back to the Council head, who then summarily refused to take action as a decision could not be reached.

The matter came to a head on the late eve of February 23^rd, 1742. A great knocking roused the Head Baker – a man who’s given name was Bernard, but who was aptly named Beak by his brethren – from peaceful slumber and drew him to the long since locked Bakery door.

            Noting the tall, shadowed figure of a man through the window pane, Beak contemplated walking away back to the warmth and comfort of his bed, then decided against it. He would probably keep knocking, he reasoned, and hinder any efforts to re-retreat into slumber. So he opened the door.

            It was Nealson, one of the lower members of the Town Council. An odious man, puffed up with false importance and swelled to unnaturalness by the wealth of his ancestors. Peering owlishly inside, he demanded in a voice too loud for the time – with the sour stench of stale beer rich on his breath – that he wanted a fresh cut loaf; heavily grained and plaited if possible.

            Well, Beak replied with the time honoured tact and patience of a man used to dealing with unreasonable members the public that he could not serve him at that time; the last loaf of the last batch had been sold to the last customer seconds before the store closed for the day. And the ovens were dead and cold and would be until 3AM the following day (Beak noted with an internal pang as he said this that that time was fast approaching).

            Nealson’s owlish face became more owlish as he stared at the Head Baker, outraged, before reminding him of his station and duty. Beak was a Baker. He was a Councilman. The lower orders were bound to serve those of the upper, and what he – an upper – wanted right at that second from him – a lower – was a fresh cut loaf: so, chop chop. He best get to it.

This was the precise the moment that something deep inside of Beak snapped, and the Great Bakers’ Strike was born.   

“Sod off, you c***t” was the reply Beak gave. An eloquent response given the circumstances, it was agreed by everyone later.

            And then he slammed the door shut.

It was to remain closed for three days after that point. Closed and barred from the inside and all knocks and calls and threats and pleas ignored.

            Then in the dead of night, under the cover of darkness, it was opened again, for approximately 60 seconds. Just enough time for the sign that was found the next day to be attached.

The announcement was simple:

“NO MORE PAY? FINE. NO MORE BREAD”.

The outcry this caused was loud enough to reach villages and towns several miles away. Loud enough for other Bakers to hear it, and immediately follow suit. Pretty soon, there wasn’t a Bakery within the entirety of lower England that was open for serving.

It was a problem, for certain. Councils met day after day as always with only the one subject on the agenda: how to end the strike. Or, to be more precise, how to end the strike without actually parting with any money.

            After two weeks’ worth of debate and deliberation, it was decided that the matter needed to be dealt with with an iron fist. A constable of the Council court was duly dispatched to post an official warning under the door – it had to be underneath, for Beak had wisely boarded the letterbox along with the door – warning them that as Bakers of the Crown, they were bound by said Crown to produce bread. If no bread was produced, then they were acting contrary to their sworn oath and could – and would – be arrested and tried for treason. They had 24 hours to comply.

The Bakers considered this for twelve hours. Then for 12 hours after, they coaxed the ovens back to life and started baking. Then just after, at 7AM, when the servant of the Head Councilman opened his door to retrieve the bottle of milk that had been ordered to be delivered ready for breakfast, he found a large basket covered over with a blanket. Calling to his master, he carried it inside. Upon inspection, the basket was found to contain bread. 

            Flat bread to be precise. Several loaves worth.

            On the top of the loaves was a note. It stated – in between various expletives –that if they wanted bread, they’d got it. One load of flat breads, made with unsweetened dough – there the quip was made ‘because all of you Upper Men are surely sweet enough’ – per day, to feed the Council, or the town, or whomever it pleased, and that was it. No more, no less, until the row was resolved. Until their needs were satisfied – on top of the original demand that their pay be raised to match inflation, it was also requested that an extra half day a week be given off to give the Bakers time to tend to their stricken houses, and also for their equally stricken ovens be paid to either be fixed or replaced – the Bakery doors would remain closed firm.

For a time, things continued in this vein, with neither side showing any sign of relenting. The Councilmen tried various threats to try and force the Bakers’ hand, but nothing worked. They couldn’t even manage to catch whomever it was that Beak was sending to deliver the grudgingly given offering of the day. No matter how closely the Bakery was watched or for how long, somehow the mystery man got through (it was later discovered that there was a disused mining tunnel, which not many knew of, leading right the way under the town).

Eventually, weeks and weeks later, the Councilmen bowed under the pressure brought by the populace – sick as they were of not having bread to go with their meat, and eggs, and fish, and cheese. And this wasn’t to mention the Councilmen themselves, who had had the bread supplied by Beak for all of this time, but were unutterably sick of sourdough – and called a special meeting to which Beak was cordially – and desperately – invited.

He arrived with great ceremony, flanked on either side by the largest Bakers of his brethren. He was offered the best seat in the Council House, and cigars and sweetmeats were wafted enticingly under his nose. He accepted a light for the former and smilingly refused the other – his wife, concerned regarding his health, had him on a low sugar diet – and after a few slow, savouring breaths of the delightful burning stick, he gave another amiable smile – the smile of a humble man that knows victory is close at hand – and asked what he could do for them.

…Well, reader(s), it was all settled very quietly and quickly after that. A special bursary was set aside for the updating of the outdated equipment in the Bakery. The half day was granted – but only on alternate Saturdays – and the long awaited pay rise was finally granted, on the condition that the Bakers wait for the start of the new financial year.

And so, the people rejoiced as the handiwork of the Bakers was restored slowly but surely to the bread and cake starved nation.

To celebrate this happy union, the Watch Makers’ Guild was commissioned to make a clock to commemorate the occasion. They initially refused – upset that due to the alternate half days off the Bakers would no longer be delivering the glorious platter of mixed sweet sandwiches that they had always so enjoyed and looked forward to every week – but a quiet word from Head Baker to Head Maker resolved the issue forthwith and the Guild – after a whispered promise that the platter would still be delivered every Saturday lunchtime providing that they didn’t mention the matter to anyone else – eagerly set to work.

This was the result:

And so it was, and so it is, and so – presumably – it will remain.

     ...Isn't history grand?

The End.

***

Two Things That I Have Found Out Today:

1. as well as having individual sections of pieces of music - in this case, J.S. Bach's Magnificat - Youtube also sometimes has the individual parts. So as well as following the music along with the backing of the entire chorus (which, to avoid Kidderminster Choral's AGM, is what I have been doing tonight), one can listen to their own line played on all its own.
     How cool is that?!
     I had no idea. I've never looked for an individual part (though having finally noticed, now it seems obvious). Previously I have just typed in the name, found a recording that has actual singing as apposed to merely being played by an orchestra, made sure that it plays all the way through with no interruptions, and then gamely set off.
     This way, though, when I haven't access to the choir (which is 6 days out of the 7), with this piece at least, I can have the best of both worlds: listen to the 2nd Soprano part in detail and allow my brain to take it in, then practice each section as a whole to see how the part fits in.
     Fantastic.

2. my dog REALLY hates it when I practice. I've noticed it more and more. If he is asleep during the process, all well and good (it doesn't seem to actively wake him up), but when he is awake, he tries everything he can think of to get me to stop.
     I thought at first it was my singing that put him off (it certainly puts me off, sometimes), but nope; it's not. It doesn't matter if I sing, or stay silent and follow the music that way, or - as I did this evening - a bit of both: he hates it, and he wants me to stop.
     Right now, he is sulking on his bed, because I wouldn't tolerate him hitting my legs and trying to clamber onto my lap.
     =shakes head=
     ...Funny dog...

Alice x

On A More Positive Note, After Careful Thinking And Consideration, Here Is My Action Plan:

***

IMMEDIATE.

1. continue looking for an administrative/office post.

     ~ tomorrow, for instance, as well as the usual trawl of t’web for jobs, I shall be popping down to a shop I have posted an application for 'Administrative Assistant' position to, to make sure they got it (whilst at the same time showing my face; letting them see that I am neatly turned out, articulate, well mannered…etc. etc.).

2. use what spare time I have to continue with The Story.

     ~ I’ve been mulling over some ideas to help it all fit together better for a while – whilst jotting down small snatches of bits of chapters here and there as they occur – and it’s helped a lot. I feel far more focused and happy with it all now.

3. continue with The Alice Plan.

NEAR FUTURE (6-12 months).

1. enrol in college.

     ~ in the event that the man I’ve spoken to about the course is right (likely); I shall be starting it in about two weeks. In the event that he is wrong (unlikely) and the course works to a term timetable rather than the ‘as suits you’ timetable he described; I shall enrol ready for the next part time semester, which is in January.

2. continue to look for an administrative/office post. In the event that I haven’t found any by the time my course is finished, move to stage two of Job Hunt Plan and start begging for administrative work of a voluntary nature*.

3. continue with The Alice Plan.

4. once Mother’s pension is in place and the money coming in, revert to halving bills and start saving any spare money not used for normal day-to-day living (including medication for the dog) and/or college travel costs in a separate fund ready for the final stage of the Action Plan.

EVENTUAL FUTURE.

1. once a new, better paying job has been found; continue saving for final stage of the Action Plan (hopefully even after additional travel costs, this will be more than could be set aside before).

2. as soon as it becomes feasibly possible, initiate final stage of the Action Plan and put down the necessary deposit on a small flat either closer to where new job is (very likely), or elsewhere in Kidderminster (given state of employment options in town, very unlikely).

3. settle in to new home. Spend a short while getting used to and enjoying it, then re-evaluate life. If completely happy, continue as per. If not, decide upon then work upon possible improvements.

***

And that, dear Reader(s), is my Action Plan (thus far).

Alice x

Drawing A Line Underneath What Turned Out To Be An Unpleasant Episode:

~.START.~

Scene is set; Alice is sat on the train, which is chugging its way towards Worcester. She is on her way to visit Cousin 1, and decides that she has recovered enough from the events of the day before to respond to the “how’d it go” questions that Best Friend 2 and Best Friend 3 have been asking. So, she gets out her mobile, and begins pressing keys. Best Friend 3 is the first to respond, and a conversation takes place...

ALICE: Hi! How goes your Sunday? If you’ve time to read the essay, I thought I’d fill you in on the events after my date, okay? …Well, it seemed great at first. We had had a great time and planned on meeting again. There was even talk of my staying with her overnight and, well, you know (on the one hand, sex on the 2^nd date; VERY soon. On the other; it’s been 10 years, and boy, did I want to!). So it was great. But then, things started to go…wrong. She started sending text messages over and over again, switching between trying to initiate phone sex (NOT my thing) and in not so many words, basically declaring her undying love. Between the text messages and two phone calls (which I couldn’t hear properly because my phone is dying) I learned that we were made for each other, that I was wonderful and lovely (…which I AM, but…), that we were going to live together A.S.A.P, that we were going to build a life together and be happy together forever…etc. etc. I tried to tell her gently that I’m not looking to build a life with anyone just yet – I’ve only just begun really work on building my own – in reply to which I got a mass of desperate texts/calls trying to change my mind. …In the end, I had to be blunt with her. Then, I had to ‘block’ her. The end. X

BEST FRIEND 3: PMSL*! I’m sorry, but that is just so funny! Oh well, at least you didn’t get murdered. Don’t worry, you’ll find someone, there are plenty more fish in the sea. X

ALICE: That’s what the dating website is called: Plenty More Fish. =shrugs= Oh well, it’s led to a funny story, at least. Boy, can I pick ‘em. X 

     …p.s. I’m very glad that I wasn’t murdered, too...

BEST FRIEND 3: PMSLM**! I guess it’s something to talk about on the next date?? It was an experience, right? I wonder why she acted like that?

ALICE: I think my profile may have given the wrong impression (not that that fully excuses her behaviour). I put that I was “looking for a relationship”. What I meant was that I would like that someday, after meeting the right girl and taking the time to get to know her, etc. But I guess, “relationship” is such a big word; it covers a wide range of things…

BEST FRIEND 3: yeah. It could be taken the wrong way. I’d change that. Can you?

ALICE: oh, done and done. I’ve reworded the ‘about me’ paragraph carefully, too.

BEST FRIEND 3: good. Well, I’m glad you didn’t get killed.

ALICE: (chuckling to self) …yeah, me too…

Scene ends; with Alice shaking head ruefully, then burying her head back in her notepad to continue the bit of The Story she was working on.

~.END.~

* for those blissfully ignorant of the dreaded ‘text speak’, this translates to Pissing My Self Laughing.

** …Pissing My Self Laughing More…

On A Happier Note, Here Is A (Direct) Quote From Mother:

"Y'know, I did think of the bin, but it was superseded by the lettuce."

...Yeah.
     I stood and blinked for a moment, too.

Alice x