Time....

I had an interview last week for a job that I really want. It was on Tuesday so I took Monday off to prepare for it and Wednesday off to recover. I didn't go to the pub job all week and I only came in for the day job on Thursday and Friday, claiming some sort of stomach ailment.

This week I have, so far worked five days and three nights and I'm going to work tonight too and I don't feel nearly as tired as I did last week, weird huh?
I've been enjoying the pub job, apparently October is a notoriously slow month in the pub trade which means I get paid to just be there a lot of the time, and I get to try the nice new beers we get in and a trader discount on borough market. It's a win-win situation for me, I get paid to be out of the flat and I hate that flat. I spend my days looking at alternatives and the contract is coming to a close (hallelujah!) next month so we actually have to find a new one and what with this credit crunch (Gawd bless it) prices are at a reasonable level and we can afford somewhere decent without having to go for a dodgy sublet.

Anyway, the point of this post was to tell you why I'm not writing that much any more, I'm spending my time at my day job looking for flats/jobs and most of my evenings are spent working in the pub. The need to save. I want to do grown up things and it seems to do any of them I need to get money and lots of it. What I'm actually planning is a surprise so you'l have to wait and see. It wont be long and I wont be writing much in the mean time, but bear with me because this is going to be worth it!

This is what I want to do (for now)

Monday was a shit of a day. I was tired from the start and I got that email saying that I wasn't being asked to interview for the job that I'm presently temping in. And it's the first week where I'm working 3 nights in the pub (Monday, Wednesday and Friday) so I was 'on a double' as the boys say. Between jobs I got a phone call from Reed to tell me that I have got an interview for a position they had put me forward for on Friday. It's next Tuesday, it's in Southampton. OK, so I don't like to travel, but this is an admin position (which I can do) for a scientific company (my selected specialist subject) and they are shortly moving to Holborn, which will be easy for me to get to esp if I move where I'm hoping to move to. Well anyway I can't think of a nicer person to welcome them to London than a native with a smile, a flair for science and a go get 'em (bad) attitude? Well, we'll see how it goes.

I'm tired again today, I put aside last night for a snuggle up in front of a film and an early night. All the best laid plans and all that, Mark taught me how to play Magic the Gathering (it's a card game with life points etc.) It's addictive, I mean it. It's worse than crack. We played a few games, then "one more game," leading to "one more game," once more "last one then we should go to bed." By this time it's 1:20 and my brain was screaming at me to get some sleep. but I still tidied around the sink and smoked a joint before finally giving in to sleep. I don't feel too bad now, but tonight's going to hurt.

I've noticed wholesome hobbies sneaking up on me, there was a time when the best I could do was 'socialising' and 'travelling' now I can say I like outdoor pursuits and entomology and I can back them up with things I've actually done.

Sorry Gerald

As I've said in previous posts the flat that I live in has vermin. Cockroaches and mice. The council have been called and much to Marks disapproval we now have poison out for both and glue traps for the roaches. Mark expressed concern about the glue traps when they were put out that a mouse might get stuck on one, I thought he was being ridiculous, until one did. Last night he spotted it on the glue trap next to the washing machine. I don't know how long it had been there, but a fair while if the amount of pooh was anything to go by. So I took it out side into the court yard, not wanting to hurt it or stress it any more than necessary but needing to get it off of the glue pad. I've got a wooden spoon that I'm trying to get underneath the body of it but its fur is stuck fast and I just can't do it. Another approach, I try to get its foot off by scraping the glue from the pad. Mark has brought a bit of bread for it and it is dutifully eating it but also taking a bite out of the wooden spoon every now and then. The poor thing was probably terrified. My hand slipped and I crushed both its back feet. Shit, well there's nothing for it now I have to kill it. I sent Mark away because he's as soft as shit and look around for something that will do the deed quickly. There's a cooker dumped about 50 yards away, living in a real shit hole has at least this advantage. So I take the mouse along to it telling him that I'm really sorry, but I can't do anything else and I'm justifying to my self that it's probably been poisoned anyway, I open the oven door try to position it so that it will....be quick and slam the door. Open it up again, shit I got the bottom half. Move it up a bit and slam! that time I got it, it can only have been a matter of seconds but it kept me awake most of the night. I feel horrible. When I got back up stairs Mark was crying so that started me off. What a fucking pair!

Anyway, here is my tribute to the mouse that I killed. I didn't want to do it, but I had no choice (yeah, tell that to the jury!). I hope it has found a better place with lots of crumbs and a nice warm nest.

Goodbye Gerald, or Mabel, whichever you were, I hope you've found peace.

Darwin Awards

I don't usually use these internet addages but OMG, if I ever saw a perfect candidate for a Darwin award it was the parent of two children on the green outside work at lunch time. Let me explain, there where two children, a toddler of about 18 months, maybe 2 years old and an older sibling about 3-4 years old. Now the younger one has a plastic cricket ball the older one has a wooden full size cricket bat. The younger one is trying to throw the ball so that the older one can hit it with the bat, but she's not throwing it hard enough and it's not reaching her brother. So the mother tells her to move closer to her brother. Can you see what's going to happen?
The younger one moves to within a metre of her brother and throws the ball as hard as she can, he swings the bat and clobbers his sister in the ribcage.

I really think there should be some kind of test that people have to go through before they are allowed to breed.

Applications and tarot cards

I applied for a job today. The one I'm currently employed in. I wont get it, I know I wont. I don't care enough about the work I've been given so I've been really half arsed thinking as a temp I'll be out of here soon anyway. 18 months + down the line I'm still here and they are looking for permanent staff-bugger. I love the place I work in-geographically it's perfect, walking distance, nice route, nice views, close to the pub job. The people I work with are (for the most part) lovely and there's a good social aspect. As it's City Hall it looks wonderful on my CV, but the work I'm given is tedious and finicky and, fuck me, dull as ditch water.

I hate form filling, but had resolved to make a great job of it and last night was set up to do just that, Mark was out for the evening, I had emailed the application pack and colleagues applications for the same job so I've got some guidance and sat down to 'kick this form in the balls.' Having done the easy bits-name, address, DOB... I decided to go for a smoke. Now let me explain the way you get into the flat that I live in: first there is a wrought iron gate that you need a chub key to get in, then there is the front door which is a modern uPVC one with a handle that you unlock with a yale key. Now you're in the building. The entrance to the flat also requires two keys, a chub lock on the first door leading to a space that is less than 1m square then a yale lock to get into the flat. Yes, I know that's a lot of locks. So I've got a notepad to jot down a few ideas, a cigarette, a lighter, yale door closes, no key to get through the chub door. So now both doors are locked and I have no key and, on closer inspection, I've also forgotten my pen. Ahhh well, it's 20:45 Mark said he'd be home before 22:30 so it can't be long till he's leaving anyway so I won't bother him. I smoke and wait. I search my pockets for something of use, finding my oyster card holder-I've been meaning to sort it out for a while so I remove all the old train tickets and travel cards (except the ones I want to keep for sentimental reasons) and absent mindedly start shuffling them. So now I'm sitting on a laminate floor surrounded by shoes and reading my travel cards (they predicted more London Loop walks and trips to Wales).

Wow. Matches! I'm not going to start playing with fire in a small space that I can't get out of, but if I strike a match and let it burn, it'll make charcoal and at least then I can doodle, so I do this with 8 matches and design an imaginary garden perfecting my use of a spent match as a pen as I go. Now it's about 22:00 Mark must be on his way home by now. I text him a cryptic text saying I'm in limbo without him and could he get me some chocolate-haven't had any dinner yet! At 22:20 I start calling him. No response. I get a call back at 22:35 telling me he's just left, I tell him to make haste as I'm stuck in the hallway, he wants to know why I didn't call him earlier "because I didn't want to spoil your evening" says I. It's true, I wouldn't have thought twice about it a few weeks ago but then, every thing's different now.

Thoughts of the application form have long left my head, I want food now (I didn't get my chocolate bar as Mark had no money) quick, easy, pasta it is.

So I completed the form in a rush this morning. In short it's a half arsed application for a job that I do half arsed everyday. If I get anywhere it will be a miracle. Maybe it'll help that I'm already here, that shouldn't make a difference but it's not what you know it's who you know in this life. Unfortunately I've just discovered the person that short lists the application forms is the only person here that seems to have a problem with me.

Should've gone to the pub instead.

My Gran had a poodle once

And this is dedicated to someone of the same name. I made it up last night when I was going to sleep.

I have to
Disguise my contempt,
Smile 'til my face aches.
Pretend it doesn't matter,
bide my time and raise the stakes.

Put on your red shoes

I want to go out and dance till I can stand no more, laugh till my face hurts and run because I'm so excited I have to burn off the energy somehow.
I want to look at the fit guys across the room and giggle with my friends and joke about which one of them should go with each of us. I want to be in the club when the lights come on and see which one of us really got stuck with the munter.
I want to stumble home, finding a shopping trolley on the way and jumping in for a ride. I want to wake up in the early afternoon with my face in a kebab and a friend on the sofa.
I want half an eye on the phone wondering if he will call or text, I want the anticipation of that first date and the first kiss at the end of it. I want the thrill of a touch that electrifies. I want to panic about a deadline that doesn't matter and be proud of a grade that doesn't count. I want to be late and not worry. I want to have a bad attitude that suits me. I want to paint flowers on my face and wear a skirt that's too short. I want to show the world a v sign followed by my bare arse then run away to tell someone who'll laugh and wish they'd done it first. I want to wander the streets knowing I'll find someone I know who's not doing anything and we'll find somewhere to cotch together until the rest of the gang find us-knowing where to be seen is instinctual and knowing where to look is common sense. I want my evenings to start at 15:10 again.
I want to spend my weekend wandering around (the old) Camden in a purple haze. I want to pet stange dogs and wonder what I'll be when I grow up. I want to plan trips that will never happen and dream about where I'll go when I have a camper van and a german shepherd. I want to wander the city late at night and laugh at the silly street names and marval at a set of stairs opposite St Pauls cathedral. I want to link arms with my friends and sing at the top of our lungs, what ever song is cool that week (Loser, unchained melody etc).

Would I do anything differently? Not back then I wouldn't changes would come later and it would involve more wreckless stuff not less of it. I'd carry it on longer. I'd be a bit wilder. I'd shout louder than the rest of the world put together.

mid teen times

OK, so it's Tuesday and I did something last night that wasn't stay home and faff around on the internet or tidy up. Consequently the flat needs some serious work, but I can deal with that another day and Mark did have a go.
Anyway, back to the point. I'm fed up of living life one weekend to the next so I'm grabbing every day and making it worth while or, to quote Mark when he was hungover and going into work on a Saturday "let's go kick today in the balls." So I met Mirry-anda-the-panda last night. We had a nostalgic walk along Whitecross Street having met outside the old Accapella builing (which isn't there anymore) had a look around Waitrose, it sits where Safeways once lived. We remembered Clair or Ferret stealing vodka and all the rest of the 'crusers' knocking around there or Snowy park. It was a nice trip down memory lane. We bought some Gu desserts and a dressed lobster which we took to the pub to eat. I introduced Mirry to Sailor Jerrys rum and we discovered an alcoholic ginger beer, it's not as good as Stones alcoholic ginger beer but I'm not in Kansas any more and the Wizard of Oz is unlikely to get in contact me ever again so the chances of my finding that are slim indeed.

We talked about mutual friends some we're in contact with some we're not. Some aren't even our friends anymore. Her 'new' relationship. It feels like not much has changed since we were 15 and in 'Caddis Flae' oh, except she has a boyfriend now and I'm not recruiting drummers with my feminine charms. We stayed in the pub 'til about 22:30 ish, we'd bought some weed and sat outside (across from the police station!) smoking which meant our conversation tailed off and went off on to tangents so making much less sense but laughing a great deal more. We promised we would meet up much more regularly and I'm pushing her to meet her new beau so I'm hoping that will happen soon.

I got home tired but happy, knowing I can still call a friend and just 'hang out' feeling like a teenager again. I suppose it helps that I was with a friend that I've known since I was a teenager and we were doing the same sort of stuff (substitute the lobster for a bag of chips and the pub for, well, Snowy park or a concealed bench in the Barbican centre) as we were doing back then.

*Also swap the 'music' we made in our band for the music we played on the jukebox

Living from weekend to weekend

I've just read back the last few posts on here and I've noticed that, like many people, I'm living from one weekend to the next with very little inbetween. Even in the summer. Any posts that I've made during the week are whinges about how boring my job is and how much I dislike which ever of my supervisors is pissing me off that day.

I should be making the most of my evenings, meeting friends in a park, or going to shows at the globe with my boyfriend, but I don't. I've gone back to the pub job so that's Wednesdays and Fridays out of the equation but on the evenings when I'm not working I seem to go home and clean. My new hobby is washing up-or pulling out the cooker/fridge to clean behind them, or re-organising the cupboards (cleaning them as I empty them, obviously).



Shit. I'm turning into my Dad.



I like nothing more than the satisfaction of a clean orderly kitchen side or a freshly made bed and I've always had a weird obsession with washing and washing up. I seem to spend an unreasonable amount of my life hanging socks. None of this would make a particularly good blog post. (So I'm sorry about this one).

I work and clean. That is my life. It will be worth it when I can buy a house outright and spend my evenings in my own garden and my weekends walking along the Pembrokeshire coast.













Additional: I've just booked two tickets to see 'As you like it' at Shakespeares Globe Theatre. After all, for the time being, I live in London. One of the most interesting, busy and cultural cities in the world, I might as well make the most of it until I retire to the countryside.

Arsenal v Celtic

I watched the game last night, some of it at me Brothers and some of it at my Dads then back to my Brothers to see Arsenal end the game victorious. Before the game started, when the players where in the tunnel the Celtic supporters sung their hearts out to their club anthem 'You'll never walk alone.'

Danny looks at me and says "that's an Irish song isn't it?" Must be, says I. The last time either of us had heard the song was at our Grandads funeral a few weeks ago.

Danny "But they're a Scottish club"
The screen shows a sea of green, white and gold flags
Jade "well they've got some strong connections with Ireland by the looks of things"
Danny "maybe it's something to do with religion, would they be the protestants or the catholics?"
Both - "Catholic"

So thanks Grandad, you've taught me something about football and sparked an interest in history. My own history. Our own history.

I know that they have 'orange marches' or 'orange men' in both Scotland and Ireland but I don't really know what it means. It's something to do with fighting between Catholics and Protestants, but I don't know who's orange or what they're marching for. But I'll find out.