Today I would like to share with you a theory that I have. My theory, after spending two days trying to write in my boyfriend's 'rustic' country house, is that feeling cold is actually the worst feeling in the world.
Now, some people may argue that there are worse feelings, like being bitten by a dog, getting a kidney infection, the hangover you're still suffering with after Christmas, or being tortured with tweezers. Granted, I agree, these are all very unpleasant things, but as I sit here typing this wearing three layers, a thick cardigan, a scarf, my beanie hat and fingerless gloves while being wrapped up in a large blanket, I can categorically tell you that feeling cold is not fun. And feeling cold for a sustained amount of time - like two days - is, in itself, torture.
My knees have turned blue for Christ's sake! My body is aching from tensing up and shivering so much and now my nose has started to run. I've been unable to be properly productive or get out of bed until at least 11am because it's so cold (and it has nothing to do with still feeling I'm on holiday time and enjoying the lie-ins) I have to stay under the duvets.
It is hell - but once it has frozen over - and firmly cemented this theory which I've been considering for many years that cold is the worst feeling in the world; ever since we were forced to play outside at break and lunch times in primary school even though it must have been 0 degrees. Those cruel, cruel dinner ladies and I had so much less meat on me bones!
Being cold is immobilising. You can literally do nothing but stand there, shiver and curse at how cold you feel. While being cold, it really is the only thing that you can think about. People may tell you to run about to get warm, or do little jiggy jumps on the spot, but you've either used up all the energy you'd need to do that through shivering, or you're so angry at being cold that the last thing you fancy doing is going for a gentle, jovial jog around whatever sodding field or bus stop or whatever you're waiting at. All you can really do is think about the nearest warm location you can go to to escape it. It's a bastard of an enemy to have.
I'd like to point out though, before some smart arse that knows me decides to get in first, that I am well aware for my love of being in the mountains and snowboarding. But if you've ever had the pleasure of going on a winter holiday or enjoying a spot of apres ski, you'll know that it's a very different sort of cold. It's a fresh cold, not a biting cold like we're forced to endure here. Also - and here's another theory of mine - when you're up a mountain, you're higher up and so technically closer to the sun, so of course it's warmer. All makes sense now doesn't it?
Or I could be completely mad, and just tell myself when snowboarding at -15 to keep warm...
I think the only person I'll let get away with saying being in the mountains is miserably cold right now is my brother, who's in Calgary, Canada. It gets to -30 something there, and they're only allowed to stop working at -25 (he's a ski instructor). That's hardcore. That is not happy mountain cold. That is just stupid.
Well, I've just put on the little electric heater in boyfriend's room. I know how much those bastard things cost though so I feel bad having it on too long. Think a cup of tea is in order too.
Bloody cold.
RoseC(hivers)
-x-
Thursday 29 December 2011
Wednesday 28 December 2011
A, B, C, V
And there you have it ladies and gentlemen; Christmas has been and gone for another year. Blink and you miss it I find, but I also took it as an opportunity to take a bit of time off from the manic writing and job hunting.
Without going into detail, Christmas this year involved everything you expect a traditional British Christmas to include: from excessive eating and drinking, fun times with friends and family, relaxing time with friends and family, dramas, arguments, tears, crap telly and indigestion. All in all it was spot on where everyone seemed to enjoy the gifts I'd picked out (especially the parents - tickets to see England/Wales at the Six Nations, they better be!) so I had a nice, glowing feeling that my early Christmas shopping paid off. Winner.
Back to the Big Smoke yesterday though and I've thrown myself back into the rat race and searching out jobs or more freelance opportunities. Cast your minds back to before Crimbo and I excitedly blogged about a freelance job I may have bagged for an Urban Gardening site. Well, there's to be a meeting set up in the new year for that and then hopefully it will be all systems go!
Over the holidays I also took advantage of a free CV review service through a job site I'm signed up to. I had a very nice man called Jim ring me up and he basically pointed out that my CV wasn't very good. To be honest I think I'd kind of guessed that due to the lack of interviews I'd been getting, but hearing it out loud has given me a bit of a kick up the arse and today I've spent around four hours rewriting the bastard thing to improve it.
Although I'm a writer (or I like to think I am), penning a CV is the most difficult fucking thing ever. It's one of those too many cooks in the kitchen type of things and there's no right or wrong way of doing it. At least with a feature on foot woes, or sexy games to play with condoms (both of which I've written in the past) you know where you stand. Sadly with CVs it often leads to poor individuals - like myself - going round in circles umming and arhing as to whether things should be put in boxes or not, or whether to detail every little skill you learnt from your last job or not.
Jim said not. To both of those things. And he should know because he's a professional that will try to charge you £200 to rewrite your CV. Daft really, because how can they think people who need to rewrite their CV will be successfully working in a high enough paid job to be able to spare that kind of money on rewriting something?
Anyway, I got told I needed to advertise myself more. Apparently a recruiter will look at your CV for an average of 10 seconds, so you have all of three sentences to hook them in. Pressure many! Simply saying I had 'refreshing and original ideas' wasn't enough in this day and age. Too cliched. The key is to put all your practical skills, training and qualifications in these first three Personal Profile sentences. This site was massively helpful too and if you're trying to piece together your CV for the new year, whether you're a writer or not, there are lots of useful tips about how to cut to the chase and prostitute yourself to within an inch of your life to get that interview.
That, and I think statistics are a good idea. Stats are good because they show evidence of what you've done, changed or achieved. Even if it's saying, 'I managed to double the traffic to the website,' or whatever, it sounds impressive because you've proved how positively your work can pay off. I ripped that one off my boyfriend...
Unfortunately a CV is one of those documents you'll never quite get finished or stop picking away at. If you're out there trying to tweak yours then I feel your pain and only hope this may have helped you out a little bit. I think I've read so many advice sites or opinions on the right or wrong way to write a CV that my head is now swimming. Guess the only proof to see how well the changes have helped will be in the pudding...which is of course a metaphor for interviews in this case!
RoseC -x-
Without going into detail, Christmas this year involved everything you expect a traditional British Christmas to include: from excessive eating and drinking, fun times with friends and family, relaxing time with friends and family, dramas, arguments, tears, crap telly and indigestion. All in all it was spot on where everyone seemed to enjoy the gifts I'd picked out (especially the parents - tickets to see England/Wales at the Six Nations, they better be!) so I had a nice, glowing feeling that my early Christmas shopping paid off. Winner.
Back to the Big Smoke yesterday though and I've thrown myself back into the rat race and searching out jobs or more freelance opportunities. Cast your minds back to before Crimbo and I excitedly blogged about a freelance job I may have bagged for an Urban Gardening site. Well, there's to be a meeting set up in the new year for that and then hopefully it will be all systems go!
Over the holidays I also took advantage of a free CV review service through a job site I'm signed up to. I had a very nice man called Jim ring me up and he basically pointed out that my CV wasn't very good. To be honest I think I'd kind of guessed that due to the lack of interviews I'd been getting, but hearing it out loud has given me a bit of a kick up the arse and today I've spent around four hours rewriting the bastard thing to improve it.
Although I'm a writer (or I like to think I am), penning a CV is the most difficult fucking thing ever. It's one of those too many cooks in the kitchen type of things and there's no right or wrong way of doing it. At least with a feature on foot woes, or sexy games to play with condoms (both of which I've written in the past) you know where you stand. Sadly with CVs it often leads to poor individuals - like myself - going round in circles umming and arhing as to whether things should be put in boxes or not, or whether to detail every little skill you learnt from your last job or not.
Jim said not. To both of those things. And he should know because he's a professional that will try to charge you £200 to rewrite your CV. Daft really, because how can they think people who need to rewrite their CV will be successfully working in a high enough paid job to be able to spare that kind of money on rewriting something?
Anyway, I got told I needed to advertise myself more. Apparently a recruiter will look at your CV for an average of 10 seconds, so you have all of three sentences to hook them in. Pressure many! Simply saying I had 'refreshing and original ideas' wasn't enough in this day and age. Too cliched. The key is to put all your practical skills, training and qualifications in these first three Personal Profile sentences. This site was massively helpful too and if you're trying to piece together your CV for the new year, whether you're a writer or not, there are lots of useful tips about how to cut to the chase and prostitute yourself to within an inch of your life to get that interview.
That, and I think statistics are a good idea. Stats are good because they show evidence of what you've done, changed or achieved. Even if it's saying, 'I managed to double the traffic to the website,' or whatever, it sounds impressive because you've proved how positively your work can pay off. I ripped that one off my boyfriend...
Unfortunately a CV is one of those documents you'll never quite get finished or stop picking away at. If you're out there trying to tweak yours then I feel your pain and only hope this may have helped you out a little bit. I think I've read so many advice sites or opinions on the right or wrong way to write a CV that my head is now swimming. Guess the only proof to see how well the changes have helped will be in the pudding...which is of course a metaphor for interviews in this case!
RoseC -x-
Tuesday 20 December 2011
Setting the lance free!
Right, I may be jumping the gun a bit here as there are still many details to be sorted in regards to what I'm about to tell you, but I'm sure as you can deduce from this mega long first sentence, I'm a little bit excited!
It's been nearly a month since I made the decision to quit the school job and go out as a freelance writer and today I've finally got my first bite! After traipsing around Westfield shopping centre picking up last minute Christmas pressies, I returned home, opened up my email and found a message from an editor of an online magazine asking if I'd take on some news writing for the next couple of months for the site.
HELL YES!
The payment is quite small though.
I DON'T CARE!
I'm grinning from ear to ear that I'll have something else to add to my portfolio, and it's writing on a subject completely different to anything I've done before so I'm very excited as it'll really stretch me and be a challenge.
More than anything it's given me a real confidence boost; maybe I really can go out and do this freelance thing and make it work? Quitting the school was a risky decision - especially financially - but I've so made the right decision that mans I can start to make decisions to move my career in the direction I want.
Happy times. Drinks all round...
RoseC :-D
It's been nearly a month since I made the decision to quit the school job and go out as a freelance writer and today I've finally got my first bite! After traipsing around Westfield shopping centre picking up last minute Christmas pressies, I returned home, opened up my email and found a message from an editor of an online magazine asking if I'd take on some news writing for the next couple of months for the site.
HELL YES!
The payment is quite small though.
I DON'T CARE!
I'm grinning from ear to ear that I'll have something else to add to my portfolio, and it's writing on a subject completely different to anything I've done before so I'm very excited as it'll really stretch me and be a challenge.
More than anything it's given me a real confidence boost; maybe I really can go out and do this freelance thing and make it work? Quitting the school was a risky decision - especially financially - but I've so made the right decision that mans I can start to make decisions to move my career in the direction I want.
Happy times. Drinks all round...
RoseC :-D
Monday 19 December 2011
A helpful banker
There are few things in life that are more grown up than making a consultation appointment with your bank. By doing this it means that you want to consciously discuss inflation, overdrafts, credit rating putting you in the black or red, insurance, bonds and monthly direct debits. If, like me, you've never been particularly good at handling money or understanding the financial world, this step into adulthood whereby you're going to have a suited fella talk at you about APR rates and so on is somewhat daunting. The last time I did it was before I went to university and I took my Dad with me to act as jargon buster.
That was six years ago, when I set up my student account and I didn't need Dad to translate 'a free young persons rail card for five years' to know I was getting a good deal. Now though, I've been graduated for two years and thought that maybe it was time to get a more grown up account, with fewer exciting benefits like free travel and exchange them for sensible grown up advantages like content insurance and preferential travel exchange rates. I also thought I was obliged to give up the 'student' on my account. Perhaps this is just another symptom of the quarter life crisis of wanting to radically change something so it looks like I'm being authoritative and sorting my life out.
It didn't really work though.
I knew it wouldn't when I walked into the room and the adviser looked no older than 19. As if discussing money wasn't intimidating enough, I was now to feel humiliated by being spoken to by a young woman that has a better grasp on finances than me. Fine, so be it. I put on my best, 'I know how to handle money face' in the hope I could convince her I knew what I'd be doing with my money over the last five years. I went in with it clear in my mind, strictly no credit cards and no overdraft. The idea of having a credit card or overdraft frightens me because if I have money then I spend it for the sake of spending it. I'm pretty pants at saving, so spending money I don't have, then finding the money I don't have to pay back the already borrowed money, means I'm set for failure!
It started off friendly enough with plenty of questions about yours truly so she could build up a profile. We discussed how I'd recently left me job; how a regular sustainable income would be tricky; how I'd like to find a job; how actually I'd like to up sticks and go travelling by the end of the year. It quickly became apparent that I was to find myself in a catch 22 situation, whereby she was offering me all these spangly credit card deals and money off package holidays, of the Silver or even executive Gold style account that would cost me a mere £12 a month and be debited straight from my balance, but I needed regular income...
Ah, now there's a problem. I just left my job on Friday to fulfil my wild, fanciful dreams of becoming a writer...again.
It was half an hour later that we discovered this and then my adviser girl came clean and said that my student account was as good as any current account they have to offer. All round the houses questioning, and promises of loans to enable me to go travelling, or the fab way to build up credit rating, were all just an adult step too far away. Plus I wasn't willing to pay over a tenner a month for an account just in case I decided to go on holiday or my brick of a Nokia phone breaks.
And so it was decided, despite my best adult intentions, that keeping my simple, straightforward student account was the best way forward for someone so indecisive about the direction of their life. Not such a productive day.
That was six years ago, when I set up my student account and I didn't need Dad to translate 'a free young persons rail card for five years' to know I was getting a good deal. Now though, I've been graduated for two years and thought that maybe it was time to get a more grown up account, with fewer exciting benefits like free travel and exchange them for sensible grown up advantages like content insurance and preferential travel exchange rates. I also thought I was obliged to give up the 'student' on my account. Perhaps this is just another symptom of the quarter life crisis of wanting to radically change something so it looks like I'm being authoritative and sorting my life out.
It didn't really work though.
I knew it wouldn't when I walked into the room and the adviser looked no older than 19. As if discussing money wasn't intimidating enough, I was now to feel humiliated by being spoken to by a young woman that has a better grasp on finances than me. Fine, so be it. I put on my best, 'I know how to handle money face' in the hope I could convince her I knew what I'd be doing with my money over the last five years. I went in with it clear in my mind, strictly no credit cards and no overdraft. The idea of having a credit card or overdraft frightens me because if I have money then I spend it for the sake of spending it. I'm pretty pants at saving, so spending money I don't have, then finding the money I don't have to pay back the already borrowed money, means I'm set for failure!
It started off friendly enough with plenty of questions about yours truly so she could build up a profile. We discussed how I'd recently left me job; how a regular sustainable income would be tricky; how I'd like to find a job; how actually I'd like to up sticks and go travelling by the end of the year. It quickly became apparent that I was to find myself in a catch 22 situation, whereby she was offering me all these spangly credit card deals and money off package holidays, of the Silver or even executive Gold style account that would cost me a mere £12 a month and be debited straight from my balance, but I needed regular income...
Ah, now there's a problem. I just left my job on Friday to fulfil my wild, fanciful dreams of becoming a writer...again.
It was half an hour later that we discovered this and then my adviser girl came clean and said that my student account was as good as any current account they have to offer. All round the houses questioning, and promises of loans to enable me to go travelling, or the fab way to build up credit rating, were all just an adult step too far away. Plus I wasn't willing to pay over a tenner a month for an account just in case I decided to go on holiday or my brick of a Nokia phone breaks.
And so it was decided, despite my best adult intentions, that keeping my simple, straightforward student account was the best way forward for someone so indecisive about the direction of their life. Not such a productive day.
Tuesday 13 December 2011
Grumpy young woman
You know when you have one of those days where nothing goes right; where the following 24 hours is full of complete failures no matter how hard you try? That has been my Monday into Tuesday.
It all started to go wrong when I burnt the outside of the sausages to go with my dinner, but they weren't cooked properly in the middle so I wasn't able to eat them. I love sausages (behave!) and like to think myself somewhat of a sausage connoisseur. I'd happily eat them with anything, even green eggs and ham, so I was - not wanting to be too over dramatic - devastated when I couldn't eat the sausages and had to settle for just bagel, beans and fried eggs. So upsetting...
My second fail came at 3am this morning when I managed to spectacularly smash a pint full of orange squash by completely missing my bedside table. Turning on my bedside light - which, if I'd been sensible, I should have done in the first place - there was Staropraman shards everywhere and a torrent of orange squash creeping it's way under my bed and down towards the wrapped Christmas presents I had out. Oh, for fuck sake. Effort. Clearing up glass, half asleep and bleary eyed isn't ideal. I'm surprised I didn't get a chunk of it lodged in my foot. I was too annoyed though that I knew I was in for a broken night's sleep and doomed to be grumpy today.
And lo and behold, I am. Unfortunately for the kids I had the patience and attention span of a gnat and they got the short end of it. Especially when the Headteacher said this morning that we're not allowed to show DVDs this week, so there goes my lesson plans for Thursday and Friday. That and my colleagues peeved me greatly today. Was not in the mood to listen to the 'mother's gossip group' that seems to occur in our staff room. Cannot be doing with people that try to unnecessarily complicate matters or find issues where there really aren't any.
At the end of the day, when I just wanted to go home, I waited for the bus to discover that I was 20p short on my Oyster card and the driver wouldn't let me on. This resulted in a long walk in heels to the nearest shop to top up. When I finally made it home, I again managed to under cook my sausages for dinner, which was especially shit as it was bangers and mash; kind of an integral part of the dish really.
To top it all off, I found out that I didn't even get short listed for a job that I thought I'd be made for: an editorial assistant for a healthy food magazine. I'm healthy and I like food, how could they not have gleamed that? It just rounded off a naff 24 hours. *Sigh* Nice day tomorrow please!
It all started to go wrong when I burnt the outside of the sausages to go with my dinner, but they weren't cooked properly in the middle so I wasn't able to eat them. I love sausages (behave!) and like to think myself somewhat of a sausage connoisseur. I'd happily eat them with anything, even green eggs and ham, so I was - not wanting to be too over dramatic - devastated when I couldn't eat the sausages and had to settle for just bagel, beans and fried eggs. So upsetting...
My second fail came at 3am this morning when I managed to spectacularly smash a pint full of orange squash by completely missing my bedside table. Turning on my bedside light - which, if I'd been sensible, I should have done in the first place - there was Staropraman shards everywhere and a torrent of orange squash creeping it's way under my bed and down towards the wrapped Christmas presents I had out. Oh, for fuck sake. Effort. Clearing up glass, half asleep and bleary eyed isn't ideal. I'm surprised I didn't get a chunk of it lodged in my foot. I was too annoyed though that I knew I was in for a broken night's sleep and doomed to be grumpy today.
And lo and behold, I am. Unfortunately for the kids I had the patience and attention span of a gnat and they got the short end of it. Especially when the Headteacher said this morning that we're not allowed to show DVDs this week, so there goes my lesson plans for Thursday and Friday. That and my colleagues peeved me greatly today. Was not in the mood to listen to the 'mother's gossip group' that seems to occur in our staff room. Cannot be doing with people that try to unnecessarily complicate matters or find issues where there really aren't any.
At the end of the day, when I just wanted to go home, I waited for the bus to discover that I was 20p short on my Oyster card and the driver wouldn't let me on. This resulted in a long walk in heels to the nearest shop to top up. When I finally made it home, I again managed to under cook my sausages for dinner, which was especially shit as it was bangers and mash; kind of an integral part of the dish really.
To top it all off, I found out that I didn't even get short listed for a job that I thought I'd be made for: an editorial assistant for a healthy food magazine. I'm healthy and I like food, how could they not have gleamed that? It just rounded off a naff 24 hours. *Sigh* Nice day tomorrow please!
Monday 12 December 2011
That Christmas feeling
Four more days to go,
Four more days of sorrow.
Four more days in that old dump,
But I will be at work tomorrow.
Despite there's still four days left at work, this week should be a fairly relaxed and easy week to get through. No, not because I'm going to show a DVD every lesson - as tempting as that might be - but most of my classes are having to do their assessment pieces. Means I can sit back, while they sit in silence (the quietest they've been all term) and write their little hearts out. Lovely.
Everyone seems ready for Christmas now. It's getting to that point that colleagues, loved ones and friends are starting to feel tired and twitchy and need a break. Personally I had the break down and fed up feeling about two weeks ago; I think I've been carrying on in a state of day-to-day delirium just to get through it. The cracks are starting to show among my more stable-minded friends now too, so that's a clear sign that everyone must have had enough.
I think what brought it on was our most festive house-mate and friends weekend. Biggest roast ever, crackers, lots of mulled wine, decorations and The Hat Game (like Articulate and Charades, but better!), generally it was awesome and a lot of fun. Really it felt like Christmas was here already, so the reality of going back to work was like a stinging slap in the face with a chicken carcass.
If, dear reader, you're feeling like this too, then I urge you to stay strong. There's either four days left for you (if in education) or a week and 3/4 days. You lucky people! It'll be here before you know it, then we'll all be beached in front of the TV watching The Muppet Christmas Carol for the fourteenth time, stuffing our faces with chocolate while our mothers slave over the most anticipated roast of the year. Perfect.
RoseC -x-
Four more days of sorrow.
Four more days in that old dump,
But I will be at work tomorrow.
Despite there's still four days left at work, this week should be a fairly relaxed and easy week to get through. No, not because I'm going to show a DVD every lesson - as tempting as that might be - but most of my classes are having to do their assessment pieces. Means I can sit back, while they sit in silence (the quietest they've been all term) and write their little hearts out. Lovely.
Everyone seems ready for Christmas now. It's getting to that point that colleagues, loved ones and friends are starting to feel tired and twitchy and need a break. Personally I had the break down and fed up feeling about two weeks ago; I think I've been carrying on in a state of day-to-day delirium just to get through it. The cracks are starting to show among my more stable-minded friends now too, so that's a clear sign that everyone must have had enough.
I think what brought it on was our most festive house-mate and friends weekend. Biggest roast ever, crackers, lots of mulled wine, decorations and The Hat Game (like Articulate and Charades, but better!), generally it was awesome and a lot of fun. Really it felt like Christmas was here already, so the reality of going back to work was like a stinging slap in the face with a chicken carcass.
If, dear reader, you're feeling like this too, then I urge you to stay strong. There's either four days left for you (if in education) or a week and 3/4 days. You lucky people! It'll be here before you know it, then we'll all be beached in front of the TV watching The Muppet Christmas Carol for the fourteenth time, stuffing our faces with chocolate while our mothers slave over the most anticipated roast of the year. Perfect.
RoseC -x-
Thursday 8 December 2011
Making wrongs a-right
I'm taking a night off writing this evening (apart from this blog) and have instead replaced work with a bottle of red wine and some chocolate.
Today has been a complete faff around. It's been one of those days where you just don't know if you're coming or going, and you think you need to go one way, to find that you need to go another. I found myself on the wrong floor of the school several times today and then questioning how I got there and why did my legs and brain think I needed to go to the first floor when my lesson was on the third. A clear sign of how tired I am.
That was minor though. My biggest random, stupid brain disengaging with action moment, was when I picked up the wrong packet of Christmas cards that I wanted to buy and didn't even register until I got home. Any normal person would be like, "Ah well, these are the wrong ones, but they're fine, so I'll hold on to them." Problem is, I'm a fussy fucker. I've never been a fan of sending cards. Whether it's birthdays, Christmas or Easter, I think they're so expensive for what they are, and then they're thrown away/recycled a week later anyway. I'd rather save that £3 for another drink for said celebration.
However, I caved last year and bought a pack of cards. Now, picking cards is a big deal for me. If I'm going to part with the money then I want them to be good cards, attractively decorated and be the card on my friend's mantelpiece that makes them go, "FUCK YEAH! Now that's a cracking Christmas card!"
Ok, that might be a slight exaggeration. They're nice, but not that nice. I went for the moral high ground instead and got a few packs of charity cards. Good karma will be sailing my way soon...
Anyway, I digress; the point is I literally stood in the shop for a good 10 minutes trying to decide between three different pack designs, so you can imagine my horror when I got home, unloaded my bag and discovered that I picked up a pack of the nice ones and then a pack of the tackier ones rather than two packs of the good ones. Gutted! Today I went to get them exchanged and there is no greater shame than walking into a charity shop to ask to swap something.
"Err, hi. I accidentally bought these cards yesterday, but they're not the ones I wanted."
"Right." Blank, but friendly, expression from the shop assistant.
"So, I'd like to change them? Please?"
"Oh. What's wrong with them?"
"Well, there were three designs and I had a packet of each in my hand and I meant to buy the two nicely designed packets, and I'm quite anal about picking cards..."
"Sorry, what? 'The nice two of three packs?' But they're all nice. They're all well crafted charity cards made by local church groups."
"Yeah, course, that's right, but there were two packets that were slightly nicer than this one with the berries and the glitter that I'd like to return."
"Well they're only 99p a pack, maybe you'd just like to buy an extra pack of charity cards?" Smug, eager smile from shop assistant.
"That, wasn't, exactly my plan...no. You see I have a problem with spending money on cards, and I think they're a bit of a waste of money generally, so I just want two packets, not three. So if I could just exchange these red berry cards."
At which point I showed my receipt, held my head up as high as I could (circumstances considered) and remained adamant that these cards needed changing. I got my way, happy that I got the cards I wanted, but worried I may be the first person to return something to a charity shop.
For the price they were I shouldn't have been so tight and just bought another pack! Such is my Scrooge-like character when it comes to card giving though.
At least I only made a mix up on a pack of cards I picked up. I heard another story today where someone accidentally bought the wrong house, whereby they bought the house next door to the one they actually wanted. Quite how anyone manages this, paperwork and all, I don't know, but EPIC fail...
RoseC -x-
Today has been a complete faff around. It's been one of those days where you just don't know if you're coming or going, and you think you need to go one way, to find that you need to go another. I found myself on the wrong floor of the school several times today and then questioning how I got there and why did my legs and brain think I needed to go to the first floor when my lesson was on the third. A clear sign of how tired I am.
That was minor though. My biggest random, stupid brain disengaging with action moment, was when I picked up the wrong packet of Christmas cards that I wanted to buy and didn't even register until I got home. Any normal person would be like, "Ah well, these are the wrong ones, but they're fine, so I'll hold on to them." Problem is, I'm a fussy fucker. I've never been a fan of sending cards. Whether it's birthdays, Christmas or Easter, I think they're so expensive for what they are, and then they're thrown away/recycled a week later anyway. I'd rather save that £3 for another drink for said celebration.
However, I caved last year and bought a pack of cards. Now, picking cards is a big deal for me. If I'm going to part with the money then I want them to be good cards, attractively decorated and be the card on my friend's mantelpiece that makes them go, "FUCK YEAH! Now that's a cracking Christmas card!"
Ok, that might be a slight exaggeration. They're nice, but not that nice. I went for the moral high ground instead and got a few packs of charity cards. Good karma will be sailing my way soon...
Anyway, I digress; the point is I literally stood in the shop for a good 10 minutes trying to decide between three different pack designs, so you can imagine my horror when I got home, unloaded my bag and discovered that I picked up a pack of the nice ones and then a pack of the tackier ones rather than two packs of the good ones. Gutted! Today I went to get them exchanged and there is no greater shame than walking into a charity shop to ask to swap something.
"Err, hi. I accidentally bought these cards yesterday, but they're not the ones I wanted."
"Right." Blank, but friendly, expression from the shop assistant.
"So, I'd like to change them? Please?"
"Oh. What's wrong with them?"
"Well, there were three designs and I had a packet of each in my hand and I meant to buy the two nicely designed packets, and I'm quite anal about picking cards..."
"Sorry, what? 'The nice two of three packs?' But they're all nice. They're all well crafted charity cards made by local church groups."
"Yeah, course, that's right, but there were two packets that were slightly nicer than this one with the berries and the glitter that I'd like to return."
"Well they're only 99p a pack, maybe you'd just like to buy an extra pack of charity cards?" Smug, eager smile from shop assistant.
"That, wasn't, exactly my plan...no. You see I have a problem with spending money on cards, and I think they're a bit of a waste of money generally, so I just want two packets, not three. So if I could just exchange these red berry cards."
At which point I showed my receipt, held my head up as high as I could (circumstances considered) and remained adamant that these cards needed changing. I got my way, happy that I got the cards I wanted, but worried I may be the first person to return something to a charity shop.
For the price they were I shouldn't have been so tight and just bought another pack! Such is my Scrooge-like character when it comes to card giving though.
At least I only made a mix up on a pack of cards I picked up. I heard another story today where someone accidentally bought the wrong house, whereby they bought the house next door to the one they actually wanted. Quite how anyone manages this, paperwork and all, I don't know, but EPIC fail...
RoseC -x-
Tuesday 6 December 2011
Girls got bollocks ya'know!
So it's been a day since I've broken the 'big news' that I'm to go out on a limb and try to forge a career being a freelance writer with no financial back up plan...other than sponging off the parents if needed.
All things considered I'm feeling pretty good about it. I've had one journalist say he "admires my balls". If I was in my old, adult infused line of work I'm sure I would have come up with some witty innuendo, but instead I took the compliment and said thank you. In fact it's shocking how many of my friends have come out of the woodwork and admitted they wish they had the bollocks to cut loose and do it too because already, even at the tender age of 24/25, they find themselves stuck in jobs they don't enjoy. That's not cool. That's not living, what are supposed to be, your freedom years. Bah to it all I say!
Tonight has been very productive too. When I said I was going to throw myself into writing I thought it might take me a week to two to get round to it; procrastination is a bitch and unfortunately I find I suffer from it quite a lot when I write. Luckily, this has not been the case. I actually had to force myself to sleep last night because I had a few too many excitable ideas floating around in my head. This is good, very good in fact because it means I'm on target to get at least two feature pitches written up tonight and plan to do more tomorrow, however it's not so good when you're clock's telling you it's 1am and you have to get up in five hours.
Hopefully all of this optimism will pay off. I guess the rejection letters haven't started rolling in yet and I think that'll be the true test of how strong my balls are...
RoseC -x-
All things considered I'm feeling pretty good about it. I've had one journalist say he "admires my balls". If I was in my old, adult infused line of work I'm sure I would have come up with some witty innuendo, but instead I took the compliment and said thank you. In fact it's shocking how many of my friends have come out of the woodwork and admitted they wish they had the bollocks to cut loose and do it too because already, even at the tender age of 24/25, they find themselves stuck in jobs they don't enjoy. That's not cool. That's not living, what are supposed to be, your freedom years. Bah to it all I say!
Tonight has been very productive too. When I said I was going to throw myself into writing I thought it might take me a week to two to get round to it; procrastination is a bitch and unfortunately I find I suffer from it quite a lot when I write. Luckily, this has not been the case. I actually had to force myself to sleep last night because I had a few too many excitable ideas floating around in my head. This is good, very good in fact because it means I'm on target to get at least two feature pitches written up tonight and plan to do more tomorrow, however it's not so good when you're clock's telling you it's 1am and you have to get up in five hours.
Hopefully all of this optimism will pay off. I guess the rejection letters haven't started rolling in yet and I think that'll be the true test of how strong my balls are...
RoseC -x-
Monday 5 December 2011
Rose Crompton: The Risk Taker!
Nine more days to go,
Nine more days of sorrow!
Nine more days in this old dump,
But I still have to go to work tomorrow.
Boo and hiss. I wish I could finish that song properly, with the correct line of 'Because I won't be here tomorrow.' Bide your time Crompton, bide your time...
Actually, after those nine days I shall never have to go back to the school again, because last week I handed in my notice. This could either be incredibly stupid, or it could work out to be the best decision and the life changing moment I've craved in the last year and a half. As yet I'm undecided; I'm hoping it'll be the latter though and be the massive shove I need to make a few stable life decisions about what to do with my career.
Before you ask, and to get the stupid side of it out of the way, no I don't as of yet have another job lined up. I have no idea what I'm going to do. I don't have a nest egg to fall back on to support me. When my last pay cheque comes through on the 20th December that, as far as I know, will be the last of my money to make stretch as far as possible until I find something else.
Yep...there it is. I can definitely hear those faint cries of, "Fucking hell Rose! What you playing at?" But hey, you know, I'm ok with it. I'm not worried about money at the moment. My main aim is to find something to do that'll make me happy. I know I've only been in my promoted role of HLTA for five weeks, but sometimes you just know when something doesn't feel right. The last few months I've been questioning whether my job is really as satisfying as I thought it was and trying to convince myself that I enjoy it in the hope I may be able to cross off the
Gosh, he can be a very wise man sometimes!
Despite not knowing exactly what I want to do, I do have a few rough ideas: the main aim is to establish more of a freelance journo role and get back into writing. Over the next couple of weeks I may become a bit of a stalker and harass a few titles I'd like to write for in the hope of getting some commissions to pay the bills. I've thought I might even go old skool and drop off some CVs in Soho. I could see myself happily working in one of the many sex shops giving appealing advice to sexperimental couples. I've got a few writing projects for fun I'd like to get off the ground too, a short film here, some erotic stories there...
Even being able to splurge all of these possibilities in a blog entry is making me feel excited that I'm taking control of possible career choices, rather than rolling from one job to another for the sake of money. It's the exciting prospects and adventures of what could lay in front of me as long as I completely submerge myself and throw myself into it. I know it won't be easy, probably with a fair amount of rejection along the way, but at least I know that this will be happening because I've chosen it rather than feeling duty bound.
*Sigh* Definitely a happy Rose this evening.
Nine more days of sorrow!
Nine more days in this old dump,
But I still have to go to work tomorrow.
Boo and hiss. I wish I could finish that song properly, with the correct line of 'Because I won't be here tomorrow.' Bide your time Crompton, bide your time...
Actually, after those nine days I shall never have to go back to the school again, because last week I handed in my notice. This could either be incredibly stupid, or it could work out to be the best decision and the life changing moment I've craved in the last year and a half. As yet I'm undecided; I'm hoping it'll be the latter though and be the massive shove I need to make a few stable life decisions about what to do with my career.
Before you ask, and to get the stupid side of it out of the way, no I don't as of yet have another job lined up. I have no idea what I'm going to do. I don't have a nest egg to fall back on to support me. When my last pay cheque comes through on the 20th December that, as far as I know, will be the last of my money to make stretch as far as possible until I find something else.
Yep...there it is. I can definitely hear those faint cries of, "Fucking hell Rose! What you playing at?" But hey, you know, I'm ok with it. I'm not worried about money at the moment. My main aim is to find something to do that'll make me happy. I know I've only been in my promoted role of HLTA for five weeks, but sometimes you just know when something doesn't feel right. The last few months I've been questioning whether my job is really as satisfying as I thought it was and trying to convince myself that I enjoy it in the hope I may be able to cross off the
- Find a job that I find interesting and rewarding
Gosh, he can be a very wise man sometimes!
Despite not knowing exactly what I want to do, I do have a few rough ideas: the main aim is to establish more of a freelance journo role and get back into writing. Over the next couple of weeks I may become a bit of a stalker and harass a few titles I'd like to write for in the hope of getting some commissions to pay the bills. I've thought I might even go old skool and drop off some CVs in Soho. I could see myself happily working in one of the many sex shops giving appealing advice to sexperimental couples. I've got a few writing projects for fun I'd like to get off the ground too, a short film here, some erotic stories there...
Even being able to splurge all of these possibilities in a blog entry is making me feel excited that I'm taking control of possible career choices, rather than rolling from one job to another for the sake of money. It's the exciting prospects and adventures of what could lay in front of me as long as I completely submerge myself and throw myself into it. I know it won't be easy, probably with a fair amount of rejection along the way, but at least I know that this will be happening because I've chosen it rather than feeling duty bound.
*Sigh* Definitely a happy Rose this evening.
Sunday 4 December 2011
Great weekends
You know when you get those few and far between weekends that you never want to end? Well this weekend was exactly one of those for me. Everything about it from start to finish was amazing: from strip club adventures, to a Wench's fabulous birthday party, closely followed by friendly catch ups in Camden and some top chow in China Town. A little bit of this also added to the fun...
I hasten to add that I didn't drink all of those by myself! It was so easy to get through them though while lounging in the relaxed atmosphere of Camden's Proud bar, which I'd never been to before. Great bar though as it's in the old Camden stables, very cool and perfect setting for some afternoon beering.
All of this was topped off with a wholly relaxing Sunday full of film watching (mainly The Guard. Very cool, black comedy film set in Ireland: see it!) and home made pizzas. Winner. Now if there was anyway to pause time for a bit and stave off the inevitable Monday blues, that would be great.
RoseC -x-
All of this was topped off with a wholly relaxing Sunday full of film watching (mainly The Guard. Very cool, black comedy film set in Ireland: see it!) and home made pizzas. Winner. Now if there was anyway to pause time for a bit and stave off the inevitable Monday blues, that would be great.
RoseC -x-
Strippers, thongs and full frontal nudity (probably NSFW)
Believe it or not, I only just popped my strip club cherry this weekend. Considering where I used to work and what I used to do, I was surprised too! I've seen strippers before, either at burlesque shows or once at a lesbian club, but had never stepped foot in an actual strip club. Since watching Jessica from Saved By The Bell gyrate around on gentleman's laps in Showgirls, I thought strip clubs would be highly sexed, luxurious places, with gorgeous girls and a titillating air of seduction. My actual opinion of strip clubs now that I've been in one: tasteless.
For me any sort of sexual experience should be fun, but I just didn't feel that vibe at all. Instead it was like everyone was duty-bound to play their roles: the strippers were there to come on to as many guys as they could with their slightly forceful chat up lines and a quick wiggle of their tits in the gentleman's face as a mean to entice them, and then the men were of course supposed to be bowled over and accept the offer of a "special dance" with much gratitude that out of all the men in the club she had picked him. If you reject her and say no though, as my fella did, then you'd be met with a disapproving "tut" that you weren't playing the game and she'd move onto the gentleman stood next to you where you'd hear her repeat the exact same garb that was meant to spark that special connection between you and her.
Seeing that repeat play is what totally highlighted just how unsexy strip clubs are. I'm well aware that they're a business and that the girls are out to make money, but is there any need to be so blatant about it? To the point that it totally takes away the sexy, seductive, fun element of what is supposed to be a sensual experience. Long and short of it, it's really not that hot. I've been packed in a room with a hundred people or more to watch a burlesque show, and I still feel like I had more of a titillating and intimate experience with that performer and the many people in the room, than I did when a pair of strippers came to accost me and the boyfriend.
I felt particularly bad for my boyfriend as he couldn't move two steps without being 'chatted up' by a bare breasted stripper forcing her assets on him. It was his first time in a strip club too and after turning down the third stripper in a row, trying to politely explain that he didn't was a "special dance" he felt guilty. By his own admission he felt he didn't handle it well and took to wrapping his arms around me whenever a stripper with a false look of seduction in her eyes came near him. Bless.
As a fairly liberal girlfriend, I of course didn't mind the girls trying to tempt him away with a dance. He is gorgeous and I even felt a bit flattered that so many of them approached him, (or perhaps it was obvious that he was fresh meat?) but at the same time I felt a bit annoyed or upset because to them he was just another potential punter; a few more quid in their purse if they got him to say yes. Whereas I know he's a lot more than that and I know he shares similar views as me as to what sex should be about. He's special in that way, and would be completely wasted on those women. Even if I do say so myself!
Going there as a couple was interesting too. Only once did we get hit on by a pair of girls, but even then they tried to spilt us up and work us individually. With his arm wrapped firmly around my shoulders and the odd kiss on my head while one of the strippers was talking to him, I very much got the impression that he was anxious, so I put on my best "thanks, but no thanks" face and ushered them along to the next punter, which I think happened to be a very famous male celebrity, who gladly took the girls up on their offer. So it all worked out well in the end.
Strange experience all round really and unfortunately one that has burst a potential fantasy bubble forever!
RoseC -x-
For me any sort of sexual experience should be fun, but I just didn't feel that vibe at all. Instead it was like everyone was duty-bound to play their roles: the strippers were there to come on to as many guys as they could with their slightly forceful chat up lines and a quick wiggle of their tits in the gentleman's face as a mean to entice them, and then the men were of course supposed to be bowled over and accept the offer of a "special dance" with much gratitude that out of all the men in the club she had picked him. If you reject her and say no though, as my fella did, then you'd be met with a disapproving "tut" that you weren't playing the game and she'd move onto the gentleman stood next to you where you'd hear her repeat the exact same garb that was meant to spark that special connection between you and her.
Seeing that repeat play is what totally highlighted just how unsexy strip clubs are. I'm well aware that they're a business and that the girls are out to make money, but is there any need to be so blatant about it? To the point that it totally takes away the sexy, seductive, fun element of what is supposed to be a sensual experience. Long and short of it, it's really not that hot. I've been packed in a room with a hundred people or more to watch a burlesque show, and I still feel like I had more of a titillating and intimate experience with that performer and the many people in the room, than I did when a pair of strippers came to accost me and the boyfriend.
I felt particularly bad for my boyfriend as he couldn't move two steps without being 'chatted up' by a bare breasted stripper forcing her assets on him. It was his first time in a strip club too and after turning down the third stripper in a row, trying to politely explain that he didn't was a "special dance" he felt guilty. By his own admission he felt he didn't handle it well and took to wrapping his arms around me whenever a stripper with a false look of seduction in her eyes came near him. Bless.
As a fairly liberal girlfriend, I of course didn't mind the girls trying to tempt him away with a dance. He is gorgeous and I even felt a bit flattered that so many of them approached him, (or perhaps it was obvious that he was fresh meat?) but at the same time I felt a bit annoyed or upset because to them he was just another potential punter; a few more quid in their purse if they got him to say yes. Whereas I know he's a lot more than that and I know he shares similar views as me as to what sex should be about. He's special in that way, and would be completely wasted on those women. Even if I do say so myself!
Going there as a couple was interesting too. Only once did we get hit on by a pair of girls, but even then they tried to spilt us up and work us individually. With his arm wrapped firmly around my shoulders and the odd kiss on my head while one of the strippers was talking to him, I very much got the impression that he was anxious, so I put on my best "thanks, but no thanks" face and ushered them along to the next punter, which I think happened to be a very famous male celebrity, who gladly took the girls up on their offer. So it all worked out well in the end.
Strange experience all round really and unfortunately one that has burst a potential fantasy bubble forever!
RoseC -x-
Wednesday 30 November 2011
Pickets, protests and no pupils!
I'll keep it short and sweet tonight, because it's been a short and sweet kind of day. Really it's zipped by in the blink of an eye and I've actually been fairly productive.
If you're reading this and living in the UK then you'll be aware that there's been a lot of public sector union strikes today. As I work in the public sector (education) it means that my school was affected. Many, many teachers and support staff decided to strike, creating picket lines outside of the school before heading off into central London to march against Government plans for pension scheme cuts. Put simply, today's strike action was brought on because they want people to work longer for no extra cash to pay into their retirement fund. This is scary because if I was a 12 year old the idea of being taught by someone who's 67 is frightening. Surely you can't still be in touch with young people at that age?
Anyhoo, many people went on strike, meaning that the school was unable to open to pupils, but was still open to non-striking staff, like myself, to come in and work.
This. Was. Bliss.
Obviously it can't be a very good sign if I prefer going to work when the kids aren't there, and it's kind of in my job description to work with young people and educate them, but fuck me, I managed to get sooooo much done! I think I've actually managed to plan a couple of half decent lessons, rather than cobble something together at the last minute. Generally I like to think I have fairly good bull-shitting skills when it comes to being put on the spot, but often the kids see through it and can tell when parts of the lesson are improvised and a bit lastminute.com. Now though, I'm prepared! Photocopying 'n' all!
Hopefully that'll make tomorrow a little bit easier before the end of the week comes and normal, rushed service will resume next Monday.
Oh and if you're wondering why I didn't strike, even though I do empathise with the union's cause, it's because I'm a) not in a union, which is probably bad and b) I don't earn enough to be paying into a fund. If there was something to sign in support though, I would. Not least because I know how demanding teaching is and the thought of doing that until you're nearly 70 is an exhausting idea, but also because David Cameron called the protests a 'wet squib'.
Now there's no need to get personal Mr Cameron and who in their right mind uses the word 'squib' these days? Could you sound any more upper-middle class and pretentious? Could you reaffirm anymore to your public that you're not actually thinking through the whole picture here because when you reach 67 you'll still be well catered for, resting up, and enjoying your overly comfortable retirement nest egg, while others are still having to go and slog their guts out to try to earn a half-decent pension and replace the money you're squandering so they may be able to enjoy those meagre last few golden years with some level of dignity.
So then, do you really think that when two million public sector workers march through the capital it's a good idea to provoke them by saying there will be no change? That these strikes won't be effective? I only hope that all of those union members working in the public sector have the fight and the backbone to see this through, and if it comes down to the wire of unions calling for workers to down tools for a longer period of time to show their worth and determination - reminiscent of the Thatcher strikes - then so be it; I'd support them to see this through.
It wasn't my intention to get all political, mainly because I don't always fully understand cause and reason enough to comment on political matters, but I think that the UK is in such a bad state at the moment - along with the rest of Europe - that something is going to have to break; something will snap and we're seeing it happen all over the world. We saw it happen in the summer riots and we saw more of it today albeit on a more peaceful scale, thankfully.
Uneasy and daunting times ahead.
RoseC -x-
If you're reading this and living in the UK then you'll be aware that there's been a lot of public sector union strikes today. As I work in the public sector (education) it means that my school was affected. Many, many teachers and support staff decided to strike, creating picket lines outside of the school before heading off into central London to march against Government plans for pension scheme cuts. Put simply, today's strike action was brought on because they want people to work longer for no extra cash to pay into their retirement fund. This is scary because if I was a 12 year old the idea of being taught by someone who's 67 is frightening. Surely you can't still be in touch with young people at that age?
Anyhoo, many people went on strike, meaning that the school was unable to open to pupils, but was still open to non-striking staff, like myself, to come in and work.
This. Was. Bliss.
Obviously it can't be a very good sign if I prefer going to work when the kids aren't there, and it's kind of in my job description to work with young people and educate them, but fuck me, I managed to get sooooo much done! I think I've actually managed to plan a couple of half decent lessons, rather than cobble something together at the last minute. Generally I like to think I have fairly good bull-shitting skills when it comes to being put on the spot, but often the kids see through it and can tell when parts of the lesson are improvised and a bit lastminute.com. Now though, I'm prepared! Photocopying 'n' all!
Hopefully that'll make tomorrow a little bit easier before the end of the week comes and normal, rushed service will resume next Monday.
Oh and if you're wondering why I didn't strike, even though I do empathise with the union's cause, it's because I'm a) not in a union, which is probably bad and b) I don't earn enough to be paying into a fund. If there was something to sign in support though, I would. Not least because I know how demanding teaching is and the thought of doing that until you're nearly 70 is an exhausting idea, but also because David Cameron called the protests a 'wet squib'.
Now there's no need to get personal Mr Cameron and who in their right mind uses the word 'squib' these days? Could you sound any more upper-middle class and pretentious? Could you reaffirm anymore to your public that you're not actually thinking through the whole picture here because when you reach 67 you'll still be well catered for, resting up, and enjoying your overly comfortable retirement nest egg, while others are still having to go and slog their guts out to try to earn a half-decent pension and replace the money you're squandering so they may be able to enjoy those meagre last few golden years with some level of dignity.
So then, do you really think that when two million public sector workers march through the capital it's a good idea to provoke them by saying there will be no change? That these strikes won't be effective? I only hope that all of those union members working in the public sector have the fight and the backbone to see this through, and if it comes down to the wire of unions calling for workers to down tools for a longer period of time to show their worth and determination - reminiscent of the Thatcher strikes - then so be it; I'd support them to see this through.
It wasn't my intention to get all political, mainly because I don't always fully understand cause and reason enough to comment on political matters, but I think that the UK is in such a bad state at the moment - along with the rest of Europe - that something is going to have to break; something will snap and we're seeing it happen all over the world. We saw it happen in the summer riots and we saw more of it today albeit on a more peaceful scale, thankfully.
Uneasy and daunting times ahead.
RoseC -x-
Tuesday 29 November 2011
Interactive blogging
So, I know that sometimes it can be effort to read a full-length, intellectual and engaging blog like mine and and then have to think about a witty or insightful comment to leave in response, so I've gone ahead and made a response system even easier for you using quick response boxes. Because I believe blogging can be a form of active media rather than passive, I've put these handy little boxes at the bottom of each post with choice words that you can click to show what you think about a particular blog entry. At the minute they say something like, 'funny', 'whiney', 'interesting' and 'agree'. Simply click one and I'll know what you think of what I've written.
Well, when I say, "I'll know what you've written," that's not strictly true because it's anonymous. So if you're worried that you want to say I'm 'whiney', but fear that I may hunt you down in reprisal, then don't, because it won't show me your name or who's responded. I just thought it might be fun or interesting to see what my global audience reckon about what I'm posting.
Interactive blogging all the way. Let the revolution start here!
Hope to tick-box here from you soon.
RoseC -x-
Well, when I say, "I'll know what you've written," that's not strictly true because it's anonymous. So if you're worried that you want to say I'm 'whiney', but fear that I may hunt you down in reprisal, then don't, because it won't show me your name or who's responded. I just thought it might be fun or interesting to see what my global audience reckon about what I'm posting.
Interactive blogging all the way. Let the revolution start here!
Hope to tick-box here from you soon.
RoseC -x-
Thursday 24 November 2011
Frazzled
It's been a frazzling, full on and frustrating sort of day. Sometimes working with young people can be really rewarding and make you think, 'shit yeah this is totally why I enjoy doing this job!' and then there are other times where you feel like you're literally smashing you head against a brick wall and would probably have more fun scooping your eyeballs out with a teaspoon rather than stand up in front of a class of unruly, hormonal teenagers to try and teach them the finer points of English grammar. Today was one of those mixed days...
For example the morning was pretty awesome. There was an overwhelming sense of satisfaction as a year 11 student managed to muddle his way through a presentation with only a maximum of five swear words.
Also, is it wrong to play drum and bass to year sevens? Like, it was nothing hardcore, or offensive, and they were doing posters. I mean it was so totally unoffensive that it was a remix of Adele and she's completely not offensive in anyway in her songs. I'd go so far as to gamble that she'd be a parents' favourite and there'd be nods of approval from parents that I was playing Adele in class, even a remix!
I've found it really useful to put music on in lessons. It works positively in many ways:
Unfortunately the rest of my day was pretty 'meh'. I may have said this before, but I'm sure working with pupils that are literally half my age - or younger in some cases - has aged me. There are some lessons where the whole hour feels like a battle; there's no winning, or loosing this battle, it's stalemate because you know you have a duty to do and no matter how shitty the kids get it's still your job to try and educate the little...argh...darlings.
I'm too young for stress like this - for bags under my eyes, that sick feeling in the morning wondering what's going to kick off next. Can't I still be so young that I cause stress to my parents? *Sigh*
RoseC
-x-
For example the morning was pretty awesome. There was an overwhelming sense of satisfaction as a year 11 student managed to muddle his way through a presentation with only a maximum of five swear words.
Also, is it wrong to play drum and bass to year sevens? Like, it was nothing hardcore, or offensive, and they were doing posters. I mean it was so totally unoffensive that it was a remix of Adele and she's completely not offensive in anyway in her songs. I'd go so far as to gamble that she'd be a parents' favourite and there'd be nods of approval from parents that I was playing Adele in class, even a remix!
I've found it really useful to put music on in lessons. It works positively in many ways:
- The kids think they're getting a treat/reward for working well.
- It fills the horrible silence in my room that comes with only having a small group of three or four, so it maybe doesn't feel as intimidating or pressured for them.
- I get to control the music and so we only put on song we all agree are good, thus giving us an education in popular culture and good music as well as English.
Unfortunately the rest of my day was pretty 'meh'. I may have said this before, but I'm sure working with pupils that are literally half my age - or younger in some cases - has aged me. There are some lessons where the whole hour feels like a battle; there's no winning, or loosing this battle, it's stalemate because you know you have a duty to do and no matter how shitty the kids get it's still your job to try and educate the little...argh...darlings.
I'm too young for stress like this - for bags under my eyes, that sick feeling in the morning wondering what's going to kick off next. Can't I still be so young that I cause stress to my parents? *Sigh*
RoseC
-x-
Tuesday 22 November 2011
In the company of strangers
These days it's not often that I travel around on public transport thanks to me currently being cycle obsessed. Yesterday though, I had the pleasure of making my way around London on the snaking Tfl system of buses and tubes and honestly I can say that it was indeed a pleasure.
Usually trudging around central London during rush hour is a nightmare, but thanks to the confidence and sociability of two strangers they made my journey an interesting and heart-warming one because they were willing to to be chatty after what could have ended in short, abrupt interactions. Now, I'm not one of these people that tars all Londoners with the same anti-social brush; I've lived in London long enough now to know that if you smile, or nod a 'hello' at someone it's not often that they'll completely ignore you. It may only be a grunt or nod back in acknowledgment, but it's there. I'm not overly surprised at having a chat with these people on the tube and bus, what shocked me was how open and comfortable they felt talking to me.
The first was a young woman - probably also 20-something - in a bright green curly wig and tiara.
Instant thought = nutter.
She looked lost though as she tried to decipher whether she was on the right branch of the District Line; this is a confusion I usually find myself faced with on the DL, so felt her angst. Offering to help her with my handy map I was met with a bit of a frosty, "What? Eh?" and for a split second I thought 'Shit, talking to the crack head in the green wig probably wasn't a good idea, no matter how kind your intentions Rose!'
Turns out she wasn't a crack head and actually really nice (although a bit quirky) and for the next four tube stops we discussed everything from eating etiquette on the tube, whether hummus was pretentious, her friends wasted art studio and that she was wearing a green wig and tiara because she didn't have a bag to put it in and hadn't washed her hair in over a day. Natural answer then is to obviously wear it and solve all the problems in one go. So not a nutter at all; she was just being practical.
My second convo was completely at the other end of the spectrum and came about after a crazy man on the back of the bus started banging around and getting angry, dropping the C bomb all over the place. I'm not completely sure what spurred his anger, but it may have been because he dozed off (think he was high) and missed his stop. He then somehow thought this was the drivers fault so stomped his feet around a lot. Proper London nutter really.
Anyway, it was after this 'chap' got off the bus that I exchanged a glance and sigh of relief with an older, Asian gentleman also on the bus. "Glad he's got off," I said with a smile and comically roll of the eyes.
"Ahh that's nothing, he's just a bit strange. I've been in this city long enough to know there's stranger," he told me and it was from there I knew there was no going back and a convo had been struck up.
It was quite endearing as I basically just sat and listened and was happy to let him talk to me. He told me about when he arrived in London at 18 from a worse place - I didn't dare pry more and ask where or what - that he'd managed to get a job in London but after one day in Hastings got a job up there as a chef and liked it so much decided to move there. He went on to tell me about where he'd worked, the people he'd come across, the tough times with money and housing he'd had when younger and how now he's ended up in London again but would like to move back to Wales where it would be a bit quieter for him.
When I had to ring the bell for my stop he looked truly disappointed that our chat was coming to an end. It's so easy to forget sometimes that there are people in this massive metropolis that ironically have no one to talk to. That they're a bit lonely and they just want to offload, even if it is to a stranger. I find it really endearing and I hope that I have many more journeys when I get to enjoy the company of strangers.
RoseC
Usually trudging around central London during rush hour is a nightmare, but thanks to the confidence and sociability of two strangers they made my journey an interesting and heart-warming one because they were willing to to be chatty after what could have ended in short, abrupt interactions. Now, I'm not one of these people that tars all Londoners with the same anti-social brush; I've lived in London long enough now to know that if you smile, or nod a 'hello' at someone it's not often that they'll completely ignore you. It may only be a grunt or nod back in acknowledgment, but it's there. I'm not overly surprised at having a chat with these people on the tube and bus, what shocked me was how open and comfortable they felt talking to me.
The first was a young woman - probably also 20-something - in a bright green curly wig and tiara.
Instant thought = nutter.
She looked lost though as she tried to decipher whether she was on the right branch of the District Line; this is a confusion I usually find myself faced with on the DL, so felt her angst. Offering to help her with my handy map I was met with a bit of a frosty, "What? Eh?" and for a split second I thought 'Shit, talking to the crack head in the green wig probably wasn't a good idea, no matter how kind your intentions Rose!'
Turns out she wasn't a crack head and actually really nice (although a bit quirky) and for the next four tube stops we discussed everything from eating etiquette on the tube, whether hummus was pretentious, her friends wasted art studio and that she was wearing a green wig and tiara because she didn't have a bag to put it in and hadn't washed her hair in over a day. Natural answer then is to obviously wear it and solve all the problems in one go. So not a nutter at all; she was just being practical.
My second convo was completely at the other end of the spectrum and came about after a crazy man on the back of the bus started banging around and getting angry, dropping the C bomb all over the place. I'm not completely sure what spurred his anger, but it may have been because he dozed off (think he was high) and missed his stop. He then somehow thought this was the drivers fault so stomped his feet around a lot. Proper London nutter really.
Anyway, it was after this 'chap' got off the bus that I exchanged a glance and sigh of relief with an older, Asian gentleman also on the bus. "Glad he's got off," I said with a smile and comically roll of the eyes.
"Ahh that's nothing, he's just a bit strange. I've been in this city long enough to know there's stranger," he told me and it was from there I knew there was no going back and a convo had been struck up.
It was quite endearing as I basically just sat and listened and was happy to let him talk to me. He told me about when he arrived in London at 18 from a worse place - I didn't dare pry more and ask where or what - that he'd managed to get a job in London but after one day in Hastings got a job up there as a chef and liked it so much decided to move there. He went on to tell me about where he'd worked, the people he'd come across, the tough times with money and housing he'd had when younger and how now he's ended up in London again but would like to move back to Wales where it would be a bit quieter for him.
When I had to ring the bell for my stop he looked truly disappointed that our chat was coming to an end. It's so easy to forget sometimes that there are people in this massive metropolis that ironically have no one to talk to. That they're a bit lonely and they just want to offload, even if it is to a stranger. I find it really endearing and I hope that I have many more journeys when I get to enjoy the company of strangers.
RoseC
Monday 21 November 2011
The most organised EVER!
There aren't many occasions when I allow myself to feel smug and sit comfortably upon my high horse, but after this weekend I am totally going to bask in my awesomeness.
"Why the cockiness Rose?" I hear you cry. Well, it's because it's the middle of November and I'VE ALREADY DONE MY CHRISTMAS SHOPPING! Boom! Thank you to those that are nodding in awe and giving me a slow clap because you appreciate how unorganised I usually am and know that Christmas gift buying is annually left until the week before X-Mas, but this year I've actually got my arse into gear. Winner.
Sorry to those of you who are now grimacing and cursing me thinking, 'It's only bloody November, what's she playing at? Grumble, grumble, grumble...' Well, usually I would agree with you that all Christmas related things should be limited to the month of December only, but I've had an overwhelming urge to just blitz the fucking lot of it this year! And blitz I have!
Granted, it's been intense and the shock horror of seeing my first HLTA pay cheque dwindle into nothingness as it gets spent out on everyone is pretty startling (is that how parent's always feel?), but I feel all warm and glowy that I've managed to sort Christmas mostly from the comfort of my own bedroom. I did attempt Oxford St on Saturday with the boyfriend and even coaxed him into thinking that going around Hamleys on a Saturday would be a good idea. It wasn't. Our trip in there was short lived, empty handed and I think I can count myself lucky that I'm still in a relationship.
So, while I'm feeling all formidable and indestructible, I'm wondering what hardcore thing I can tackle next? Christmas dinner shopping? Decorating the house? Compiling the Christmas card list?! Ha, yes I think the latter is it. Come 'ere you fun-size charity Crimbo cards, the festive season has definitely come early!
RoseC -x-
"Why the cockiness Rose?" I hear you cry. Well, it's because it's the middle of November and I'VE ALREADY DONE MY CHRISTMAS SHOPPING! Boom! Thank you to those that are nodding in awe and giving me a slow clap because you appreciate how unorganised I usually am and know that Christmas gift buying is annually left until the week before X-Mas, but this year I've actually got my arse into gear. Winner.
Sorry to those of you who are now grimacing and cursing me thinking, 'It's only bloody November, what's she playing at? Grumble, grumble, grumble...' Well, usually I would agree with you that all Christmas related things should be limited to the month of December only, but I've had an overwhelming urge to just blitz the fucking lot of it this year! And blitz I have!
Granted, it's been intense and the shock horror of seeing my first HLTA pay cheque dwindle into nothingness as it gets spent out on everyone is pretty startling (is that how parent's always feel?), but I feel all warm and glowy that I've managed to sort Christmas mostly from the comfort of my own bedroom. I did attempt Oxford St on Saturday with the boyfriend and even coaxed him into thinking that going around Hamleys on a Saturday would be a good idea. It wasn't. Our trip in there was short lived, empty handed and I think I can count myself lucky that I'm still in a relationship.
So, while I'm feeling all formidable and indestructible, I'm wondering what hardcore thing I can tackle next? Christmas dinner shopping? Decorating the house? Compiling the Christmas card list?! Ha, yes I think the latter is it. Come 'ere you fun-size charity Crimbo cards, the festive season has definitely come early!
RoseC -x-
Thursday 10 November 2011
The distinction of analytical philosophy and personal complex discourse (eh??)
Can somebody please switch my brain off for me? It's starting to hurt my head!
My first week in the post of Higher Learning Teaching Assistant is drawing to a close and it's left me feeling shattered. Not only is it the constant energy exerted in every lesson when working with young people - which I'm used to from being a TA - but it's the jump in the work load; all of the planning and preparation that's needed before the lesson is knackering because once you start thinking about what you need to organise and do for a lesson, and then start thinking about the next lesson, and the one after, then all of next week, and so it quickly snowballs into the enormity of what you need to get done between now and Christmas and it becomes impossible to turn off.
I try my best to leave work at work, but as I'm chopping my vegetables and tossing the spaghetti I find thoughts of innovative and exciting ways of how to teach verbs and clauses to a class of struggling students, creep into my mind. There is no off button. It's constant. Even when I did try and turn my mind to more sociable and relaxed thoughts last night, it wasn't long before I was engaged in a deep conversation about the finer points of media semiotics, structuralism and the effects on wider cultural ideology with a teacher-friend of mine for a lesson she needed to plan for today. Not exactly what you'd discuss in leisure time. My first thought this morning was also about work; about a fun mix and match sentence game I'd dreamt up and whether I'd have time to quickly put it together before the start of the lesson. Unfortunately I didn't.
Now why can't I be this creative when I'm trying to conjure up pitches for articles?!
Teaching has aged me. Only two weeks into the job and I already feel like I've added on five years. There's clear evidence of this too, as I sit here typing while listening to Radio 4 and I got way too excited today about getting 100% brushed cotton pillow cases and a bed sheet. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you're average 25 year old gets excited about such trivial things and I literally have no excuse or explanation about the abomination that is being under the age of 40 and choosing to listen to Radio 4!
It's definitely hard to be young when you're working in education and the people you're working with are literally half your age or less.
However, the weekend is near and I shall make it my aim to both switch off - banning all thoughts of teaching and strategies from my mind - and reaffirm my youthful gaiety and complete lack of responsibility and disregard all respect for authority. In short, I plan to regress. Of course I plan to do it in the most mature way possible (at a wedding reception) and taking full advantage of all of the benefits of being an adult (propping up the bar).
*Sigh* Just one more day to get through, and now it's time for me to head off and fall asleep dreaming of verbs, nouns and complex sentences, or perhaps if I nod off to Radio 4 as they discuss philosophy, religion, cultural discourse and the death of God through analytical philosophical rhtoric (or something?) I may subconsciously pick up some extraordinary knowledge with which to bamboozle people.
Night all.
RoseC -x-
My first week in the post of Higher Learning Teaching Assistant is drawing to a close and it's left me feeling shattered. Not only is it the constant energy exerted in every lesson when working with young people - which I'm used to from being a TA - but it's the jump in the work load; all of the planning and preparation that's needed before the lesson is knackering because once you start thinking about what you need to organise and do for a lesson, and then start thinking about the next lesson, and the one after, then all of next week, and so it quickly snowballs into the enormity of what you need to get done between now and Christmas and it becomes impossible to turn off.
I try my best to leave work at work, but as I'm chopping my vegetables and tossing the spaghetti I find thoughts of innovative and exciting ways of how to teach verbs and clauses to a class of struggling students, creep into my mind. There is no off button. It's constant. Even when I did try and turn my mind to more sociable and relaxed thoughts last night, it wasn't long before I was engaged in a deep conversation about the finer points of media semiotics, structuralism and the effects on wider cultural ideology with a teacher-friend of mine for a lesson she needed to plan for today. Not exactly what you'd discuss in leisure time. My first thought this morning was also about work; about a fun mix and match sentence game I'd dreamt up and whether I'd have time to quickly put it together before the start of the lesson. Unfortunately I didn't.
Now why can't I be this creative when I'm trying to conjure up pitches for articles?!
Teaching has aged me. Only two weeks into the job and I already feel like I've added on five years. There's clear evidence of this too, as I sit here typing while listening to Radio 4 and I got way too excited today about getting 100% brushed cotton pillow cases and a bed sheet. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you're average 25 year old gets excited about such trivial things and I literally have no excuse or explanation about the abomination that is being under the age of 40 and choosing to listen to Radio 4!
It's definitely hard to be young when you're working in education and the people you're working with are literally half your age or less.
However, the weekend is near and I shall make it my aim to both switch off - banning all thoughts of teaching and strategies from my mind - and reaffirm my youthful gaiety and complete lack of responsibility and disregard all respect for authority. In short, I plan to regress. Of course I plan to do it in the most mature way possible (at a wedding reception) and taking full advantage of all of the benefits of being an adult (propping up the bar).
*Sigh* Just one more day to get through, and now it's time for me to head off and fall asleep dreaming of verbs, nouns and complex sentences, or perhaps if I nod off to Radio 4 as they discuss philosophy, religion, cultural discourse and the death of God through analytical philosophical rhtoric (or something?) I may subconsciously pick up some extraordinary knowledge with which to bamboozle people.
Night all.
RoseC -x-
Sunday 6 November 2011
Red wine ramblings
I'm really feeling like I want to blog tonight, but I have no idea on what subject or what about, which is frustrating as there are a number of topics and amusing and/or interesting anecdotal incidents that have happened in my life over the last few weeks that I could write a witty or interesting blog post about. These could range from my creative splurge - a complete out pour of creative ideas that had me up writing until two in the morning - , my worst nightmare of getting lost in a large field, or my nerves and excitement about taking my first class next week.
All of these wonderful and possibly interesting posts that could simply spill out of me at any moment as I log onto my blog to write, but now that I'm here I find that there's nothing that wants to come out. I wonder if it's the bottle of red wine I've consumed this afternoon/evening that seems to have numbed my brain and dumbed my senses; we can definitely deduce that I'm in a comfortably numb state, which I think is important right now as I've been deserted by everyone in the house, and the impending doom that a firework is set to crash through my window at any moment as the kids outside 'play' at setting them off on a busy terraced street, fills me with apprehension. I'm thankful then that the bottle of red seems to have taken the edge off this fear and coupled with the jovial face of Michael McIntyre I feel that I'm in much more of a subdued state and ready to deal with any highly dangerous situation in an action-hero, slow-mo type sequence.
Fear aside, there are some benefits I suppose to having the house to myself: I have complete control of the TV, I don't need to do my washing up straight away because there aren't another four people needing to use the kitchen, I can fart when and where I want, hell I could even stroll around the house naked and not need to worry a jot because I'm here on my own and it's my prerogative! For all you know maybe I am indeed nude right now, jotting down all these red wine induced thoughts and enjoying the liberties of being alone...
Luckily for you though, and for the housemate I currently hear unlocking the deadlock of the door, that I am indeed clothed. Long gone are my days of public nudity - or at least for now - and so any rude inferences you may think you have gleamed about me from this post, you can now delete from your memory.
Ahh the joy of random red wine ramblings, and with that I bid ye good night!
RoseC -x-
All of these wonderful and possibly interesting posts that could simply spill out of me at any moment as I log onto my blog to write, but now that I'm here I find that there's nothing that wants to come out. I wonder if it's the bottle of red wine I've consumed this afternoon/evening that seems to have numbed my brain and dumbed my senses; we can definitely deduce that I'm in a comfortably numb state, which I think is important right now as I've been deserted by everyone in the house, and the impending doom that a firework is set to crash through my window at any moment as the kids outside 'play' at setting them off on a busy terraced street, fills me with apprehension. I'm thankful then that the bottle of red seems to have taken the edge off this fear and coupled with the jovial face of Michael McIntyre I feel that I'm in much more of a subdued state and ready to deal with any highly dangerous situation in an action-hero, slow-mo type sequence.
Fear aside, there are some benefits I suppose to having the house to myself: I have complete control of the TV, I don't need to do my washing up straight away because there aren't another four people needing to use the kitchen, I can fart when and where I want, hell I could even stroll around the house naked and not need to worry a jot because I'm here on my own and it's my prerogative! For all you know maybe I am indeed nude right now, jotting down all these red wine induced thoughts and enjoying the liberties of being alone...
Luckily for you though, and for the housemate I currently hear unlocking the deadlock of the door, that I am indeed clothed. Long gone are my days of public nudity - or at least for now - and so any rude inferences you may think you have gleamed about me from this post, you can now delete from your memory.
Ahh the joy of random red wine ramblings, and with that I bid ye good night!
RoseC -x-
Wednesday 19 October 2011
Promo
While the news regales us with depressing facts and figures about unemployment being at an all time high, and how it's nigh on impossible for 18-25 year olds to find a job, I've been going against all the statistics and social struggles by landing myself a promotion in the school. Hurrah!
The interview took place yesterday and while the tutor group I support were going through a powerpoint with their form teacher about the diabolical state of employment for young people, and I had to watch their little faces drop and hear questions from little Johnny like, "So will I never get a job even though I work hard at school?" and hoping they won't be fucked like my generation is, I came to appreciate the fact that I even have a job at the moment. Even though it's not always been ideal, I'm lucky enough to be in full-time employment, and yesterday I was even being offered the rare opportunity to progress in my work.
The pressure was on though as I was the only person to be interviewing at the time. The vacancy was initially advertised internally and I was the only existing member of staff to apply. On one had, this might be great because you know you've not got any competition, but on the other hand it's intimidating because you're essentially only up against yourself, so if I didn't get the job it would come down to the fact that I was just shit and there could be no excuse of "that person was better or more qualified than me".
Luckily though the latter didn't happen and I have now officially gone from being a Teaching Assistant to a Higher Learning Teaching Assistant for English. "Ooohh, sounds fancy and full of responsibility," you may say, and you'd be right. I now get to deliver lessons and actually teach small groups of students in withdrawal classes. I'll have to plan the lesson, think of innovative and engaging ways to teach Shakespeare and the like, and then actually full on educate young people. That's pretty exciting, and the best bit is I'll be getting my own classroom and I'll get to write on the whiteboard as much as I want!!!
To me being able to write on a board is the most exciting thing, because it means you're really, actually a teacher. It's a privilege that only teacher-type people get to do. When I was growing up and I used to play 'school' with my imaginary friends (don't judge me, I'm not mad) then there would always be a heavy focus on doing lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of writing on the board, which back then was plenty of A4 bits of paper blu-tacked to my wardrobe doors.
Later, when I got to go into the primary school my Dad was headteacher of, I would indulge my urge of white board writing by going into the classrooms, finding a board marker and pretending to take a lesson, again with lots and lots of white board writing. Sometimes I'd even ask my Dad's colleagues if I could leave maths questions on the board for the kids to do on Monday morning. I should emphasise at this point that I too was still at primary school. It's not like I was 20-something and getting my kicks from going into an empty school at the weekends, pretending to teach make-believe classes and stuff. That would be crazy.
Writing on the board definitely gives a sense of authority in the classroom and that if you write something on the board it must mean it's a really important point to have made it onto the board. Obviously there are other really important things I'll need to do when teaching a lesson as a HLTA, like making sure the kids understand the work they're doing, keeping them motivated, planning interesting activities, but if I'm honest the kid in me will be concerned most about how good my handwriting looks on the board and getting an array of colourful board markers for every occasion!
RoseC -x-
The interview took place yesterday and while the tutor group I support were going through a powerpoint with their form teacher about the diabolical state of employment for young people, and I had to watch their little faces drop and hear questions from little Johnny like, "So will I never get a job even though I work hard at school?" and hoping they won't be fucked like my generation is, I came to appreciate the fact that I even have a job at the moment. Even though it's not always been ideal, I'm lucky enough to be in full-time employment, and yesterday I was even being offered the rare opportunity to progress in my work.
The pressure was on though as I was the only person to be interviewing at the time. The vacancy was initially advertised internally and I was the only existing member of staff to apply. On one had, this might be great because you know you've not got any competition, but on the other hand it's intimidating because you're essentially only up against yourself, so if I didn't get the job it would come down to the fact that I was just shit and there could be no excuse of "that person was better or more qualified than me".
Luckily though the latter didn't happen and I have now officially gone from being a Teaching Assistant to a Higher Learning Teaching Assistant for English. "Ooohh, sounds fancy and full of responsibility," you may say, and you'd be right. I now get to deliver lessons and actually teach small groups of students in withdrawal classes. I'll have to plan the lesson, think of innovative and engaging ways to teach Shakespeare and the like, and then actually full on educate young people. That's pretty exciting, and the best bit is I'll be getting my own classroom and I'll get to write on the whiteboard as much as I want!!!
To me being able to write on a board is the most exciting thing, because it means you're really, actually a teacher. It's a privilege that only teacher-type people get to do. When I was growing up and I used to play 'school' with my imaginary friends (don't judge me, I'm not mad) then there would always be a heavy focus on doing lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of writing on the board, which back then was plenty of A4 bits of paper blu-tacked to my wardrobe doors.
Later, when I got to go into the primary school my Dad was headteacher of, I would indulge my urge of white board writing by going into the classrooms, finding a board marker and pretending to take a lesson, again with lots and lots of white board writing. Sometimes I'd even ask my Dad's colleagues if I could leave maths questions on the board for the kids to do on Monday morning. I should emphasise at this point that I too was still at primary school. It's not like I was 20-something and getting my kicks from going into an empty school at the weekends, pretending to teach make-believe classes and stuff. That would be crazy.
Writing on the board definitely gives a sense of authority in the classroom and that if you write something on the board it must mean it's a really important point to have made it onto the board. Obviously there are other really important things I'll need to do when teaching a lesson as a HLTA, like making sure the kids understand the work they're doing, keeping them motivated, planning interesting activities, but if I'm honest the kid in me will be concerned most about how good my handwriting looks on the board and getting an array of colourful board markers for every occasion!
RoseC -x-
Wednesday 12 October 2011
Moral dilemmas
Ok, so there are going to be a few disturbing topics discussed here this evening. If you're of a sensitive nature or easily enraged then I suggest you stop reading now. I'll give you a few dots to represent a 'moment' for you to decide that.
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Lovely, so if you've reached the bottom of the dots you've decided to stay with me. Well done and may I commend you on your bravery because some of what I'm about to say ain't gonna be pretty and to be fair it's actually taking a lot of courage for me to go into this as I could loose a lot of friends. I'm just going to come out and say it and I can only hope that you don't judge me too harshly...
Last night I watched Katie Price's, Signed by Katie, and sort of enjoyed it.
Wow, I can see the FaceBook friend count going down already! Jokes...
Really though, having this programme on my TV is my first moral dilemma of the evening. I can't stand shows that objectify people in a shallow, demeaning way and so I'm horrified that I sat and watched it. I get angry and often shout at the TV at shows like Next Top Model, X-Factor or Paris Hilton's Best Friend (or whatever it was called) because all of those shows objectify (usually) women and is basically people - not usually the brightest of people - standing in front of strangers and allowing the 'panel' to judge them on looks and appearances alone, and continue to stand there and take the barrage of abuse from people who, if we're honest, are just as fame hungry and probably as insecure as the 'contestants' they're 'judging'.
To briefly fill you in on the premise of the show and to put it in all it's shallow context, it's basically Katie (Jordan) Price and two of her cronies travelling around the country, setting up in shopping centres (hmm, classy) and getting men and women to strut out in front of them in swimwear and then the three witches decide on looks and 1 minute conversation if this person is marketable and can make KP more money and if she thinks they can then they get put through to Boot Camp. Now there's a formula that sounds familiar.
At least it doesn't dress it up and is honest enough to admit that Jordan is only after money and the limelight, but has been disguised - in my opinion - to look like she's passing on all of her "worldly business woman" advice. It's fine that some of you may argue she's a real business woman that's built her 'empire' on not a lot other than appearance and salacious stories for gossip mags. Good for her. Problem now is that she's past it. We're fed up of her, her career is pretty much baron and so now she's trying to latch on to someone else, younger, better looking, less botoxed (perhaps) and I'm sure preferably less intelligent so all those "marketable" qualities can line her pockets slightly thicker than her own. Ahh the selfishness of show business.
So anyway, I watched this half-hour debacle, mouth agape as I just couldn't believe some of the comments that the less than perfect panel were imparting on people. Gems such as, "you walk like a brickie" or implying not too subtly to one bloke that he's not got a pretty face and there were few other ways to make him successful. Happy, feel-good TV right?
PAH!
The fact I was watching this was only moral dilemma number one. The second problem came during the show when two, young (but I'm assuming over 18) twin sisters rocked up. Now, I know that there may be some people who read this blog, that I used to work with, that may not agree in any way, shape or form with the issue I'm about to raise. And that's fine, because I know you're all really dirty old men ;-)
My problem is that as soon as these twin sisters turned up, and they were very cute and pretty, the faces of KP and her henchmen lit up. "Wow I can really see lots of potential and things I could do with you," exclaimed Katie (or something to that effect - didn't have dictaphone to hand at the time). The twins seemed happy too as they screeched, "we want to be you Katie!!!" Each to their own, but the creepy bit was when they both came out in matching, sexy, underwear and just how that would be marketable doesn't take much imagination.
Many blokes, I'm sure would lap that stuff up and I'm sure there have been plenty of sets of twins in adult magazines, but to me I think it's a little bit incestuous and very wrong. My skin crawled at the thought of these girls possibly doing topless shoots - of which there's every possibility considering Jordan's background - with each other, looking alluring and sexy with their come to bed eyes and the suggestion of a menage a trios.
Really, are these girls comfortable with the idea of having sex with each other? I'm not saying they will, it's the audience's fantasy that is being satisfied, but if I had a twin sister there wouldn't be any monetary figure in the world that would persuade me to appear as if I have, or would ever, have a sexual relationship with my sibling.
Overall we can surmise it was an uncomfortable half hour viewing and no matter how much curiosity I have to see how the fame game will play out for these poor, unfortunate souls, I won't be tuning in.
RoseC -x-
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Lovely, so if you've reached the bottom of the dots you've decided to stay with me. Well done and may I commend you on your bravery because some of what I'm about to say ain't gonna be pretty and to be fair it's actually taking a lot of courage for me to go into this as I could loose a lot of friends. I'm just going to come out and say it and I can only hope that you don't judge me too harshly...
Last night I watched Katie Price's, Signed by Katie, and sort of enjoyed it.
Wow, I can see the FaceBook friend count going down already! Jokes...
Really though, having this programme on my TV is my first moral dilemma of the evening. I can't stand shows that objectify people in a shallow, demeaning way and so I'm horrified that I sat and watched it. I get angry and often shout at the TV at shows like Next Top Model, X-Factor or Paris Hilton's Best Friend (or whatever it was called) because all of those shows objectify (usually) women and is basically people - not usually the brightest of people - standing in front of strangers and allowing the 'panel' to judge them on looks and appearances alone, and continue to stand there and take the barrage of abuse from people who, if we're honest, are just as fame hungry and probably as insecure as the 'contestants' they're 'judging'.
To briefly fill you in on the premise of the show and to put it in all it's shallow context, it's basically Katie (Jordan) Price and two of her cronies travelling around the country, setting up in shopping centres (hmm, classy) and getting men and women to strut out in front of them in swimwear and then the three witches decide on looks and 1 minute conversation if this person is marketable and can make KP more money and if she thinks they can then they get put through to Boot Camp. Now there's a formula that sounds familiar.
At least it doesn't dress it up and is honest enough to admit that Jordan is only after money and the limelight, but has been disguised - in my opinion - to look like she's passing on all of her "worldly business woman" advice. It's fine that some of you may argue she's a real business woman that's built her 'empire' on not a lot other than appearance and salacious stories for gossip mags. Good for her. Problem now is that she's past it. We're fed up of her, her career is pretty much baron and so now she's trying to latch on to someone else, younger, better looking, less botoxed (perhaps) and I'm sure preferably less intelligent so all those "marketable" qualities can line her pockets slightly thicker than her own. Ahh the selfishness of show business.
So anyway, I watched this half-hour debacle, mouth agape as I just couldn't believe some of the comments that the less than perfect panel were imparting on people. Gems such as, "you walk like a brickie" or implying not too subtly to one bloke that he's not got a pretty face and there were few other ways to make him successful. Happy, feel-good TV right?
PAH!
The fact I was watching this was only moral dilemma number one. The second problem came during the show when two, young (but I'm assuming over 18) twin sisters rocked up. Now, I know that there may be some people who read this blog, that I used to work with, that may not agree in any way, shape or form with the issue I'm about to raise. And that's fine, because I know you're all really dirty old men ;-)
My problem is that as soon as these twin sisters turned up, and they were very cute and pretty, the faces of KP and her henchmen lit up. "Wow I can really see lots of potential and things I could do with you," exclaimed Katie (or something to that effect - didn't have dictaphone to hand at the time). The twins seemed happy too as they screeched, "we want to be you Katie!!!" Each to their own, but the creepy bit was when they both came out in matching, sexy, underwear and just how that would be marketable doesn't take much imagination.
Many blokes, I'm sure would lap that stuff up and I'm sure there have been plenty of sets of twins in adult magazines, but to me I think it's a little bit incestuous and very wrong. My skin crawled at the thought of these girls possibly doing topless shoots - of which there's every possibility considering Jordan's background - with each other, looking alluring and sexy with their come to bed eyes and the suggestion of a menage a trios.
Really, are these girls comfortable with the idea of having sex with each other? I'm not saying they will, it's the audience's fantasy that is being satisfied, but if I had a twin sister there wouldn't be any monetary figure in the world that would persuade me to appear as if I have, or would ever, have a sexual relationship with my sibling.
Overall we can surmise it was an uncomfortable half hour viewing and no matter how much curiosity I have to see how the fame game will play out for these poor, unfortunate souls, I won't be tuning in.
RoseC -x-
Thursday 6 October 2011
From within a panda hat
I'm feeling far too excitable for a Thursday night, especially as there hasn't been any alcohol consumed. After my productive day yesterday I feel like I should be on a roll on the job front and feel all positive and upbeat about it.
Well hello happiness. I've not seen you for a while.
I'm feeling so chipper that I've even donned my happy panda hat - a birthday gift from a friend that has successfully managed to turn me into the kind of person I once despised. Seeing people walk down the streets in stupid animal hats made me tut and shake my head, but now I have one of my own I heart it. Oh how I'm so easily swayed.
Anyway, I digress. So I had a good day at work (bar a nose bleed first lesson, a remnant of all the nose blowing I did yesterday. Gross) and came home full of beans ready to jump on some more applications. After scouring all the lovely sites I signed up to it quickly became apparent that I have actually applied for all the suitable jobs that I can apply for right now. How frustrating.
I've been thinking that I'd like to set myself a target of applying for at least two jobs a night. Is that unrealistic? As there wasn't anything new to apply for this evening I looked back over the jobs that didn't first grab my attention on yesterday's look. So there's one that I'm going to go for that's writing for free, but getting some of my writing published on the web still. Good for the portfolio and christ my imagination is crying out for something to get my teeth into. Also after looking at the site it reminds me a lot of the university magazine that we put together for our third year project; a slightly obscured view of the world from a young persons point of view (and I do consider myself a young person and I have a railcard to prove it).
The other is a job as an entertainment writer for a well known news site. Upon second glance it looks like a really good opportunity: working for a large interweb news site, based in London and the salary isn't too bad. There are also worse topics to write on than entertainment, so it's quite an eye catcher, especially as everyone thinks writing about the world of celebrity is just as glamorous as being in that world yourself. It's not, obviously, but in the world of young, upstart journos like myself getting a spot on an entertainment desk is a coveted position.
"So, obviously Rose you've put your application in for such a fab sounding job?"
Err, well no, actually I didn't. Or haven't. There's one little thing holding me back. The application requests that along with your CV and examples of your work, you also write an 800 word feature on the turbulent year that Cheryl Cole has had. Hmm. Now, in fairness I have been chewing it over all today as to what angle I might take. Obviously I wouldn't go with the, "poor Chezza she's been shit on again which she totes doesn't deserve because she's the most amazing woman ever, with amazing L'Oreal hair, and an awesome singing voice that it doesn't matter she's not released anything in the last year and why is everyone always so horrible JUST LEAVE HER ALONE!! SHE JUST HAVING A TOUGH TIME OKAY?!?!"
Yeah, basically I'm not going to kiss any celebs arse. Let alone hers. I'm not really a fan of her music. I really dislike X-Factor (to the point housemates throw me out of the living room when it's on because I can't keep my mouth shut) and I don't care whether she gets back with Ashley or not. They sound as bad as each other. Then there's the terrible hairspray advert where she tries to do every do, but ends up looking more trashy than classy. I was sick to the back teeth too, hearing all her whinging and moaning about getting a place on American X-Factor. Being promised it, and then dropped like a cold bag of sick by Cowell only to be offered the presenters job, but she wasn't even sure of that as she came up against the might that is Steve Jones - ya'know, the Welsh T4 presenter chap - and I can't imagine he's better know than Cheryl, especially as she's buddies with Will.I.Am. Ouch. Yep, not quite as 'big' as you first though are you Chezza?....Awkward.....
Either way we can surmise that her year has indeed been turbulently shit to the point that it's now being banded around in the weeklies that she has to "relaunch herself" because her career is in such tatters. Bull shit, she's still on the covers of most the trash mags and raking it in from one deal or another.
*Sigh* I think what we can also surmise from these last couple of paragraphs is that I have very little sympathy with celebs and therefore I conclude that the coveted role of entertainment writer should go to someone else. If I think trying to empathise with Cheryl Cole is hard then we can safely say that feeling sorry for and going through all the boos and hoos with the likes of TOWIE or Made in Chelsea 'celebs', or worse having to write positively about Justin 'fuckwit' Beiber, would actually kill me. My boyfriend would definitely never look me in the eye again and I can't say I'd blame him.
It's days like today when I think about what I can write, that really makes me miss the world of filth. Now that I could do.
RoseC -x-
Well hello happiness. I've not seen you for a while.
I'm feeling so chipper that I've even donned my happy panda hat - a birthday gift from a friend that has successfully managed to turn me into the kind of person I once despised. Seeing people walk down the streets in stupid animal hats made me tut and shake my head, but now I have one of my own I heart it. Oh how I'm so easily swayed.
Anyway, I digress. So I had a good day at work (bar a nose bleed first lesson, a remnant of all the nose blowing I did yesterday. Gross) and came home full of beans ready to jump on some more applications. After scouring all the lovely sites I signed up to it quickly became apparent that I have actually applied for all the suitable jobs that I can apply for right now. How frustrating.
I've been thinking that I'd like to set myself a target of applying for at least two jobs a night. Is that unrealistic? As there wasn't anything new to apply for this evening I looked back over the jobs that didn't first grab my attention on yesterday's look. So there's one that I'm going to go for that's writing for free, but getting some of my writing published on the web still. Good for the portfolio and christ my imagination is crying out for something to get my teeth into. Also after looking at the site it reminds me a lot of the university magazine that we put together for our third year project; a slightly obscured view of the world from a young persons point of view (and I do consider myself a young person and I have a railcard to prove it).
The other is a job as an entertainment writer for a well known news site. Upon second glance it looks like a really good opportunity: working for a large interweb news site, based in London and the salary isn't too bad. There are also worse topics to write on than entertainment, so it's quite an eye catcher, especially as everyone thinks writing about the world of celebrity is just as glamorous as being in that world yourself. It's not, obviously, but in the world of young, upstart journos like myself getting a spot on an entertainment desk is a coveted position.
"So, obviously Rose you've put your application in for such a fab sounding job?"
Err, well no, actually I didn't. Or haven't. There's one little thing holding me back. The application requests that along with your CV and examples of your work, you also write an 800 word feature on the turbulent year that Cheryl Cole has had. Hmm. Now, in fairness I have been chewing it over all today as to what angle I might take. Obviously I wouldn't go with the, "poor Chezza she's been shit on again which she totes doesn't deserve because she's the most amazing woman ever, with amazing L'Oreal hair, and an awesome singing voice that it doesn't matter she's not released anything in the last year and why is everyone always so horrible JUST LEAVE HER ALONE!! SHE JUST HAVING A TOUGH TIME OKAY?!?!"
Yeah, basically I'm not going to kiss any celebs arse. Let alone hers. I'm not really a fan of her music. I really dislike X-Factor (to the point housemates throw me out of the living room when it's on because I can't keep my mouth shut) and I don't care whether she gets back with Ashley or not. They sound as bad as each other. Then there's the terrible hairspray advert where she tries to do every do, but ends up looking more trashy than classy. I was sick to the back teeth too, hearing all her whinging and moaning about getting a place on American X-Factor. Being promised it, and then dropped like a cold bag of sick by Cowell only to be offered the presenters job, but she wasn't even sure of that as she came up against the might that is Steve Jones - ya'know, the Welsh T4 presenter chap - and I can't imagine he's better know than Cheryl, especially as she's buddies with Will.I.Am. Ouch. Yep, not quite as 'big' as you first though are you Chezza?....Awkward.....
Either way we can surmise that her year has indeed been turbulently shit to the point that it's now being banded around in the weeklies that she has to "relaunch herself" because her career is in such tatters. Bull shit, she's still on the covers of most the trash mags and raking it in from one deal or another.
*Sigh* I think what we can also surmise from these last couple of paragraphs is that I have very little sympathy with celebs and therefore I conclude that the coveted role of entertainment writer should go to someone else. If I think trying to empathise with Cheryl Cole is hard then we can safely say that feeling sorry for and going through all the boos and hoos with the likes of TOWIE or Made in Chelsea 'celebs', or worse having to write positively about Justin 'fuckwit' Beiber, would actually kill me. My boyfriend would definitely never look me in the eye again and I can't say I'd blame him.
It's days like today when I think about what I can write, that really makes me miss the world of filth. Now that I could do.
RoseC -x-
Wednesday 5 October 2011
Being oddly productive
I'm ill. I've got this stupid cold, sore throat bug that seems to have been going around school over the last week or so and had so far avoided it. I realised I'd been caught by this bug yesterday morning when I woke up and felt like my throat was on fire. The rest of me was alright though so I still went to work and waged war with this bug. Determined not to let it win I fought it (I think gallantly) with cough medicine, pain killers and shit loads of tissue, but when I woke up this morning with my sinuses throbbing and my voice box sounding like it had been replaced with that of a frog's and said frog was continually striking matches against my throat every time I tried to talk (as in it really hurt), I admitted defeat to the bug.
The reaction from work when I called in was quite astonishing too, as I got a, "Bloody hell Rose you sound rough as." That's not always what an ill person wants to hear because it just makes you feel more pity for yourself. I know I'm ill. I can feel that I'm ill. Please lets not be more dramatic than we need to be about this.
It's an odd ill too because it's literally all in my head. No, I don't mean that I'm crazy and imagining I'm sick, I mean it's all in my throat and nose, so the rest of me feels fine, I just didn't think it would be a good idea to go into school and cough all over the little darlings. It's tough enough as a TA to get the kids to listen to you on a normal day, to go in there diseased with no voice means that you would be ripped limb from limb like a diseased invalid and they'd hold you responsible the next time they get ill even if it's a month down the road. Kids never forget and it's just not worth the humiliation.
Having made my executive, and considerate/caring, decision to stay away from school today, but not feeling so ill that I'm bed ridden, rather than sit on the sofa and numb my brain with insufferable daytime TV, I've put my day to good use. Since having a bit of time off from the ruthless world of job searching and having turned 25, I am now ready to approach the search once more, trawl the job sites and write the endless number of covering letters to pimp myself out with a renewed enthusiasm. I've even joined a few recruitment sites to help me find the perfect media job. I like the idea of having little career pixies dashing around trying to find your ideal job so they can earn their commission, which in the job pixie's case would be a new pair of hip 'n' trendy pixie boots or a new hat. And when they found the right career for dithering numpties like myself that haven't had any career direction for months on end, they would do little star jumps of joy and cheer and toot miniature party blowers.
Hmm, perhaps the illness has gone to my head in more mental ways than I first thought....
Either way, I know I've not moved hugely on from square one in regards to getting myself back into the media sphere, but at least now I'm not feeling all agitated and grumpy about doing it. Perhaps I was spurred on by an email I received the other week from a job I'd applied for as a Junior Writer. Granted, it was a bit odd and there were mixed emotions because I got turned down for this job that I really wanted so was a bit disappointed, but unlike many media companies, this one actually took the time to get back to me and I found that refreshing and positive. Also they said:
'I would, however, like to take a moment to let you know you were one of those we considered to be in the small top band of submissions.'
See, that's nice. I was in the "small top band" and so that means that I'm not as shit as I was beginning to think I might be! Even though it was a rejection email there was still something positive in there that I've since found very motivational in my quest of finding another job. Not hearing back from places for months on end is fucking demoralising, so even this little pick me up has set me back on the right track...I hope.
Nice to end on a positive note I think. Apart from the being ill bit of course. Oh and I managed to slice the top of my finger open today while cutting a bagel. I feel there's a lesson to be learnt here: that cutting a bagel and trying to sneeze at the same time doesn't work!
Till next time,
RoseC -x-
The reaction from work when I called in was quite astonishing too, as I got a, "Bloody hell Rose you sound rough as." That's not always what an ill person wants to hear because it just makes you feel more pity for yourself. I know I'm ill. I can feel that I'm ill. Please lets not be more dramatic than we need to be about this.
It's an odd ill too because it's literally all in my head. No, I don't mean that I'm crazy and imagining I'm sick, I mean it's all in my throat and nose, so the rest of me feels fine, I just didn't think it would be a good idea to go into school and cough all over the little darlings. It's tough enough as a TA to get the kids to listen to you on a normal day, to go in there diseased with no voice means that you would be ripped limb from limb like a diseased invalid and they'd hold you responsible the next time they get ill even if it's a month down the road. Kids never forget and it's just not worth the humiliation.
Having made my executive, and considerate/caring, decision to stay away from school today, but not feeling so ill that I'm bed ridden, rather than sit on the sofa and numb my brain with insufferable daytime TV, I've put my day to good use. Since having a bit of time off from the ruthless world of job searching and having turned 25, I am now ready to approach the search once more, trawl the job sites and write the endless number of covering letters to pimp myself out with a renewed enthusiasm. I've even joined a few recruitment sites to help me find the perfect media job. I like the idea of having little career pixies dashing around trying to find your ideal job so they can earn their commission, which in the job pixie's case would be a new pair of hip 'n' trendy pixie boots or a new hat. And when they found the right career for dithering numpties like myself that haven't had any career direction for months on end, they would do little star jumps of joy and cheer and toot miniature party blowers.
Hmm, perhaps the illness has gone to my head in more mental ways than I first thought....
Either way, I know I've not moved hugely on from square one in regards to getting myself back into the media sphere, but at least now I'm not feeling all agitated and grumpy about doing it. Perhaps I was spurred on by an email I received the other week from a job I'd applied for as a Junior Writer. Granted, it was a bit odd and there were mixed emotions because I got turned down for this job that I really wanted so was a bit disappointed, but unlike many media companies, this one actually took the time to get back to me and I found that refreshing and positive. Also they said:
'I would, however, like to take a moment to let you know you were one of those we considered to be in the small top band of submissions.'
See, that's nice. I was in the "small top band" and so that means that I'm not as shit as I was beginning to think I might be! Even though it was a rejection email there was still something positive in there that I've since found very motivational in my quest of finding another job. Not hearing back from places for months on end is fucking demoralising, so even this little pick me up has set me back on the right track...I hope.
Nice to end on a positive note I think. Apart from the being ill bit of course. Oh and I managed to slice the top of my finger open today while cutting a bagel. I feel there's a lesson to be learnt here: that cutting a bagel and trying to sneeze at the same time doesn't work!
Till next time,
RoseC -x-
Tuesday 20 September 2011
The Three Week Itch
After a lovely, leisurely, adventure filled six weeks off work at the school, I'm now back within its gates and settling into my new timetable, getting to know new students and reacquainting myself with the ones that have returned. Three weeks down the line and it's already starting to feel like I've been there for a whole term. I know I'm not the only member of staff to be feeling that this week as the school settles into its routines and the once sweet, fresh faced year seven's really start to find their feet and show their slightly more confident - and sometimes cocky- colours.
The honeymoon period is definitely over and I've resigned myself to the fact that although this job was supposed to be a stop gap it's actually looking like I'll be there longer than originally expected. I mean I'm starting two after school clubs for Christ sake! For anyone that works outside of education let me tell you: basically once you're put forward for extra curricular groups that's it - you're officially part of the fixtures and fittings because you're deemed reliable and responsible enough to do it, organise it and run it and they don't expect you to bolt anytime soon.
I'm emotionally confused about how I actually feel about all this.
On the one hand I actually quite enjoy my job slightly more than I let on. I like being able to help students in their learning, I enjoy and get a great sense of achievement when they finally understand something that was before a complete mystery. When all is said and done, even though it's hard work sometimes it's very rewarding.
The other hand however has it's fingers slightly more in touch with reality and is screaming at me that I can't stay in this job forever, because that's just it, this is a job, it's not a career and the longer I stay at the school the more frustrated I get at not achieving my goal of returning to the world of media work sooner rather than later. Not for lack of trying though, as I keep the applications flying out and an eye open all the time!
I feel very angsty at the moment. I don't think the fact that I'm turning 25 at the end of the week helps. Teetering on the edge of officially entering my mid-twenties - my quarter-life and the continuing crisis that goes with it - makes me feel more anxious about actually getting round to making some big life decisions. Here (in no particular order) is what I actually question myself over day in, day out:
It's not that I have a problem with being grown up, I think I handle all that quite well, I mean I can go to work with a hangover and get through it if needs be, the term "man up" has become my mantra; it's more the lack of direction that's doing my head in. Perhaps come Friday when I turn the big 2-5 it'll all just magically fall into place and I'll vanquish my quarter-life cirsis just as I reach a quarter of my life (assuming I live till a100 years) or at least that's what I'll wish for when blowing out my candles.
.....Failing that I'll take the more reliable route of drinking to forget on Saturday. Three bottles of cotes du plonk please!
RoseC -x-
The honeymoon period is definitely over and I've resigned myself to the fact that although this job was supposed to be a stop gap it's actually looking like I'll be there longer than originally expected. I mean I'm starting two after school clubs for Christ sake! For anyone that works outside of education let me tell you: basically once you're put forward for extra curricular groups that's it - you're officially part of the fixtures and fittings because you're deemed reliable and responsible enough to do it, organise it and run it and they don't expect you to bolt anytime soon.
I'm emotionally confused about how I actually feel about all this.
On the one hand I actually quite enjoy my job slightly more than I let on. I like being able to help students in their learning, I enjoy and get a great sense of achievement when they finally understand something that was before a complete mystery. When all is said and done, even though it's hard work sometimes it's very rewarding.
The other hand however has it's fingers slightly more in touch with reality and is screaming at me that I can't stay in this job forever, because that's just it, this is a job, it's not a career and the longer I stay at the school the more frustrated I get at not achieving my goal of returning to the world of media work sooner rather than later. Not for lack of trying though, as I keep the applications flying out and an eye open all the time!
I feel very angsty at the moment. I don't think the fact that I'm turning 25 at the end of the week helps. Teetering on the edge of officially entering my mid-twenties - my quarter-life and the continuing crisis that goes with it - makes me feel more anxious about actually getting round to making some big life decisions. Here (in no particular order) is what I actually question myself over day in, day out:
- Do I want to stay in London?
- Should I save some money and head back to Leicester?
- How can I fiesibly make some extra cash so I might be able to go travelling? Sex lines out of the question while working in a school!!!
- What extra, outside fun work things can I do to keep my brain ticking over?
- Fun things cost money, so where do I get that from seens as I don't have any?!
- If the writing stuff's not going too well, what could I actually retrain as and do for a career?
- Should I be doing more to be a better writer?
It's not that I have a problem with being grown up, I think I handle all that quite well, I mean I can go to work with a hangover and get through it if needs be, the term "man up" has become my mantra; it's more the lack of direction that's doing my head in. Perhaps come Friday when I turn the big 2-5 it'll all just magically fall into place and I'll vanquish my quarter-life cirsis just as I reach a quarter of my life (assuming I live till a100 years) or at least that's what I'll wish for when blowing out my candles.
.....Failing that I'll take the more reliable route of drinking to forget on Saturday. Three bottles of cotes du plonk please!
RoseC -x-
Thursday 1 September 2011
Everything that was wrong, and the few things that were right, with the VMAs
I haven't watched the MTV VMA or Brit Awards since I was a teenager. Back in the days when I dreamt of being a music journalist, regularly reading everything from Smash Hits to Rock Sound, TOTP magazine, Metal Hammer and Kerrang! I was proud of my music knowledge and it was second to none, so in true geek fashion I loved watching and speculating about who was going to win what award, then bitching about it with friends at school when clearly Boyzone were robbed of 'Best Single' by Westlife (or whatever).
Before we go any further I'd like to clarify that my music tastes have changed somewhat and I don't exactly keep up with pop culture as much as I maybe should, but I know enough to get by and am not completely ignorant to the charts and current play lists thanks to Radio 1.
Anyway, last night there was literally fuck all on TV, so found myself cruising the MTV channels and they were half way through a repeat of the Video Music Awards. It only caught my attention because Adele was performing and hands down she's one of my favourite artists at the moment. The VMAs also made for good, easy watching for my housemate who was doing her ironing so we left it on.
After Adele though, things quickly went down hill...
The first thing to go wrong was Justin Beiber. Just him, in general, being in existence. I despise that pathetic excuse for a teenager which such a vehemency that I could probably make myself spontaneously combust if I spent too long dwelling on the subject. I mean I know back in the day we had Aaron Carter, but I'm sure he was never such a cocky fucker. Anyway, I digress - what really wound me up that he won Best Male Video, beating Cee Lo Green and Kanye West's All Of The Lights, which I think is a much more interesting video that watching a fuck witted teenager play a love song on a grand piano in an empty theatre. Where's the originality people?! It sounds like something Wet, Wet, Wet would have done.
I was in a pub in Camden the other day and their tips glass had a note on it which read:
'Every time you tip, it brings Justin Beiber a step closer to death'
Dark I know, but I laughed, and I tipped (more than once - I may be broke but I know a good cause when I see one). I just despise everything he stands for and everything he does.
So that was the first thing that was wrong with the VMAs. The second was the cross dressing antics of Lady Gaga. Not recognising her at first the ironing housemate informed me that she now has this male alter-ego. Hmm ok. So lobster hats and meat dresses don't cut it anymore so instead she's going down the route of drag king for her next publicity stunt. Not sure how I really feel about this? I used to quite like Gaga's individuality, but now I think she just jumps on band waggons or treats things like fads until that's done getting the attention she wants and then fucks it off.
It doesn't help that this male alter-ego seems like a bit of a dick too. While watching last night I Facebooked:
'W
Before we go any further I'd like to clarify that my music tastes have changed somewhat and I don't exactly keep up with pop culture as much as I maybe should, but I know enough to get by and am not completely ignorant to the charts and current play lists thanks to Radio 1.
Anyway, last night there was literally fuck all on TV, so found myself cruising the MTV channels and they were half way through a repeat of the Video Music Awards. It only caught my attention because Adele was performing and hands down she's one of my favourite artists at the moment. The VMAs also made for good, easy watching for my housemate who was doing her ironing so we left it on.
After Adele though, things quickly went down hill...
The first thing to go wrong was Justin Beiber. Just him, in general, being in existence. I despise that pathetic excuse for a teenager which such a vehemency that I could probably make myself spontaneously combust if I spent too long dwelling on the subject. I mean I know back in the day we had Aaron Carter, but I'm sure he was never such a cocky fucker. Anyway, I digress - what really wound me up that he won Best Male Video, beating Cee Lo Green and Kanye West's All Of The Lights, which I think is a much more interesting video that watching a fuck witted teenager play a love song on a grand piano in an empty theatre. Where's the originality people?! It sounds like something Wet, Wet, Wet would have done.
I was in a pub in Camden the other day and their tips glass had a note on it which read:
'Every time you tip, it brings Justin Beiber a step closer to death'
Dark I know, but I laughed, and I tipped (more than once - I may be broke but I know a good cause when I see one). I just despise everything he stands for and everything he does.
So that was the first thing that was wrong with the VMAs. The second was the cross dressing antics of Lady Gaga. Not recognising her at first the ironing housemate informed me that she now has this male alter-ego. Hmm ok. So lobster hats and meat dresses don't cut it anymore so instead she's going down the route of drag king for her next publicity stunt. Not sure how I really feel about this? I used to quite like Gaga's individuality, but now I think she just jumps on band waggons or treats things like fads until that's done getting the attention she wants and then fucks it off.
It doesn't help that this male alter-ego seems like a bit of a dick too. While watching last night I Facebooked:
'W
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Back with a bump
I don't want to be back in the UK. Three days after landing at Heathrow and I can honestly say that the holiday blues have very much set in. Lame.
Besides the very satisfying feeling of being able to cross offVisit Australia from my 2011 'must do' list, which is of course fantastic, it's amazing how quickly all my worries and stresses about every day life have returned. For the first day and a bit I continued to try and ride the wave of good holiday feelings and took myself off to Nottinghill Carnival to catch up with friends and my brother and his girlfriend. Then yesterday I cruised around and got coffee before heading to Camden with brother and his gf, chilling out, eating good food and spending money willy-nilly (yes you did read that right, I in fact just used the phrase willy-nilly and I don't care how old or middle class that makes me sound).
It's been good times and I wouldn't change any of it, but then this morning I had a bill to pay, so then checked my account balance and there's nothing like seeing your post-holiday bank account to really bring you back down to earth. Bollocks - I'm sure living on £14 a day between now and pay-day will be doable right? I fucking hate thinking about money.
But then of course all this money worry leads me straight back to the whole thing about finding a job I enjoy - a 2011 list goal that I'm not sure I'll achieve by the end of the year - or even what I want to do for a career. Then I end up getting frustrated and starting to feel anxious about going back to work on Friday (yep the summer hols are nearly over) and it's just all a load of crap and reaffirms that the Quarterlife Crisis continues and I've not got such a good hold on it as I thought I did. *Sigh* Perhaps today will be put to good use of cruising a few more job sites.
To top it all off I think I'm still a bit jet lagged as I've been waking up at stupid o' clock the last few days, so feeling grumpy as fuck about that too. Argh! Where's that Duty Free rum to help knock me out?!
Moan over. I'll attempt to be a bit more upbeat and positive from here on out.
RoseC -x-
Besides the very satisfying feeling of being able to cross off
It's been good times and I wouldn't change any of it, but then this morning I had a bill to pay, so then checked my account balance and there's nothing like seeing your post-holiday bank account to really bring you back down to earth. Bollocks - I'm sure living on £14 a day between now and pay-day will be doable right? I fucking hate thinking about money.
But then of course all this money worry leads me straight back to the whole thing about finding a job I enjoy - a 2011 list goal that I'm not sure I'll achieve by the end of the year - or even what I want to do for a career. Then I end up getting frustrated and starting to feel anxious about going back to work on Friday (yep the summer hols are nearly over) and it's just all a load of crap and reaffirms that the Quarterlife Crisis continues and I've not got such a good hold on it as I thought I did. *Sigh* Perhaps today will be put to good use of cruising a few more job sites.
To top it all off I think I'm still a bit jet lagged as I've been waking up at stupid o' clock the last few days, so feeling grumpy as fuck about that too. Argh! Where's that Duty Free rum to help knock me out?!
Moan over. I'll attempt to be a bit more upbeat and positive from here on out.
RoseC -x-
Friday 26 August 2011
From pub scene to cafe culture
My little jaunt in Australia is nearly at an end, but I feel that before I leave I need to make comment and reference to one of my most favourite aspects of Brisbane that I've come to love and depend on over the last two weeks. I am of course talking about the city's strong cafe culture.
When I say 'strong' I mean this on two levels - that there is first and foremost a stronghold of nice cafes in the city that serve good coffee and it's hard to walk more than 10 metres without crossing many, many coffee shops; and on the other hand I also mean that they do indeed serve strong coffee. Or maybe it's not that strong, it's just that it's good, decent coffee that I'm not used to because I'm too acclimatised to the piss-poor weak coffee of a certain American chain, which interestingly I learnt the other day failed in its attempts to take over the cafe scene here in Australia with not so much as a "see you latte" from the local, Aussie coffee connoisseurs. I salute you, I just wish we could do the same back in the UK.
Since arriving here, every morning has started the same way: me and The Boy get up, then we mosey down to one of the many coffee shops within spitting distance to where we're staying, order two flat whites (not yet a popular brew of coffee in the UK, but is just starting to take off in Costa's and I highly recommend it), bit of breakfast then peruse the papers. *Sigh* It's such a chilled out way to start the mornings. Good coffee and friendly company, and everyone that stops in is friendly. I've lost count of how many strangers have struck up conversations with me over a coffee and that is usually a figure I can count on one hand when I'm back in London.
There have been a couple of people that I've spoken to here that can't believe we don't have a big cafe culture. I explain that we only have big corporate chains and there are very few independent cafes where you can get a good coffee. One older lady was truly shocked by this and then she could barely console herself when I told her that most people just pop into a greasy spoon for a cuppa and they only serve instant. I guess for us Brits we're more of a pub scene kind of people rather than hanging out in cafes. Maybe because we think cafes are just where older people go for "a nice cup of tea", or it's a bit chinsey or maybe there's something a bit more snobby about it? I dunno, it's a tough one to call, but I can say that back in the UK I'd rather suggest meeting a friend for a pint rather than going for coffee because I have an arm's length list of good pubs we could go to and only a handful of places I'd bother stopping in for coffee. Difference is obviously that here in Aus there are literally loads of places to go for good coffee and they're all full of young people, and you just hang out, and it's cool, and it's cheaper than the pub.
I love it and if I could continue starting my days with a couple of coffees back in the UK I'd be happy - not least because after these two weeks I now think I've built up a dependency on it. It's true, I will be returning home with a caffeine habit. It's helped me understand The Boy a bit more too. There are back in London only two coffee shops that he'll happily go to, both in Soho and both run by Australian's and New Zealanders. Now when he suggests heading all the way there just for a cup of coffee I get it, because it's good coffee ad both cafes have friendly atmospheres that capture and remind him a bit of home. At least I think that's why, I don't want to put words in his mouth, but I know that I'll be all the more happy to go out of my way now to continue experiencing this little bit of Brisbane-like life.
RoseC -x-
When I say 'strong' I mean this on two levels - that there is first and foremost a stronghold of nice cafes in the city that serve good coffee and it's hard to walk more than 10 metres without crossing many, many coffee shops; and on the other hand I also mean that they do indeed serve strong coffee. Or maybe it's not that strong, it's just that it's good, decent coffee that I'm not used to because I'm too acclimatised to the piss-poor weak coffee of a certain American chain, which interestingly I learnt the other day failed in its attempts to take over the cafe scene here in Australia with not so much as a "see you latte" from the local, Aussie coffee connoisseurs. I salute you, I just wish we could do the same back in the UK.
Since arriving here, every morning has started the same way: me and The Boy get up, then we mosey down to one of the many coffee shops within spitting distance to where we're staying, order two flat whites (not yet a popular brew of coffee in the UK, but is just starting to take off in Costa's and I highly recommend it), bit of breakfast then peruse the papers. *Sigh* It's such a chilled out way to start the mornings. Good coffee and friendly company, and everyone that stops in is friendly. I've lost count of how many strangers have struck up conversations with me over a coffee and that is usually a figure I can count on one hand when I'm back in London.
There have been a couple of people that I've spoken to here that can't believe we don't have a big cafe culture. I explain that we only have big corporate chains and there are very few independent cafes where you can get a good coffee. One older lady was truly shocked by this and then she could barely console herself when I told her that most people just pop into a greasy spoon for a cuppa and they only serve instant. I guess for us Brits we're more of a pub scene kind of people rather than hanging out in cafes. Maybe because we think cafes are just where older people go for "a nice cup of tea", or it's a bit chinsey or maybe there's something a bit more snobby about it? I dunno, it's a tough one to call, but I can say that back in the UK I'd rather suggest meeting a friend for a pint rather than going for coffee because I have an arm's length list of good pubs we could go to and only a handful of places I'd bother stopping in for coffee. Difference is obviously that here in Aus there are literally loads of places to go for good coffee and they're all full of young people, and you just hang out, and it's cool, and it's cheaper than the pub.
I love it and if I could continue starting my days with a couple of coffees back in the UK I'd be happy - not least because after these two weeks I now think I've built up a dependency on it. It's true, I will be returning home with a caffeine habit. It's helped me understand The Boy a bit more too. There are back in London only two coffee shops that he'll happily go to, both in Soho and both run by Australian's and New Zealanders. Now when he suggests heading all the way there just for a cup of coffee I get it, because it's good coffee ad both cafes have friendly atmospheres that capture and remind him a bit of home. At least I think that's why, I don't want to put words in his mouth, but I know that I'll be all the more happy to go out of my way now to continue experiencing this little bit of Brisbane-like life.
RoseC -x-
Monday 15 August 2011
A long, long way from home
I'm officially the furthest away from home I've EVER been! After a gruelling 21 hour flight, I now find myself on t'other side of the world in Australia and shit the bed, I'm loving it! Granted the first day or so was jet lag hell, but I've now settled into the relaxed vibe and routine of Brisbane City life and have found that I've slipped into it really rather well. The main thing I've picked up on is that it's not like any city in the UK, which is generally full of busy people rushing around, getting impatient and pissed off with each other. None of that here and it's quite liberating. Not missing London one iota at the moment and can't see that I'll start to in the next two weeks of being here.
Although I'm only three days into the holiday I feel like I've already experienced so much. Course we're here to catch up with all of The Boy's family and friends (if you didn't know he's Australian), and on my first night was thrown in at the deep end and met the whole of his crew. We were introduced in true Aussie style with a full on BBQ, drinking session and little garden camp fire at one of his mates house. As well as it being fun times, it was also to help piece together the host's garden after it got trashed in the floods. It's amazing that five or so months on since it happened everything seems to have been put back together rather well and you'd never have guessed it even occurred. Crazy.
Anyhoo, the guys did much digging and hoeing...I was there more for the morale support and onlooking. I think I did good with that. I didn't do so well when I came face to face with a large praying mantis, freaked out and spilt my cider. Typically lived up to the wimpy Pommy stereotype there.
Also much loving the cafe culture here. Taking a wonder down to one of the many good coffee shops in the warm 'winter' sunshine and chilling out for an hour is the way every morning should start in my opinion. *Sigh* yep, could definitely see myself happily staying here for a while.
Off to see a platypus and some flying foxes tomorrow. Fuck yeah! I'll also get to hug a koala in a total cliched tourist way. Right now though I'm too relaxed to type any more so will sign off.
Ciao for now,
RoseC -x-
Although I'm only three days into the holiday I feel like I've already experienced so much. Course we're here to catch up with all of The Boy's family and friends (if you didn't know he's Australian), and on my first night was thrown in at the deep end and met the whole of his crew. We were introduced in true Aussie style with a full on BBQ, drinking session and little garden camp fire at one of his mates house. As well as it being fun times, it was also to help piece together the host's garden after it got trashed in the floods. It's amazing that five or so months on since it happened everything seems to have been put back together rather well and you'd never have guessed it even occurred. Crazy.
Anyhoo, the guys did much digging and hoeing...I was there more for the morale support and onlooking. I think I did good with that. I didn't do so well when I came face to face with a large praying mantis, freaked out and spilt my cider. Typically lived up to the wimpy Pommy stereotype there.
Also much loving the cafe culture here. Taking a wonder down to one of the many good coffee shops in the warm 'winter' sunshine and chilling out for an hour is the way every morning should start in my opinion. *Sigh* yep, could definitely see myself happily staying here for a while.
Off to see a platypus and some flying foxes tomorrow. Fuck yeah! I'll also get to hug a koala in a total cliched tourist way. Right now though I'm too relaxed to type any more so will sign off.
Ciao for now,
RoseC -x-
Monday 8 August 2011
My mind, in one night
It's 8am, on a Monday, I don't have to go to work, yet I am awake. Not a happy bunny right now.
Most of the time I'm one of these sleepers that as soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm gone. Unfortunately this wasn't the case last night as all manner of thoughts and sounds invaded my head meaning that I felt restless and alert until two o'clock this morning. I don't actually remember another recent time when I was able to stay awake until 2am because as a side effect to my quarter-life crisis I now like to be tucked up in bed by midnight at the latest. There's no raving anymore, getting off my tits and dancing like a twat until the early hours; there are very few late night living room rendezvous and conversations that go past 11pm; and there's definitely a severe lack of all night drinking at pub lock-ins. All things I was happy to do just two years ago, but now when read back sound more like a page out of Trainspotting (but in a well written English accent) rather than something I'd get up to. Now, I'm generally out for the count by 10:30pm and grouchy if I don't get my eight hours.
I'm not entirely sure what kept me up last night, perhaps a mixture of things: the excitement of going to Australia in two days, the relief of getting my bike back, the loneliness of being in bed on my own after sharing it with The Boy for the last three nights. The latter is a weird one - like he's never here for more than a couple of nights, but after he goes I always feel a bit more vulnerable and scared that somethings going to happen, so it usually takes me a little longer to settle on a Sunday night. Anyway, enough of the soppy stuff...
The long and short of it was that my mind was racing with these thoughts, then other thoughts from them grew, such as what's going to happen about the leaky ceiling in my room? When I'm in Aus what time should I take my pill because it has to be taken at the same time every day, but everything there is upside down time wise? What is the time difference between here and there? What do I need to pack/buy? When I go to get a new bike lock for my bike, will I be able to take it into the shop with me so it doesn't get nicked?
My little brain was working over time to think up all of these questions, but it wasn't bothering to logically magic up any of the answers, so I tried a few well tested methods to put an end to it. First, I wanked. I seem to have that bloke skill that after I climax I can nod off into a satisfied sleep with a smile on my face. Unfortunately that didn't work last night, perhaps because of my already erotically filled weekend so my satisfaction metre was at it's limit.
Next I read. At the minute I'm leafing my way through Danny Wallace's, Friends Like These - a light hearted tale about refinding forgotten friends, which I'm enjoying but I think he uses too many itals, so every other word is really emphasised and you end up reading as if you sound a bit special. Generally a couple of pages will do it, not because it's a boring book, but I'm just not very good at reading before bed with soft lighting. It makes me sleepy. Apparently it wasn't going to help last night either.
Running out of ideas, my last ditch attempt was to convince myself that I was really tired, think about sleeping and count. Not sheep, when I count I'm not sure it is anything, it's just the monotony of numbers that sends me off. I guess for this reason I could never be a mathematician...well that and the fact that I am crap at math.
It started to work, I had my fan blowing a nice breeze on me, my eyes were feeling heavy, the numbers were steadily going up, sleep was so close I could smell it , finally, at 1:30am.
Ahh, bliss.
Mind is turning off now...
No more silly questions, or thinking...
Just sleep...
If only that rustling noise would stop...
Hang on. Rustling noise? Shit, perhaps that mouse is back.
Bollocks, I can't sleep if I know there's a mouse in my fucking room. I'm gonna have to put the light on and see.
Flicking the light on woke me up again instantly, like sleep had never been knocking on my eyelids. I got up out of bed, turned off the fan so I could hear things properly and walked over to where I thought I heard the noise. Nope, couldn't see anything and the noise had sort of stopped, so I froze to see if it would return. It did, by the doors that led to the back garden - I have doors in my room that open straight to the back garden, which is why it's totally plausible that there was a mouse in my room - then my mind turned to my bike being outside. No, Rose, shake your head, refocus. Mouse. Right, yes, mouse.
I definitely couldn't see anything, but there was a tapping at the door. I don't like noises that tap at the door, especially if I'm going to be faced with some sort of unsuspecting, startled animal, but the only way to find out was to pull back the curtains.
As I raised my hand, and my fingers twitched in anticipation of pulling back the red fabric that obstructed my view of the big, bad night time world of London. I heard a second noise as well as the rustling. It sounded like a fence wobbling. Perhaps it was our local fox, which I'm told often tries to scale it to get into our yard. Bollocks, was I about to come face to face with a fox? I'm not very good with foxes. The last one I stared out had a look in his eye that said, "If you come a step closer to me I'll rip off both your fucking legs and give you rabies just for the fun of it." I hate city foxes. They all look like they're on crack.
Anyway, enough was enough. I needed to find out if there was a mouse in my room, or a fox outside the door so I could stop the pounding in my heart and just GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP.
I manned up, grabbed the curtain and swiped it back faster than the Sundance Kid would draw his gun (maybe).
There was nothing outside. More importantly there was nothing inside, no small creatures, not even a spider. There was just the rain, which was now blowing onto the windows of my door. Aahh so that explained it all!
*Sigh* well that was that. Everything had been checked out and it was fine. It was fine, but it was now 2am and I was pissed with myself that I wasn't asleep yet. Back to bed, back to counting, the noise was just the rain, all other thoughts can wait and finally sleep came.
Today I think I'll need to put even more concealer on around my eyes than normal to cover the extra dark circles. And why does this sort of thing always happen when you've got so much shit to do the next day? Cleaning, finalisation of job application, list-making of all the things I need to pack. I fear a granny nap this afternoon may be in order, but please don't judge me for it just wish me sweet dreams.
RoseC -x-
Most of the time I'm one of these sleepers that as soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm gone. Unfortunately this wasn't the case last night as all manner of thoughts and sounds invaded my head meaning that I felt restless and alert until two o'clock this morning. I don't actually remember another recent time when I was able to stay awake until 2am because as a side effect to my quarter-life crisis I now like to be tucked up in bed by midnight at the latest. There's no raving anymore, getting off my tits and dancing like a twat until the early hours; there are very few late night living room rendezvous and conversations that go past 11pm; and there's definitely a severe lack of all night drinking at pub lock-ins. All things I was happy to do just two years ago, but now when read back sound more like a page out of Trainspotting (but in a well written English accent) rather than something I'd get up to. Now, I'm generally out for the count by 10:30pm and grouchy if I don't get my eight hours.
I'm not entirely sure what kept me up last night, perhaps a mixture of things: the excitement of going to Australia in two days, the relief of getting my bike back, the loneliness of being in bed on my own after sharing it with The Boy for the last three nights. The latter is a weird one - like he's never here for more than a couple of nights, but after he goes I always feel a bit more vulnerable and scared that somethings going to happen, so it usually takes me a little longer to settle on a Sunday night. Anyway, enough of the soppy stuff...
The long and short of it was that my mind was racing with these thoughts, then other thoughts from them grew, such as what's going to happen about the leaky ceiling in my room? When I'm in Aus what time should I take my pill because it has to be taken at the same time every day, but everything there is upside down time wise? What is the time difference between here and there? What do I need to pack/buy? When I go to get a new bike lock for my bike, will I be able to take it into the shop with me so it doesn't get nicked?
My little brain was working over time to think up all of these questions, but it wasn't bothering to logically magic up any of the answers, so I tried a few well tested methods to put an end to it. First, I wanked. I seem to have that bloke skill that after I climax I can nod off into a satisfied sleep with a smile on my face. Unfortunately that didn't work last night, perhaps because of my already erotically filled weekend so my satisfaction metre was at it's limit.
Next I read. At the minute I'm leafing my way through Danny Wallace's, Friends Like These - a light hearted tale about refinding forgotten friends, which I'm enjoying but I think he uses too many itals, so every other word is really emphasised and you end up reading as if you sound a bit special. Generally a couple of pages will do it, not because it's a boring book, but I'm just not very good at reading before bed with soft lighting. It makes me sleepy. Apparently it wasn't going to help last night either.
Running out of ideas, my last ditch attempt was to convince myself that I was really tired, think about sleeping and count. Not sheep, when I count I'm not sure it is anything, it's just the monotony of numbers that sends me off. I guess for this reason I could never be a mathematician...well that and the fact that I am crap at math.
It started to work, I had my fan blowing a nice breeze on me, my eyes were feeling heavy, the numbers were steadily going up, sleep was so close I could smell it , finally, at 1:30am.
Ahh, bliss.
Mind is turning off now...
No more silly questions, or thinking...
Just sleep...
If only that rustling noise would stop...
Hang on. Rustling noise? Shit, perhaps that mouse is back.
Bollocks, I can't sleep if I know there's a mouse in my fucking room. I'm gonna have to put the light on and see.
Flicking the light on woke me up again instantly, like sleep had never been knocking on my eyelids. I got up out of bed, turned off the fan so I could hear things properly and walked over to where I thought I heard the noise. Nope, couldn't see anything and the noise had sort of stopped, so I froze to see if it would return. It did, by the doors that led to the back garden - I have doors in my room that open straight to the back garden, which is why it's totally plausible that there was a mouse in my room - then my mind turned to my bike being outside. No, Rose, shake your head, refocus. Mouse. Right, yes, mouse.
I definitely couldn't see anything, but there was a tapping at the door. I don't like noises that tap at the door, especially if I'm going to be faced with some sort of unsuspecting, startled animal, but the only way to find out was to pull back the curtains.
As I raised my hand, and my fingers twitched in anticipation of pulling back the red fabric that obstructed my view of the big, bad night time world of London. I heard a second noise as well as the rustling. It sounded like a fence wobbling. Perhaps it was our local fox, which I'm told often tries to scale it to get into our yard. Bollocks, was I about to come face to face with a fox? I'm not very good with foxes. The last one I stared out had a look in his eye that said, "If you come a step closer to me I'll rip off both your fucking legs and give you rabies just for the fun of it." I hate city foxes. They all look like they're on crack.
Anyway, enough was enough. I needed to find out if there was a mouse in my room, or a fox outside the door so I could stop the pounding in my heart and just GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP.
I manned up, grabbed the curtain and swiped it back faster than the Sundance Kid would draw his gun (maybe).
There was nothing outside. More importantly there was nothing inside, no small creatures, not even a spider. There was just the rain, which was now blowing onto the windows of my door. Aahh so that explained it all!
*Sigh* well that was that. Everything had been checked out and it was fine. It was fine, but it was now 2am and I was pissed with myself that I wasn't asleep yet. Back to bed, back to counting, the noise was just the rain, all other thoughts can wait and finally sleep came.
Today I think I'll need to put even more concealer on around my eyes than normal to cover the extra dark circles. And why does this sort of thing always happen when you've got so much shit to do the next day? Cleaning, finalisation of job application, list-making of all the things I need to pack. I fear a granny nap this afternoon may be in order, but please don't judge me for it just wish me sweet dreams.
RoseC -x-
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