Welcome to the Cult of Steve

I’m still a little astonished that I found this eMac just sitting by the road. It does kind of even out things as far as my electrical yos and woes tally goes. Yes, I had to spend out £81 on fixing my ailing laptop, but I have, over the course of roughly the same time period, managed to get a complete (save for mouse and keyboard) Mac. I think I mentioned in an earlier post that buying an iPod had almost turned me into a Macolyte (do you see what I did there. It’s a bit of a portmanteau, blending together Mac and acolyte. See, I can even do linguistic freestyling. I got the mad skills). Well, this eMac is making a pretty compelling argument to switch teams. It definitely looks a hell of a lot prettier on my desk than my old PC did, especially since I finally took delivery of my white Apple keyboard. The reason it took a whole week to arrive was that the seller didn’t bother to post the thing until Friday. Any time I’ve ever sold anything on eBay I’ve always made sure I posted it as soon as possible. I really don’t understand how somebody could put off doing it for almost a week. Anyway, so that was problem no. 1 with my apple keyboard. Problem no. 2 was potentially more serious. It had a wonky spacebar. I’ve started to get the impression that somebody up there wantsmetotypeeverythinglikethisforeverandever. Fortunately, I completely failed to remember that I’d pledged never to fiddle with things ever again, and promptly set about trying to rectify the problem. As luck would have it, the base of this particular type of apple keyboard is completely transparent, so I was able to actually see what the problem was before I started ripping keys off. Fortunately, this time, I didn’t completely screw things up, so I’m now the proud owner of a new and fully functional Apple keyboard. The thing is, despite the problems I had with delivery delays and disrepair, I was still pretty loathe to give the seller bad feedback. Why? Why could this possibly be? Essentially I got bad service. It took an age to get to me and was kind of broken when it finally made it here. The thing is, I kept thinking of perfectly valid reasons for the problems. What if there was some sort of family emergency that prevented the guy from taking the package to the post office? Besides, when they finally did send the keyboard it went first class, not second class as they’d said in the listing. Subsequently the postage actually cost more that they’d charged (and how often does that happen with eBay stuff). Of course, if they’d posted it several days earlier that wouldn’t have happened, but then I guess t hat wouldn’t have been possible owing to the dead Grandmother (I imagine the family emergency would probably involve the death of an elderly relative. After all, old people seem to die all the time). And as for the (easily repairable) damage; wasn’t it quite likely that the retaining clip for the space bar had come away during transit?

Actually, I haven’t I haven’t dispensed with my PC altogether. It’s still sitting in the integrated PC tower cubby hole on my desk. I’ve simply removed the old, beige monitor and swapped it over for the shiny white eMac. After that I hooked up the PC to my HD telly so that I can use it for downloads and streaming pictures from iPlayer and 4 on demand. Pretty neat huh? Or maybe it’s just a way for me to earn more geek points?

The place where I ordered the laptop keyboard was actually pretty efficient. At least that’s what I thought when the postman handed me a package on Thursday morning. That’s fast work considering the fact that I only ordered it late on Wednesday night. Unfortunately, once I opened the package my glee turned in to disappointment. Whilst the keyboard inside looked just about right, when I tried to fix it into place, it became obvious that they’d set the wrong one. None of the screw hole matched, so it was going to have to go back. I made a cal to the spare parts company and the guy on the other end of the line asked me to send back the incorrect keyboard and email him with some pictures of the one I needed, just to make sure they got it right this time. You’d think that would be easy. After all, all I’d have to do was take a picture with my camera phone, send it to my mini-laptop via Bluetooth, attach it to the email and I’d be done. You’d think that, (I know I did) but then you (and I) would be completely wrong. First off, for some reason, the phone wouldn’t connect to the laptop. I’m going to blame the phone for this. You’ll see why later. After that I tried to whip out the memory card and transfer the file through the memory card slot. Of course I couldn’t do that because I’d been forced to save the pictures onto the phone memory because the memory card was full. I’d actually bought a 4gb SD card, but that seemed to cause my increasingly pedantic phone to crap out, so I was forced to go back to using the 512mb card that came with it. Anyway, I erased some pictures, transferred the photos over to the memory card, shoved the memory card into the laptop, attached the pictures to an email, sent the email, realised that I didn’t have the right email address, called the company back, got the address, resent the email (in which I requested that thy reimburse me for the postage costs. So far they haven’t) and waited. In other words, it was a bit of a pain. After that, I headed off to the post office and handed my package to the typically incompetent staff who completely ignored my request to send it by recorded delivery. Anyway, once I’d finally sorted everything out I walked ou the pot office and set off home. Then I walked right back the way I’d come and walked into the shop neighbouring the post office. I’d pretty much needed a haircut for a fair few weeks now, but since I could never seem to find the time to make it to the barbers (when you have virtually limitless time you spend pretty much all of it doing very little that’s actually constructive) I hadn’t bothered. Now, since I was right outside, I figured that I might as well get a haircut. I think I’m actually starting to develop a pathological fear of haircuts. You’d probably have the same issue too if, every morning when you woke up, you left half your hair on your pillow. The truth is though, and this is going to sound kind of bizarre, I tend to look less bald once they lop off some of my hair. I guess it’s because the weight of the long hair, working in unison with the laws of physics, pulls down the hair from my scalp and opens up a gaping chasm of baldness. Short hair has more of a tendency to lie flat and patch up the gaps. Still, despite that, I’m still quite loath to do it. I just like having long hair. That’s why my Xbox Avatar still has the same haircut I had circa 1999.

On the plus side, they sent out the correct keyboard straight away, and it arrived on Saturday along with the Apple keyboard. No postage refund though, and I’m not sure I can be bothered to hassle them about it. After all, it was only £2.10. Is it really worth the effort? Isn’t my time more valuable than that? That was supposed to be a rhetorical question by the way. Even still I suspect that the answer would be no, my time really isn’t that valulable.

Some way back a couple of paragraphs ago, I bitched a little bit about my current mobile phone, the Sony Ericsson K850i. I think it’s fair to say that I’ve been all that happy with it. In the past I’ve been a bit fan of Sony Ericsson. My last five phones have been made by those guys and each model has been better and more useable than the last. That is, until I got the K850i. On paper, it seems great. Five megapixel camera, SD memory card slot (the old ones would only take the more expensive memory stick cards. The K850i does both), xenon flash…. the list of great features just goes on and on. Unfortunately, the phone is way less than the sum of its parts. Every time I take a close up picture requiring flash, the phone does one of two things. Either the flash isn’t potent enough and all I get is a series of indistinct, silhouette-ish blurs or the flash goes crazy and everyone’s facial features are wiped out by the blinding light. This didn’t happen with my old K800 with its supposedly inferior 3.2 Megapixel camera. Not ever. After a while I noticed a more serious issue. I use my phone as an alarm clock, so it’s kind of vital that it stays functional overnight. Overnight, the phone shut itself off completely. My alarm didn’t go off. Fortunately, through some perversion of nature, I’d got used to waking up in the morning (I’d much rather wait until the afternoon. Midday is a much more civilised hour and I’ll do whatever it takes to get businesses worldwide to recognise this fact), so after a bit of a rush, I managed to make it in to work on time (well, as on time as I ever was). The problem is, the phone keeps shutting itself down at random times. Now, I’m famed for always being contactable through my mobile. The only time I usually won’t answer the phone is when I’m on the tube, and simply because I can’t due to the lack of reception (I do hope they get that sorted out soon. I mean, if the French can do it…) or engaged in an intimate situation (there was a time when that meant I’d be having sex. Ah, halcyon days. Now it just means I’m in the shower or on the bog. Oh, or I could be engaging in some personal intimacy, if you get my meaning). Anyway, if none of that was going on, I’d answer the phone. Now, with this stupid mobile, I could be out of contact at any random time. It’s maddening. It’s completely spoiling my reputation for easy contactability. On the plus side, since I currently don’t have a job, I don’t have to get up in the morning, so there’s no need to worry about the alarm any more.
I’m eligible for an upgrade in February, so at least I’ll be able to pick out a replacement pretty soon.

I’d been thinking about maybe getting an LG Renoir (touchscreen, 8mp camera, gps. On paper it sounds great). Actually, I’ve been so impressed with my iPod Touch that I’m giving some thought to getting an iPhone, despite the woefully inadequate camera and the extortionate tariff (to get anything worthwhile you’ve got to sign up to an 18 month contract costing £35 a month). Under no circumstances would it be vaguely sensible to get another Sony Ericsson phone. Not after I was so badly let down by my current one. I’d have to be completely mad to do it.

Anyway, I’ve weighed up the options, done some extensive research and I think I’ve decided to go for the C905. If you’re curious about what that’s like, you should be able to find it on the Sony Ericsson website.

Oh, and just as a postscript to this… post, my life will get more interesting (hopefully) so with any luck my future entries wont focus so much on the mundane tedium of my existence. Personally I’m hoping to add a little bit more sex in the future.

No Input

Well, after a little experimental surgery I’ve managed to kill my laptop again. Just a couple of weeks ago I had to wrench out a defective hard drive which had, through no fault of my own, decided to make the most horrendous chugging noises whilst accessing. After that, it began to take ages to actually do anything. Soon after that, it would only allow me to access my data if I pushed hard on the laptops casing, just above the location of the hard disc. I spent 45 minutes pressing down on the damn thing whilst all my precious data was siphoned of the ailing disc on to my external hard drive. A quick trip to PC Word later and I was £41 lighter of pocket, but 160gb up on hard drive capacity. Still at least that allowed me to kill another long, boring day whilst I laboriously restored my previous hard drives contents to the new unit. Although the whole exercise cost me money, I didn’t mind having to do it. Since I’d been using my laptop for iTunes, 40gb really wasn’t cutting it anyway, so an upgrade was welcome.

However, having to spend out yet another £40 on a machine that’s almost four years old is kind of annoying. So, how did that happen? Last night, I managed to spill a tiny bit of orange juice on my laptop’s keyboard. I got to it pretty fast, tipped the machine upside down and let it drain. All seemed well. That is until this morning, when I tried to use it again. The space bar was a little sticky. By the way, when I say, a little, I really do mean a little; it was hardly a problem, but it was hardly a problem that I simply had to solve. So, I clipped the space bar off, cleaned it out a little and attempted to fix it back on. Four hours later, I finally threw in the towel and ordered a replacement keyboard.

I really should know better. Any time I try to fix a minor and fairly inconsequential problem I always end up making it worse.

Actually, in an attempt to work out what was doing wrong, I flipped off the space bar on my old and not particularly functional Sony Vaio laptop. I had it clipped off and back on again within 10 seconds. For some reason, the mechanism on my Samsung keyboard is just way more complicated. In other words, I wasn’t being overtly dumb when I expected to be able to fix it all by myself. After all, I’d fixed loads of desktop keyboards. Of course I figured it might be harder with a laptop, but I never realised Samsung had constructed their keyboard in such a way as to make it completely impossible.

My advice; if you have a Samsung laptop, never, ever try to take the keys off. It will only cause you pain, followed by a wasted afternoon (during which you may end up sticking your fingers together with super glue) and then, the worst blow of all,having to resort to spending money to solve the problem.

Tragically, I now suspect that the stickiness would have gone away after a few weeks. Still, I’ll use it as an excuse to cut down on the booze. I only need to drop two pints a week for 6 weeks to pay for the keyboard. Failing that, I could just limit myself to drinking at Sam Smiths pubs, the only pub chain in London where you can pick up a round for four people and still have change from a tenner.

Anyway, not everything has been bad lately. On the plus side I’m now typing this using my newly recovered eMac. Unfortunately, until the genuine Apple keyboard that I ordered from eBay arrives, I’m having to type on my old black Logitech so-called “Media Elite” keyboard. It’s quite frankly awful. There’s just something slightly out of line with the key placements, which means I usually end up catching my finger on the neighbouring key to the one I actually want to press. Sometimes keys don’t even register at all. It’s quite frankly awful. My word page is covered in red squiggles indicating all the typos that have been forced upon me by this crappy keyboard. Also, for some reason it absolutely refuses to type an upper case “o”. I’ve no idea why that could be.

Ah, keyboards; the route to so much pleasure, but the cause of so much pain.
This week I’ve come to a fantastic realisation. I’ve sort of stumbled across a way of forcing myself write. When I’ve tried to write I usually sit on my bed with my laptop. Very seldom does any writing actually emerge. Usually I just waste time on the internet. Laptops are great, you can use them all over the house. You can write anywhere, but for some reason I don’t. So, I asked myself, how do I ensure that I’ll actually do some work. Apparently the answer lies with sitting at a desk. Whenever I take my mini laptop out with me and sit at a desk, I write. So now, whenever I’m in the house and I feel like I should be writing, instead of lunging about on my bed with my laptop, I’ll sit at my desk in from of my Mac. Unfortunately, for now, that means typing this blog entry on my soon to be replaced demon keyboard. Everything I type is a mess, but I am at least doing something.

So, with the “Sitting at a desk = Work” equation solved maybe more words will spew forth from my keyboard (But I’ll have to wait until one of the new ones finally turns up. I just can’t use this Logitech monstrosity any more. All the red squiggles are giving me bad classroom related flashbacks).

Look at me. Look at me.

It really has been quite sometime since I last posted anything in this blog. Some people might have thought that I'd quietly put it to sleep. Others may even have thought that I myself had passed on. In actual fact, neither my blog or I are dead. Whilst I haven't actually published anything in an age, I have done the odd bit of writing. So now, after more than a year, I'm publishing what would have been my posts from the last few months (if only I'd got around to actually sticking them on my blog). I hope you enjoy it. It's not all fun and games, unfortunately, in fact some if it's downright depressing, but as such, I think it's a reasonably accurate representation of my life, such as it is.

Please do feel free to comment. Regardless of what your mother might have told you, even if you don't have anything nice to say, I'd still like to hear from you. Do try to be constructive with your criticism though. If my self esteem does have to take a bruising I would at least like it to benefit my writing in some way.

Oh, by the way, I'm thinking of adding a few appendices to my blogs for reviews of Technology, gadgetry, games, pubs,films books, music, and whatever other subjects about which I feel moved to write. I can't guarantee they'll be coming soon, but when they do appear I'll be sure to include appropriate links on this very blog. I may even allow these sections to be open to other contributors who will, no doubt, have a wider knowledge of things. It would, after all, be a shame to have the reviews section shackled by the constrains of my ever diminishing budget.

All that remains for me to do is to thank you, gentle reader, for putting up with my continued absence from webloggery. I can't promise I'll write more, but I shall certainly try and, after all, that's as much anybody can ask of a person.

Lost and found (or Finders Keepers...)

5/10/08

And on the subject of Macs, I found one by the side of the road. It sounds odd, I know, but, on a grass verge no more than 50 meters from where I live I found and old style Apple eMac. After I hefted it home, struggling to carry the 17” CRT based machine across the road, I switched it on and was surprised to find that, with the exception of an easily correctable software flaw (the screen appeared only in the centre few 8” of the screen. By easily correctable, I actually mean that it took until 4am that morning, plus a few hours the next day to get fixed) it was in perfect working order. This was obviously something of a godsend as far as I was concerned. The previous day had been my last working for Hertz and frankly I could probably do with the money (probably upwards of £100) that selling the thing on eBay would have got me. You've probably noticed the past tense. Unfortunately my somewhat overly cautious mother was uncomfortable having it in the house. Despite that fact that, to my mind at least, it was obvious that the machine had been abandoned, probably because the previous owners couldn't get it to work properly, she insisted that I hand it in to the police. Given her illness, I thought it might be best to acquiesce. According to the police records, it hasn't been reported as being stolen, so, if nobody claims it within the next 28 days, I can go and pick it up. All that is, if you ask me, an awful lot of hassle given that all signs seem to indicate that the Mac was simply abandoned.

Anyway, I touched upon it briefly a little earlier, but I have now finished working for Hertz. Oddly enough I was actually a little sadder than I had been expecting. I wasn't sorry to have to say goodbye to the job, but I will miss all the people. Anyway, I was allowed the customary 2 hour lunch break during which I was bought and subsequently drank four pints of Fosters. Surprisingly, after a brief pit-stop at McDonalds, I was actually able to get through the afternoon. Is it strange that I feel bad for not having been able to finish off all my work? I left work with a £20 voucher for HMV and a promise to meet up with everyone for drinks on Friday.

So, what have I done since then? Well, aside from trying to clear out my bedroom, scavenging for things to sell, I've really just been catching up on TV and films that I hadn't got around to watching before. I've tried to get some exercise done too in a probably vain effort to get back in to shape. So far I'm stalling on 2.5 miles of cycling coupled with 50 sit ups. Yes, I know it's not a lot, but it's a start.

I've had a quick look at going to America again. I won't say too much right now, but I've found a few cheaper prices, so a mildly cut down trip may yet be a possibility.

I mentioned at the end of my last post that I might end up changing to the dark side and going all Mac. Well, the experience I had with the eMac has kind of put me off. Whilst OSX is quick to boot, it seems far less adaptable than Windows. I think, for now, I'll be saving my money and going for a Windows based laptop when my current 3.5 year old machine finally gives up the ghost. Hopefully it'll keep going for another year or so and I'll be able to skip Vista and head straight to a machine pre-installed with Windows 7, a Centrino 2 package and a blu-ray drive. For now I'll have to hope that my recent gadget purchases will sate me whilst I ride out the leaner times that lie ahead.

And now the end is near

Well it's my penultimate day working at Hertz, unless some last minute reprieve come along (which, in many ways, I hope it doesn't) and my final day having a regular lunch break. Tradition dictates that tomorrow, on my final day, I'll have to take a 2 hour break which will be spent entirely in the pub. Of course, I am a little worried that nobody else will come along thus proving exactly how unpopular I really am, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow to see.

In other words, this is the last time I'll be typing anything whilst in Uxbridge Library. If I'm not working in the area I think it's highly unlikely I'll ever come back here; It's not exactly one of England's most important spots of natural beauty after all. Still, at least today there a e no freaks about and I'm being left in relative peace, sitting, as I am, completely alone, a good 10m away from anybody else.

Right, so a status update. I finally managed to find somewhere that would sell me an iPod Touch; The Apple Store in Brent Cross. A quick call to them on Wednesday afternoon confirmed that they had “Loads” in stock (I can only assume that they're hoarding them, preventing other less fortunate retailers from taking any deliveries until they've made the most out of being the country's sole supplier). Straight after work I drove down to Brent Cross and, after double checking that HMV and Currys really wouldn't be able to sell me one (the rather helpful guy in HMV actually suggested that my best bet would be the Apple Store) I walked in to the Apple store looked around a bit, until a plump sales assistant asked me if I needed any help. “Yes”, I said, I'll have a 32gb iPod Touch please. Minutes later I finally had my iPod. It's fair to say that I'm really impressed. Yes, at £289 it did cost an awful lot of money, but, and I can say this in all honesty, I'm suffering not one iota of buyer's remorse. I'll probably say more about it in a future post, but I can't imagine that I'll give it any less than a glowing review. My only concern is that the iPod Touch will act as a sort of Gateway Gadget and lead on to harder Apple products. Let's put it this way, just a few days later I found myself in John Lewis looking at the Macbooks and, for the first time, considering the possibility that it might be a good idea to buy one once my main laptop dies. Scary stuff. I may yet deviate from the true Windows faith and become a Macolite (despite the added expense for what is, on a hardware level at least, pretty much the same machine as a Windows based PC).

A final moan about the library

It strikes me that this will be one of the last occasions on which I will find myself within the confines of Uxbridge Library. Whilst it's been a great place to shelter from the elements I have been subjected to some of the most inconsiderate, classless and downright odd people I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. This, of course, happens in all library's. You only need to look back at my writing accounts from just prior to getting my job at Hertz to see that. Today I am being treated to the dubious delights of a black woman, wearing a headscarf. Of course, as ever, I have literally no problem with her appearance; I only mention it to aid your mental image and add colour to the scene. In fact, all I care about is the noise she's making. Within a few minutes I noticed her murmuring to herself. I initially assumed that she was reading her book aloud. As time has passed it's become increasingly obvious that this is not the case. At the peak of each sentence her tone rises almost as if she's gained some sort of revelatory insight in whatever it is she's reading. Then I noticed she was doing it even when she wasn't reading. In fact, she's not even looking at the book, yet she continues with what I can only assume is some kind of chant or incantation. She's giggling to herself now. Giggling whist eating peanuts. If I had to hazard a guess I'd say that she's another one of those care in the community cases that, from what I can tell, seem intent on frequenting local libraries, freaking out and annoying intensely the patrons who just want to read and work quietly. For the record, I'm both freaked out and annoyed. I was writing something else altogether, but as things are, I can only observe and document the distractions.

I've actually been rather annoyed of late. Whilst loosing my job has filled me with nothing but joy (with only a hint of worry about where the money is going to come from to fund my gadget buying habit), I am a little distressed that I have not been able to find anywhere that can sell me the last gadget on my pre-moving out list; a New 32gb iPod Touch.

A Weekend on the Broads

A Weekend of Broads

And on that note, some tit as just decided to criticise me. And guess what? I didn't deserve it. Good morning gentle reader. Today I come to you live from the Norfolk Broads, where I am currently sitting on a boat bound for Thurne. Obviously I'm no longer piloting the boat; it would be hard to do that and type at the same time, but that's precisely what I've been doing for a large part of the trip. It;'s actually quite relaxing really. The boat moves at very sedate pace, but because it's so slow to manoeuvre too, key decisions about such trifling matters like steering need to be made well in advance. It was in one such situation that a torrent of abuse was unleashed upon me. Happily, the bile was not directed at me by a member of my crew, rather it came from a git of a sailor as he weaved about in front of me. I'd mad an attempt to pass behind his stern just as the rules state, only to have him change direction and block my path. This I didn't really mind. After all, sail boats are entirely at the whim of the winds. In other words, he couldn't help but impede my progress. He came about again and blocked me once more. I had just put the boat into hard reverse to avoid hitting him once more, when he yelled out impatiently “Can't you wait.” Aside from thinking that I was under the impression that “Waiting” was exactly what I was doing, I got a little agitated. Subsequently my “Sorry” was merely a sarcastic prefix to a justification of my actions which eventually climaxed with me telling the feckless Sailor to “Fuck off”. And quite rightly too. I, after all had stuck completely to the letter of the law. Additionally I had shown no real signs of impatience (since I didn't feel impatient, it would have been difficult to look impatient). Anyway, nods of agreement about my righteousness were, after a good ten minutes of ranting, enough to placate me. None the less, whilst I always appreciate constructive criticism, I hate it when some presumptuous twat decides to level it unfairly in my direction.

Anyway, aside from that (and the small, very minor and not at all damaging accident I had on the Saturday) the trip, on the whole, has been very pleasant and highly relaxing. Excluding Friday night, I've barely drunk at all. On Saturday morning, when I woke at about 7.30am I felt a little hangovery, but that soon cleared. Unfortunately, by 2.30pm I had an absolutely terrible headache. After a quick lie down and some paracetamol, it subsided, but, by the early evening it had returned once more. Perhaps it was partly cause a by the fact that my lunch had simply consisted of half a large packet of Chilli Heatwave Dorritos. It certaily wasn't the booze. Over the course of the day I managed only a shandy, one bottle of Carlsberg Export and a couple of pints in the evening.

Some small oddities I noticed about Wroxham, the small town that's home to Roy's business empire. We tried to get some chips, but by 7pm all of the proper chip shops (and by this I'm excluding the chinese take away and the kebab shop) had closed by 7pm. Also, there only seemed to be two pubs and perilously few places to eat. There were far more restaurants within any 20 meters of Rayners Lane tan in the whole town of Wroxham (though, Unlike Rayners lane they do have a McDonald's, albeit one within the property belonging to the ubiquitous Roy. Also, Rayners lane does, admittedly have more restaurants per square meter than anywhere else within greater London). We eventually settled on a little Pizzeria, where I, obviously went for the Margherita Pizza. A trip to one of Wroxham's fine drinking establishments followed, but only for one drink. The boat, along with all the booze contained therein, beckoned. Of course given my weakened state, it would have been unwise of we to imbibe any further alcoholic beverages. Instead, I stuck to the Coke that I'd purchased from the small Nisa convenient store we'd found on the way back. Some more drinking (not, as I've already said, by me) followed by a quick lie down (I was the sole participant in that activity) then, after an episode of Peep Show (or maybe two, I'm not sure), it was time for bed.

The next morning I awoke ridiculously early. Well, ridiculously early by my standards. For some strange reason, every morning whilst on this trip I seemed to be waking up just a little after 7am. Perhaps a previously hidden sense of wanderlust was making me rise at such an ungodly hour; it certainly wasn't the bed which I actually found to be a little more comfortable than the creaky old thing I have at home which always seems to give me a backache. Regardless, one of my shipmates also seemed to be waking up at about the same time (eerily he seemed to know that I had left the land of nod as well, despite that fact that I was being almost entirely silent and completely immobile), so we set about the business of breakfast, showering (a process that required the boats engine to be turned on so as to heat up the water. Unfortunately this meant that we had to wake up our shipmate who slept up front in the main cabin). Once all of those duties had been taken care of we got the boat under way.

After lunch in a pleasant pub (which played host to a large breasted barmaid to whom I took a fancy. Obviously, being me, I did literally noting to sate my fancy, but there you go)in a place that I think was called Thurne, we headed off towards Potter Heigham, the place from which our last boating holiday of nine years ago had begun. This, as it turned out, was a terrible mistake. Last time out Potter Heighham had served simply as a starting point for the journey. Much as we had done with Stalham this time out, on outr previous trip, we had, on arrival at Potter Heigham, simply parked up the car, unloaded our gear and sailed away. If only we had simply sailed on this time around.

09/09/08

...then work came and made us free?

Work is getting extraordinarily tiresome. Fortunately, at the end of today I will have only 3 weeks more to endure. Actually, much of my job isn't too bad. However, what I do find to be entirely unpalatable is answering the phone. There I am subjected to the full gamut of human stupidity and cruelty, frequently within the same call. Yesterday, I had to deal with somebody who spoke only very broken English and didn't seem to understand any of my questions. Today I've been subjected to an idiotic tirade from a Northern simpleton who seemed incapable of allowing me to help him. The man had a new claim to report (at least that's how its seemed at first) so I told him that I'd have to transfer him to my colleague who deals with such things. Apparently this wasn't good enough. Instead of getting put in touch with someone who could actually help him, he chose to rant on to me. It finally transpired he had been sent some claim forms to fill in. Within the covering letter it suggested that the accident could be reported either by filling in the form or telephoning. The purpose of his call was to find out which he should do. Well, I say that was the purpose, but in actual fact it was more like the excuse for the call. The real reason he had called, or so it seemed to me, was to harp on about how terrible the service was, how I didn't know what I was doing (Of course I didn't. Right from the start, I'd told him that one of my colleagues deals with such matters). Finally he started racially abusing the Spanish driver who hit his car, protesting that he shouldn't have to go to all this trouble just because the Spanish couldn't drive. It was then that I hung up on him. Frankly I've no intention of entertaining bigoted idiots, especially now that I've lost my job there.

Actually, thinking back, I put the phone down after he insulted me. If there's one thing I can't stand even more than racism it's unwarranted criticism.

8/09/08

Well, after a whole weekend of research, I can conclude that my trip to America simply isn't happening. The main reason (excluding fear, which I actually seemed to have under control) is cost. After working out that I was nowhere near rich enough to travel from coast to coast I decided to scale things down a bit. My trip would be limited to one coast. I've never been to the West coast before, but the lure of the familiar drew me towards New York. So, I was going to the East Coast. After a little thought I eventually came up with a route. I'd fly in to Boston, then, after 4 nights I'd make my way to Niagara Falls, then up to Toronto. After that I'd head back down to Manhattan and fly back home from Washington after a brief tour of the sights. As it turns out, that was going to be too expensive too. By the time I pared it down to an affordable level there was little point in going at all, especially when you consider that fact that I might be going to New York next year to accompany a friend to the Marathon (though not on it, obviously). Basically, accommodation costs in Boston were a little high, but manageable. Niagara was, relatively speaking, a bargain, and Toronto wasn't too bad either. However New York would have cost me just as much as the other places, but instead of having my own bathroom, I'd have to share wash facilities in a hostel. All of this would have totally wiped out my savings.

At the end of the day, I think I basically objected to the idea of having to pay twice as much for an unaccompanied trip as I would have to pay if I could bring someone else along. My big adventure, which, I have to admit was conceived partially as a way to prove how fine I was about being alone , had just gone to prove exactly how much of a handicap it is to be single.

I just seem to be one of the few remaining single people that I know, and, unfortunately, that means that more and more often, I'm going to be left with nothing to do whilst my mates gallivant about with their significant others.

05/09/08

All things considered, it hasn't been such a bad week. Much of the depression has lifted (there was a very slight dip on Wednesday when I realised I wouldn't have a job and thus, no more money for toys), and I feel a little more like myself. Well, the “myself” that was always supposed to be. The one without the dark clouds.

There's so much planning required for the US trip though. Where exactly am I going to go, how will I get there, how long will I stay? At the moment I'll probably be flying in to San Francisco from which I'll make my way to New York (Where, this time, I'll have to make sure I explore more of the Village). However, once I've plotted it all out, it my become apparent that I've got the time to fly to Vancouver (a city I've wanted to visit due to the Douglas Coupland connection and a good review from a Canadian girl and former Vancouver resident who used to work at Hertz) and head down to California via Seattle, the home of Grunge music and expensive Starbucks Coffee. Lots of decisions to be made, but I'll try to defer them until I get a new passport. In the mean time I also have next weekend's trip to the Norfolk broads to look forward to. The boat, which is apparently going to cost us £130 each, sounds pretty well equipped. Two bathrooms (I think) and a separate bedroom for each of us. It's almost luxurious. Apparently my friend has posted all the details to Facebook, though, as ever, I can't check it whilst I'm at work since it's on the list of sites my Nazi employers deem unsuitable. Honestly, it's worse than communist China. Maybe I'll look in to finding a proxy for Facebook that actually works. After all, what's the worst they can do to me?

By the way, I'm becoming more and more impressed by this new mini laptop on a daily basis. Obviously I'd have hated it if I ended up with one of the models with the dodgy touchpad, but this particular version suits me fine. I barely notice that it's in my bag (a new, padded Belkin laptop messenger bag. It's designed for notebooks up to 12”, but it seems to do the trick) most days, and it seems pretty damn good to type on. The screens really not bad ether. It think I've got it at about 1/6 brightness and it seems perfectly fine to me. One of the few complaint I have is that all of the status lights (indicators for wi-fi, bluetooth, caps lock etc) are obscured by the palm of my right hand as I type. Unfortunately, since I'm not entirely a touch typist, I still have to look at the keyboard as I type, which has meant that I've completely failed to notice that everything's been changed to upper case. Fortunately, Open Office writer has a facility for changing the case of your writing, so it's not too much of an imposition.

Escape to the New World

Well, it looks like I've got my wish. I'm off the the US of A. My boss felt really bad about not renewing my contract. I ended up having to spend time consoling her about having to let me go. I actually feel great about it. I finally don't mind going in to work now. Knowing that it's all going to come to an end in four weeks time somehow makes the whole thing more palatable. I had none of the usual feelings of being strangled as I made my way to the station. No excessive, anxious sweating either. Maybe feeling all that on top of the alcohol sponsored nausea would have been too much for my body to take. Or, maybe, without work to worry about, all the anxiety and depression will go away.

Anyway, the reason why I was felling a little (but really only a very little) the worse for wear was that I'd been to a pub in Baker Street to discuss arrangements For next weekend's trip to the Norfolk Broads. I'll say more about that on another occasion, but a plan was set in motion. I'll work on Friday Morning, but then head straight to Seven Sisters from which I shall get a ride all the way up to England's flattest county. It transpires that I have 4 days Holiday owing to me, so I'm going to use 1.5 days for the trip to the broads and get full pay for the remainder. Not a bad deal I think. That should go some way to paying for my new iPod Touch, or maybe all the way towards buying a digital camera.

Apparently Gok Wan was in Uxbridge filming today. Unfortunately (or is that fortunately) I didn't make it out to lunch quick enough to bump in to him and the screaming masses that were following him around (seriously, is he worth that much adoration?). Instead, I sit hear in the library typing all this out after having first done a little light reading of “Dexter in the Dark”, the third and not quite as good as its predecessors, book in the “Dexter” series (as seen on TV-ish).

Once more I must take my leave of you. A couple more hours of work beckon. The countdown to freedom begins.

Untitled 2/09/08

The past few weeks since have been more than a little disappointing. I've felt more depressed. work's seemed worse than ever. To top it all off, my best friend in my office got offered a job and left on Friday.

Today I was told that I am to attend a meeting to discuss the end of my contract which expires on the 30^th September. What will be said at this meeting is, at present, a little unclear. At no point before today has there ever been a one on one meeting to discuss contract extensions, which would suggest that another contract term may not be on the cards. So, it seems likely that I will either loose my job altogether, be offered it on a full time, permanent basis or, and this is an outside possibility based a little on my demonstrated computer prowess and on my supervisors recent promotion to manager, be offered a new job altogether.

I shall find out at 4pm. To be honest, the best case scenario for me would be a contract extension. Then I could work for a month longer and build up a little much needed cash for a trip across America that I'm thinking of doing. Honestly though, my spirits are pretty low, so I don't really want to be working there for longer than I can possibly help it.

I should also note that today is the birthday of one of my friends (we're meeting up this evening, ostensibly to discuss an impending trip on the Norfolk Broads, but also, I'm presuming, to celebrate his 31st year on the planet) so happy birthday to him. On a rather sadder note it's also the twelfth anniversary of my Father's death. I don't think I've really said an awful lot about that subject. It was, perhaps, the cause of a major depression that stayed with me throughout much of my time as an undergraduate at university, the major result of which was my relatively poor degree. If only I'd thought to seek help back then? I wonder different things would have been? I'm only really grazing the subject, no doubt I'll broach it more fully at a later date. Maybe not. regardless, I can, of course, do nothing about it now. From here on in I can only have an impact on my future, a future which will, almost inevitably spell further unemployment along with a few, post work drinks.

The Return

Right, I really don't have a lot of time to type, so I'll make this quick. Yes, I haven't done anything with this blog for almost a year. I'm well aware of that. But I do have my reasons, and I'll go in to them later. By later I might mean later in this entry or on another day altogether. I'm far to fickle to be even vaguely committal at the moment.

Anyway, once more, I'm typing this blog during my lunch break from a library, Uxbridge library. This of course means that I'm almost certainly still working in Uxbridge, but do I still work for Hertz? Unfortunately, I do, which is obviously a cause of great distress to me.

On the plus side, I'm typing this blog entry on my brand new netbook, mini-laptop-thing. Its diminutive size should, hopefully, allow me to carry it around wherever I go, so hopefully that'll mean more writing from now on in. With it's smaller keyboard, it's a little different to type on, so a few more errors in my typing will probably creep in until I've managed to become accustomed to it. At the moment, with Wi-fi off and 10% of the battery depleted, It's telling me that I should get another 2.5 hours out of it. Anyway, we'll see. I love it though. It still has that wonderful “new electrical item smell”.

But, you might ask (you might ask, but I wouldn't be able to hear you even if you did), surely I must have spent the last 10-11 months doing more than buying a tiny little laptop (there was research of course. Lot's of tedious, painstaking research; I loved it.)? Of course they have. I've bought loads of other stuff too. An Xbox 360 (even though I'd previously said that I never would. See, I'm terribly fickle), a PS3(just for blu rays, not for games. I only own two games and one of those came with the machine). On top of that (physically as well as metaphorically. Well, technically it stands atop a brand new glass stand, but the consoles lie beneath so I think I can be excused my slight technical inaccuracy) sits a brand new(-ish, I've had it since November last year) 32” Sony HD LCD TV.

So, I've bought stuff. What else? Hmm, what else? I fell for a girl at work who didn't like me back (probably for the best, on reflection I think she may have been a bit unbalanced.) She then became quite obviously attracted to a new guy who started (actually, blatantly is a better word. No, an even better word would be shamelessly. She was, at times, all over the poor guy, which I guess is the main reason why he wouldn't have been all that interested.) She left, which was probably best for all concerned.

I've been on holiday twice, most recently to Dublin (Again,. I was there last in 2004) which was great, and before that, to Warsaw, which wasn't. Actually it was depressingly like going on holiday in Slough, if Slough were overpriced and had fewer people in it. Actually I get the impression that most of Warsaw's previous residents had found their way to Berkshire. Maybe they feel at home there, who knows. Anyway, Slough... I mean Warsaw was a wholly depressing place where many depressing things happened. Once I returned home I headed to my Doctor's and got diagnosed with depression. This probably won't come as much of a shock to those of you who've been following my previous musings. Clearly some outside force (actually it's clearly an inside force since it's taken up residence on my head) was guiding me down the wrong path, ensuring that I could never drag myself away from the mediocrity

The little voice that tells me that I'm incapable of doing any better is a little quieter now. The one that tells me that even if I am good enough I don't deserve good things to happen to me is lying (if a disembodied thing can lie) bleeding to death in the gutter. It's that last voice that nearly made me run away from a recent interview. I stood outside the building, waiting to go in to my delayed interview. The job was pretty damn good. The advert from the Metro simply read

COPYWRITER WANTED

Experience an advantage but by no means essential, would also suit graduate or first-time jobber. Healthy interest in consoles and video games a big plus. Good English, grammar and punctuation a must! Small company based in Fulham, offering a fast-track to management and more money within a year for the right person. Starting salary of £18,000, plus participation in weekly cash bonus scheme.

If you're available immediately and want to work in a fun and dynamic environment,
call ***** now on 020 7*******

So, the only contact details were a telephone number. Normally, this would have put me off altogether. “What, you mean I have to talk to someone to get this job. No way, I'm not going to do it.” And that would be that. I'd ignore the add and move on to something else. But not this time. Whether it was because of the extra mental strength imbued through medication, or maybe it was because I really wanted to write about video games (Let's be honest, it was probably a combination of both), after a morning of soul searching I, after my boss had gone home for the day, picked up the phone and dialled the number. I talked to the voice on the other end for a while. I'm told by my friend who sits across from me, that I sounded really confident. I don't really remember, but I guess I must have done something right because I'd somehow managed to talk my way into an interview. To my mind, the interview went pretty well. In fact, I was pretty sure I'd actually managed to pull it off. Whilst the ad had said Fulham, the actual location of the company was Parson's Green, just one stop down from Fulham Broadway. I knew that I could easily manage the 45 minute train ride. It would give me ample time to read or maybe even write. Plus, since work hours were 10am until 6pm,I'd actually have a little more time for a lie in every morning.

One the way up there, I got a message on my mobile to let me know that the interview would have to be delayed by 30minutes. Not a big deal really. Sure, the delay added to my overall nervousness, but at least it would give me time to explore the surrounding area. Whilst there was little in the way of chain stores and restaurants (the delay had made me realise that I was craving a McDonalds Cheeseburger) there were a whole bunch of pubs, cafés and, most importantly, a library. Looking at the area's denizens I briefly fretted over not being (or looking) quite cool enough to work somewhere like this, but a trip to the nearby Gregg's Bakery for a sausage roll, where I noted the similarly not-cooler-than-thou clientèle, quelled my worries.

Anyway, to the interview itself. It took me a while to find the exact location of the office. On my reccy when I'd first arrived, I'd noted the company's sign, which I assumed would be pretty near to their front door. I headed down the side alley, a route suggested by the positioning of the signage, expecting to be greeted by a handy front door. Instead I found a man who, judging by his accent, was of Eastern European origin. Apparently there's an old joke Hollywood joke about a polish actress who sleeps with a screenwriter to get a part in a movie, the joke being that screenwriters have no power over hiring and firing for a movie (or over anything really), but the Polish actress was to dumb to know that. Effectively, in this branch of mildly racist humour, the average Pole is cast in much the same part as the Irishmen in “There was an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman” jokes. I've never really understood how those jokes could have come about, since pretty much everybody I've ever met from Ireland seems to be pretty sharp. Conversely, the Eastern European man (for argument's sake, I'll say he was Polish) was doing his level best to reinforce the stereotype. Since, he was working on an entranceway to what, logically, seemed like the portal to the office sought, I asked him if he could point me in the right direction. His reply went something like this... “Many people have ask me where is this company. I do not know. Perhaps is next door?” I answered probably not, but thanked him for his help none the less. Obviously I'm not all that fond of racism and xenophobic stereotyping, so I would still be hopeful that this particular predjudice wouldturn out to be absolute codswallop.

As it turned out, the doorway he was working on happened to be the entryway to the office I required. In other words, he was so thick (or perhaps simply ill informed; I'll give him the benefit of the doubt) that he didn't even know for whom he was actually working.

Anyway, after making a few enquiries of another gentleman who was clearly more clued up than the Pole, I discovered that I had to go through the entrance of the building next door in order to get to the interview. The builders therein who were working on what appeared to the the kitchen and toilet area, were far more clued up than their Eastern European counterpart. From them I found out that the interviews were taking place just upstairs and that, as soon as the current one was over, I could start mine.

A short while, and a trip to the toilet later (last minute nerves perhaps) it was time for my interview. A woman with black hair and olive skin came to meet me. It transpired that this was the same woman who had spoken to me on the phone a couple of days earlier.

Until the downstairs building work was completed, the company was based entirely in one, near pristine, white room., accessible via a dirt covered, but clearly newly refurbished, staircase. My interviewer apologised for the messy stairs, noting that it didn't seem worthwhile cleaning them whilst all the building work was going on. I looked around the room. Sitting atop the desk on the right side of the room was a pristine, porcelain white iMac. It's newly opened box lay just a few meters away in the corner of the room. On the opposite desk was a Sony Vaio Laptop which my interviewer had clearly just been using.

The interview itself too the form of a brief chat, a handing over of my work examples and a quick 15 minute writing test during which I had to come up with promotional-(ish) blurb for 3 new/upcoming games, writing 100 words on each. The games were Resident Evil 5 (a game nobody really knows an awful lot about besides the “controversial”fact that it was set in Africa, meaning that all the bad guy Zombies would be black), The Star Wars, The Force Unleashed, a new multi-media/marketing opportunity tie in, which I'd never heard of, so I ended up writing an awful lot about Star Wars in general. The final game was Fallout 3. I'd heard the title, but knew little else about it. Handy then, that I was provided with a couple of magazines and the whole of the internet for research.

I don't think I did too badly. Apparently I did well enough to meet the guy who was bankrolling the operation too, so I went away with a good feeling about the whole thing. I'd find out on Monday afternoon whether my faith had been misplaced.

So, Monday afternoon came and went, and I received no call. By the time I returned home I was deflated. It seemed likely that I hadn't got the job. I actually spent a while convincing myself that not getting the job wasn't altogether bad. It was, of course, but there's no use pining after something that I clearly couldn't have. Or could I? At about 7pm my phone rang. Upon answering I was greeted by an apology that it had taken so long to get back to me. Apparently they'd had “shitloads” of applicants and it had taken some time to whittle them down. Anyway, they'd compiled a short-list of three people and I was on it. I'd get a final decision the next day.

When the decision finally came on Tuesday afternoon I was disappointed. I hadn't got the job. Worse, from what he'd said “we had to choose somebody” I got the impression that they'd virtually picked the winner's name out of a hat. I was pretty despondent despite the promise that they'd look me up in a few months time when they planned to expand and new positions became available. It remains to be seen whether that actually happens.

Yet another job related post.

Again, massive gap between post. Sorry, but I just don’t seem to be able to get round to writing anything when I’m really busy. So, what have I been up to since my last post, live from a top Harrow library. I think I mentioned this before, but my plan for my time off was to actually do some proper writing. Unfortunately the two posts prior to this one are the only results of my good intentions. On the Friday of my first week of freedom from the servitude of work I was told by my agency that they’d managed to secure an interview for me at Hertz in Uxbridge. The job didn’t sound great, but, even after working at the school for 6 weeks and taking out £1000 of my investments, I still had very little money in my bank account. This was mostly as a result of having gone deep into my overdraft just prior to my job in the school. Anyway, I certainly didn’t have enough to keep me going for much more than a month so, as much as I wanted to spend a few months writing, I was in dire need of extra funding. The interview was scheduled for the following Monday. Thankfully it was midway through the afternoon, at 2.45, which at least meant that I wasn’t going to turn up to it all flustered, tired and hot, something that I think had scuppered my chances of getting the job from a few weeks earlier where the interview had taken place at 10am, just after a brief appointment at the agency at 9.30am to discuss how I should approach the interview. I rushed to that and was then kept waiting for a good 10 minutes before anybody would talk to me. That then meant that I had to rush down the road to the place where I was having the actual interview, something that ensured that I turned up thoroughly hot and bothered. Shame really. Boss aside, the job looked quite good. Well, the job looked ok, but one of the girls in the office was really hot. I certainly wouldn’t have minded getting up every morning to see her. Anyway, I digress, I didn’t get that job, but I’d learned exactly where I’d gone wrong. I’d suggested to the agency that morning interviews were really a bad idea. Basically I knew I’d stand a better chance of getting a job if I’d been able to get a good lie in and could travel to the interview at a leisurely pace. I also realised that having a suit that actually fit me was quite a good idea, and I’d bought one (actually had one bought for me by my Mum, but still) a few weeks earlier. Before the interview came the pre-interview preparation at the agency. This time they wanted me to go to their branch in Hounslow. They’d actually asked me to be there for 11am, but, sensibly I thought, I asked then if that could be moved to 12.30 so that I could go straight from there to my interview in Uxbridge. Being me, I didn’t manage to sleep particularly well on Sunday night and I awoke on Monday morning some while before my alarm went off feeling more than a little tired. Still, I felt a little better after having some sausages for breakfast. I got dressed at a leisurely pace (no rushing this morning, no matter what) and got in my car a full hour before my 12.30 appointment. More than ample time, I though, to get there considering the fact that my satnav had told me it would take only 30 minutes. I took my jacket off, set up my satnav, turned on the air-conditioning and set it to full blast. There was no way I’d turn up looking all hot and sweatty this time. After a minute or so of driving, my satnav actually managed to get a fix on a few satellites (I’m sure it used to just find them straight away) and the calming voice of satnav-Sally began to guide me towards Hounslow.

Satnavs are, in my opinion, fantastic. I always used to worry a bit about going somewhere I’d never been to before. Obviously it didn’t put me off enough to shy away from making the journey altogether, but, owing to my somewhat poor sense of direction, I was unwilling to set off anywhere new without first printing out a map of the route along with detailed directions from both the AA route planner and MS Autoroute. This tended to mean that I had to drive with a set of directions sitting on my steering wheel, something that diverted my attention from the actual driving and made me more likely to have an accident or be pulled over by some overzealous and, undoubtedly, bored, policeman. With satnav, this isn’t a problem anymore. Theoretically. Unfortunately, every time I go somewhere there seems to be some previously unpredicted obstacle right at the end of my journey. My trip to Hounslow was no different. A few hundred meters from my destination I was faced with a set of roadworks that completely blocked my route. Subsequently I ended up having to find my way around them, aided only by someone at the agency who had called to find out if I was OK, since I was now about 10 minutes late. Personally I didn’t mind about being 10 minutes late. It was in trying not to be late to my pre-interview preparation that I got myself flustered. I wasn’t about to repeat the mistake. Besides, I had plenty of time to make it to the interview afterwards. After all, it didn’t start for another two hours, and it was only another 30minute journey from Hounslow to Uxbridge.

Eventually I made it to the pay and display car park across the road from the agency. I subsequently discovered that there were a fair few unused parking spaces within the grounds of the agency, but I’d been told that I‘d have to park in the Pay and display, so that was what I did.

The agency’s Hounslow branch was a good deal more impressive than the Ealing one. Where as the Ealing branch was situated above a shop on the High Street, Hounslow had it’s own, recently constructed building. They both shared the same sort of fixtures and fittings with each branch being decorated in the company colours, but Hounslow somehow seemed more impressive. I think that’s the only context in which I could possibly describe anything to do with Hounslow as being impressive. Hounslow is, after all, a bit of a dump, so I was bound to find anything that wasn’t in keeping with the rest of the area’s shabby un-chic appearance to be a pleasant surprise.

The preparation seemed to go well. I said all the right things, so they sent me off on my way, seemingly confident that I’d get the job.

I got back in my car, once again engaging the air-con and set off towards Uxbridge. It was a little after 1pm. About 30 minutes later, after having got a little lost despite my satnav (on ti occasion it was my fault. I’d failed to notice that it had actually directed me to the right place, despite Sally’s declaration that I was exactly where I wanted to be. I’d managed to drive just a little to far, and gone right past the massive and fairly noticeable Hertz building and was about to enter a Buses only zone. Still, I finally made it to reception with only… 1hour to spare. Great, I was in for a long wait. Still, at least I’d be able to go through all the information the agency had given me about the job. After getting a pass I parked my car in the visitors section of the underground car park and slowly got myself together. It was dark, so I went off to reception to wait and do my final preparation. It was 2pm. 45 minutes before my interview.

35 minutes later I was collected for my interview. The building, dating back all the way to 2002, seemed very much like any ordinary large office. At least, it looked like any ordinary large office I’d seen on TV. Previously I’d only worked for small companies in small offices. This was on an altogether different scale. The interview went pretty well, I thought, with the only blip coming when one of the interviewers asked how old I was. What is this obsession with my age? It was the second time in as many interviews that I’d been asked how old I was and I was beginging to get paranoid about it. Do I just look particularly decrepit. Maybe it’s the thinning hair and the expanding waist?

After the interview, as tradition seems to dictate, I got a limited tour of the building which took in the canteen (nicer than I’d expected. I think that my idea of a canteen still backdates to when I was last at school. Of course at the time of the interview, the last time I’d been at school had been only 10 days earlier) and the Gym (way smaller and far less well appointed that I’d imagined, though perhaps, I’d imagined something that was pretty much unrealistic. I’d never been to a gym before and I guess I just imagined it would be like all of those dedicated gyms that I’ve seen on TV. I really must get out more). Apparently gym membership was only £10 a month, not bad considering that it did, in fact, have everything you’d need for a good workout. I made some enthusiastic noises; having the opportunity to exercise in my lunch break was certainly appealing, but ultimately I think my phobia of exposing myself in front of strangers would prevent me from ever using it.

I toyed with the idea of doing a bit of shopping before I went home, but ultimately I couldn’t be bothered. Well, I couldn’t be bothered and didn’t have any money anyway so there was really very little point in prolonging my stay in Uxbridge. I set off home.

Once there, I got changed and, as instructed, gave the agency a call. I found myself actually being pretty positive (though I voiced my concern that I’d been asked, once more, how old I was. The lady at the agency to whom I spoke could only comment that I had looked pretty smart from behind, but she hadn’t seen me from the front so was unable to comment on the effects of my potential rapid aging.) At the end of the conversation she promised to give Hertz a call and get back to me ASAP. About 20 minutes later she did just that. Apparently they were impressed by both candidates (me and the other guy) but, ultimately, when pressed, they were forced to admit that I was the best. Obviously this was highly gratifying, but it did have the unfortunate effect of thrusting me, once more, back into employment. I was to start on Wednesday.

So, I had one day to prepare myself. One day to buy a new pair of trousers and perhaps a shirt. I’d also decided to do something on that day that I’d been putting off for a long time. I was going to get my eyes tested so that I could buy a new pair of glasses to replaced my 7 year old, heavily scratched and, in the corner of one lens, chipped pair. The lens had been chipped after I’d gone down to Brighton to visit a friend and we, drunkenly, decided to have a pretend fight in the street. After he accidentally (or so he assures me) cuffed me across the head, the left lens came loose and shot across the pavement. When we eventually found it, a chip had appeared in the top right hand corner. Nothing that would impede my vision, but I would have to put up with this relatively minor cosmetic blemish for another 5 years.

The Next Day….

I obviously had to get used to getting up for work every morning, so in preparation I decided to wake up bright and early at 11am.

My plan was to go on a shopping trip to Uxbridge, the aim being to both acquire a new pair of trousers, and see exactly how to get to the Hertz building from the station. I’d decided that to spare myself the hassle of driving, I’d get to work by tube. I’d actually started to develop something of a hatred for driving after having to spend an hour in heavy traffic each morning whilst attempting to make it to Heston on time. I certainly didn’t want to repeat the experience. Driving should, after all, be fun, not a chore. I’d reserve car trips for pleasure purposes, like my now weekly trip out for drinks in Marlow where I’d be able to really “open her up”(whether you can truly “open up” a 5 year old Vauxhall Astra is, however, debatable, but with its sports suspension if definitely hold on to the road well, even if the stiff ride means that running over anything larger than a tiny pebble feels like it’s dislodging your spine) on the twisty A-Roads and actually have some fun. Of course I’d still use my car to get the weekly shopping, but that would be in the evening when I wouldn’t have to deal with rush hour traffic.

Inevitably, just as I was about to leave for Rayners Lane Station, my Mum professed a desire to come along. On the plus side she did at least “help” with choosing trousers. I ended up buying the pair that she said she didn’t like; a sure indicator that I’d made the right choice. I also bought a couple of shirts in the sale at Burtons, one for work and one for non-work. Unfortunately, after only one wash, the shirt, which had previously been a perfect fit, managed to shrink meaning that it unfortunately had to go back. Still, otherwise it was a successful trip. I’d worked out how to get to work and I’d got some clothes to wear once I made it there. Time however, had marched on, so I had to head straight from Uxbridge to Harrow where I’d had my 2.30 eye test appointment at Boots opticians.

The initial signs weren’t all that good. I was kept waiting for about 25 minutes, and during that time two people had appeared to complain about their glasses. One persons glasses didn’t fit (an easily rectifiable problem though, with careful measuring it shouldn’t have happened in the first place) and the other was insisting that the glasses had not been prepared to her prescription.

Eventually I was ushered in the back room to have my eye test. I subsequently found out that the vision in my right eye has improved, which didn’t really come as a shock to me. My eyesight had seemed to be getting better of late and, owing to the state of my glasses, it had been preferable to look at things without my artificial ocular aids. The only down side was the glaucoma test which apparently showed that I was in the high end of the safe area, meaning that I was at risk of being at risk. So, not all that bad really.

Choosing the glasses was, however, a bit of a nightmare. It was buy one get one of the same or lower price free, so I’d have to choose a spare pair as well. Happily my Mum, who’d reappeared after her own shopping odyssey, was once more, on hand to offer some expert advice.

I should add that I’m usually pretty good at making decisions on things. Remember, just hours before I’d managed to choose a pair of trousers with no meaningful input from anyone else. However, the glasses thing had me stumped. I was pretty sure that I’d found the primary pair, but I couldn’t seem to find a second pair that I liked and that would actually suit my face.

In the end I’d got fed up with (and slightly revolted) at looking at my face in the mirror. I ended up being convinced that no pair would ever look good because I’d be the one wearing them. Things were further complicated by the fact that I’d limited myself to glasses under £99.99 by choosing the primary pair at that price. The second pair, if it was being used as sunglasses, had to cost the same or less than the primary pair. In the end I went for a near identically styled pair that simply had slightly smaller lenses.

Of course, once I’d chosen the glasses and declared as much to the optician they presented me with the option of having photosensative lenses. More decision. In the end I went for the photosenstive lenses (even though they cost £90 more) for the primary and regular, but scratch proof lenses for the spare set. In retrospect I think that I should have had sunglasses as the spare pair since the reactalight lenses don’t change if I’m looking through my car windscreen, which sort of negates one of my intended uses.

Anyway, having solved the glasses conundrum I had to face my first day of work. And I’ll tell you all about it another time. Hopefully soonish. And, if I do get around to writing again you can hear about how bad my training was, how I managed to start a massive argument with a "senior" member of staff after having been there for only 3 weeks and how I somehow managed to get my contract renewed.

New Post

The next post was actually written 6 weeks ago, but I just never got around to finishing/posting it. Plus it was ridiculously long and contained an awful lot of rambling rubbish. Actually, I'm not sure ho that makes it any different to any of my other posts. Anyway, in the interest of actually contributing to my blog I am going to publish it. I've been a little off writing of late (work/mood related badness), but hopefully I'll get back to writing again soon. In the meantime, here's the full, unedited mid-late July blog post.