Bella and the Neighbour

She looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, doesn't she? This is my Bella, a Blue Birman, coming up for her 6th birthday. Although she has her own cat-flap into the enclosed back garden, she much prefers 'Front World', which lies beyond the front door, and makes a bolt for it as soon as she sees me heading in that direction. My own front garden is shingle and palm trees, not suitable for my lady Bella's dainty paws. No, she prefers the verdant greenery of Dave-Next-Door's front garden. It would put the Chelsea Flower Show to shame, and, although it's only small, it boasts an immaculate lawn and soft, rich flowerbeds. Bella loves the feel of the grass beneath her paws and has been known to dig small holes in the flowerbeds just to feel the earth between her claws. One morning last week she followed me out of the house and made a dive for Dave's. He was out at the time, but returned while she was sniffing his roses. He's a tall, gruff man, is Dave, who has absolutely no idea how to handle a cat, let alone a delicate, ladylike creature such as Bella. Thinking he was doing me a favour by bringing her back, he stood behind her and picked her up under her front paws, and carried her, dangling like a sack of spuds, along the road back to my garden. Bella showed her displeasure in a most unladylike way and wee'd all over him.

'Oh DIVE!' wailed Sand(ra), his wife. 'She's doin' a weeeeeeeee.'

Fortunately Bella had missed his trousers but his leather loafers caught most of it... At least he won't be trying to pick her up again in a hurry!

The usual way a Birman shows his or her annoyance is by coughing. I'm so glad Bella saved her special anger for Dave ...

The interview!

I really must blog more often! So much has happened since I mentioned that I was going for an interview ...

I had to go through an agency for the job I saw advertised. I was interviewed by a little girl who looked like a younger version of Chantal from Big Brother, and sounded as if she'd spent her formative years watching Neighbours, judging by the 'EK-sent?' and the way everything was a question, apart from the questions. After discussed the various PA roles I've had over the past 15 - 20 years she asked me to do a typing test. When I finished, with 100% accuracy and 80wpm she coo'd, 'Ah Jeez, a proper PA?' I guess, in her book, a 'proper PA' is someone who can type faster than a secretary ...

So I smiled through gritted teeth and went on my way and was called the next day to say that the advertisers of the Good Job wanted to see me. Chantal-Lookie-Likie-Neighbours-Chickie said that she would like to see me on the day for a pre-interview to, y'know, like, check I was properly pre-PARED? And that I was dressed apPROpriately? I swallowed hard to force down the words that rose in my throat. Those of you who know me will understand that those words began with an F and ended with an off ...

I must learn to swallow my pride (although it sticks in my throat like cold brussels sprouts on a rainy Sunday afternoon when everyone else has finished lunch and is allowed to leave the table). It is a very good job and I want it. It is halfway between my home and my shack on the beach, so in the summer I could be at the hut by 5.30 ... It is set in fabulous landscape gardens where I could sit and eat my lunch and relax. It has its own gym and the Chief Exec likes his employees to stay healthy so has paid for everyone to have their own personal trainer. I did squeak, trying to mask my horror, 'Is that obligatory?'

I would like the job. I would like the salary, which is up to £4K more than I get for turning up at the University and playing with ebay all day. I would like to get back into 'industry', where customer service matters and where you pick up a 'phone if it's ringing, even if it isn't yours, just to be helpful and professional. I would like to work with the people who said to me at the interview that they loved their job, they loved the buzz, they enjoyed being part of something important. I would like to leave work at the end of the day feeling that I had achieved something, instead of leaving work at the University thanking my lucky stars that no-one had noticed I was bored and fed up and had nothing to do (even though being invisible is no fun).

If I survive my first day back at work tomorrow after a week off, I'll blog again. If I'm too depressed I'll have a drink instead.

May your day tomorrow be better than mine ...

Prologue

I've been looking for a new job for some time now. Goodness knows, I enjoy a bit of slack time during the working day to catch up on personal emails, same as most people, but there is a happy balance between having a bit of slack time and having nothing to do.

A typical day goes something like this :

8.30am Arrive at work. Switch on computer, go and make a cup of coffee while the computer is warming up. Marvel at how someone as intelligent as the director who was making coffee before me has not yet mastered the art of putting the electric kettle back on its base-plate, nor of returning the milk to the fridge. Return milk to fridge. Return to desk.

8.35am Check Hotmail account to see if any personal emails have arrived since I logged off around midnight last night at home. Nope. Check office emails to see if any have arrived since I left yesterday at 5pm. Nope.

8.40am Check office answerphone in case messages have been left. Yes! One! An elderly lady's voice quavers , 'Can the doctor bring my prescription, please? Thank you.' It's a wrong number. I am often tempted to give medical advice over the telephone because we frequently get calls for a local surgery, but the callers are often confused and, however I may be feeling, I can't bring myself to sacrifice their health on the altar of my boredom.

8.45am Coffee still too hot: I blow on it gently and start a game of Spider Solitaire. Get bored and stare out of the window.

9.30am Post arrives! Chat briefly with the lovely postman (looks like a vampire, all long black hair, hypnotic eyes, wide smile and very prominent canine teeth. Could be fangs.) Sort and distribute post.

9.40am Stare out of the window some more.

Of course, the whole day isn't spent staring out of the window. Sometimes people come in to tell me that the toilet on the landing isn't working (don't they know how the flush operates?) or that a neon tube has blown in their office. I call Estates and Facilities and ask them to fix it ... and go back to staring out of the window.

Occasionally one of the managers comes in and talks to me slowly, in words of one syllable. She wants me to arrange a meeting, but maybe we should have a meeting first to discuss how to arrange the meeting? I humour her and schedule a meeting. At that meeting she says, very slowly, 'Now, the first thing we need to do is check people's d I a r I e s to see when they are free.'

Ye gods! I've been a top PA for about 25 years. I go back to the office and bang my head slowly and heavily against the inside of the closed door. A few minutes later someone comes in to report a banging noise. Could I call Estates & Facilities to get someone out to check it?

So you see, I simply have to find a new job soon, before my brain turns to tapioca, semolina, porridge, or something else equally stodgy.

The job-hunt continues and tomorrow I have yet another interview. There is already a saga to that one, but for another day. I will keep you updated!