Forgive me

Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned. It has been 4 days since my last blog!

Not that a great deal has happened since then, mind you. I had a great time bopping around to the sounds of T-Rextasy on Friday night, but I chickened out of the whole glittery make-up look. Last time my friend Heather and I went to see them we got all 'glammed up' and then got lost. I was driving so I had every excuse to stay in the car but I sent Heather into the garage to ask for directions ... of a young lad less than half her age who looked her up and down and said, 'Hmmm, nice make-up!' I suppose when you've got a model-girl figure and are wearing pure glitter as foundation and blusher you're going to get comments.

Anyway, a wonderful time was had by all and my ears have just about stopped ringing.

They might have stopped ringing ages ago, but the relentless whine of Mozzie in my ears at work has confused me! I'm getting better at tuning her out - or maybe I'm just taking more opportunities to be away from my desk. I'd wear headphones and listen to music if I didn't have to answer the main incoming telephone line - they didn't tell me at interview I'd be doubling as switchboard...

I must have been soooooo bad in a previous life to have ended up with this one!

It's Friday, so there must be another gig ...

Now, don't start thinking that I'm some kind of rock chick, but I am going to another show tonight ... No, not another huge stadium-style gig like Robbie Williams last week at Milton Keynes: tonight's show is going to be much smaller. I'm off to The Brook to see T-Rextasy, a great tribute band, for what must be the fifth time. It's a fraction the cost of the RW ticket, and a fraction the journey time, but it won't be a fraction of the energy and enjoyment, it will be full-on singing and dancing and trying to get close to the front of the stage with a couple of hundred other middle-aged women covered in glitter trying to pretend they're 14 again. F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C!

Now, let's hope I don't get into an argument with the drummer like I did last time I saw them at The Brook. Well, he cut in front of me at the bar and, as friends will know, no-one gets between me and the bar! So, I remonstrated with him with all the sweet, gentle politesse for which I am known (especially at work!) and then he pointed out that as he was the drummer he really didn't have time to stand in the queue as he was due on stage shortly. That took most of the wind out of my sales, but I did have enough puff left to say, 'Well, you'd better be, because if I don't see you on stage you'll be in bloody trouble!'

He was the drummer. He raised his glass to me and grinned from the stage and I tried to melt into the crowd. Let's hope he's forgotten by now ...

If there's one thing I really hate ...

... it's when someone arranges to meet you in an hotel foyer. It could be for a perfectly legitimate reason - like tonight, I had an appointment with a recruitment consultant in a Winchester hotel at 7.30pm - but every time someone walks past me as I'm waiting I can almost hear them thinking, 'Prostitute'.

My brain tells me that, logically, they probably haven't even noticed me and, if they have, they probably aren't thinking, 'prostitute' at all, but I just feel very awkward. Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part - sometimes being a prostitute is far more appealing than the job I'm doing at the moment. Sometimes I think there's very little difference between the two - you're surrounded by pricks in both jobs ...

So this evening, I sat down in one of the big red leather chairs in reception, right opposite the front door so I could see the consultant as soon as she walked in, and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. Of course, being only 5'4" on a good day, and less by the evening, my feet didn't reach the floor so I couldn't brace myself, and kept sliding forwards. I had to sit on the edge of the seat instead and, after 5 minutes, I had a wander into the bar and the lounge in case she'd got there before me. Nope. I went back to my slippery seat in reception and smiled and nodded at a dozen American tourists who were discussing the menu. The sea-bass sounded lovely. All I'd had before I came out was a microwave low-fat spaghetti bolognese and my tummy was rumbling.

The recruitment consultant hadn't turned up by 8pm and I don't wait more than half an hour for anyone, so I left a note on reception and turned to go ... and saw Kris Marshall, who plays Nick in My Family. As cute in real life as on screen, he looked me up and down and said, 'How much for the whole night, love?'

Only joking! But maybe I'll go and hang out there again tomorrow night ...

A fab 48 hours ...

Oh, Robbie, you were worth the slow and painful journey with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named ... She-Who-Talks-From-The-Moment-She-Arrives-At-My-House-Until-The-Curtain-Goes-Up...

I love huge rock/pop stadium gigs. I've seen some of the greats and, although some people say that being with so many other people (65,000 on Friday night) makes them feel anxious/claustrophobic, I've never felt like that. You have your own personal space around you, your own 'bubble'. Inside that there is no-one and nothing - no-one but you; nothing but your memories of where you were when you first heard this or that song; nothing but your own emotions evoked by certain songs; nothing but you and the music.

And, beyond your bubble, there is a congregation. You cannot help but be absorbed into the energy of the crowd. With so many people singing along with the songs you've loved, arms in the air, swaying, singing, it's not a religious experience, more a connection of humanity. In this age of wifi/internet/ remote living, it is wonderful to see people coming together for a single purpose - be that a rock concert, a protest march, or a peaceful celebration of the Soltice. There is hope for this world yet...

Villiers Hotel in Buckingham was only 9 miles from Milton Keynes Bowl. I got a room rate of £85 instead of £150; the breakfast (inclusive) was yummy, and the room was lovely. I can thoroughly recommend it - AND - if you can get to see the Robster, GO FOR IT!

My mucker from work, Leeanne, was right up the front in her red 'Donny' cap, and got on the screen at least 3 times! Way to go, Lee!

Back to work on Monday. How effing shite ....

This time tomorrow ...

This time tomorrow it will all be over. Robbie will have left the stage at Milton Keynes and the Fish Lady and I will be on our way back to the car ... FL will be talking 19 to the dozen, telling me about the concert as if I hadn't actually been there. She will be reliving the journey there, as if I hadn't been beside her, reading out the directions. She will be telling me the last time Robbie sang each and every song that he sang tonight, how many people were in the audience that time, and who he was dating then. She will ascertain how much mud there is in the carpark and how far up the wheels of her car it has come, and then give me chapter and verse on every muddy field she has parked in since she got her driving licence 22 years ago.

And I will close my eyes and hear Robbie in my head, drowning it all out.

Life can be sweet. Even if there is something fishy going on ...

Robbbbbbbiiiiiiieeeee!

Yes, I am in my 40s! Yes, I am old enough to know better but ...

I'M GOING TO SEE ROBBIE WILLIAMS TOMORROW!

And all the work shit just pales into insignificance so watch this space for news about the gig of the century!

Maybe I'm an angel?

All the time I've been wondering what I'd done in a previous life to incur God's wrath in this one and be saddled with Mozzie, I've been looking at it the wrong way. I was meandering through other people's blogs this morning and came across one which said, 'Maybe so-and-so has not been sent to you to annoy, irritate or upset you; maybe you have been sent into that person's life to enlighten, teach and improve them.'

I've never thought of myself as being an angel sent to enlighten someone before and those of you know know me probably see me more like this ...

Either way, I get wings and a halo!

Swims with Sharks

Instead of moaning about work and certain colleagues, as I seem to be doing in this blog, I thought I'd let you in on the reason for my 'Red Indian' name. Now, before anyone starts shrieking, 'Native American! Native American!' at their screen, 'Red Indian' is not used in any way perjoratively. 'Cowboys and Native Americans' doesn't have the same ring to it as 'Cowboys and Indians', just as 'Cops and Robbers' could never be replaced by 'Policemen and Financially-Challenged-Individuals-Just-Trying-To-Make-Ends-Meet'.

But I digress (because Mozzie has just come in and LEFT THE EFFING DOOR OPEN! AGAIN!)

Back in the summer of '77, the year after the really hot one, I was staying with a relative in Highcliffe. Every evening I would go down to the beach for a swim and one night I was the only one in the water. I didn't understand why people on the top of the cliff were waving at me - just friendly, I thought, and waved back. There were no red flags flying to indicate that the current was dangerous, so I swam for about half an hour and then went back to to the house. My aunt looked horrified that I should have been swimming and pointed to the front page of the local paper. 'Basking Sharks spotted off Highcliffe Beach.' So that's why everyone was waving in a, 'Shark! Get out of the water!' kind of way! And so my name of Swims With Sharks was born.

Years later, my very good friend Debbie acquired her own Red Indian name. Whilst touring Australia, the guide stopped the landrover at a beautiful lake and suggested they all went for a swim.

'What about the crocodiles?' my friend Debbie asked, trying to sound brave.

'Oh, don't worry about crocs,' grinned the guide. 'Freshies are vegetarian. Just stay away from the edge.'

And Debbie, sweet, trusting lady that she is, jumped in the water and splashed around, oblivious to the fact that there is no such thing as a vegetarian crocodile. Freshies tend to stick to very small mammals, and she was in no real danger (although when a log floated past she did an extremely good impersonation of a cartoon character running on the spot on the surface of the water!)

Thus 'Swims With Crocodiles' joined my 'tribe'.

We now have a third member of our tribe, although not nearly as brave and fearless. Our friend Anne, stuck in a time-warp, dances a kind of jive-rock to any music that happens to be playing. I have managed to stop her doing it at funerals, but any other occasion is fair game, and woe betide any man (woman or child!) who happens to be in the vicinity. I remember with a mixture of horror and admiration the time she whirled around a man in a neck brace, ignoring his protests that he'd been ordered by his doctor to keep still. Debbie casually asked me, last time we were all together, what Anne's Red Indian name would be and, quick as a flash, it came to me: Dances With Anyone.

This is one of those 'I guess you had to be there' stories but it's cheered me up no end to remember it.

Banging my head against a brick wall!

We have several new joiners at work and one of the ridiculous things about this place is that one of the new joiners who hasn't a clue about anything yet has been set the task of showing all the other new joiners round the office. I have been introduced this morning as 'Linda-who-looks-after-the-keys.' I've also been introduced as Linda-who-sorts-the-post, Linda-who-looks-after-the-pigeon-holes and, as I'm informed by my line manager that the senior management team thinks all I do is update the photo-board, no doubt someone will introduce me as that, too.

I feel like I'm banging my head against a brick wall to achieve any kind of respect, let alone recognition for my real role - PA and (unofficial) Office Manager - and the pain is only going to go away when I manage to leave this place.

Ah well, maybe the next life will be better than this one ...

A window of opportunity?

No suitable jobs in the Echo last night, however, I did have a call from my favourite employment agency (no, I'm not being sarcastic - they've been very useful over the years, when I've been between jobs) to say that they've just taken on a job which sounds right up my street. The salary isn't what I'd hoped for but it's better than here and it's not here! It's a senior PA role, so no need to worry about experience on that score. The added bonus is that it's in a higher education establishment and, of course, I have over a year's experience here at the University. You'd think that would have put me off, wouldn't you? But the part of the Uni I am in is a private research commissioning and management company, so has very little to do with 'real life' or even 'real' people. There are some nice individuals, but there are some right pains in the arse (as you will have gathered from reading this!) and, on the whole, the cons outweigh the pros.

Still, it's Friday, the sun is shining, and it's fish and chips in the canteen today, followed by a drink in the pub with a colleague half my age who is already as jaded as I am - shame, but that's what this place does to you!

How history is taught ...

Mozzie is currently pestering someone else and I have had a quiet few minutes with my other 'room-mate'. Actually, 'mate' is a bit strong - we don't see eye-to-eye on many things (call that anything) but we are a little more united over Mozzie. And Kay, my colleague, let slip that Mozzie appears to have learned all her history from cartoons ...

Now, that might be funny if it weren't so tragic. Mozzie was schooled at home by missionary parents and, as a friend of mine put it so succinctly, never learned that it wasn't always her turn with the plasticine.

Today's little gem - I think I might start another blog simply entitled 'Mozzie Bites' - was as follows :

Me : I haven't checked the lottery results today.
Mozzie : Why? Do you do the lottery then?

Blood spurted out of my mouth from where I bit my tongue so hard to stop a sarcastic remark coming out, but, bless her, Kay rushed in where I feared to tread and sniggered at Mozzie and asked her if she'd thought about what she'd just said: 'Why else would she be looking at the lottery results if she didn't actually do the lottery?'

I bet you wish you were here ...

Recruitment agencies and open doors.

I don't understand how some people can blatantly lie and expect you not to realise that they are lying.

As readers will/may remember, I went for an interview recently via an agency - the agency that wanted to check I was dressed appropriately before I went to the interview itself! I got in touch with the agency because they advertised the job I went for ... So why did the agency ring me yesterday and say, 'This is just to let you know that we are going to be advertising the job you went for, but you're still in the running.'

I said that that didn't sound like a good sign, to re-advertise after they'd seen candidates - it implies that they didn't like anyone they saw at the interview enough to make a choice. The girlie at the agency said, 'Oh no, it's not a problem, it's just that we haven't advertised the job before, and by law we're obliged to.'

So if they haven't advertised the job before, how come I saw the advertisement? That was why I contacted them in the first place!

This whole process is not doing much for my faith in human nature!

Another (yes, ANOTHER) one of Mozzie's irritating habits is leaving the office door open. My desk is opposite the door and I don't like every Tom, Dick and Harry wandering along the busy corridor outside peering in on their way past, nor do I find it easy to concentrate with the noise in the corridor.

When she first joined and left the door open a few times, I pointed out why I liked it to be shut. She continues to leave it open every time she walks in and last week, on the brink of violence, I said, 'You really do have a problem with that door, don't you?' She snapped at me, 'I always close the door!' As the door was open, that was obviously not true ...

So, again today, she's come in and out twice, and left the door open both times. I think I'm going to get an effing great big stick and then I can reach the door to shut it without having to get up and go round my desk. The only trouble with that is I'm likely to beat the silly bitch with it ...

As you can see, my temper is short already and it's only 9.25!

A colleague called Mozzie ...

No jobs in the paper last week that would be suitable. Mind you, if things carry on like this at work I shall be applying for anything at all, suitable or not!

There are several problems with my job, mainly the lack of it, and the misrepresentation at interview of the job I was employed to do… There is another fly in the ointment, though, a huge, buzzing, nasty bluebottle of a fly. I think, for the purposes of anonymity, I shall call her Mozzie – because, like a mosquito, she is a constant, irritating whine that simply refuses to go away, even when verbally swatted.

Every thought that pops into her head pops out of her mouth. She comments on everything she sees and everything she hears, everything she tastes and everything she smells. It can only be a matter of time before she starts feeling things and commenting on those, too: it’s the last of the five senses she has to whine on about.

Mozzie also has a problem with listening. She’ll ask a question and then ignore your answer, while giving an answer of her own. Here’s an example :

Mozzie : how many people called Nick do we have working here?
Me : Three
Mozzie : Oh. Two.
Me : No, three.
Mozzie: Oh. I thought it was two.

Now, this might sound innocuous, even mildly amusing, but believe me, after a day of this I’m ready to crack. After 2 months I’m ready to commit murder.

Another big irritation is the way she decides the answer to any query. Here’s an example :

Mozzie : You never drink tea, do you?
Me : Not often, I usually drink coffee.
Mozzie : You probably just don’t like tea.
Me : Well, actually, no-one can make tea as nice as my mother did, so I don’t bother with tea.
Mozzie ; Well, why don’t you use the same tea?
Me : I have tried using the same tea, but it doesn't taste the same.
Mozzie : Well, have you tried loose tea, not teabags?
Me : I do use loose tea.
Mozzie : Well, didn’t your mother show you how to make tea?
(I’m getting cross by this time. I’m 46, for God’s sake. How did she think I learned to make tea?)
Me : My mother did show me how to make tea.
Mozzie : Well, why don’t you ask her again? You’re probably doing something wrong.
(Doing something wrong? Doing something wrong? Where’s a heavy blunt instrument to bludgeon her over the head with?)
Me (smugly, thinking this will shut her up) : I can’t ask her to show me again. She died 14 years ago.
It didn’t shut her up. This is what I got :
Mozzie (even more smugly, thinking she’d solved some great psychological mystery): Oh, that’s why you don’t like tea. It probably brings back sad memories.

God, give me strength. We have these little exchanges two or three times a day and it’s got to the stage where I don’t even want to open my mouth because of the drivel I get in reply.

Now, where did I put that blunt instrument?

TGI Friday!

It's Friday, hurrah! Last night the local daily paper carried the jobs section. I didn't have time to read it last night but I shall go home tonight and settle down to scour the pages for an escape route. I'll prepare any applications over the weekend, then print them off at work on Monday and send them off.

I had a letter of rejection for a job yesterday. I didn't even get an interview, I don't know why. My CV matched just what the advert said they were looking for, and it's very depressing to be told, 'We had a very high number of applicants and unfortunately you were unsuccessful on this occasion.'

Mind you, that beats the letter of rejection I had a couple of weeks ago - after the job I'd applied and been interviewed for was re-run in the paper. I wrote back and thanked them for letting me know I hadn't got the job, but that it would have been a good deal more professional if they'd ensured it would arrive before the advert came out again. It won't do any good, but it made me feel a bit better for a few minutes.

I've applied for over 20 jobs since beginning my search for something new. All of them have been ones I am qualified and experienced to do. I've had 9 interviews, and they've all gone really well, but something's going wrong (or I'm doing something wrong) because I'm still stuck here at the University! I know it's only a question of time before I find another job but in the meantime, all this rejection is making me feel I'm not good enough for anything other than general dogs-body here.

At least no-one's come to report a broken toilet to me yet today. But there's still time ...