Clothes, handbags and cream cheese.

Firstly I would like to thank everyone for all the messages you have sent me to wish me good luck in my new job which I started yesterday. I've been really touched by your kindness.

I have spent most of this week preparing for yesterday and there have been a lot of serious decisions to make.

Firstly the difficult decision of what to wear. When I attended my interview I had checked out what everyone was wearing so already knew that I didn't have to dress particularly formally, but then as its my first week I wanted to show that I had made an effort. It's a balancing act really, dressing to look the part but not looking like I'm over dressed. So after 2 days of trying on every item in my wardrobe (twice) I had whittled the outfits down to 4 possibilities. Another day of considering these 4 sets of clothes included trying them all on three more times and weighing up the pros and cons of the different looks. One outfit looked OK when I was standing up but kind of runkled around the midriff area when seated and one of the other outfits I decided was a bit too warm. I tried on the two finalists one last time and made my choice, opting for the outfit that to me said professional, hardworking and decisive.

So clothes decided, next up, and even more importantly was the accessories. I really love shoes and handbags and whilst I based my clothes choice on creating a professional look I think that your shoe choice can say more about your character. Choosing my accessories I wanted to show that I am friendly, approachable and maybe a little quirky. I opted for a lovely soft green handbag and cream shoes with little green knots on. Once again I tried on the clothes with the accessories and felt that I looked like someone who would put in a hard days work and in their spare time would have some interesting hobbies such as playing in a skiffle band or making papier mache sculptures and not at all like someone who actually sat at home sewing and playing Candy Crush.

Clothes decided, tick. Accessories sorted, tick. 

Next up the important issue of which mug to take to work. The mug you have on your desk also says a lot about you. There are those who have mugs with jokey sayings on eg,

 "You don't have to be mad to work here, but it helps" 

I rejected this option as not creating a good first impression. Some people have mugs with their names on, but I decided against this too, as I felt that it could make me look a bit territorial and not like a good team worker. Some mugs have cutsie puppies or kittens on, I rejected these as I felt they lacked a certain gravitas. I opted instead for a white mug with blue birds on which had the added benefit of toning with my new notebook and pen. Perfect.

Next decision was what to put in the mug and what to take for my lunch. I settled on a small jar of nice-ish instant coffee, the stuff with added ground coffee, and some decent teabags. I really like Earl Grey tea in the afternoon but decided against taking these as thought that they suggested that I was a bit hoity toity. I made sure that I didn't buy a seeded loaf to make my sandwich with. In my old job I could rely on my colleagues telling me if I had a stray poppy seed stuck between my teeth, but wasn't sure if my new colleagues could be relied on in this way. I'd obviously been avoiding garlic for a few days already and knew that taking egg sandwiches to work on my first day was a real no no.

Monday night I went to bed nice and early secure in the knowledge that I was as prepared as I could be, I might not be able to do the job yet but at least I felt that I would look the part. Bright and early Tuesday morning I took the dog for a walk and got ready for work in plenty of time, dressing in my meticulously planned outfit and making my innocuous cream cheese sandwich in plain bread. I then went to pack my handbag only to find my quirky, friendly looking bag was no where near big enough to contain my lunch, mug, jar of coffee, packet of teabags, notebook, wallet etc.

Panic set in and momentarily I froze before my mind went into overdrive. The way I saw it I had 4 options:

1. Shove overflow items in a plastic bag and go to work looking like a bag lady.
2. Change my outfit to match my larger bag and risk being late on my first day.
3. Phone in sick.
4. Take my largest bag which didn't match my outfit and made me look as if I was planning to move into the office, the bag being more like a weekend bag than a handbag.

I chose option 4.

Well long story short, I got to work only to find that, unlike my previous employer they provide coffee, tea and mugs for employees, the inconsiderate devils. My hours of planning and panic were all for nothing and they must have been wondering why I had turned up for work with luggage that didn't match my clothes. After all this my first day was fine, as far as these things go. A typical induction day getting acquainted with company values, reading procedures and policies and being introduced to people whose names and job roles I instantaneously forgot. But the people seem nice, my desk is in a good position and I have managed to get my IT system set up.

All in all a week that at times has had me wondering if occasionally I over think things, mulling over whether I place too much importance on appearance and pondering if maybe I should have planned even more thoroughly than I had. But I have survived the first day without embarrassing myself too badly, except for turning up for work with a suitcase of course. Now I just need to decide on an outfit today that says its my second day, so don't ask me any difficult questions, and shoes that suggest that yes of course I remember meeting you yesterday, altough I haven't a clue what you do or what you're called, but why not come along to my gig tonight, its a charity do in aid of supporting widowed elephants. I think I just may have the perfect outfit for this.

Unemployment, solar panels and lucky pants.

Once again I am unemployed. I left my temporary job at the cider farm on Sunday and don't start my new job until next Tuesday. I decided that after working for a month I had earned a week off.

The time span from being made redundant until starting my new long term job next week is nearly 4 months which I don't think is too bad. In those 4 months I have applied for umpteen jobs, attended 5 interviews, worked for a month, completed a number of craft projects, written 17 blog posts, claimed job seekers allowance for a month and lunched with friends 27 times. I can't help thinking that maybe the number of interviews should have been higher and lunches out lower, but that's cappuccinos under the bridge now. These months have flown by and have taught me a lot about myself, life in general and the world of work in particular. Everyone loves a list so here are my top 12 lessons learnt since redundancy struck.

1. Contrary to popular belief you can teach an old dog new tricks. In the last few months I have learnt how to waitress, a lot about cider and am learning slowly about the world of blogs. I had been in my original job for nearly 16 years and when it ended I did doubt that I could do anything else but have proved to myself that I'm not a one trick wonder.
2. The people who work the hardest are often the ones who are paid the least. It seems to me that people on minimum wage work twice as hard for half the pay.
3. Using the redundancy card is a great way of getting rid of cold callers. When I have had phone calls in the past from double glazing sales people, solar panel installers, drive tarmackers etc it has sometimes been hard to get them off the line. However if, before they can get into their full sales pitch, you ask if their product is going to cost anything as you have just been made redundant they soon end the call.
4. Even when it seems that you have loads of time, there still isn't enough time to do everything that you want. Hence my violin playing is very much at the planning stage and I still haven't worked out how to upload pictures to this blog.
5. Living on your own can be a more financially precarious position than living with a partner. If there are 2 of you then hopefully even if one person loses their job there is still one income coming into the household, unless you are unlucky enough to both lose your jobs at the same time. If there's only one of you and your job ends then that's all of your income gone. In a couple your financial outgoings maybe higher but at least there are two of you to shoulder the burden.
6. When in a fairly well paid job it is amazing how much money you waste, there are many economies that can be made. 
7. Toilet paper is cheaper than petrol (see blog entry 22/4/15, Petrol, shopping and sprouting broccoli).
8. Jobsearch really does take a long time. Trawling through websites, writing CVs, filling out applications, preparing for interviews, all take much longer than you think. Various governments have made noises in the past about making it compulsory for benefit claimants to do voluntary work in order to be able to claim. In theory I think that this is a good idea, but I worry that this might backfire as the more time spent volunteering the less time available for jobsearch.
9. Things don't always turn out as you expect, but that's ok.
10.  Peacocks are very loud, pushy and intimidating birds. (See blog entry 8/7/15, Peacocks, astronauts and cream teas)
11. You can't help but take rejection personally. You spend ages looking for work, even longer applying and preparing for the interview, just to be told you weren't successful. What you actually hear is that despite your best efforts you're just not good enough.
12. Since being made redundant, I have actually only learnt 11 things, but you can't have a list with 11 items on.
13. I can't count.

So this time next week I will be in my second day of my new job and the nerves have started already. I feel like a kid again starting a new school. What if no one likes me, what if they ask me questions I can't answer, what if I have to read out loud in front of the class and accidentally say fart instead of art and get called Windy Wendy for the rest of my time there and what if I forget my PE kit and am made to play netball in my pants and vest (OK this might be unlikely but I must remember to wear a vest and my lucky pants just in case). So please wish me luck, I think I'm going to need it!

Mizzle, wellies and Mr Ed

All areas of the world have their own particular weather patterns and conditions: in Asia there is the rainy season, the south of France the mistral and here where we live we have the Cornish mizzle. Mizzle is somewhere between light rain and a drizzle and is often served with a side order of mist, reducing visibility to the exact distance it is possible to throw a wellington boot (underarm of course).

When you look out of the window everywhere seems to be washed in the muted tones of a water colour painting, but you can't see raindrops splashing in puddles so you convince yourself the weather isn't too bad and you venture out into it regardless. Once outside though you soon realise your mistake as within 20 paces you are soaked through to the skin and you start to wish that you had put the wellies on instead of throwing them to check visibility distance. Somehow mizzle gets you much wetter than proper rain, I think it's because rain falls vertically down from the sky towards the ground, basically getting the top of your head wet so you put your hood up and the problem is sorted and you're dry. Mizzle however has very fine water droplets that travel in all directions, up, down, horizontally, diagonally and in a zig zag motion. Even with an umbrella up and a coat on, with hood up, the water particles skirt the brollie and sneak in under the hem of your jacket and zip around inside your waterproof drenching you.

When it's mizzley sounds, as well as colours, seem to be muted, everywhere somehow seems hushed, as if the mizzle is a shroud that cloaks the world in a sombre, funereal mood. People scuttle around quietly with their heads reverently lowered. I always thought that this quiet atmosphere during mizzle was caused by the high humidity muffling sounds, however after 3 days of mizzle this week, I now know the truth of the quiet that accommpanies this weather condition.

The real reason that it's quiet in Cornwall when the mizzle descends is because everyone south of the Tamar (the river that divides Cornwall from Devon) goes to visit the cider farm where I am currently working. The rest of Cornwall may well be hushed and reverential but that's because the cider farm, and I'm sure other tourist attractions, are heaving, noisy and chaotic. The rest of cornwall is quiet because it is to all intents and purposes empty.

This week I have been working in the restaurant and it seems that every holiday maker in the area has wanted to eat there. We have literally been run off our feet. We have sold out of bread, potatoes, cheese and one day we even sold out of pasties. I worked for 6 hours solid without a minutes break or reprieve from the noise and clamour, some of my colleagues worked for even longer.

Despite the mizzle it's been really hot. As if it wasn't hot enough working in a busy kitchen and restaurant, when this restaurant is packed to the rafters with steaming visitors the temperature and humidity reached tropical rainforest levels. You've probably heard the saying

"Horses sweat, men perspire, whereas women merely glow".

Well I have been "glowing" profusely this week. Infact the closest thing to a break at work was when I had to keep dashing out of sight,to the pot wash area, to guzzle water and wipe myself down with kitchen paper so that I didn't drip "glow" onto the food I was serving. If I didn't know better I would consider changing my name to Mr Ed. By the end of each shift I have felt exhausted and aching all over. And all for minimum pay.

So Monday morning I'm getting ready for work with a sinking feeling in my belly and a very real sense of foreboding, as it was another mizzley day, and the phone rang. It was a call from an employer about a job I had attended an interview for a couple of weeks ago. I haven't mentioned this application in my blog as I didn't think that the interview and assessment had gone too well, so thought I didn't stand a chance and I didn't want to make more rejections public than I needed to. Well imagine my surprise then when the call on that mizzley Monday was a job offer! I was stunned, delighted, relieved and actually quite emotional. It's an interesting job, challenging, but which I think will suit me and is working for a worthy, charitable organisation. It is a fixed term contract for just over a year and a half and I will be working 3 days a week. My dream job.

Somehow from then on the depressing weather hasn't mattered, the hoards of pasty and cream tea gobbling crowds haven't phased me and my aching legs and back haven't bothered me. I am still frightened of the peacocks and chickens though (see last weeks post for an explanation to this).

I start my new jobs two weeks today and will work until the end of this week at the cider farm. What will happen to this blog I'm unsure of at the moment as it has been based around redundancy and jobsearch and Wendy is no longer workless, but I've got a fortnight to think about this. I'm very excited about my new job, but will still be a little sad to leave the farm, although I won't miss the peacocks, "glowing", chaos or poor pay. But onwards and upwards, when one door shuts a window opens, a rolling stone gathers no moss and as they say from the mouths of babes and infants mighty cider trees grow (or something like that).

Peacocks, astronauts and cream teas.

When we are young we have dreams about what we will do as a career in the future. Often when very young those dreams aren't realistic, because if they were to be realised there would be an awful lot of ballerinas and train drivers in the world. As we get older those hopes for the future alter and often become more achievable. We might aspire to be vets, lawyers, fashion designers or mechanics. Some of us may even achieve these ambitions.

Within those dreams those of us with vivid imaginations often picture ourselves in certain scenarios and imagine things we might say such as:

"This concludes the case for the prosecution my lord" or

"Blood pressure 60 over 80, get the crash cart. Stat!"

I am no different from anyone else in having these aspirations. In the past my dreams have morphed from being an astronaut, to a nurse, to an Occupational Therapist, running my own business, becoming a dog groomer and an internationally acclaimed novelist.

In my imagination I have heard myself say

"3, 2, 1. We have lift off" and

"I would like to thank the panel for awarding me the Booker Prize".

But never in all my dreams and imaginings did I expect to see myself in a job that involved shooing peacocks and chickens out of a tearoom or expect to hear myself saying;

"One of the goats has escaped and is terrorising the guinea fowl, could someone please help to catch him".

Both of these things I have done this week.

I am still working at the cider farm but for the last few days have worked in the tea room, which is in a converted barn and is open to a farm yard with a grassy area in the centre. In the yard there are goats, a couple of ponies, a shire horse and loads of chicken, a cockerel and numerous peacocks. The farm is dog friendly so lots of visitors bring their canine friends with them. Sounds like an idyllic pastoral scene I suppose.

But now picture this, the goats keep escaping and pestering the other animals so have to be tethered, but they then get tangled up in the tethers so need releasing. Anyone going near the goats, to untangle them, must expect to have items of their clothing eaten, the goats being particularly partial to shoe laces and trouser hems. Goats are often associated with the devil and I have previously thought that this was unfair to them, I now wonder if it was in fact the goats leading poor innocent Beelzebub astray.  Meanwhile the chickens and peacocks have a passion for scones and keep mounting raiding attacks on the tearoom. Unfortunately the scones don't agree with the birds digestion and their toilets of choice are invariably the gingham covered tables in the tearoom. The member of staff in the tearoom (lets call her me) is afraid of birds when they flap near her, so often acts like a pathetic, foolish coward. The shire horse is terrified of thunder and lightning and this week saw a day of impressive tropical type storms.

When young and picturing my work environment I certainly never expected the noise. None of the animals at the farm are renowned for being quiet, but I never realised what a racket a peacock in a scone feeding frenzy could make, This squawking then of course sets the dogs off barking, which in turn excites the goats. Add to this the waitress in the tea room squealing when a bird gets too close and looks at her in a threatening way with its little beady eyes and sharp beak and claws. This is then closely followed by a clap of thunder and the shire horse starts kicking the metal gate in resounding protest. I'm sure that I've heard somewhere that Noah had a drink problem, well I'm sure that if he didn't before he built the ark he would have developed one after the first couple of nights on board.

So no I didn't expect to be involved in any of this when I was younger, in fact I wasn't really expecting it 2 and a bit weeks ago when I started the job. Serving cream teas and ice creams amongst this raucous menagerie has definitely never featured in my career aims. I do however think that life would be boring if everything went exactly to plan and nothing unexpected ever happened. Boring, yes. Predictable, yes. But oh, how lovely and quiet it would be.

Pasties, clotted cream and anarchy.

I am now part way through my second week in my new job and what a lot I have to tell you about. So last week I had a fairly low skilled job pouring cider, it was OK but not something I could imagine doing for too long. But this week sees a complete u-turn in my career and I am now mainly serving cream teas and pasties in both the restaurant and tearoom. They have promised me that tomorrow they will train me how to use the till, I think that this is considered a promotion.

Cornwall has two main national foods; the pasty and the cream tea, both of these are of course on the menu. Nothing wrong with that you might think, people come to Cornwall they want a pasty and a scone, jam and clotted cream. Its like when you go to France you'd expect croissants, in Italy you want pasta, Spain its Paella, Thailand you might opt for Green Curry and in Japan you'd order Sushi. But something has shocked me to the core in my new job. So much so that I even find it difficult to write about.

Let me assure you that I am generally an open minded person, I would never judge a person because of their beliefs, how they looked, who they loved or how they lived their lives. But we all have limits and this week my limits have been stretched to absolute breaking point. I'm not even that easily shocked, for goodness sake I've been to Ibiza, seen Celebrity Big Brother, have sunbathed topless and have read the UK-IP manifesto (well a bit of it), but this week I don't mind admitting that I have been deeply shocked. I'm not someone who is bound by convention; I have been known to drink red wine with fish, to defiantly wear blue and green together, I've drunk breakfast blend tea in the afternoon and have even "cast a clout before the may is out". I'm not proud of these things but think they demonstrate my devil may care attitude.

The Cornish pasty is a humble, yet delicious dish; finely chopped potatoes, onion, swede and steak, nicely seasoned with salt and pepper, then sealed in pastry and baked to a golden brown. The pastry seals in the meat and veg juices and when you you bite through the crisp crust you come to the succulent, savoury, moist and fragrant filling.

 Perfect. It needs nothing else.

Well imagine my shock when on my first shift working in the restaurant I noticed on the menu "Pasty and gravy". Yes that's right GRAVY! I have nothing against gravy per se, in fact I am quite partial to some nice gravy with my roast dinner, shepherds pie or chops. But pasty and gravy! They honestly serve the pasty on a plate with a jug of gravy alongside! What is the world coming to? The only explanation that I can come up with, to justify this abhorrence, is that it must signal the beginning of the end of civilisation. Yes in theory the customer is always right, but in this they are wrong, wrong, wrong. It brings up that age old question of where personal freedom ends and anarchy begins.

For those of you not from Cornwall you may think that I am over reacting but I can assure you I'm not. It would be like going to America and asking for apple pie with coleslaw on the side, or going to a wine bar and ordering a vintage bottle of burgundy and mixing it with cola, going to Zante and asking for a Greek salad with Edam instead of Feta or like going to a curry house and asking for a Chicken Tikka Marmalade. Anyway you get the idea.

So the result of this insult to my national pride is that I'm not sure how long I can continue in this job. Luckily I have another interview this Friday and hopefully I'll get this one or I might literally explode with indignation. And in the explosion I may spray a mixture of blood, pasty, jam, my entrails, cider, gravy, teeth and clotted cream around the restaurant. And as they scrape bits of me and congealed food off the wall, floor, furniture and ceiling I like to think that my ghost will taunt them by eerily chanting

"Shame on you and your pasty and gravy. Shame on you!".