Apocalypse, blackberries and pillars of salt

I was sort of expecting to see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse riding by when I opened the curtains this morning, luckily I didn't. The reason that I thought that it might be a possibility is that we've had our own version of the biblical Ten Plagues this week here in Cornwall. In typical Cornish fashion our version of the Ten Plagues has been on a smaller scale as we only had four of them, but still.

The first happened when I was driving home from work the other evening. It had been a warm day and as the car felt like a furnace I opened the windows and sunroof and was singing along to the radio, which was turned up quite loud to cover the sound of the wind buffeting the car. I became aware that there were things flying towards the windscreen of the car. At first I thought that there must be a tractor up ahead and that the things I could see were ears of wheat or barley. But then I noticed that as they hit the windscreen they left a spot of blood, so surmised that they were some sort of bug.

As I drove on I noticed that they were hitting the car more frequently and they were so big that I could hear them striking. We're not talking the gentle tapping noise of knitting needles, more the doof doof doof noise of the drums signalling the end of EastEnders. It was only when a few made their way to the inside of the car that I realised that they were flying ants. I closed the windows and roof lickety split and slowed down as I didn't want them to break the windscreen. This might have been overly cautious as an ant breaking a car window may seem unlikely, but I tell you these weren't your normal ants, these were ants on steroids, who had been drinking protein shakes and working out, a lot.

When I took the dog for a walk that evening I could see what I thought was wet marks on the tarmac, like where rain drops had landed but they were actually squished ants. It resembled a massacre. The only thing that could have made it more gruesome was if each one had been outlined in the white tape that is used in crime scenes. Yes the ants swarm each year, but I've never seen it quite like this.

The next days plague in Cornwall may just have been specific to me. It was the plague of broken nails. I broke four finger nails in one day and it wasn't like I was rock climbing or gardening. This may seem irrelevant and unimportant to most people but the one thing that I am a bit vain about are my nails. I have awful hair, poor skin, rubbish eyesight but good strong nails. I find it easy to grow my nails and think that having longish nails makes my stubby fingers look a bit more elegant, so breaking 4 in one day was quite a blow. I'm not very good at maths but think that that's 40%, much too high a percentage to have happened by coincidence so I realised that it must signal another plague.

The following days plague would have seen Noah reaching for his hammer and chisel, as according to the Met Office it rained more in 4 hours than it has done in the last 27 years (I may not have got the statistics quite correct but it was something like that). No chance of having the car windows open driving home from work that day. When I got home I met my neighbour, also returning from work, I offered him 50p to take Billy dog out for a walk but he declined. Its true what they say, there's no sense of community anymore, at one time a neighbour would have been pleased to help out. At least the heavy rain has washed away the ant carcasses.

The final plague is, I suspect, again specific to me and is the plague of falling out hair. When I washed my hair this morning it seemed to come out by the handful, in fact when I cleared the hair from the plughole it looked like a medium sized rodent had shared the shower with me, I'm not talking little vole here, more like a generously proportioned hamster/Guinea pig hybrid. I have very thick, strong, frizzy hair so I can easily afford to loose some without worrying unduly, but it did seem a lot. My Gran used to say that your hair falls out more during the blackberry season so it could just be that I supose, but that would only leave me with 3 plagues and I think that Cornwall is worth more than that.

So what with plagues of flying ants, broken nails, heavy rain and falling out hair its been quite a week. Maybe if I were to be completely honest less a case of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and more like One Girl on a Pony going to a gymkhana. I wonder what has brought these cataclysmic events on and what Cornwall is being punished for? I suspect it's the state of the roads, although it could also be parking prices or  maybe Cornwall Councils decision to close all the public toilets as a money saving measure. On reflection the most likely reason has got to be the toilets. Anyway I've got to go now, I have to clear the pillar of salt off the drive so that I can get to work.

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.

Redundancy, chocolate and wigs for dogs.

So it's the start of week two and I'm still redundant, I feel vaguely surprised about this as if deep inside I thought that it might just go away of it's own accord. Maybe I thought it would just have cleared up like this head cold I am suffering from. But no, still unemployed.

Its four thirty in the morning and I can't sleep which to be honest is more to do with my cold than stressing about loosing my job. I hate this time of the morning. I always feel like I am the only person in the world who is awake which is nonsense when you consider different time zones, night workers, fellow insomniacs, later night revellers etc. In fact when you think about it the 4:30 am-ers aren't a very select bunch at all. Somehow though it does seem a lonely time of day and I envy those in the land of nod who are dreaming of being chased by bison whilst driving a Harley Davison and then helping serial killers to dispose of dead bodies in New York in exchange for ice-creams, which incidentally were all dreams my family had the day before yesterday. Maybe it's more restful to be awake than to experience dreams like these.

So what have I achieved in my first week of being unemployed and am I any closer to  getting a job? Well I've made granola (yum), started giving my dog a hair cut , so far I've trimmed his ears and tail, (thought that I'd start with his extremities and then work towards the middle). I've been for lots of walks with my family who were down in Cornwall for Easter, eaten my body weight in chocolate and I've thought a lot about business ideas and how to generate money, such as making and selling granola. It can become a bit obsessive though as when I looked at the pile of fur I'd cut off the dog I was thinking surely there's something I could do with this. I know that there is a market for human hair for wig making as a friend of mine ran out of money whilst travelling and sold her hair. I wonder if there is a similar need in the canine world. Surely there must be a demand for dog toupees for some poor bald, mangy mutt.

I've chosen all the walks we've done this weekend which have included Frenchmans Creek, Coverack to Beagle point via the Terence Coventry sculpture garden and Lizard to Cadgwith via Grade Church. All the walks went well and we didn't get lost (although Mum was not happy about getting her new boots muddy - walking boots mind not Oscar de la Renta so don't know what she was stressing about). This got me thinking about leading walks and tours for people as a business idea, I could plan a walk depending on peoples level of fitness and interests and tell them interesting  stuff  on the way about the areas we visit, some of it might even be true. I once spent 2 weeks travelling around New Zealand South Island with a friend and her half Maori boyfriend and he told us lots about Maori legends and tradition which were fascinating. It was only at the end of the second week that he admitted that he had made most of it up. Well I think that I could enjoy that, maybe telling visitors that saffron buns were originally used as a dowry payments when maidens were wed, that clotted cream was used to treat sunburn and that the legend of the Cornish Piskie was based on a now extinct population of tiny people who built and lived in the hedgerows.

I've also spent time thinking up names for my fictitious business'. My granola company would be Yumola Granola, dog wig firm would be Wendy's Waggy Wigs! And my walking tours Forget Poldark and Walk With Wendy. I've thought about catering opportunities such as Pound-lunch, where you can get lunch for a quid, Souper bowl, a sort of american themed soup kitchen and a dog grooming parlour called Give the Dog a Comb.

But most of my time this week has been spent being ill and eating chocolate. I'm sure that I read somewhere that 80% of the human body is made up of water, well I reckon that mine is 97% snot. I also wonder whether my trouble sleeping and my families weird and wonderful dreams have anything to do with the number of easter eggs we've consumed? Or is it just as the old Cornish folklore tells that during this time of year when the gorse is in full bloom then the scent of the flowers can have a hallucinatory affect. Yes I expect that that is it.

So a good week despite having a cold but no not really any nearer to finding work.