Vultures, adders and adrenalin

So this has been a week full of danger and taking risks for my family.

The first perilous event happened on Sunday when Mum, Billy dog and I went for a walk around a local reservoir. It was a lovely day, the sun was shining and there was barely a breath of wind. We had walked about 3 quaters of the way around the lake and had filled our tub with blackberries, ready to make a crumble, when we met a group of people also walking a dog. They told us that they had seen a couple of adders out sunbathing and to be careful.

Adders are a type of viper that are native to Great Britain. They are venomous but only mildly so and do not present a threat to a healthy adult. However to a small Billy sized dog they can be fatal. Therefore for the final mile of the walk Billy had to be kept on a short lead and was not allowed to sniff around in the long grass which he likes to do. Mum and I spent the walk talking really loudly and stamping our feet to try and scare the snakes away. In fact we were stamping so much I think that we both gave ourselves shin flints, we created such a rumpous that we were probably in danger of attracting the snakes to us, as I imagine they thought a herd of elephants was on its way by.

Luckily we survived this threat but our family wasn't out of danger yet.

On Monday, my day off, I was having a coffee at home and decided to check Facebook. My niece and her husband are on holiday in France and to my horror my niece had posted a picture of herself and her husband, dressed in hard hats and overalls, standing next to a colourful paraglider. The comment she'd posted said,

"Just jumped off a mountain".

That was it! No mention of whether they had landed, why she'd decided that jumping off a mountain holding onto what is basically a kite was a good idea, or if they'd had lessons or anything.

I know that technically speaking her and her husband are adults, the fact that they are married kind of implies this, but how did we get to the point where she can make that sort of decision without consulting her parents, much less her Aunt. Yes she's an adult but it only seems 5 minutes ago since I pushed her on a swing; 10 minutes since she was a toddler and needed help to wipe her bottom when potty training, and it only seems 15 minutes since we were changing her nappy and exposing the multi coloured horrors within. Incidentally I'm sure her husbands nappies were just as bad, it's just I didn't know him then.

Now suddenly she's throwing that same arse over the edge of a mountain, without a thought to the care and attention that has gone into keeping her safe over the years. I can't imagine how both sets of parents felt as they pictured the bodies they protected from nappy rash bouncing down canyons, to be trodden on by mountain goats and pecked at by vultures. I'm not even exageratting, that could happen.

What really worries me is that paragliding might be another step along the slippery slope to becoming an adrenalin junkie. Kids start out on swings, urging parents and carers to push them higher and higher, so the addiction starts. Before you know it they are experimenting at funfairs, they ride their bikes too fast, but assure us they didn't inhale. Next they learn to ski and inform us they can handle it. They try a climbing wall, then climb a mountain, stating it's not a problem, they are just social adrenalin users. Then they jump off a mountain and tell us they can stop any time they want to. What's next, skydiving without a parachute into shark infested waters, whilst smeared in blood?

So I request that you stop this dangerous habit now. I suggest that you go cold turkey and cut all risk taking behaviours out of your lives. Maybe it would be sensible to never travel faster than 40 miles an hour, to never have your feet off the ground for longer than 11 seconds and to avoid activities that could involve injuries that require more medical treatment than a sticking plaster can provide. Yes this won't make you popular on motorways and will rule out flying, but there are still loads of fun things to do. There's walking, skipping or even bowling.

This week my niece jumps off a mountain and I walk along a snake infested path. She loves it and posts a picture on Facebook, I hate my adventure and can't wait to get to safety. I am not an adrenalin addict, she's becoming one. So this post is by way of being an intervention, let's stop this young couple ending up as vulture food all because they couldn't resist the allure of adrenalin.

Frizz, avocado and Lapland

I was a bit stuck for topics to write about this week and then happened to glance in the mirror and my inspiration was fired. I am going to review hair products and am not going to focus on just one shampoo or conditioner but am going to review the whole shebang. The reason for deciding to change the nature of my blog is that I had my haircut and blow dried yesterday, it looked really nice for a short while, a very short while. In fact if I'm honest it probably only looked good until the stylist put the brush and scissors down, certainly by the time I stood up from the chair to put my coat on it had started to revert to its normal state and by the time I got back to my car it was more a case of looking like I had just stepped out of the hedge rather than the salon. So here goes, my review of hair products, because believe me I have tried the lot.

Firstly for those who don't know me I should probably describe my hair so you know what the products have to tackle. I have very, very, very thick brownish shoulder length hair. It's not straight and isn't properly curly either, in fact it is the epitome of frizzy. My hair is what the word frizzy was invented for. When I was young my Dad used to call me Dougal, after the shaggy dog from the Magic Roundabout, as at that time I had long hair and it was much fairer than it is now. The other TV character that I resemble was again from the childrens shows of my childhood and that is Crystal, from Crystal Tipps and Alastair. Probably though if I had to chose my celebrity looky-like it would be Hugh Fernley-Wittingsall, pre 2003, a likeness that my family have been pleased to point out to me on numerous occasions. I know that I should be uploading photos here so that people who don't know these characters can see what I'm talking about but I find it too painful to have their frizzy bonces looking back at me (also I still haven't worked out how to do it, so you'll have to Google it yourselves). If you're having difficulty picturing it, just imagine a strange hybrid mix of Highland Cattle and thatched roof. Now you're getting the idea.

So we've established my baseline and you've an idea about my before look. There are a miriad of products on the market that claim they can tackle my problem locks and believe me I have them all. I guess that I must be an optimist as every time something new comes on to the market, claiming to be the latest miracle product, I'm straight down to the local chemists, sometimes so keen to try it that I'm waiting on the doorstep for them to open first thing in the morning. In fact I have wondered if the manager of my local branch of Superdrug thinks that I am a rough sleeper as I have often been standing in the doorway of the shop when he has arrived to unlock.

I now have every shampoo and conditioner ever made. But I don't draw the line there, I also have every serum, hair mask, spritz and balm. I have hot oils, leave in conditioners, deep treatments, hair putty, heat protection spray, glossers and waxes. I've tried natural bristle brushes, straighteners, ionic hairdriers, paddle brushes, afro combs and even smoothing my hair with a silk scarf to remove static. I've used products that claim to be infused with natural products such as flower extracts, honey, pearls and all sorts of oils such as coconut, aragan, almond and avocado. Some however rely on science and make claims about the wonderful affect of various vitamins, keratin, pro-v and ceramide. In fact I probably have more chemicals in my bathroom cabinet than Sadam Hussein had in his weapons factories.

As you can see I have some expertise in this area, so I feel that I am qualified to give my opinion. In all my vast experience which of them do I recommend and which have lived up to their claims? That would be a big fat none, nil, nada, zilch and diddly squat. After annointing my hair with all of these products, not a single thing has made any difference. I should have saved my pennies and would probably have enough money to buy my very own island, probably not a big island like Jersey, but maybe one of the smaller uninhabited Scilly Isles. Instead I have spent out a kings ransom and have ended up with hair that would have looked exactly the same if I had washed it in Billys' flea repellent dog shampoo, with the added benefit of being repellent to fleas, always a good thing. 

I haven't always had bad hair though. There was one glorious week in my life when my hair was sleek, glossy and wonderfully frizz free. It was when I went on a skiing holiday to Finland with some friends. It was so cold that all the moisture in the air froze and there was zero humidity, we all know that humidity is the arch enemy of frizz.  It was either this lack of humidity which gave me and my friends perfect locks or else being so close to Santas home.

So my advice to you if you have frizzy hair, buy the cheapest shampoo you can find and save your money. Put the money you have saved into a piggy bank until you have enough to pay for a winter trip to Lapland. You like me may have bad hair for the rest of your lives, but you'll have the memory of one week of hair perfection to compensate you. My other piece of advice, avoid mirrors at all costs, enjoy the memory and ignore reality.

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.

Orange peel, Dog clippers and GI Jane

Something bad has happened, something really, really bad.

The first time I used those words was many years ago and my family and I were on a coastal walk. We had stopped for a snack and were sat on top of the cliffs having some reshments and relaxing. We had a drink and an orange each and sat enjoying the view. Before we had stopped I'd been eating a piece of chewing gum, so after I had peeled my orange I put the orange peel on the grass next to me with the chewing gum on top. I ate my fruit then lay back in the sun. That's when the really, really bad thing happened. Mum, who was sitting next to me also decided that she too would like to sunbathe. As she lay back onto the grassy bank I realised that she had lain ontop of my orange peel and chewing gum. Not wanting to just come right out and say

"Did you know, you have chewing gum stuck to the back of your favourite blouse?"

I decided to break it to her a bit more gently, which was the origin of the now infamous family phrase of;

"Something bad has happened, something really, really bad".

I guess all families have these phrases and sayings that mean a lot to them, but to outsiders don't make a lot of sense. For instance other phrases we often use are;

"Don't put the plug in your mouth"

"I'll just avail myself of the facilities" and

"You're not my mum". But those are tales for another day.

I believe that it's repeating phrases like these, and the shared experiences that brought them about, that help to cement family relationships.

So what was the "really, really bad thing" that happened this week? Let me explain.

When I was made redundant one of the ways I decided to save money was by buying some dog clippers so that I could groom my dog Billy myself and not have to take him to expensive grooming parlours to be spruced up. I clipped him a couple of months ago and he looked OK so I decided to do it again as my sister, brother-in-law, niece and her husband are coming to visit this weekend and I thought that Billy was due a haircut.

Billy is a Westie and unlike some of his breed, he has always preferred a scruffy, shaggy hairdo. We live on the coast, near a surfing beach and I think that Billy bases his style on the surfer look. If he was a human he would have sun and saline bleached, shoulder length, tousled hair. He'd go for the "undone" look and would probably be wearing board shorts, an ethnic inspired tatoo and flip flops. But this week I decided to ignore his protests and smarten him up prior to our visitors arriving.

I gave him a brush then got the clippers out. The instructions said to use the shortest setting on his ears, which I did and they looked OK. Now bearing in mind it's summer, I decided to give him a shorter haircut than normal to try and keep him cooler. As his ears didn't look too bad on the short setting I thought it would be alright to use it on his body. So I clipped off a line of fur starting at his collar and continuing down to his tail. It wasn't very even so I went over it again a couple of times. Yes the instructions tell you only to go over the same area once, but I like to think that these instruction manuals are more suggestions than the law. A bit like the arrows in carparks, which I interpret as optional guidelines. So I ran the clippers down Billys back once, twice, certainly no more than nine times, trying to get the length even, his hair getting shorter and shorter each time. I then sat back to admire my handywork which was when I realised that something really, really bad had happened.

And that is how I now have a dog with a three inch wide bald strip running the length of his body. I had wanted Billy to look smarter and to feel cooler for when my family arrived this weekend, but actually he looks like he's got mange and I can't take him out in the sun for fear that he'll get sunburn. Less surfer chic and more like a monks tonsure. Less Seann Walsh, more GI Jane. Less Westie, more Chinese Crested.

It's 4 days now since Billys extreme makeover and its not really looking any better yet. There's only 2 more days before the first of the guests arrive so I'm not holding out much hope that he'll be back to normal by the weekend. How come when I shave my legs the hairs are long enough to plait by the next morning, but cut my dogs hair a little shorter than intended and he looks like he's been scalped a week later? I don't honestly think that Billy is really trying to get it to grow, so its his own fault if my sisters dog laughs at him.

When I was made redundant I did consider training to become a dog groomer, I think that the canine world will be rejoicing that I found alternative employment (by the way, the new job's going OK).

Right I better go now, I have an item for sale on eBay and its getting near to the end of the auction time. So if you want a little used set of dog clippers you'd better get your bid in soon or you may miss out, and if you do get them don't forget to read the instructions.

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.

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.