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).
Wednesday, 15 July 2015
Wednesday, 8 July 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, 1 July 2015
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!".
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!".
Wednesday, 24 June 2015
Cider, sweatshirts and cold tea.
I drove away from the Jobcentre the other day, after telling them that I was about to start work. The sun was shining, I was feeling relieved that I wouldn't have to go back to the job centre again for a while and pleased to have found work, even if it isn't exactly my dream job. So I opened the windows in the car, donned my sunglasses and switched the radio on, turning up the volume nice and loud. I swear the first lyrics that came on were,
🎵I was looking for a job.
Then I found a job,
and heaven knows I'm miserable now🎵
I really hoped that The Smiths, weren't prophetic!
I've now completed 2 days of my new job and am shattered so this will be a short post as I'm too tired to even type. My previous job was a desk job and although I often felt tired, as it could be stressful, this job brings with it a whole new level of fatigue. I am working in a local tourist attraction where they make and sell cider amongst other things. It is crazy busy and I am on my feet and dashing around the whole time.
So the highs and lows of my first couple of days
🎵I was looking for a job.
Then I found a job,
and heaven knows I'm miserable now🎵
I really hoped that The Smiths, weren't prophetic!
I've now completed 2 days of my new job and am shattered so this will be a short post as I'm too tired to even type. My previous job was a desk job and although I often felt tired, as it could be stressful, this job brings with it a whole new level of fatigue. I am working in a local tourist attraction where they make and sell cider amongst other things. It is crazy busy and I am on my feet and dashing around the whole time.
So the highs and lows of my first couple of days
- The first day I started work at 10 and didn't have my lunch break until 4 (that was one of the lows).
- They have a petting zoo with the cutest baby pygmy goats which snore when they sleep.
- They provide a sweatshirt and T-shirt as a uniform but the first day there were no t-shirts available so I had to wear a sweatshirt all day (I now know how this item of clothing gets its name).
- I sold a bottle of extra special spirit for a jaw dropping £135, only to find out it was a bottle of cold tea used for display purposes, the real spirit being kept securely out the back. Luckily I was able to catch the couple who bought it before they left the shop.
- I now know more about cider and apple based drinks than I thought it was possible to know.
- Surely this must help me to lose weight!
So reading back through this I realise that there are rather more lows than highs, however they are a lovely crowd of people that work there, all of the customers have been really pleasent, Billy dog has given me an ecstatic welcome back each evening and the job is close to home.
All and all, not the most enjoyable two days of my life, but thankfully The Smiths were wrong and heaven knows I'm not miserable now, in fact I think I'm probably too tired to be miserable. Right I've got to go and wash my T-shirt so its ready for tomorrow and then this scrumpy maid is going to go to bed early. Night night all.
Wednesday, 17 June 2015
Good news/bad news, strawberries and soggy pants.
So nearly as exciting as "Who shot JR", is the question of whether I got the job that I was waiting to hear from last week. Some of you may have already heard but for those that haven't and who are waiting to hear with baited breath, the answer is.....
Pause to create dramatic tension........
As a matter of intetest I wonder where the term baited breath comes from? Well that's interesting, according to Wiktionary it should actually be bated breath and the first known usage was in Shakespeare. Bated is a shortened version of abated, which means to reduce or suppress. So to wait with bated breath is to breath shallowly due to tension or nerves.
I do think the origin of language is interesting, there are so many words and phrases that we use that if you think about it make no sense at all. For instance I wonder how many people know why we use the word " fortnight " to mean 2 weeks? Well apparently it dates back to Roman times and Hadrian's Wall (I know, I keep going on about Hadrian's Wall, but it's interesting). Roman soldiers used to patrol the wall and once every 2 weeks they were allowed to take it in turns to sleep in one of the forts along the walls length. Hence they had a night in the fort, or a fortnight. Maybe I should have been an Etymologist.
Which brings me back to jobs and whether I was offered the position I was hoping for last week. I do find that I am easily distracted, unlike Billy, my dog who is very focussed.
The other day Billy and I went for a lovely walk along a stream. I spied some wild strawberries and was crouching down to pick them, this meant that my pocket, which contained dog treats was at Billys nose height. Billy was so focussed on trying to get the treats out of my pocket that he didnt notice the young fox drinking from the rill near us. The vixen looked up and stood staring at me and I like to think we shared a little moment. We were only yards apart in a wooded glade, all that could be heard was the tinkling brook and bird song. The glade was lit by dapled sunlight and I had the taste of starwberries and summer in my mouth. Perfect. Billy was so focussed on food he didnt notice her and thats when things went wrong. In his frustration at not being fed, Billy jumped up at me and I lost my balance and sat back into a puddle. Perfect moment over, the fox had disappeared and I had to complete the walk with a wet bottom.
Anyway back to job news. There is good news and bad news. The bad news is that I didn't get the job that I would really have liked, boo hoo. But the good news is that I was offered a job yesterday, hurray! It's only a part time seasonal job, but its work and it might be fun. I start on monday and the job should last until the end of September when the search will start again.
I had thought that I would call time on this blog when I found work, but I have enjoyed writing it so will continue for a while. After all, although I am no longer workless, it is a part time job so I am still working less than before.
Another eventful week then that contained a job rejection, a job offer, a perfect moment with a fox and a very awkward moment a few seconds later when I met another dog walker and felt the need to explain my wet bum. I could see from the woman's eyes that she didn't believe, or even understand, my waffling tale of foxes, strawberries, dog treats or puddles, but I still couldn't shut up. Recognising when to stop, talking/writing a hard thing to get right.
Pause to create dramatic tension........
As a matter of intetest I wonder where the term baited breath comes from? Well that's interesting, according to Wiktionary it should actually be bated breath and the first known usage was in Shakespeare. Bated is a shortened version of abated, which means to reduce or suppress. So to wait with bated breath is to breath shallowly due to tension or nerves.
I do think the origin of language is interesting, there are so many words and phrases that we use that if you think about it make no sense at all. For instance I wonder how many people know why we use the word " fortnight " to mean 2 weeks? Well apparently it dates back to Roman times and Hadrian's Wall (I know, I keep going on about Hadrian's Wall, but it's interesting). Roman soldiers used to patrol the wall and once every 2 weeks they were allowed to take it in turns to sleep in one of the forts along the walls length. Hence they had a night in the fort, or a fortnight. Maybe I should have been an Etymologist.
Which brings me back to jobs and whether I was offered the position I was hoping for last week. I do find that I am easily distracted, unlike Billy, my dog who is very focussed.
The other day Billy and I went for a lovely walk along a stream. I spied some wild strawberries and was crouching down to pick them, this meant that my pocket, which contained dog treats was at Billys nose height. Billy was so focussed on trying to get the treats out of my pocket that he didnt notice the young fox drinking from the rill near us. The vixen looked up and stood staring at me and I like to think we shared a little moment. We were only yards apart in a wooded glade, all that could be heard was the tinkling brook and bird song. The glade was lit by dapled sunlight and I had the taste of starwberries and summer in my mouth. Perfect. Billy was so focussed on food he didnt notice her and thats when things went wrong. In his frustration at not being fed, Billy jumped up at me and I lost my balance and sat back into a puddle. Perfect moment over, the fox had disappeared and I had to complete the walk with a wet bottom.
Anyway back to job news. There is good news and bad news. The bad news is that I didn't get the job that I would really have liked, boo hoo. But the good news is that I was offered a job yesterday, hurray! It's only a part time seasonal job, but its work and it might be fun. I start on monday and the job should last until the end of September when the search will start again.
I had thought that I would call time on this blog when I found work, but I have enjoyed writing it so will continue for a while. After all, although I am no longer workless, it is a part time job so I am still working less than before.
Another eventful week then that contained a job rejection, a job offer, a perfect moment with a fox and a very awkward moment a few seconds later when I met another dog walker and felt the need to explain my wet bum. I could see from the woman's eyes that she didn't believe, or even understand, my waffling tale of foxes, strawberries, dog treats or puddles, but I still couldn't shut up. Recognising when to stop, talking/writing a hard thing to get right.
Wednesday, 10 June 2015
Shrimps, tenterhooks and cider.
Hi there and what a week! I am back in Cornwall and have had a busy old time. This week I have signed on with the job centre, been for a work trial, attended an interview, been a lady who lunches (twice), have had a haircut and a birthday.
I am writing this on tenterhooks as I am waiting to hear about the interview I attended. They said they'd call me this afternoon and its gone 1 o'clock already. I wonder what tenterhooks are and if I am really on them. Well that's interesting, thank you Mr Google (other search engines are available). Apparently tenterhooks were used to stretch wet fabric out so that it it could be fitted onto a frame called a tenter, in order to dry. Hence the phrase, being on tenterhooks, is used to mean that one feels in a state of uneasy suspense or anxiety. So yes, I am definitely on tenterhooks.
I had the interview first thing this morning and overall I think it went OK, although looking back there is at least one question that I could have answered better. However they did tell me that part of the job role had, for the last year, been done by an intern and I'm assuming that he/she applied for the job and I kind of hope that they get it, it's only fair after all.
But now the waiting begins. They said that they'd call this asfternoon however that could mean any time. It's now 1:30 and they might not call till 5:00. I'm already too nervous to move away from the phone to go the loo, in case I miss the call. I could take the phone with me into the bathroom of course but then what if they call mid flow? No better to wait it out, staring accusingly at my silent phone and dealing with the urine soaked sofa should the need arise.
The reason that I am so anxious about this interview, compared to some of the others I've attended, is that I really want this job. The other jobs I've applied to have mostly been either temporary/seasonal ones or part time and paying minimum wage. The interview I attended this morning though is for a more challenging and interesting role and I WANT IT! Yes I know " I want doesn't get" but I do want it, a lot.
I've also had a work trial at a local tourist attraction and had an enjoyable couple of hours handing out samples of cider to coach parties as they arrive. I thought at the end of the session that I had been offered a job but am waiting to hear for sure about this as well.
I had my birthday this week and had lots of nice presents and cards. My favourite gift was a shrimping net, I haven't had a chance to use it yet but can't wait to give it a go. I watched a cookery show the other day where they went shrimping, then cooked their catch up on the beach on a camping stove. It looked so lovely, I would like to replicate it. Of course I may not catch anything, but I hope to. I may even catch so many that I can sell them and eventually have a seafood business to rival Princes.
So another busy week (I don't know how I ever found time to work). I've tried out being a barmaid, cooked up the tastiest prawns (in my imagination), have discovered that I am no good at waiting and learnt that a watched phone, like a watched pot, never rings/boils.
I am writing this on tenterhooks as I am waiting to hear about the interview I attended. They said they'd call me this afternoon and its gone 1 o'clock already. I wonder what tenterhooks are and if I am really on them. Well that's interesting, thank you Mr Google (other search engines are available). Apparently tenterhooks were used to stretch wet fabric out so that it it could be fitted onto a frame called a tenter, in order to dry. Hence the phrase, being on tenterhooks, is used to mean that one feels in a state of uneasy suspense or anxiety. So yes, I am definitely on tenterhooks.
I had the interview first thing this morning and overall I think it went OK, although looking back there is at least one question that I could have answered better. However they did tell me that part of the job role had, for the last year, been done by an intern and I'm assuming that he/she applied for the job and I kind of hope that they get it, it's only fair after all.
But now the waiting begins. They said that they'd call this asfternoon however that could mean any time. It's now 1:30 and they might not call till 5:00. I'm already too nervous to move away from the phone to go the loo, in case I miss the call. I could take the phone with me into the bathroom of course but then what if they call mid flow? No better to wait it out, staring accusingly at my silent phone and dealing with the urine soaked sofa should the need arise.
The reason that I am so anxious about this interview, compared to some of the others I've attended, is that I really want this job. The other jobs I've applied to have mostly been either temporary/seasonal ones or part time and paying minimum wage. The interview I attended this morning though is for a more challenging and interesting role and I WANT IT! Yes I know " I want doesn't get" but I do want it, a lot.
I've also had a work trial at a local tourist attraction and had an enjoyable couple of hours handing out samples of cider to coach parties as they arrive. I thought at the end of the session that I had been offered a job but am waiting to hear for sure about this as well.
I had my birthday this week and had lots of nice presents and cards. My favourite gift was a shrimping net, I haven't had a chance to use it yet but can't wait to give it a go. I watched a cookery show the other day where they went shrimping, then cooked their catch up on the beach on a camping stove. It looked so lovely, I would like to replicate it. Of course I may not catch anything, but I hope to. I may even catch so many that I can sell them and eventually have a seafood business to rival Princes.
So another busy week (I don't know how I ever found time to work). I've tried out being a barmaid, cooked up the tastiest prawns (in my imagination), have discovered that I am no good at waiting and learnt that a watched phone, like a watched pot, never rings/boils.
Wednesday, 3 June 2015
Dolls houses, riots and elderflower cordial.
Well this post is coming to you from Dorset so the tone may sound slightly different to normal. Less Cornish and rather more Dorset -shire. I did consider not writing a post this week but a few kind readers have said that the blog is becoming the highlight of their midweek. One reader said that it was their second favourite thing to happen on Wednesdays, number one being their school dinner. I feel almost sure that this was intended as a compliment but from my experience of school meals I'm not 100% convinced how flattering this is. So not wanting to disappoint anyone here is the weekly update. Also following feedback from last weeks brief and succinct post it seems that people missed the rambling, so in this post please be prepared for rambling galore. Lovers of succinct and to the point should stop reading now.
I've had a few days away from home this week, a weekend in a caravan in Devon and now a couple of days with family in Dorset. The caravan weekend was an early birthday present and I was looking forward to it. I love a caravan, in fact as an infant it was my first home after leaving the maternity ward. It's a miniature world; iddy biddy beds, the tiniest bathrooms, shrunken kitchens, like staying in a dolls house.
First impressions of the caravan were good, it was was light and airy, had curtains in the windows, no flies or funny smells and a dry bathroom floor, unlike a couple of places we have stayed in the past.
That first evening we had a walk along the coast and then a nice meal. It was only when we came to wash up after dinner in our petite sink that we realised there was no hot water,we decided not to let this dampen our spirits and resolved to report it in the morning. We went to bed in our teeny, tiny bedrooms and soon fell to sleep.
Our alarm call however came a little earlier than expected as we were woken in the early hours by a fight right outside our caravan. The noise from the argument was bad enough but was soon accompanied by blue flashing lights which hailed the arrival of the 4 police vehicles including one riot van. This incident signalled a bit of a down turn in our weekend.
So to cut a long story short
But despite all this we had a good weekend then travelled on up to Dorset for an early birthday celebration with family, including being treated to a lovely cream tea overlooking the sea.
I haven't done any foraging myself this week but did enjoy the elderflower cordial that my sister and brother-in-law made. In fact my new second favourite drink is now gin and tonic with a splash of elderflower. My number one favourite drink is still my morning cup of tea, in a china cup of course.
I've had a few days away from home this week, a weekend in a caravan in Devon and now a couple of days with family in Dorset. The caravan weekend was an early birthday present and I was looking forward to it. I love a caravan, in fact as an infant it was my first home after leaving the maternity ward. It's a miniature world; iddy biddy beds, the tiniest bathrooms, shrunken kitchens, like staying in a dolls house.
First impressions of the caravan were good, it was was light and airy, had curtains in the windows, no flies or funny smells and a dry bathroom floor, unlike a couple of places we have stayed in the past.
That first evening we had a walk along the coast and then a nice meal. It was only when we came to wash up after dinner in our petite sink that we realised there was no hot water,we decided not to let this dampen our spirits and resolved to report it in the morning. We went to bed in our teeny, tiny bedrooms and soon fell to sleep.
Our alarm call however came a little earlier than expected as we were woken in the early hours by a fight right outside our caravan. The noise from the argument was bad enough but was soon accompanied by blue flashing lights which hailed the arrival of the 4 police vehicles including one riot van. This incident signalled a bit of a down turn in our weekend.
So to cut a long story short
- Still no hot water in the morning so after a bracing wash we reported the fault to reception
- We went out for a 5 mile walk. As we were feeling good after completing 5 miles we decided to lengthen the walk to 10 miles, at about mile 7 we realised that this was probably a mistake.
- Whilst on the walk we were stalked by a ferocious feral feline who persisted in trying to bully the dog which really dented Billys pride.
- Eventually we got back to the caravan, hot, tired and very sweaty only to find that we still had no hot water.
- Pleasant evening of food and drink for 2 weary walkers was repeatedly interrupted by 3 different maintenance staff trying to fix the boiler
- Eventually our smellyness encouraged the staff to give us the keys to a new caravan on the other side of the park so that we could use the shower there.
- Next morning we were woken up at 5am by seagulls on the roof of the caravan seemingly playing football.
- Daily walks from then on across the site in our PJs in order to shower, then trailing back again with wet hair.
I haven't done any foraging myself this week but did enjoy the elderflower cordial that my sister and brother-in-law made. In fact my new second favourite drink is now gin and tonic with a splash of elderflower. My number one favourite drink is still my morning cup of tea, in a china cup of course.
Prior to my time away I have had another job interview but am still waiting to hear the outcome. I have had a few emails and one phone call from another employer and should be going for a work trial there next week. My family over the last couple of days have been really helpful and supportive with coming up with suggestions for ways that I can make a living. Highlights of their ideas include: learning a musical instrument so that I can busk (the violin obviously), becoming a fortune teller, learning to decorate cakes, winning Britains Got Talent by teaching Billy dog some tricks, a chimney sweep (although my niece did think that I would have to loose weight for this as she thought I'd need to climb up inside the chimney, not realising that they use brushes) and if none of these ideas work then apparently I should become a drug mule. None of my family are really cut out to be careers advisers.
Despite a few hitches though this has been an enjoyable week where I discovered a new drink, had a lovely cream tea and it may well result in me playing a starring role on Panorama, when it tries to uncover the truth behind the Dawlish riots of 2015.
Despite a few hitches though this has been an enjoyable week where I discovered a new drink, had a lovely cream tea and it may well result in me playing a starring role on Panorama, when it tries to uncover the truth behind the Dawlish riots of 2015.
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