…bygones

It is true that even though I said I wouldn’t complain about being jobless anymore, I have still managed to go back on my word (probably much to your chagrin). However, I realised that if I didn’t complain every once in a while, then one of two things would happen:

• My head would explode
• I’d never post

The latter actually happened for a while, and I bet you missed me, didn’t you?

DIDN’T YOU?!

So it happened a couple weeks ago that I got offered part-time employment in a less than ideal industry. Well, I don’t want to sound like a snob when I say it was ‘less than ideal’. It was just something had never occurred to me to ever pursue. However, with my financial situation coming to a crisis point, it was necessary to dismount from my high horse (which wasn’t very high at all, more like a large pony) and face the fact that I needed to do something that would bring in money.

Kev came home one day and said, quite bluntly, ‘I may have found you some part time work pleasdon’tturnupyournose’.

I raised an eyebrow (or got about as close as I could to raising an eyebrow), ‘Yeah? What is it?’

There was an opening for a cleaner with the same firm who has the contract for his office. And, in fact, I did not turn up my nose at it. It’s actually ideal, as I only work 2 hours a night, have weekends off, and can listen to my ipod without talking to anybody. Plus the chances of me having to clean up sick in an office building are pretty slim (not like being at the pub which was a weekly occurrence).

So I said ‘Ok’ and started my new job last week.

I have to admit that the part of me that sits boldly astride her high horse (large pony) and turns up her nose thought about not telling you all about it; but I decided to go ahead an disclose for a couple of reasons, the main reason being that I can write interesting (if there are any) posts about adventures there. Much in the same way that working in a pub isn’t always interesting, it does have its moments.

I have also stopped cringing when I tell people what I do. I actually don’t really care anymore what people think about it. It’s money; I need it; and I want it.

So one bonus about this job occurred to me today; it means I can write, guilt-free. Part of the reason why I hadn’t been updating this blog, or working on fiction in general was because I felt that if I was going to write anything then it should be a cover letter or an application.

While there is still the need to write those things (because I don’t have any intention of being a cleaner forever), I don’t have to feel guilty about writing other things, and I no longer have to beat away The Muse with a stick every time she rears her head.

And maybe (she says with a Lone Ranger leap onto the large pony), everyone can find some comfort in knowing that even though some of us have a Masters degree, there are still toilets needing cleaned to get us through the economic kerfluffle in which we all now find ourselves.

All year long the sun is hidden behind clouds. Here, especially. We don’t see the sun very often, but we do know that it’s there. Vaguely.

What happens when the sun finally comes out? Everybody, and I mean, EVERYBODY comes out to enjoy it. The park is littered with pale bodies, like a flower stretching toward the light, soaking in every bit of sun that they can.

Summer is fun here; you go to the park and hang out. I usually like taking my blanket with me and sitting in the grass with a bottle of water, sunglasses, and a good novel.

The other great thing about summer here is beer gardens. Kev and I recently spent a good 12 hours in the front garden at Oran Mor. Pimms with lots of fruit and ice was just what the doctor ordered.

Kev and I ended up inviting everyone we know out to the beer garden, and had hours of fun. In fact, I think it was the most fun I’ve had in a while, if only because there was no planning involved in it whatsoever. And, as always, it was nice to get to see everyone and catch up.

Inevitably, there is always a bit of sadness once the sun goes back down, but the beauty about living this far north is that the sun doesn’t go all the way down, and even then, it doesn’t stay away very long.

Try sleeping when the sun is already coming up at 3am.

But who needs sleep when there are so many good times to be had?

I want you all to know that I’ve finally updated my links. yes, they look the same (aside from my unceremoniously deleting my own bebo link), but some of them were broken and as in the case of poor Angela, whose link was broken for an entire year. Yes. I’m that lazy.

Sorrysorrysorry.

In other news (or lack thereof), I’m still unemployed to a certain extent. I’ve been remployed at the theatre for the time being, and even though it cannot possibly sustain me on a full-time basis; it’s fun, I get to hang out with my old friend, and it’s easy money.

The interesting thing is that, for the first time ever I get to go on tour with the production and, much to my delight, Kev gets to stay home. Finally! I get my own back! Sorry, honey, I’ll be back in a couple days!

Kev and I, as a way of saying ‘thank you’ have been having our friends over, two-by-two, for dinner. We’ve always loved giving dinner parties; something about it is so civilised. We bring out the dining room table (or extend it, really, as it’s always out), cover it with my grandmother’s table cloth, candlesticks to create ambiance, and sit in the bay window of our lounge.

Wine, laughter, good friends and hopefully good wine. We fill up on yummy goodness that Kev and I have cooked up, and then ‘retire’ to the other half of the lounge after dinner for more wine, then coffee.

See? It’s all very civilised, and dare I say, ‘middle-class’.

Last night we had two more guests for dinner, who brought their baby labrador puppy, who was, I must say, very well behaved considering her age. She’s scared shitless of the cats though, and Miles, who, by all accounts has always been a bit of a coward, properly launched himself, fur spiked and bristling, at this intruder.

I had to say I was very surprised at Miles, but rather than chastising him for attacking a guest (even a puppy-guest), we simply put him in the other room and then thanked him later for trying to protect us and his house.

Dizzy, on the other hand, remained invisible until the offending creature had gone home for the night.

I expected the pair of them to be angry at us for letting a furry guest into our house, and terrorizing them thus, however, Miles looked at me with relief, as though he was content in knowing that the danger was gone and that we were safe.

Good little guard cat. This is just one of the many instances where I am convinced that Miles is actually a dog in a cat suit.

…and we’re back!

After a very dramatic New Year’s Eve, where, at Moosie’s house, Kev started to check his email and I said, ‘Can I check mine quick? I’m sure I didn’t get an email from the Home Office about the Visa, but I kinda have a funny feeling in my tummy…’

The ‘funny feeling’ in my tummy was actually right. I got my Visa!

So, we partied pretty hard that night, and felt like road kill the following day. But it was all worth it.

I finally made my way home, criss-crossing flights with Kev (we never made it onto the same flight, but did land within four hours of each other…bizarre).

The kitties were very happy to have me home, but more likely it was more due to the fact that I was a human, than that I was me. Miles jumped into my arms when I came in the door and nuzzled me with his head. Again, I think it was because he thought I was there to feed him (which I did).

After so much time away, everything seemed so different, yet the same. I wandered around the flat, feeling like I was in someone else’s place, rather than my own. It took a couple of days for that feeling to wear off, and now I am comfortable again in my home.

As far as the job goes; I didn’t really want to go back to the pub when I came home. I’d had a lot of time to think when I was in America, and working in a pub didn’t really suit my lifestyle anymore. It had been a comfortable means of income while it lasted, but it hit me that it wasn’t a career, and certainly wasn’t a career I’d envisioned for myself. I vowed to apply for jobs immediately.

As it turned out, my bosses (after playing a very childish game of, ‘You need to talk to the other boss’ and then not returning my phone calls), had filled my full-time position at the pub. After playing their game for about a week, I’d already clocked on to the fact. I met with Boss2 last Friday and he broke the news, apologetically offering me part-time hours in the first pub I’d worked in.

I gracefully declined stating that I couldn’t survive on part-time hours alone, the fact that it was a step-down from my previous position as manager, and that, even though I’d loved that pub while I had been there, I wasn’t prepared to go back.

I think he expected me to put up more of a fight, but really, as I’d already made up my mind to leave, his meagre offer only made it easier for me to leave.

So, for the first time in, I dunno how many years, I am unemployed. While it’s true that I am stressed out about money, and bored of staying home, Kevin is quite enjoying coming home from work to a spotless flat, and dinner on the table.

I’m such a little housewife.

He asked me the other day; if he made enough money for me to not have to work, if I’d like staying home all the time. My response was that I liked my independance, and also, I figured that this contentedness with cooking and cleaning all the time would get very old in about a week.

Anyhow, I’ve been applying for jobs left and right; anything that will keep me out of a pub (or a McDonalds (not to say that McDonalds is a bad place to work)), and I’ve been getting frustrated. It’s not necessarily frustration at not getting a job, but more having to do with the fact that nobody seems to send rejection letters anymore. They just never respond.

I composed an email in my head today, to a publishing firm to where I had high hopes and dreams of being employed, saying that if they didn’t think I was right for the job, they could at least email me and tell me, and then, it would be helpful, to let me know why they thought I wasn’t right for the job, so that I could have the opportunity to improve either my experience, or my CV-writing abilities.

Alas, I’ve since inhaled-exhaled and let it go. Their loss.

Another two jobs I’ve applied for today, and upon advice from ClairePepper, have composed a more substantial covering letter; listing my strengths and reasons why I’m the right choice.

It’s amusing to me how much like a politician one has to be these days just to earn a few quid.

Kev and his Da are guitar enthusiasts. Much like I enjoy admiring a fine camera, something dusty that needs work, or even a bright shiny new one. Anything. Kev and Stuart can peruse in a guitar shop the size of a walk-in closet for hours on end.

Which made them the perfect choice for the theatre company to send to pick out a guitar for an upcoming show.

That’s when the virus formed.

One weekend, they shopped around for the perfect guitar for the show. They then spent a week debating if they’d made the right choice before they finally went back to the shop and bought it.

But then, Stuart, who had been looking at buying a new accoustic for himself, went home that week and debating buying it; phoned Kev and they went back to the guitar shop (and several others) to compare and debate and justify.

The following weekend, they went back to the guitar shop together, and Stuart bought the guitar.

All this time, Kev had been eyeing up a Stratacaster; debating the costs of it compared to a knock-off and gathering information about the latest object of his desire. At £750, we really can’t afford it. And with a heavy sigh each time, Kev would gingerly place the guitar back on its stand and give a remorseful nod to the shopkeeper which spoke volumes in addition to, ‘Not this time, mate’.

That is, until Stuart called Kev earlier this week, recognising the heavy-hearted longing that can only exist between a man and his guitar, and offered to buy it for him.

Kev, heavily burdened with guilt over the offer, came to me for advice. Not only did Kev feel badly about his dad buying him a guitar, but also because Kev and I are struggling to save for the wedding.

‘But this is money we weren’t counting on for the wedding,’ I argued. ‘It’s not as though you’re spending money that we have already set aside for the caterers.’

‘I know, but…’ Kev trailed off. His eyes searching mine for a justification either way.

So, today, after being convinced by myself and Barry, Kev and his father went into town to the guitar shop to buy the Strat.

Yes, I am jealous, but also excited for Kev. He’s going to be a very happy boy when he gets home, and I’m excited for him.

Also, pretty happy that I’m on night shift tonight.

Threading through the crowd last night, dressed like I imagine a rockstar’s wife should, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. It all starts with a small, basement venue with 50 people; one day it will be sold out auditoriums.

I think I was more nervous than Kev before the gig. I fluttered from friend to friend, like an overzealous hostess, making sure everyone was excited, happy, whatever. And Kev, who had been a bundle of nerves all day, sat coolly back, casting an admiring eye over his friends and fans.

The reviews were all very positive. The band were very tight; had a good relationship onstage; and the music was great.

My baby’s a rock star!

Now that the Bosses are back and things are pretty much back to normal, I’ve decided to take a holiday of my own. I’m not going anywhere in particular, but it’s going to be a busy week socially (Colinopolous gets married on Thursday!!!) so I figured I’d just take the entire week off.

Yesterday was the first official day of my holiday. Kev and I went with a handful of friends to Portobello Beach for Chris’s b-day. The weather was absolutely perfect; sunny but not too hot; brief moments of relief from a couple of obliging clouds.

We played frisbee in our bare feet; fine, warm sand sifting through our toes. We ran into the surf, we enjoyed an almost endless buffet of barbeque, and nibbled on perfectly sweetened strawberries stewing in balsamic sauce.

Perfect.

The best part was, I left my phone at home (by accident), but I didn’t care. And I didn’t have a watch on me, and I didn’t care about that either. It was nice to just exist and play and be.

And I got dirty as well, which I haven’t done since I was a kid. I don’t really like getting dirty anymore; I don’t like having anything under my fingernails, much less a million grains of dirty sand. But yesterday, I relished plunging my hands into the warm sand, feeling the cooler sand underneath.

Excellent day. That’s what I wanted for my holiday. Now if I could have 6 more days of something similar.

Life’s pretty mundane around these parts lately. Kev’s been on tour for the past month, and though I get him for more than 24 hours this week, when he leaves again on Thursday, I won’t see him for a further two weeks straight.

At work, I have been very wary of becoming too close with the staff, like I did in my other pub, but it seems I don’t have to try too hard. Some are still a bit put out that I’m there. I don’t really care, actually, because I’m there to do my job, not to make friends. It sounds harsh, I know, but at the end of the day, it’s a career.

The upside, if you really want to see it, is that both The Bosses are very happy with the work I’ve done in the pub. The punters are very happy with me, as well, and I carry a lot of respect and clout with me. No one wants to fall out with me, and that’s a very good position to be in.

I have to admit, as well, that after so many months of being on the wrong side of Boss2, I’m glad I’m finally His Girl again. I think that our worst problem was trying to do the same job at the same time. He is back to uttering encouraging phrases like, ‘..when you get a pub of your own…’. One particularly hairy position, however, in which I’ve been put in, is that Boss2 has been letting slip a few unhappy comments about Boss1. The two of them, together a force to be reckoned with, have always stood as One, and never before have I seen cracks of disagreement on either side.

Though I do feel like I’ve been paid a compliment from Boss2 for allowing him to confide in me, at the same time I’m very aware that it’s a slippery slope from here; and ‘the middle’ is not exactly where I want to be. I’m glad he has confidence in my discretion, but I’m very afraid that it might put me in a precarious position.

So, I keep my mouth shut and let him talk, and pray that I never ever let slip anything he has said. I suppose the upside to not having anyone around to talk to, is that I won’t be repeating anything which shouldn’t be repeated.

So, we finally (I say ‘finally’ when in fact it was only one day I had to wait) had our staff meeting at the new pub, whereupon Boss2 announced that I’m the new gaffer (that’s ‘boss’ to you colonials).

The reaction was lack of surprise. I thought that I’d have more of a stiff, shocked silence at the announcement, but it seems to me that a couple of key members of staff, who I thought would have a problem are actually quite keen to work with me. Mainly, this is because they have a lot of ideas for the pub, but never see them through to fruition because they’re either scared to just *do*, or they’re still waiting for Boss2 to point them in the right direction.

After the meeting, I spoke to them seperately, and they’re eager to finally have the means to do what they want with the place. ‘I’m a do-er’, I replied, ‘I don’t ask permission, I just ‘do’.’

They all seem relieved. But also, they’re ready for me to come in and sort out a mess which has been brewing between a member of staff and a customer, which, frankly, after only 24 hours there, I’ve noticed is bringing down morale. I txted Boss2 later in the evening, knowing he’s aware of the problem, and he’s agreed that it needs to get sorted soon. The sooner, the better, I think, otherwise this dark cloud will keep us from accomplishing anything we want to do.

So, with a heavy sigh, I plan courses of action in my head; strategise how we can resolve this so that the staff and punters don’t feel they need to choose sides.

Meanwhile, I feel a bit blue on a number of issuses…kev is away, I’m working in a new place which is alien to me and I miss my bar. I feel like I’m in some transitional limbo, and uncomfortable with my surroundings.

I’m sure it’ll be ok. Boss2 seems happy with my ideas and what I’ve acheieved so far (and it’s only been 2 days); this is comforting, but not enough. I’ll feel a lot better when I start seeing some results.