Hiatus

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

(The Road Less Traveled by Robert Frost)

I've been thinking about this a lot.
I've got a whole lot of new, exciting, scary, enlivening things going on in my life right now.

& I'm happy.

I'm not going to blog for a while. I'm probably not going to read blogs for a while either. (I've got a whole lot of new, exciting, scary, enlivening things going on in my life right now...)

I don't want to get into the navel-gazing I've been guilty of in the past - I want to just enjoy myself. Experience things and share them with the people I care about most. Maybe just enjoy things for myself, even.

If you are a friend, you'll get in touch with me from time to time, touch base, text, whatever- like you already do.

If not, well- to anyone and everyone else - you're just passing through here, either skim-reading or looking for subtext, commonalities, diversion - whatever floats your boat. There are world upon worlds of other lives to read about - my world won't be missed. (Or at least, not for long...) But thank you for reading anyway.

I'm not the person who started out writing this blog. I've changed almost unrecognisably (or is that imperceptibly?) In many ways, I don't "need" this blog any more - I wrote it as a kind of plaster to cover up the cracks in communication I had, and it stemmed from a need to express the many things I couldn't say and reach an audience who would validate that what I said had some point, some basis, that I was worth listening to.

I don't have that "need" anymore: I am confident that I can say all I need to say to those who I feel need to hear it.

So thank you - and, well, goodbye. At least for now. Who knows what the road will bring?

Can't blog now...

...On my way to work.

(Oh, the novelty! It'll soon wear off, I'm sure...)

Penetrating...

...damp (rather than "Rising Damp" - but have you googled image searched for "Penetrating Damp"? It isn't pretty... *shudder* Actually, some of it is pretty- in the pretty sort of way that black mould can create interesting patterns type thing, but I digress...)

My flat would appear to have it. It is dripping down my bedroom wall, peeling off the paper, leaving a kind of strange ectoplasm where the cheap emulsion on the wall has separated out into its constituent parts.

The plumber my landlord sent round is not happy. His precise words? "Oh shit..." A pipe wrench does fuck all good when the problem is hidden behind a wall and comes from the flat above.

Not a clue what this will mean for me - although I guess at some point my bedroom will need dehumidifying and painting. With better paint.

In other news *shuffles papers* ...

My gums bloody hurt. The anaesthetic started to wear off before the procedure had finished again. And I'm now onto my third or fourth dentist. As my current one remarked, I probably know the consultant better than she does. After all, I at least know his name and don't just refer to him as "the tall fella"... [*waves* Hello Charley...]

For this Friday's surgery I'm opting for the anaesthetic that gives me a racing heart and palpitations for about 2 hours: my heart beats like a fucked clock and I feel like I've run a marathon at the end of it- I'd rather cope with that than feeling the cutting, slicing and stabbing in my mouth. It won't make the healing time any quicker but it might cut out some of the bleeding and surgical pain. With any luck this will be the last 2 hour appointment. With my luck? Who could say...

My encounters with the Housing Benefits folk is getting increasingly frustrating. I would appear to have acquired a taciturn pen-pal - today's emailed missive was entirely in capital letters. The short version is I might get some money, it should be in my bank account, but isn't. The long version requires a dark and stormy night, a pipe, an open fire and a bottle of a decent malt to recount (it's that kind of horror story...)

Oh, and I start work on Thursday. Theo has been calming me down (I'm already getting the non-teaching equivalent of "first day at school nerves": What if the big boys and girls don't like me? What if my dinner money gets nicked? Will I have anyone to play with? When is home time?) The reality is starting to kick in. Time to be a responsible adult again!

Holy shit...

I take that back....

OK, so actually I got the job.

I GOT THE JOB!

I ONLY WENT AND GOT THE BLOODY JOB!

I got a call yesterday afternoon apologising for taking time to get in touch (something about equal opps... illness....cancelled interview...something else...) and offering me a post working part strategic/ developmental and part frontline work with young people experiencing homelessness. It's going to be hard yakka, but something I can sink my (admittedly fragile) teeth into. Much chuffedness on my behalf. I may have cried. (actually, I did...)

Oh! And I got a refund of £139 from the bloody council tax. I even heard from Housing/Council tax benefits people...OK, so by having an actual JOB I won't actually need it in the future (hurrah!) but I'm still sort of relying upon it to fill the yawning belly of my overdraft in the very real present. This, as the Cheeky Girls so rightly say, is life (and no, you cannot touch my bum...)

Of course, life being what it is, there are still some lumps in the custard. Teeth. Unbearable fatness of being. Happy pills. Facial hair. Greying eyebrow. Anger. Grief.

-But, BUT, BUT! There is also a whack of optimism - Theo, a new career, a flat I can stay in, a world to travel, a goldfish to buy - NOT HAVING TO WATCH JEREMY KYLE EVER AGAIN! Oh yes.. I'm not going to count any chickens, I'm not even going to imagine a rosy, dreamy future - but things seem to be moving and not sliding at long last.

[Oh yes, and it is "cake toasts" time again. I favoured a muesli scone hand-baked by Theo this year.

Incidentally, the picture above makes my teeth itch, but Beryl Cook pictures graced my Mum's living room walls for far more years than I dare estimate... So, cheers Mum...]

Another kick in the teeth

I've got another appointment with the dental surgeon next week. Another couple of hours of periodontal-hell. However unpleasant it may be, that is not the kick in the teeth I mean.

I had an interview, interviewed well - and didn't get the fucking job. Again.

I'm starting to feel like it is personal. There is some sort of vendetta against me. Employers across all of Edinburgh have decided to fuck with my head; "Interview her... look impressed....even tell her she interviews very well... BUT DON'T GIVE HER THE JOB! Bwahh ha ha haaaa!" That sort of thing. I wonder if it is karmic or a pre-destined trial. I start getting superstitious and look for omens and oracles. I turn to wondering if it is a very big "Candid Camera" set-up. I make bargains, deals and compromises to a God I don't even believe in (-in short, I am being driven ever so slightly mad...)

People tell me that the right job is "around the corner"; Theo consoles me-even while I am unattractively blubbering like a tearful whale - and gives me practical (as well as emotional) support; friends even offer money and remind me that they too have had leaner-than-a-well-chewed-chop times.

I'm lucky I have this support-some of it helps, some of it perplexes- but not getting the job still feels like a steel-capped kick in the teeth. My gums hurt...

*sings* "There are more questions than answers..."

It’s a sad state of affairs when you lose sleep over internet-type questions…

I’m still in a state of blog-constipation and question-flavoured blog laxatives aren’t really working…. Regardless, I’ll have ago at answering. My apologies for having taken so long.

What's the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to someone you know ?

It’s not really my place to say, but I do know of someone who, when being assessed for a teacher training assignment, went to great lengths to ensure the kiddliwinks understood the gravity of the situation so he could achieve a pass for classroom management. The childer were lamblike and obedient- quaking, almost- throughout the lesson and m’colleague trotted up expectantly to the assessor at the end of the lesson. As hoped the lesson was a success, however the assessor had placed a large question mark at the end of his notes. M’colleague was more than a little concerned and enquired as to why he had been queried. He was met with the response, “Well, you taught with your flies open throughout the lesson - I was wondering if it was a deliberate act of intimidation.”

Apart from being embarrassed, he was mightily chuffed at the thought that whatever filled his boxers could intimidate anyone…

Will you remember to feed Bob too? And will you not mind that the flat's a mess(I slept in), and not tell everyone what a midden I am? Please. Oh, I think I've just done that... *bah*

Yes; not at all; *discreet silence*. Er….

... most embarrassing sexual anecdote?

Oh C'mon, what else did you expect from me eh ;-)

Personally, I’ve never been embarrassed. Things have been awkward sometimes, I’ve almost dislocated limbs and all, but I’ve not been embarrassed. *Shrug* Maybe I really am shameless… A former flat mate’s boyfriend almost had his todger ripped off by an angry cat, but as for me…sorry!

What an interesting opportunity… However, I shall attempt to keep my questions to things that are not *too* unsavoury.

We’ll start in the work related sphere:

-What is the worst/ most inappropriate thing/ biggest lie you have ever told in a job interview?

“Celluloid is a fun word to make with your mouth.” *cringe*

-Did you ever do anything to one of your students that in retrospect was a little cruel/ evil?
No. It would be unethical. Honestly! I do have some professional integrity!

- On the last day of a job have you ever done anything really naughty?
Apart from nick some envelopes? No…God, I sound terribly responsible, don't I?

On another note – are there weird things you find yourself doing or saying when you are alone?
I mutter almost constantly, but even I don’t listen to myself so I have no idea!

What's your favourite way of spending a Sunday morning?

A lot of it would be in bed, snuggling with Theo... followed by scrambled egg and smoked salmon bagels with a vast mug of tea…then some idling and lounging. Maybe being fed chocolates. Maybe a newspaper to peruse. I’m a simple soul.

If you were able to push the rewind button on the life you have lived so far, how would you live it differently?

This question has troubled me. There are so many points at which I would maybe think, “Change that, alter this” but then I wouldn’t have had the experiences – good and bad - that have made me the person I am. For all my faults, insecurities, massive fuck-ups and small triumphs, I’m OK as the person I have become. I would quite like to have a quick peek at the teenage me - just for a giggle, and to wince at the appalling self-consciousness and fashion choices I made at the time. (For a literary example of this phenomenon, I would refer you to Henry Normal’s prose poem “Love Like Hell”)

What's your first memory and why do you think it stuck?

Hmm. I was about 18 months old. I remember the man from which my Dad bought his second hand Volkswagen Caravette. He was a butcher with a Dick Dastardly moustache and a stripy apron. He waved us goodbye. I remember the tweedy seats of the Caravette and lying on my back looking at the trees overhead as we drove back to our “new” council house. I have no idea why it has stuck, but it has.

Cherry Charger or Mango, Lemon and Ginger Infusion?

Mango, Lemon and Ginger of course. Cherry Charger tastes of wet sock.

Any more for any more?

*scratches head*

I've been having a blogging crisis, really. I can't in all honesty think of anything to say.

Of course I have been places, done things... lovely Theo and I have spent time together - I've even met her parents - I've been cooking, cleaning, showering, eating, thinking, being interviewed, getting frustrated by the creaking mechanism that is the DWP, picking my nose, drinking tea and nibbling hobnobs, etc., but some of it isn't blogworthy and some of it I just want to keep to myself, my own personal, private 'real' self. (I have one of those, you know...)

I'm sure there is lots of stuff I could write about - but I'm getting a bit blog-baffled.

So, I'm opening it up to you - this could be risky.

Ask me a question.
Any question.

Unless it is ridiculously incriminating (so no, I'm not going to tell you about any major crimes I have committed, nor the whereabouts of any corpses...) I'll answer it.

So, over to you.

Fire away.

I'm waiting....

A Means to an End

I've been considering my finances and in light of my direly straitened circumstances I have decided to be proactive.

I am not, however, considering prostitution (I'm under-qualified in that particular area. Mens' parts? *shudder* Ick Ick Ick...) although I suppose it would be one way to get some cash... & maybe a drug habit, some diseases and a range of assaults upon my person. Not that I want any of those particularly. It would be something to talk about at dinner parties, I suppose. Ho hum...

Instead I am trying desperately to sell some stuff: to whit, an electric guitar, a violin, an oboe, some computer games, and possibly a couple of dodgy old mobile phones I have knocking about in a drawer somewhere. I'm not yet selling my accordion. It's not that I am loath to part with it that deters its sale so much as the fact it smells like a dead man. A very sweaty dead man. A unique selling point, you might agree, but not a good one.

If you know of anyone who might like to part cash for any of the above, let me know - I will kiss your hems and tug my forelock in obsequious gratitude...

Of course, if the DWP had got their collective arses in gear and actually processed my JSA claim a month ago, my finances would merely be grim rather than dire. Come to think of it, if my former employer had paid me for the work I'd done, I wouldn't be quite so mired in shite either. It is cold comfort to know that I have a couple of hundred measly quid coming my way when rent and bills are due and I need a new set of clippers in order to continue to save money by cutting my own hair...

Anyone want to buy a kidney? Anyone?

Happy New...er...

Well, Hogmanay was something of a damp squib this year. Actually, it was a sopping wet, gale-ridden, torrentially pissed-on squib. I'm rather glad it was celebrated chez Gripes with a Scotch and Wry DVD and a mug of hot chocolate. I can't quite imagine ever wanting to wander into Princes Street to throng among the multitudes, gradually getting colder and needing to pee while drunks go in for a tongue sarnie at midnight. Not that that was even an option this year - Princes Street got cleared while the rain fell horizontally... I did feel a little sorry for those who had travelled across oceans of time/the world to "experience" Hogmanay Scottish-style - but only briefly: after all, isn't part of the whole Scottish experience about getting cold, wet and disappointed?

Anyhow, one of the wannabe revellers was an old schoolfriend. We met up for a pint or two and exchanged tales of ye olde Norwich City FC and other stuff. We haven't seen each other in about 17 years and apart from getting older, rounder and with both more and less hair in various places, he was exactly as I remembered him, only older. It was good to see the old bugger (he was the first boy I ever kissed - well, apart from Glenn Forbes in Primary School, but that really doesn't count...) and good to hear that life was treating him well. It was also good to hear someone speak so lovingly about Norfolk. I miss Norfolk and to be reminded of its culture (yes, it has culture!) landscape and people was a good kind of nostalgia. I also got to meet his wife and friends - who were also good folk- and got told the "romantic" version of how they met, which was typically self-deprecating and gallant. I hope we keep in touch a little better in the future, its good to know someone so grounded and rooted.

In other "news" I start the year broke. Church mice might be tempted to leave me donations. There has been a fuck-up with my benefits payments and god alone knows when I might be getting money into my account. Ho hum. *applies for dog-on-string and begging hat/blanket combo*

Oh yes - and This Life +10. *sigh* As much as it was good to see the old crew back together, I did feel a sense of disappointment. It wasn't crap per se, just less snappy and somehow less "true" than the original series. Or maybe I didn't relate to it as well as I did in the 90s (I'm far less successful and affluent for a start...and my character has developed since then, even if theirs hasn't.) And for fuck's sake - there is no way that Egg would be a best-selling author! "Ooh, let's all rush out and buy a book about selfish, shagging lawyers" let alone one that would garner enough interest to warrant a documentary. But that's fiction for you. Hmm...

Happy New Year folks, should that be what you're after!

Happy Birthday, Sis!

Today is my big sis's birthday. In my recollection, I have never bought her a joint Christmas and birthday present: her birthday is to be celebrated, Christmas is just an "occasion". This seems only right to me.

This year, I fell victim to the vagaries of the Royal Mail: her pressie wasn't delivered to me - and therefore hasn't been sent to her yet, either. Being gallant, she hasn't made a big deal of this and claims that it will mean she can "defer gratification" until later. This is most typical of my sister: she really isn't comfortable tugging at anyone else's guilt strings.

I did manage to send her a card, though. In it I wrote, "You are my inspiration." I mean it, but maybe I should explain what I mean...

When I was a small child, my sister was often given the responsibility of looking after me. Not just the way that older siblings are asked to "look after" younger brothers and sisters, but real responsibility for giving care. I can't remember a single occasion when she complained. No doubt there were times she felt aggrieved, but she didn't express it to me: it wasn't my fault, after all. Not only did I grow up secure in the knowledge that my sister loved and cared about me, but also I learnt not to "pass the blame down" to those who aren't responsible for their situation and to take responsibility for those who are helpless. Not in a saccharine or condescending way, but in a way that is practical, pragmatic and principled.

As she got older, she got more politically aware. She would sent me letters and postcards from college, some just chatter about things she had seen and done, some with leaflets and explanations of issues she was involved in. From this political awakening, it inspired me to join the Anti-Apartheid Movement and CND when I was of an age to have my own opinions and had the passion to want to change things that were unjust. I still have that passion. So does she.

I am enormously proud of the desire my sister has for wanting to change and improve people's lives. Her grassroots work with the Labour Party has definitely changed the lives of the individuals who have met her: she is fearsome when she speaks on behalf of others (and exasperatingly modest about it) and is principled and informed when she does. Her teaching has also affected the lives of many: children, parents and other professionals all have benefited from her passion for education to transform lives, enabling and empowering individuals to fulfil their potential. If I were half the teacher she is, I would be more than satisfied.

More recently, my sister has been a huge emotional support for me. She hasn't just listened and given blind sympathy or meaningless platitudes, she has given me constructive criticism (much needed), a warm and welcome place to seek refuge, practical and rational advice - and however panicked or concerned she has been about my welfare, she has remained calm and level-headed, whatever the crisis. I try to do the same, to be non-judgemental, practical and supportive. I might not always succeed, but I strive.

Don't get me wrong, she hasn't been a saint, she has a "past" and indeed a life, but she has always been there for me, regardless of distance, and she is always there for others, impassioned, informed and empowering.

Happy birthday, sis - I love you and I am proud of you.

And in other news...

OK, another interview, another rejection letter. This time it was a really positive one. Still not a job, though... Ho hum. There's always the new year job splurge, I suppose. I'm no numpty - I'm an employee worth having, I just need a break. And some cash.

Oh yes - and I haven't been paid for the work I did last month, neither has my benefit claim been processed (and won't be until I get a payslip: see the catch 22 there?) so Christmas is going to be frugal. So much so, I've sent my sister an IOU for Christmas. Ho and again hum.

All the same, I'm feeling optimistic, chipper even. I'm looking forward to the new year - all the new experiences, challenges, pains and pleasures to come. Every day is different. Every year is different. New people, new places, new life. From today onwards, the days get longer again, the sun slowly returns. Even if Winter's bleakness is yet to show its full force, Spring really is edging closer and closer.

I don't feel "Christmassy" - and there's no pressure to be so, I suppose. But if you are - or even if you don't - I wish you peace, happiness and comfort in the everyday things that make you smile or think.

(I'm not sure how much I'll be blogging over Christmas- but whatever you are doing, wherever you are and whoever you are with, remember it is just a day, and every day is precious... Although if that makes you feel nauseous- remember every day is there to fuck you over and you have to keep your eyes peeled and your nerves razor sharp - Christmas is no different. Better?)

What Cameron Diaz will be getting for Christmas....

Griping...

I'll get the good bit over first: going to Wales was a good break away; Theo remains lovely *sigh*; my flat is reasonably warm and cosy; I might bake some scones later and will definitely make a chilli for dinner.

Now for the griping...

• I didn't get the job. My presentation was OK, I interviewed well, I just didn't get the job.
  
  
• I have what could well be the beginnings of a cold (possible cause: getting drenched on Talacre beach in the pissing rain, chucking a fetch-toy for four boisterous collies - fun! - and not really getting warm for a few hours... then meeting "locals" of various types in the spit and sawdust pub where our party got soundly whupped at pool by Manc-lads who may or may not have been diseased - it was hard to tell, their speaking voices were so nasal...)
  
  
• My mobile phone is on the fritz: it works ok for calls, texts etc - but I can't connect to my PC to upload images. I've fiddled with the drivers, re-installed the damn thing from scratch, but it is buggered. Thus no pics of aforementioned collies frisking in the surf.
  
  
• The pressie I ordered from t'internet for my sister's birthday hasn't arrived. I ordered it on the 5th... I now need to report it missing officially in order that it can get re-despatched. It won't arrive in time for my sis's birthday...
  
  
• I'm sick to the tits of all this Christmas family togetherness nonsense. I have my sister and bro-in-law and that's it. I can't afford to fly down to see them - and to be honest I wouldn't fancy Christmas at my sister's in-laws' place: it sounds like organised chaos - and I'm not exactly festive anyway... But if I see another smug, tinsel-tinged, glittery, schmaltzy "how to have a brilliant Christmas and feast on flesh of rare beasts/spend a gazillion on tat/be smugger than Colin and Justin" I might just immolate myself with the nearest lit Yule log... (Theo and I are having an anti-Christmas, incidentally - we might make a concession to the festive feasting and have a mince pie, but that's the extent of it...)
  
  
• Oh, and I'm missing being around Theo. I know she has to go to work (poor wee soul) and that seeing me every day would probably get on her nerves, but I'm missing her all the same...

*sigh*

Hwyl fawr am y tro!

Theo and I are off for a brief break on the cheap (extremely- I'm broke. Christmas is cancelled until my tiny pay cheque arrives!) staying with one of her friends.

A visit to "Rockworld" has been mentioned - as a confirmed folky, this is of course a terrifying prospect... But then again, it could be worse: it could be a jazz club!

I'm looking forward to the time away - mainly to spend more time with Theo, but also in order that I can look forward to returning to Edinburgh. A bit like at Festival time, Edinburgh gets drainingly busy when it puts on its gladrags, and if you are immersed in it it too often becomes somewhat overwhelming. Coming back with a new perspective having cleared out the gaudy festive fug is just what's needed!

Er, the image above has nothing to do with the trip, by the way - I just like Banksy's stuff!

Incidentally, I have prepared a presentation for my interview - part of it based on this BBC News article, like, yeah, but no, but.... whatever! *fiddles with mobile phone* It's an improvement on 10 minutes of silence, anyway.

Presentation Tense...

Oh bugger.

I've got an interview for a job I actually want.
Part of the interview requires a presentation of ten minutes on a subject about which I know.
For some reason I am four slides in and my mind has gone blank. Ironically, the presentation is about "communication".

"
!
?
. ..."

Yes. Quite.

Once, a long time ago in the mists of time long before PowerPoint became de rigeur, I had to assess students oral presentations for English GCSE. Being a trained drama teacher, my colleagues were most happy to "volunteer" me to assess the entire Year 11. Ah happy days... Over 100 students related to me their tales of "An even that changed my life", "Why Sega is Best", "My Sporting Hero" etc...

One presentation stood out from the rest. A red faced, feisty, fists-clenched girl - who most of the time looked like a belligerent ham in a frock- stood up and stomped her way to the front of the classroom. In front of her fellow students she bellowed, " My presentation is about silence and how it is very important. So you can get the best idea of how important silence is I will now remain silent for three minutes."

And she did.

She stared at the class who giggled nervously in front of her. After a while, the giggling stopped. The silence was thicker than fog and more opaque. She didn't so much as twitch or flicker an eye. She remained impassive. Her face nearly purpled with the effort, but she didn't say a word. Three minutes exactly passed before she cleared her throat and said a final, "Thank you." She strode back to her seat leaving a palpable ripple in the still silent classroom.

I would love to say that I passed her - but I didn't. Although she communicated perfectly well her contempt for the task, she didn't fulfil the rigid criteria set down by the exam board. If I could have passed her, I would though. She was by far the most effective communicator of the entire fortnight.

Somehow I don't think her tactic will work with the interview panel either.
But it certainly is tempting.

JobCentre Pus

I knew it would be bad - I just wasn't prepared for how bad.

Don't get me wrong - the "customer service advisers" were politeness itself, even though I'd arrived 10 minutes late due to a school party of infants stampeding onto my bus and the teacher in charge not letting the bus go until he had done a thorough head count. Twice. Even the bouncers on the door (yes, they now have "door supervisors" at the dole office) were polite. Politeness is scoring highly at the new improved JobCentrePlus.

No, the thing that made it bad was that the customer service centre in Dundee had allocated me to the wrong JobCentre. I sat around while a gaggle of advisers debated what to do for something nearing an hour before I was seen by yet another advisor (who looked a little like Shrek's less good-looking sister) who regretted to inform me that they couldn't process my claim in the city centre due to their being too busy. I would have to have another appointment made for me at the JobCentre in Leith. They wouldn't be able to see me today, obviously. I will now have to make a journey to my new JobCentre on Monday. Oh good.

It could have been worse - it could have been on one of the days I will be away - but it could be better too. It's now unlikely that I will receive any money at all until after Christmas - seems they also need my current payslip, which I won't receive until December 20th- and they cannot process the claim until I have handed it over. I'm hoping I get a job before then. Really hoping. You have no idea how much hoping I am doing.

Failing that, on Monday I shall take a book to read while waiting in the endless queue-and will be prepared to be sent to the JobCentre somewhere on Jupiter. Or Linlithgow, whichever is less pleasant, certainly.

Doctors and nurses, dole queues and curses

I hate going to see the doctor. I hate it so much I have postponed changing medical practice for as long as possible, however seeing as I need a new prescription for "happy pills" I thought it was about time I traipsed down to the local surgery to register.

As expected, I needed to see the Practice Nurse for a new patient review. Unexpectedly, it wasn't entirely a horrific experience. Apart from the insecurity felt from having to walk down the street with a vial of urine in my pocket, I wasn't made to feel overly anxious by the experience.

The nurse was warmly professional and listened, weighed, tested and tapped with an appropriate degree of professional interest. She neither quaked nor quailed when I told her I was, indeed, a lesbian (unlike a previous nurse who, when I was asked about my sexual history, raised her eyebrows so high that it looked as though she had visited Joan Rivers' plastic surgeon... ) She complimented me on my weight loss over the past couple of years. She even shrugged off my recent smoking lapses, pointing out I had quit before, I knew how to quit and I could access help to quit whenever I wanted it.

On leaving the surgery I made an appointment to see the doctor - an appointment was available for Monday morning: not in a fortnight's time, but this coming Monday! I'm hopeful that this medical practice will finally be one in which I feel comfortable to be a patient.

Tomorrow however I visit JobCentrePlus (now with added... "Plus!") I've signed-on before - it wasn't fun- so I pretty much know what to expect. Of course there are subtle differences from when I last wrote my name fortnightly for money: now, before attending a "Job Start Review" [incidentally, how can you review something before you've even attended? Just curious...] you have to be interviewed over the phone in order to prepare the greater part of your JobSeeker's Agreement. The phone call lasted 45 minutes.

I was called by a friendly, soothing-voiced Dundonian, based in a call-centre somewhere near the Tay (apparently). She asked the usual plethora of questions - she even ad-libbed a few quips and varied the tone of her voice in order to make the incessant, daft questions seem both more ridiculous and less dull- and the entire process wasn't entirely vile. I hate signing-on with a passion. I recognise it is a social safety-net and I am in economic freefall, but I still resent having to do it. I feel as though I am being judged as a failure in some way, that I should have a "successful" career, be using my qualifications to full effect and not languishing at the expense of the state. Of course, I've paid a fair bit of tax and a whack of National Insurance, so I suppose I'm just dipping into a bank that I've already paid into -but I still feel like shit.

Tomorrow no doubt I shall have to go over the questions again, do a pointless job search (not many colleges recruit through the JobCentre - with or without the "Plus" - neither do schools... nor many not-for-profit organisations... My career choices must be so very left-of centre. Err...) and get that familiar sinking feeling that I am doing something somewhat disappointing.

On the plus side, I might head back to the German Market and treat myself to a pricy German Sausage and Gluhwein lunch. Alternatively, I might just limp back home, scour the jobs pages and treat myself to something ridiculously tasty, artisan baked and yet reasonably priced from The Manna House...

Bowled Over....

Today was a bit shit. Last session with students. I made them scones. Say no more...

The weekend was pretty fab though! As well as going to the pictures (Stranger Than Fiction - recommended) and an evening stroll around the atmospheric German Market on Princes Street,Theo arranged for me to do something I'd never done before: we went bowling.

It might seem odd to some that I have never been bowling. Certainly, I have been to a bowling alley: in Coventry I once supervised a Year Seven outing *shudders at the memory* but due to being very professional (and afraid of being humiliated by a mess of 11 year olds) I refrained from bowling itself. There's even a family history of bowling - my mother was apparently an OK bowler - my sister's dad even had his own personalised bowling ball (there's something vaguely worrying about that, but I can't quite put my finger on it...) but I had never succumbed.

I was, I will admit, quietly excited by going bowling. Part of me felt as though a part of my childhood, or adolescence at the very least, was missing having never been bowling. The hideous cacophony of the bowling alley is strangely atmospheric: loud music, the rumble and clatter of the balls as they hurtle down the alley and crash into the pins, the chatter and buzz of meaningless conversations, the clink of glasses. It might seem commonplace, but it is nonetheless exciting. What made it even more exciting was being taken there as a date!

Luckily, Theo and I aren't competitive with each other - lucky for me certainly, as my bowling was as woeful as one would expect from a first time bowler - which made things even more fun. She tried to assist me with my bowling technique and I contented myself watching the way she shimmied as she let loose her cannoning shots. We also played air hockey and pool - and Theo even won things from the grabby thing (you know, the ones that stroke the toy you want before returning mechanically to their corner to mock one's ridiculous hope). I may have been a little mischievous in snatching the odd kiss here and there - and in front of heterosexuals, too *tut* - but it all added to the "replaying by re-gaying adolescence" experience. Sometimes its good to feel like a teenager!

As a consequence of our bowling trip, we did wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, we should organise a dykey bowling trip - something that might enhance the woeful lesbian scene in Edinburgh (where the choice would appear to be either the usual drinking and dancing, or bookgroups and football/basketball/cricket for a less sceney activity- all of which which are fine, if somewhat lacking in good old-fashioned fun...) - and give us a "grown-up" excuse to go bowling again, of course.

OMG

OMG. It is December.

How the fuck did that happen?

*Meh*

Yesterday was a day of two halves: the good bit was the evening...

The day was... odd.

Saying goodbye to classes you have only just got to know is wrenching. You can see potential, trust, enthusiasm... and you have to walk away.

Sod the money (well, no... I really need the money) I'll miss the people.

Anyhow, I popped my job app for a proper, albeit part-time, job in the college in the post this morning, I've a slew of other applications to fill in for various and nefarious jobs and I have to keep hoping/sign-on next week: I like my flat, I want to stay here longer even if it is a tad more pricy than I can afford to pay right now- and I like my life here...

Meh...