"Take a drink. Go on, take a drink"

It's no secret I have some problems when it comes to drinking. Somewhere along the line my "stop" button got broken and there have been times when I have had several drinks too far. I have had blackouts, found myself coming-to in places I have no recollection of choosing to go, sometimes with people I can't even remember meeting. I have lost hours, days. Once I found myself being hovered over by two paramedics: I was in a foetal position and yelling - drinking had released a traumatic memory and I had regressed to the age of around 8. I remember seeing my friends and flatmates looking pale and stunned, the paramedics very pissed off and all I felt was shame and confusion. The hangover the next day seemed like a welcome punishment - it was a pain I could understand- unlike the pain both numbed and released by drinking. My flatmates avoided me and my friends were almost painfully concerned. It was frightening.

Sure, I can drink "socially" perfectly safely (for example, I'm perfectly content having the odd one or two with Theo and I never feel as though there is any pressure to have "just one more...") and I have had some great boozy parties and softly winey evenings . I know that I need to steer clear of spirits in almost every shape and form, but I also have to be aware that one drink too far can take me further than I would ever want to go, particularly if I am feeling nervous, anxious, emotional or vulnerable in any way.

I can become frightening when drunk. Howlingly drunk isn't just a colourful phrase, it can be my reality. Self-pity overwhelms me, and I obliterate myself to get rid of it. Drink becomes a cushion between me and the world: I cancels me out so I am no longer there and don't have to feel the discomfort and fear. I am weak when it comes to drinking.

My workplace has a drinking culture. It's not unusual in frontline services working with the homeless - tough work leads to hard play, or something like that. I'm not convinced. I'm also somewhat alienated from the team-building drinks - I've avoided them on two different occasions, citing different excuses each time. I'm not sure how many more excuses I can come up with... So far this week all conversation has been focused on a leaving do that happened last Friday- the do I missed, very much deliberately. I was interrogated by a team member as to why I was absent. I had the handy "excuse" of both being on annual leave and recovering from a visit to the dental hospital, but I felt harassed and flustered - and angry that I should feel as though I needed an excuse to not turn up to something outside of work hours.

Even the thought of going out socially with my colleagues fills me with dread. I don't want to have to explain that I have a problem with binge drinking- and I don't feel comfortable enough with them to just have "one or two". I know I won't get "howlingly drunk" - but I don't want to feel the pressure that I should even get mildly inebriated. Drinking soft drinks isn't an option. Within the Scottish "take a drink" culture -particularly this organisation's "drink as play" culture- I might as well admit to murdering small fluffy animals as to preferring an orange juice. I'm worried that I won't be seen as part of the team unless I adopt the culture of the team (somehow ironic for an agency that does youth work and tries to empower young people to avoid peer pressure and to make healthier choices when it comes to drink and drugs) but I don't want to be part of a culture that damages me. I can't risk damaging myself for the sake of a job, regardless of how that decision affects how I will be perceived.

There is an "away day" coming up- a team-building "fun" away day that will inevitably end up with drinks. Attendance is obligatory - all work, all client visits, all shifts, stop for the day. I'm already dreading it- and I don't know how I will be able to get through it without taking a drink, or explaining just why I really would prefer not to.

A load of old ballots (and other stories)

Well, being a poll clerk was fun.

-Incompetent No. 1 Presiding Officer who couldn't even get the size of his trousers right let alone a ballot box, miserable old trout fellow poll clerk, ramming ballot papers into the poorly designed boxed with a 30cm ruler, 16 hour day with no breaks, confused old folk and ceaseless repetition of the new voting procedures notwithstanding.

Ok, so fun might be an overstatement, but it has certainly given me a huge insight into why the democratic system in this country is so...crappy. (The SNP really have got in by default, I would say - and one seat does not a resounding victory make, so stop looking so fucking smug Alex Salmond - you've completely pissed on Nicola Sturgeon's chips too, and you really shouldn't mess with her: she's feisty. Watch your back you greasy, power-hungry, toadfaced fuckwit *taps nose* I'll say no more.)

I have nothing but respect for the the older generation - however, if you didn't vote and yet you moan about how the country is going to hell in a handbasket, well, blame the pensioners! They turn out in droves, every single election while the younger generation stay at home or go to the pub. Mind you, a fair number of them were totally befuddled by the newfangled voting, so that might account for the 100squillion disregarded/spoilt ballot papers. They still outnumbered younger electors by at least 3:1 though... Something to think about, anyway...

Oh! And while clerking I spotted a horrific ghost from the past: Evil Bitch Colleague. She was the one who made a lot of whiny-wheedly noise and did fuck all, flirted and flashed her tits at the boss (-the straight line manager, not the gay director: that would have been redundant to say the least. Mind you, she was boyishly flat-chested without the help of a Wonderbra, so maybe it would have worked...But I digresss) and took all the glory for the grafting I did. Then she managed to do some emotional manipulating for good measure. We ended up almost hissing at each other in a very small office and even communicating via email was an effort. Not nice.

Anyhow, she was looking like shit and as though she was perhaps not doing as well as her crowing would have predicted. Heh. She was also voting Green*. Hippy.

In other news, the furry bun is quite binkytastic and well, ta. Less soft poo, too, which is a blessing.The BFV declared her a "bonny wee thing" then, with a whiskery roguish smile , proceeded to tell horrific tales of bunnies he'd encountered with myxomatosis while deftly administering an injection. I do like the BFV. Tales of bunny deaths notwithstanding (the moral of the story was actually about the importance of preventative treatments unless small furry tragedy were to ensue...) he cares. His surgery is also somewhat cleaner than the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary - a place I know all too well, alas.

I'm visiting the ERI again tomorrow, by the way. Seems that although my broken ankle has healed, I have a "mysterious unevenness" at the bottom of my fibula. ("Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls, doctor...") Once more, a few hours will be killed at the fracture clinic, where no doubt I will be met by a mustard-trousered orthopaedic registrar who will have that "whip the limb off - I haven't done a good amputation in ages" glint in his (and so far it has always been a "his"...) eye.

Anything else? Oh, probably. Theo and I have some pretty exciting news, but I'll sit on it for a while, if that's OK. And work is work. Picking up a bit. Actually getting to meet clients and "engage with young people" -which is the fun bit. The radio is pissing me off still. I downloaded some Chumbawamba onto my harddrive to distract me/give me hope. It works. "If they tell you you can't, then you can."

So true. So very true...


*Actually, the Greens have some reasonable policies/ideas - but appeal to folk in a "politics for people that don't like politics and/or soap" way. Which is not exactly what a modern political party should pander to, in my humble blah blah blah. I'm using it as a very specific form of abuse for this particular wishy washy waste of DNA- no offence meant to any other Greens ;-) I actually admire the politicking Robin Harper and Patrick Harvie have managed in allying with the SNP to form a minority government. Nice work! Er... Maybe I should shut up now...

Office Games

In the office at work where the youth team live there is a clapped out radio. It has a paperclip as an aerial and the CD lid is hinge-free. It spews out Real Radio all day. Occasionally, for a change, it plays Forth One.

If I hear Mika one more time I might go postal. As for Gwen Stefani, well, I've heard her wailing one too many time: she is not my favourite girl, so she's right there...

Anyway, whenever I am left in the office on my own I play a little game: I re-tune the radio to Classic FM.

Apart from finding it relaxing, inspirational, complex, mood enhancing stuff -usually without any niggling asinine words to distract me from putting together project descriptions, grant proposals, case-notes etc (and it doesn't help anyone when you are planning for a serious meeting with the high heid yins to have Take That's "Whine"-sorry- "Shine" running through your head)- it amuses me no end when someone else from the team does a double take and pulls the horrified, "oh no- Culture!" face.

OK, so they immediately re-tune the radio to something poppy, but I chalk it up as a small victory, nonetheless.

Little things... I know.

In other news, the Furry Baby Bun isn't entirely well. To be precise, she seems to have ISS (Intermittent Soft Stools) - a sort of bunny IBS, I suppose. Theo and I are both worried about the vast quantities of pappy poop she is passing, so we are taking her to be seen by the BFV (Big Friendly Vet). She is binkying and gnawing as normal, so we aren't yet scared for her life, but it is nonetheless worrying. It can be stressful being a parent...

(A brief return) Our Very Furry Baby

OK - in short...

1. Theo: increasingly/consistently lovely
2. Job: challenging
   
3. Trauma: recovering *I broke my ankle - ironically, on my way to accompany Theo to an emergency visit to the hospital... it's getting better, but I'm still walking with a limp...
4. Furry Baby: adorable

I am a very proud parent, apparently. I look extraordinarily pleased when she eats veg or hay. She's fearless, too- unphased by cats, loud noises, anything at all, really. And she doesn't shit all over the place, either... and just like her mummies, she is a born rug-muncher (admittedly, the furry one prefers the woolly things from IKEA, but all the same... )

I wasn't sure I was responsible enough to be a parent... I'm still not sure, but bless her little furry trousers and shoes, she makes me responsible, dammit!

If you are lucky, you might get an update pic from time to time. If you are unlucky, you might just get a wee whinge about work from me...

[Not sure about a regular return to blogging - I'm busy, maybe in another period of transition, maybe just busy...and no, I'm not being needlessly enigmatic, just playing my cards close to my chest...]

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.