Plane crash, what plane crash ?
On Friday I worked a rest day at Casualty Bureau, we had been asked up there to test a new phone system. The long and short of it was that with the volume of calls received by the Met during 7th July the phones went into meltdown and a new system was to be tested. It's always good to catch up with people when you've not worked together for a while and it was hello again to Andy and Lorraine but no sign of Ray - word is he may have been getting married that day ? Get in touch Ray - tell all my favourite Saggitarian.
Back to the reason for our gathering ... the idea to address the problem was to divert some calls to other Casualty Bureaux at Forces like West Yorkshire and West Midlands. We were separated into 2 groups, call-takers and call-makers. Call makers were to report an imaginary family member missing. Call takers were to take details of that person. The idea was to generate mucho telephone traffic to test the integrity of the system.
The scenario was a standard one ... a plane has crashed on to the A345, believed multiple fatalities. Sometimes in these scenarios, call-makers are asked to impersonate a distressed relative, to make the call that much more realistic to give the call taker practice. However on this occasion Grahame said no acting was required but there would be a script to work to.
And off we went.
Unfortunately the phones melted again and as I dialled the supposedly nationally appropriate number I was aware of the dial tone changing many times as the call wound it's way around the British Isles. Eventually a harassed-sounding female answered ...'Control Room' and I launched into my prepared spiel.
'Hello, I'd like to report my mother-in-law missing'
'Ok - in what circumstances ?'
'Oh', thinks I, someone who wants to do a little role-play 'fine by me'
'In the incident' I assert confidently.
'What incident ?' she asks.
'Ah - either she hasn't read her script or she's just trying to make things interesting'
So I decide to spell it out.
'You know, the plane crash on the A345 ?'
At this point things started to go awry.
She put her hand over her mic whilst shuffling papers and whispering urgently to someone,
I caught the words 'plane crash'
'Where exactly IS the A345 ?' she asks me next.
I decide a little clarification is in order.
'Where did you say I'm speaking to at the moment ?'
'You're through to the Force Control Room at Lincolnshire' she informs me.
Who don't have a Casualty Bureau and who are not taking part in our exercise.
It's at this point I should inform you this was the second wrongly directed call I had made to Lincolnshire. After the first one I fessed up & told them who I was and what had happened.
I'd like to report I was as brave second time around but I wasnt.
I hung up.
The mantra for Casualty Bureau is there are no problems, only challenges.
This was reflected in the de-brief during which Grahame & Dexy lisened to the moans & whinges. Grahame responded with 'It's good that it faled, there would be no point tessting a new system which worked perfectly and then fell over during a 'live' disaster.
And that's why I like working for these people.
Cx
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Thursday, May 04, 2006
No reason ...
other than I've been meaning to blog these for a while.
Justine, Malcolm & Brook who shows early signs of good taste.
Justine really likes this photo of her, in which she doesn't look like Malcolm's stalker.
Justine's Gloucester Old Spot piglets.
And Mum.
Ruby, aged 7 days, look Eric, baby Dexters ... ah.
Flame and champagne, doesn't get better than that.
Jazz piano mysteriously moved.
Spot the ball.
Cx
other than I've been meaning to blog these for a while.
Justine, Malcolm & Brook who shows early signs of good taste.
Justine really likes this photo of her, in which she doesn't look like Malcolm's stalker.
Justine's Gloucester Old Spot piglets.
And Mum.
Ruby, aged 7 days, look Eric, baby Dexters ... ah.
Flame and champagne, doesn't get better than that.
Jazz piano mysteriously moved.
Spot the ball.
Cx
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
'Whatsisname ?'
This is an exchange I heard yesterday at work whilst in the Control Room. The two parties were our Chief Inspector in charge of operations and the early turn Controller. The Controller is the person who organises the response to your 999 calls.
CI Ops ... Any word On David Cameron ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... David Cameron - he's on a walkabout in the town today, any word on how it's going ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops (speaking slowly now) Da-vid Ca-mer-on. You know - the politician.
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... Erm, the youngest ever leader of the Conservative party, you know the one who was voted the leader just recently ?
Controller ... Should I know who he is ?
CI Ops (Not sure if the last question is a joke) Erm, well, I suppose not really, if you don't have any interest in politics
Controller ... I don't have any interest in politics.
CI Ops ... Right. Ok, carry on ... erm.
Controller (to me some 5 minutes later ) Ooh look what the CI Ops has sent me ... it's a photo of that whatsisname.
Me ... (silence)
Cx
This is an exchange I heard yesterday at work whilst in the Control Room. The two parties were our Chief Inspector in charge of operations and the early turn Controller. The Controller is the person who organises the response to your 999 calls.
CI Ops ... Any word On David Cameron ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... David Cameron - he's on a walkabout in the town today, any word on how it's going ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops (speaking slowly now) Da-vid Ca-mer-on. You know - the politician.
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... Erm, the youngest ever leader of the Conservative party, you know the one who was voted the leader just recently ?
Controller ... Should I know who he is ?
CI Ops (Not sure if the last question is a joke) Erm, well, I suppose not really, if you don't have any interest in politics
Controller ... I don't have any interest in politics.
CI Ops ... Right. Ok, carry on ... erm.
Controller (to me some 5 minutes later ) Ooh look what the CI Ops has sent me ... it's a photo of that whatsisname.
Me ... (silence)
Cx
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Nessie found - in cornflake box !
My 6th apology goes to Eric Eastwood who went to the same primary school as I did.
I went to school one day with a small plastic Nessie which came in my cereal packet.
I managed to convince Eric that not only was she real but that she was due to have babies any day. She would have to lay her eggs in a very warm, safe place for them to hatch successfully.
Eric had very fine, strawberry blond hair.
The eggs were made from blu tac and I stuck them liberally throughout his hair whilst he sat still so as not to disrupt the babies or make Nessie angry.
Eric came to school next day looking like a hamster had chewed his hair.
Sorry, Eric.
My name is not Earl and I stuck blu tac in Eric Eastwood's hair, telling him it was Nessie eggs.
Cx
My 6th apology goes to Eric Eastwood who went to the same primary school as I did.
I went to school one day with a small plastic Nessie which came in my cereal packet.
I managed to convince Eric that not only was she real but that she was due to have babies any day. She would have to lay her eggs in a very warm, safe place for them to hatch successfully.
Eric had very fine, strawberry blond hair.
The eggs were made from blu tac and I stuck them liberally throughout his hair whilst he sat still so as not to disrupt the babies or make Nessie angry.
Eric came to school next day looking like a hamster had chewed his hair.
Sorry, Eric.
My name is not Earl and I stuck blu tac in Eric Eastwood's hair, telling him it was Nessie eggs.
Cx
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Hello, hello, helloooo ?
We thought we'd really arrived when we got our first telephone. It was a trimphone in two tone green & much fun was to be had. We soon discovered the combination of numbers required to make the phone ring, once you had replaced the handset.
Mum & Dad cottoned on pretty fast but not Granny.
We never tired of Granny answering the phone to no-one.
'Hello, hello, helloooo ?'
She's 91 today.
Happy Birthday.
My name is not Earl and I used to make my gran answer imaginary telephone calls.
Cx
We thought we'd really arrived when we got our first telephone. It was a trimphone in two tone green & much fun was to be had. We soon discovered the combination of numbers required to make the phone ring, once you had replaced the handset.
Mum & Dad cottoned on pretty fast but not Granny.
We never tired of Granny answering the phone to no-one.
'Hello, hello, helloooo ?'
She's 91 today.
Happy Birthday.
My name is not Earl and I used to make my gran answer imaginary telephone calls.
Cx
Monday, April 17, 2006
Boom! shake-shake-shake the room ... tick-tick-tick-tick Boom!
I've long held a fascination with all things incendiary.
When I was 13 I went to a lovely middle school in ***** where I was really happy.
I wondered what would happen if I left the gas taps on in the science block over the weekend.
So that's what I did.
I was interested to know if we would be transferred to another school if I razed mine to the ground.
I suspected not and thought we might get at least 2 weeks off school whilst relocation was organised.
The scool was still standing on Monday morning. I did consider asking all the staff if they had turned the gas taps off last thing Friday but thought they may consider this an odd question.
My name is not Earl and I tried to blow up my middle school.
Cx
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Ding dong bell, Pussy's in the well ...
er no, the upturned bath actually.
If someone asked you if I was an aminal lover you'd answer yes wouldn't you ?
If someone asked you if I would deliberately cause distress to say ... a kitten, you'd say no, wouldn't you ?
Wrong.
There was an older kid who lived on King Street called Peter Bolton.
Us younger kids used to go along with his daft ideas, because he was cool by virtue of the fact that he was older.
One of his ideas was to keep a little tabby kitten we found. She can't have been older than
8 weeks. We put her overnight under an upturned tin bath in a nearby car scrapyard so
that she'd be there in the morning. It didn't occur to me that we shouldn't, just that it would be nice to have our own kitten.
In the early evening two distraught young women came knocking door to door asking after their kitten and faced with their distress I had to lead them to where the poor creature was incarcerated.
I was subsequently excluded from the gang as punishment.
My name is not Earl and I trapped a kitten under a tin bath.
Cx
ps Angie - you don't have to come here any more if you don't want to.
er no, the upturned bath actually.
If someone asked you if I was an aminal lover you'd answer yes wouldn't you ?
If someone asked you if I would deliberately cause distress to say ... a kitten, you'd say no, wouldn't you ?
Wrong.
There was an older kid who lived on King Street called Peter Bolton.
Us younger kids used to go along with his daft ideas, because he was cool by virtue of the fact that he was older.
One of his ideas was to keep a little tabby kitten we found. She can't have been older than
8 weeks. We put her overnight under an upturned tin bath in a nearby car scrapyard so
that she'd be there in the morning. It didn't occur to me that we shouldn't, just that it would be nice to have our own kitten.
In the early evening two distraught young women came knocking door to door asking after their kitten and faced with their distress I had to lead them to where the poor creature was incarcerated.
I was subsequently excluded from the gang as punishment.
My name is not Earl and I trapped a kitten under a tin bath.
Cx
ps Angie - you don't have to come here any more if you don't want to.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
And this little piggy went ...
The second of my admitted offences was against my brother.
There is a four year age gap between us and I was about 5 at the time.
Please bear that in mind and don't think too badly of me.
I had a collection of plastic bricks which slotted into a cart in wheels.
When my brother happened along, my folks bought him a wooden set. They were, in my eyes, infinitely superior, partly because they were wooden and partly because his cart had a handle on one end with which to push the cart.
As I saw it, the difference between the plastic bricks and the wooden ones directly equated to how much more my parents loved my brother.
I needed to do something which would display my upset with my parents and my contempt for my brother.
It was obvious.
My name is not Earl and I peed over my 1 year old brother's wooden blocks.
Stick around, there's loads more to come.
Cx
The second of my admitted offences was against my brother.
There is a four year age gap between us and I was about 5 at the time.
Please bear that in mind and don't think too badly of me.
I had a collection of plastic bricks which slotted into a cart in wheels.
When my brother happened along, my folks bought him a wooden set. They were, in my eyes, infinitely superior, partly because they were wooden and partly because his cart had a handle on one end with which to push the cart.
As I saw it, the difference between the plastic bricks and the wooden ones directly equated to how much more my parents loved my brother.
I needed to do something which would display my upset with my parents and my contempt for my brother.
It was obvious.
My name is not Earl and I peed over my 1 year old brother's wooden blocks.
Stick around, there's loads more to come.
Cx
Friday, April 14, 2006
My name is not Earl
Only Murray and the Tanners need to read the following bit. There is a programme on Channel 4 at the moment called 'My name is Earl'. Earl re-visits all the crimes he has committed and tries to redeem himself by 'undoing' them. It got me to thinking about the bad things I've done.
In the spirit of Earl, I thought if I own up to them now I may get some respite from my pricking conscience. This has nothing to do with the fact that Mummeh has limited internet access at the moment.
As you may have gathered my first admitted crime was against Mummeh.
When I was very young Mummeh used to serve porridge on Winter mornings. I hated porridge. It made me retch, gip and heave. None of this cut any ice with Mummeh who quite rightly explained that I had to eat what was put in front of me. I really didn't want to leave the porridge. Leaving it made for a worse outcome. If you left your porridge at breakfast time it would be re-served cold, solid and unyielding at tea time when the rest of the family were eating a hot meal.
Eventually I hit upon a solution for the porridge. I couldn't put it in the bin as it would be detected there but I could scrape it into my wellies. Which is what I did, planning to empty the wellies at a later date.
I forgot of course, right up to the first wet day when I had to wear my wellies to school.
As I put my foot in my first welly I wondered what it was squeezing through my toes. Even once I had realised I just had to brazen it out as Mummeh was in the kitchen.
At school I withdrew my feet to find they were encased in green, furry porridge.
My refusal to explain to the teacher what had happened (I thought she might tell Mummeh) ensured that I spent a Winter's day at school in bare feet with the prospect of putting the socks and wellies on again at the end of the day.
My name is not Earl and I used to hide my porridge in my wellies.
Cx
Only Murray and the Tanners need to read the following bit. There is a programme on Channel 4 at the moment called 'My name is Earl'. Earl re-visits all the crimes he has committed and tries to redeem himself by 'undoing' them. It got me to thinking about the bad things I've done.
In the spirit of Earl, I thought if I own up to them now I may get some respite from my pricking conscience. This has nothing to do with the fact that Mummeh has limited internet access at the moment.
As you may have gathered my first admitted crime was against Mummeh.
When I was very young Mummeh used to serve porridge on Winter mornings. I hated porridge. It made me retch, gip and heave. None of this cut any ice with Mummeh who quite rightly explained that I had to eat what was put in front of me. I really didn't want to leave the porridge. Leaving it made for a worse outcome. If you left your porridge at breakfast time it would be re-served cold, solid and unyielding at tea time when the rest of the family were eating a hot meal.
Eventually I hit upon a solution for the porridge. I couldn't put it in the bin as it would be detected there but I could scrape it into my wellies. Which is what I did, planning to empty the wellies at a later date.
I forgot of course, right up to the first wet day when I had to wear my wellies to school.
As I put my foot in my first welly I wondered what it was squeezing through my toes. Even once I had realised I just had to brazen it out as Mummeh was in the kitchen.
At school I withdrew my feet to find they were encased in green, furry porridge.
My refusal to explain to the teacher what had happened (I thought she might tell Mummeh) ensured that I spent a Winter's day at school in bare feet with the prospect of putting the socks and wellies on again at the end of the day.
My name is not Earl and I used to hide my porridge in my wellies.
Cx
Monday, April 10, 2006
'You are behaving in an un-shopping lke fashion...'
I promise the tale I am about to relate contains no exaggeration.
When I go shopping with Milky he likes to pretend to be my arms. By this I mean I will be standing with my own arms by my sides whilst he feeds his through my armpits and pretends his manically flapping appendages are mine. I am often to be found in front of a chiller cabinet pondering the merits of tuna versus haddock whilst my limbs appear to gesticulate wildly to the consternation of other shoppers.
Today it was whilst in this position that I heard the arch enquiry ...
'Do you think other shoppers could get in ?'
I turned to see a harridan, shrivelled and bent over her trolley, casting her gimlet eye over me.
I very seldom stand up for myself but I'm on my third early turn and was feeling 'that way out' as Yorkshire folk put it.
'I don't know - how about you ask politely ?' I heard myself say.
I don't think she was used to be answered back, the solid mass of lacquered hair tilted back in one quivering movement as her eyebrows shot up her face in surprise.
'Well, you're behaving in an un-shopping like fashion' she spat.
'I do apologise for enjoying myself in the supermarket' I was quite enjoying the exchange by now.
She looked to the shopper to her left, who was very openly enjoying the conversation, drew herself up to her full height and said in the tones of Lady Bracknell
'There is a place for enjoying oneself and it is not the supermarket'
Later on during the shopping Milky found an ale rejoicing in the name 'Bitter and Twisted' and had to be restrained from slipping it into her trolley.
Cx
I promise the tale I am about to relate contains no exaggeration.
When I go shopping with Milky he likes to pretend to be my arms. By this I mean I will be standing with my own arms by my sides whilst he feeds his through my armpits and pretends his manically flapping appendages are mine. I am often to be found in front of a chiller cabinet pondering the merits of tuna versus haddock whilst my limbs appear to gesticulate wildly to the consternation of other shoppers.
Today it was whilst in this position that I heard the arch enquiry ...
'Do you think other shoppers could get in ?'
I turned to see a harridan, shrivelled and bent over her trolley, casting her gimlet eye over me.
I very seldom stand up for myself but I'm on my third early turn and was feeling 'that way out' as Yorkshire folk put it.
'I don't know - how about you ask politely ?' I heard myself say.
I don't think she was used to be answered back, the solid mass of lacquered hair tilted back in one quivering movement as her eyebrows shot up her face in surprise.
'Well, you're behaving in an un-shopping like fashion' she spat.
'I do apologise for enjoying myself in the supermarket' I was quite enjoying the exchange by now.
She looked to the shopper to her left, who was very openly enjoying the conversation, drew herself up to her full height and said in the tones of Lady Bracknell
'There is a place for enjoying oneself and it is not the supermarket'
Later on during the shopping Milky found an ale rejoicing in the name 'Bitter and Twisted' and had to be restrained from slipping it into her trolley.
Cx
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Leave it out ...
It's April and the Met has just cancelled everyone's rest days over Christmas & New Year
due to the last day of Hajj also falling on New Year's Eve.
Happy Christmas from the Met.
Only those who had the foresight to book their Xmas in February are spared
All being well, I move on the 1st June, photos to follow.
MTM you'll have to drop the homeless jokes.
Eric, the suspense is killing me ... you know I'm rubbish with surprises.
Cx
It's April and the Met has just cancelled everyone's rest days over Christmas & New Year
due to the last day of Hajj also falling on New Year's Eve.
Happy Christmas from the Met.
Only those who had the foresight to book their Xmas in February are spared
All being well, I move on the 1st June, photos to follow.
MTM you'll have to drop the homeless jokes.
Eric, the suspense is killing me ... you know I'm rubbish with surprises.
Cx
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
The BBC means the licence fee is worth every single penny ...
... that's what I'd think if I paid it anyway.
Just as Murray is encouraging us to get rid of tv's the Beeb plays a blinder and dishes up 2 compelling programmes.
The first is 'Planet Earth', a series which defies description.
The photography is wonderful & each one has had me mesmerised.
They are presented by, who else ? - David Attenborough.
I dread the day of his passing as no-one else comes close.
The second programme was as if someone had asked me all my favourite things
and combined them for an hour of educational, erudite and enlightening tv.
It was Ray Mears in New Zealand, featuring Mt Cook and it just doesn't
come better than that. I've long admired Mr Mears, not only for his considerable
survival skills and the relxed and informal way he shares his knowledge but also
for his easy-going manner which endears him to all he meets.
I would give a lot for just a little of his social ease.
Ray was unsurprisingly lyrical about New Zealand, as he said, it has everything anyone who
appreciates the outdoors could want. For good measure there was a mountain survival story
thrown in too. It featured 2 very experienced climbers who set out to climb Mt Cook some 19 years ago. Both were trapped by storms near the summit for 13 days. There were only brief windows in the weather when a rescue attempt was feasible. During one of these a helicopter looking for them crashed, fortunately sparing all the crew. During another 'safe spell' a light aircraft dropped supplies, including a stove to boil snow for water, sleeping bags, radios and emergency rations.
Their rescue was by means of a helicopter dangling them 20 metres below the craft on a rigid stretcher. They were the first to be recued in this manner, the slopes of Cook being too unpredictable for the chopper to put down.
Both were badly frostbitten and lost both legs from the knee down.
Ray met one of the climbers who successfully climbed Cook 19 years later on prosthetic legs. My admiration knows no bounds for a person like this.
Fat parrots
I've also been scratching my NZ itch by reading a book called 'Last Chance to See' by Mark Carwardine and Douglas Adams. It features a trip to NZ to search for the flightless kakapo, a fat parrot native to NZ. Kakapos once became so rare their numbers dropped to 46.
Thanks to these people, their future looks a little less tenuous now with a current tally of 86 birds.
As someone who will cheerfully admit to never understanding the humour of ' The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy' I wasn't looking forward to reading Douglas Adams. However the book came recommended so I gave it a crack. I finally appreciate his writing, sad, given that he's no longer with us. 'Last Chance to See' is laugh out loud funny, very few books can claim that.
I 've been reading it late at night, sniggering into my pillow to stifle my laughter.
I won't do it justice but one of the passages, discussing the kakapo goes something like this.
'Not only has the kakapo forgotten how to fly, it has also forgotten that it's forgotten how to fly, with the unfortunate consequence that when approached by a predator it will take to a tree, climb into it and launch itself from an uppermost branch, only to land in a heap of feathers nearer to the predator than when it began.'
Work - Keep your counsel ?
Q : You are selected with 12 other 'volunteers' to meet your head honcho. You are disillusioned with their mangement style.
Do you ...
a) Go along and do 'Operation nod & smile' biting your tongue for the sake of yours (and your line manager's) jobs
or do you
b) Say what you really think, knowing that you work in an open, inclusive, blame-free environment, always open to new suggestions.
I picked ...
c) Say you don't want to go at all, on the grounds that it would be immoral to do a) and professional suicide to do b)
I explained my quandary to my new line manager who agreed to write me a sick-note. Option c) does come with a proviso ... if anyone asks why I'm not keen to attend, I will stand up and be counted. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow, I'll let you know what happens.
Aminals
Today was Milky's choice of day out and he played a blinder suggesting Bocketts Farm. Bocketts has long been a favourite of mine and although one attracts odd looks when not towing ankle-biters, it's worth the embarrassment for the wealth of aminals. We petted baby lambs, 2 day old kids (the hairy, cute variety) goats, sheep and donkeys.
I confided to Milky that when I was growed-up & owned a donkey it would be called 'Ambrose', when he asked why, I replied 'after Curtly Ambrose.' Unfortunately the joke fell flat as Milky was unaware of one of the most lethal bowlers of the last 20 years.
We patted the ponies, were spat at by llamas, admired the peacock and sympathised with the farm dog who was a little too keen to work and was locked away for his troubles. In short, if it stayed still we either petted it or fed it. The day ended with a cream tea in the gorgeous vaulted barn. No photos sadly, as neither camera was charged.
Home
Discovered today that the flat is to be sold. My flat-mate has been offered a job in Oz and leaves in August. This got the landlords to thinking about their options and they've plumped for a quick sale which gives me 2 months. I have a potential bolt-hole organised but don't want to jinx it by saying where at the moment. It's green though :0)
Spring ...
has finally sprung and not before time, it's been an Arctic February. Without warning the forsythia's out so that means everything's going to be alright. The clocks went forward on Sunday too and you know what that means - more time to ride neddies after early turn. It's light until 1830 now.
A couple of days ago ...
Milky's annual leave was authorised. Mine was ok'd about 2 weeks ago. This means we both have the whole of December off. I have no intention of working Christmas or New Year as we did last year so we thought we'd treat ourselves to December in New Zealand. The cottage at Cedar Lodge is reserved. See you soon The Tanners.
Cx
... that's what I'd think if I paid it anyway.
Just as Murray is encouraging us to get rid of tv's the Beeb plays a blinder and dishes up 2 compelling programmes.
The first is 'Planet Earth', a series which defies description.
The photography is wonderful & each one has had me mesmerised.
They are presented by, who else ? - David Attenborough.
I dread the day of his passing as no-one else comes close.
The second programme was as if someone had asked me all my favourite things
and combined them for an hour of educational, erudite and enlightening tv.
It was Ray Mears in New Zealand, featuring Mt Cook and it just doesn't
come better than that. I've long admired Mr Mears, not only for his considerable
survival skills and the relxed and informal way he shares his knowledge but also
for his easy-going manner which endears him to all he meets.
I would give a lot for just a little of his social ease.
Ray was unsurprisingly lyrical about New Zealand, as he said, it has everything anyone who
appreciates the outdoors could want. For good measure there was a mountain survival story
thrown in too. It featured 2 very experienced climbers who set out to climb Mt Cook some 19 years ago. Both were trapped by storms near the summit for 13 days. There were only brief windows in the weather when a rescue attempt was feasible. During one of these a helicopter looking for them crashed, fortunately sparing all the crew. During another 'safe spell' a light aircraft dropped supplies, including a stove to boil snow for water, sleeping bags, radios and emergency rations.
Their rescue was by means of a helicopter dangling them 20 metres below the craft on a rigid stretcher. They were the first to be recued in this manner, the slopes of Cook being too unpredictable for the chopper to put down.
Both were badly frostbitten and lost both legs from the knee down.
Ray met one of the climbers who successfully climbed Cook 19 years later on prosthetic legs. My admiration knows no bounds for a person like this.
Fat parrots
I've also been scratching my NZ itch by reading a book called 'Last Chance to See' by Mark Carwardine and Douglas Adams. It features a trip to NZ to search for the flightless kakapo, a fat parrot native to NZ. Kakapos once became so rare their numbers dropped to 46.
Thanks to these people, their future looks a little less tenuous now with a current tally of 86 birds.
As someone who will cheerfully admit to never understanding the humour of ' The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy' I wasn't looking forward to reading Douglas Adams. However the book came recommended so I gave it a crack. I finally appreciate his writing, sad, given that he's no longer with us. 'Last Chance to See' is laugh out loud funny, very few books can claim that.
I 've been reading it late at night, sniggering into my pillow to stifle my laughter.
I won't do it justice but one of the passages, discussing the kakapo goes something like this.
'Not only has the kakapo forgotten how to fly, it has also forgotten that it's forgotten how to fly, with the unfortunate consequence that when approached by a predator it will take to a tree, climb into it and launch itself from an uppermost branch, only to land in a heap of feathers nearer to the predator than when it began.'
Work - Keep your counsel ?
Q : You are selected with 12 other 'volunteers' to meet your head honcho. You are disillusioned with their mangement style.
Do you ...
a) Go along and do 'Operation nod & smile' biting your tongue for the sake of yours (and your line manager's) jobs
or do you
b) Say what you really think, knowing that you work in an open, inclusive, blame-free environment, always open to new suggestions.
I picked ...
c) Say you don't want to go at all, on the grounds that it would be immoral to do a) and professional suicide to do b)
I explained my quandary to my new line manager who agreed to write me a sick-note. Option c) does come with a proviso ... if anyone asks why I'm not keen to attend, I will stand up and be counted. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow, I'll let you know what happens.
Aminals
Today was Milky's choice of day out and he played a blinder suggesting Bocketts Farm. Bocketts has long been a favourite of mine and although one attracts odd looks when not towing ankle-biters, it's worth the embarrassment for the wealth of aminals. We petted baby lambs, 2 day old kids (the hairy, cute variety) goats, sheep and donkeys.
I confided to Milky that when I was growed-up & owned a donkey it would be called 'Ambrose', when he asked why, I replied 'after Curtly Ambrose.' Unfortunately the joke fell flat as Milky was unaware of one of the most lethal bowlers of the last 20 years.
We patted the ponies, were spat at by llamas, admired the peacock and sympathised with the farm dog who was a little too keen to work and was locked away for his troubles. In short, if it stayed still we either petted it or fed it. The day ended with a cream tea in the gorgeous vaulted barn. No photos sadly, as neither camera was charged.
Home
Discovered today that the flat is to be sold. My flat-mate has been offered a job in Oz and leaves in August. This got the landlords to thinking about their options and they've plumped for a quick sale which gives me 2 months. I have a potential bolt-hole organised but don't want to jinx it by saying where at the moment. It's green though :0)
Spring ...
has finally sprung and not before time, it's been an Arctic February. Without warning the forsythia's out so that means everything's going to be alright. The clocks went forward on Sunday too and you know what that means - more time to ride neddies after early turn. It's light until 1830 now.
A couple of days ago ...
Milky's annual leave was authorised. Mine was ok'd about 2 weeks ago. This means we both have the whole of December off. I have no intention of working Christmas or New Year as we did last year so we thought we'd treat ourselves to December in New Zealand. The cottage at Cedar Lodge is reserved. See you soon The Tanners.
Cx
Friday, March 24, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Outdoors and equilibrium.
Thank you for all your sensible and kind messages of support they really cheered me up.
I'm sorry this post has taken so long, it's been a bit of a trial trying to find enough time to do justice to it.
As I had already posted, I was pretty fed up in the run-up to this break and wishing I felt in more of a holiday mood. I usually really enjoy work but knew I needed to get away for a while.
I was surprised to realise that as a frequent Lakes visitor, I had never been in February before. It was with a sense of wonder that I noted the sugar dusted tops of the Lakeland mountains from my vantage point of the M6. I can’t explain why but snow & ice are becoming more and more magnetic for me. I felt the same way when I arrived at the Franz Joseph glacier in NZ, totally choked and very at home. I’m becoming a winter person.
I love those last few miles from between Junction 36 & Junction 40, where the land takes a very definite turn in character. The easy curves of the Pennines give way to the sharp geometry of the Lakes. By the time I reach the A66, everything feels better.
As we drove into the village, it only improved. Someone, knowing my prediliction for snowdrops, had arranged swathes of them on every bank.
Someone likes walking if they've got three of these.
Home ... if only for a week.
After arriving at an immaculate cottage, offering freshly baked cake and flowers, we unpacked & went exploring in Whinlatter. There was only time for an hour's walk to stretch our legs before dusk but with plans to do several testing walks during the week, taking it easy seemed a sensible option.
One for Murray who enjoys a good fence post.
The view on the first morning.
After a wonderful night of perfectly silent sleep, in the pitch black, our first serious challenge was to be Helvellyn. I texted Mummeh and told her of our plans to climb it in homage to her (she climbed it several years ago, via the infamously hairy 'Striding Edge' approach.) Her reply was unequivocal 'Do not attempt Striding Edge in icy conditions'. As someone not prone to overstatement, we took her advice seriously and decided to approach by the less dangerous Western ascent from Swirls car park.
During the journey to Helvellyn, we had been listening to an excellent audio book (thank you Mummeh) of Scott's attempt to reach the South Pole, narrated by Ranulph Fiennes. With slightly unnerving timing, our arrival at the foot of Helvellyn, coincided with the selfless death of Oates. Regarding our inhospitable surroundings, it was not difficult to imagine how he felt as he left the tent.
Of course there was a trade off to not ascending via Striding Edge & studying the map we soon discovered what it was. A 949 metre climb in 3 kms. The directions said 'Don't set off too quickly, it's a steady pull all the way to the summit'. A steady pull would seem to be Cumbrian for 'lung-burstingly tough climb' and my thighs were protesting in short order.
To relieve the agony I suggested some photos. Milky's look of dismay revealed that he had left the camera in the boot of the car. By this time we had been climbing for 30 minutes. Without hesitation he turned around & quickly re-traced his steps to the car, then back again to my lofty vantage point. Once he had recovered his breath he cheerily informed me that camera had been in the rucksack all along. How we laughed.
I did anyway.
'Says here not to leave valuables in the car.'
When I do one of these kind of walks, I do something I read that Joe Simpson does. He repeats the same climbing patterns again & again when he's crossing dangerous ice faces. I count in my head. Only up to four. 'One, two, three, four.' Somehow I know that I can count to four again and again, whereas if I look up to the top of the climb I have to do, it overwhelms me. I find the rhythm comforting and reassuring.
It does of course mean I'm a very boring person to walk with (when the going is strenuous anyway) Milky gaily chattered away, receiving only a snotty intermittent grunt in reply from me. I've had a runny nose since last November and can't seem to shift it. I had stupidly set off without a large handkerchief and so my conversation consisted of the odd plaintive lament ...
'Are you sure you don't have a hanky ?'
On the descent many hours later Milky got his revenge for the camera incident & produced wads of kitchen roll wrapped around lunch.
'Oh these ?' he said casually 'yes - I suppose you could blow your nose on these.'
Stairway to heaven.
Lunar.
'Cold - what's that ?'
On the last stretch of the climb, I began to understand how terrifying Striding Edge would have been in those conditions. From the summit we could see the narrow ridge and as the wind was preventing us putting one foot in a straight line ahead of the other I couldn't begin to imagine how it would have been possible.
This doesn't begin to convey the strength of the wind.
I kept checking Barley to see if she was suffering in the cold but apart from frozen whiskers and ice crystals all the way through her coat, she seemed fine. What a little trooper. We had to keep moving though, even stopping for the summit photos was excruciating.
Summit. The ears show the wind more accurately. Barley's not Milky's.
The descent was more difficult with the distinct possibility of falling headfirst off the path. We elected to sit down & slide the difficult bits which seemed a really good idea. It was at the point that I was sliding uncontrolled, encased head to foot in shiny nylon, over rocks and boulders, with no prospect of being able to stop, that I began to doubt the wisdom of the idea.
When I finally did stop, by turning onto my belly & digging my walking pole (see MTM) into the ice, the only damage done was to my right thumb which resembled a squished sausage. I told Milky to go on without me & that I would simply compromise the expedition at which he accused me of melodrama, somewhat harsh I thought.
The luxury of getting into the car and turning on the heater was only emphasised by listening to the rest of the audiobook.
Things I learned on this walk.
Not everyone feels the same when you shout above the gale, 'Come on, that's the summit there, it would be pointless to make all this effort and then not stand on the actual summit.'
Spaniels are hard.
Braking distances are greatly increased with the introduction of nylon upon snow.
The following day we rewarded ourselves with an easy flat 10 miles around Derwentwater.
The day was drizzly & grey but as that’s what you expect in the Lakes, it interfered with our enjoyment not a whit.
We checked out the ferry times before leaving and rewarded our industry by catching the ferry back to our start point after a rapidly consumed lunch of hot soup & rolls.
Things I learned on this walk.
Someone will always appear out of nowhere at the point you most need a pee, regardless of the fact that you haven’t seen a soul all day.
They will then decide to sit on a bench to admire the lake, unheeding of the fact that you are squatting, less than 5 feet away behind a wall.
Wet wipes are indispensable.
It's very difficult to fasten gaiters with a mangled thumb.
It's important to be nice to the person who will fasten your gaiters (see above)
That evening I presented Milky with a book of walks and told him to pick one relatively nearby for us to complete the following day.
He chose a corker.
‘Buttermere crags’. 5 ascents with accompanying descents around Buttermere. The guide said it would take 6.5 hours and that most of the going would be ‘strenuous’.
As we parked the following morning in the car park adjacent to the Bridge Hotel the car park guide drew our attention to this sign
I like a challenge.
and asked if we were intent on venturing up the fells.
We admitted we were and she continued ‘…it’s just that you don’t have any gear with you and we’ve had to call out Mountain Rescue for people in the last couple of days.’
By ‘lack of gear’ she meant no tents or camping stoves or anything that would allow us to camp out overnight in -15.
We assured her that we were ‘on a recce’ and that if it looked too bad, we’d head back down again. Satisfied that she had warned the muppets, she retired to her hut.
The friendly warning reminded me of the way things are done in New Zealand ‘ What you’re about to do is dangerous, but as long as you know that, fill your boots’
I wonder if there will ever come a time in our increasingly nanny-state when people will be able to stop you climbing with the words – ‘Sorry it’s too dangerous up there’. I hope not.
The walk started easily enough, alongside a lake. It was at that point the fun ended. As we struck out on the ‘distinctive red path’ things got hard and stayed that way for the next 5 hours. I won’t bore you with every ascent, suffice it to say that the cold ensured we only stopped for a 10 minute lunch break.
A hastily shouted conversation on one of the summits revealed we were thinking along the same lines when we both said to the other ‘Don’t whatever you do, fall & break an ankle.’
Only a helicopter would have been able to retrieve the injured party, as it took all one’s nerve and concentration to walk alone. The thought of having someone leaning on you in the icy, treacherous footholds we were taking was inconceivable. I envied Barley her 4 wheel traction so much and was grateful I’d brought my pole.
At one point we watched a helicopter quartering the fells and it was a sobering though to realise it was below us.
The time came when we had to make a 'c' word and cut one summit off our walk. We knew the sun set at 1738 and that we had an hour to make it to the valley floor. The extra hour could be spent tackling the last climb or reaching safety in daylight. We both agreed that Mountain Rescue wouldn’t praise us for having to be rescued just to say that we had finished the walk as described in the book. It was a wrench nonetheless, for those of you who don’t know I can be incredibly pig-headed about this kind of thing.
As it turned out, we strolled in to the car park at 1745 as the gloom was gathering and treated ourselves to a well-planned finish by eating Dairylea cheese triangles in the car. Barley approved.
Things I learned on this walk.
You have to be very good friends with someone if you’re going to climb things in Winter.
The wind, which howls ceaselessly over 600 metres, can suddenly drop away, ensuring that your shouted oaths at and about your climbing partner can be heard very clearly, at an appreciable distance.
Never, ever, try to make your way off an icy summit on an unrecognised route to ‘save time’.
If I planned on climbing in the Lakes again in Winter, I would take an extra rucksack, tent, sleeping bags and extra clothing, for when you do break an ankle & have to camp, rather than trusting to good fortune. Things go wrong very quickly when you're cold & have lost your bearings, don't they MTM ?
All too soon, our week at Loweswater was up and it was time to head home. We decided upon a last walk on the Sunday morning so that we could all stretch our legs prior to the long journey, so headed for Whinlatter once again. After a couple of hours walking we enjoyed a hot chocolate at the visitor centre and were entertained by the brassy little visitors to our plates, the robins, chaffinches & siskins. These birds are catered for very well in the form of numerous feeders hanging from 2 huge pines, directly outside the cafe.
Although it's angled and demonic and not the organic style I go for, I love this sculpture of the Cumbrian raven at Whinlatter. It captures the dark and foreboding spirit of the Lakes. I wondered why Cumbria is often represented by a raven & did a little digging.
Whinlatter raven.
Rheged was the name of the Ancient Kingdom of Cumbria in the Dark Ages. At its peak around 590AD, the Kingdom of Rheged stretched from Southern Scotland to the Midlands and from coast to coast. Rheged’s most famous King was Urien meaning “city born”. Urien was known as the “Raven King” because of the talisman or good luck charm, which he wore around his neck and bore the symbol of a Raven. It was this symbol which provided the inspiration for our logo. The stone on which the Rheged Raven is often shown reflects the shape of the County of Cumbria today. (courtesy Rheged website)
As we left our retreat I realised I felt so much better about everything. Several days of hard walking and fresh air had cleared my mind. I felt happy and re-energised. I enjoyed it so much I'm taking Mummeh there for her birthday in October.
I feel about the lakes the way I do about NZ, I want people to go there to experience it for themselves almost as much as I want them to stay away and leave it for me.
Cx
Thank you for all your sensible and kind messages of support they really cheered me up.
I'm sorry this post has taken so long, it's been a bit of a trial trying to find enough time to do justice to it.
As I had already posted, I was pretty fed up in the run-up to this break and wishing I felt in more of a holiday mood. I usually really enjoy work but knew I needed to get away for a while.
I was surprised to realise that as a frequent Lakes visitor, I had never been in February before. It was with a sense of wonder that I noted the sugar dusted tops of the Lakeland mountains from my vantage point of the M6. I can’t explain why but snow & ice are becoming more and more magnetic for me. I felt the same way when I arrived at the Franz Joseph glacier in NZ, totally choked and very at home. I’m becoming a winter person.
I love those last few miles from between Junction 36 & Junction 40, where the land takes a very definite turn in character. The easy curves of the Pennines give way to the sharp geometry of the Lakes. By the time I reach the A66, everything feels better.
As we drove into the village, it only improved. Someone, knowing my prediliction for snowdrops, had arranged swathes of them on every bank.
Home ... if only for a week.
After arriving at an immaculate cottage, offering freshly baked cake and flowers, we unpacked & went exploring in Whinlatter. There was only time for an hour's walk to stretch our legs before dusk but with plans to do several testing walks during the week, taking it easy seemed a sensible option.
After a wonderful night of perfectly silent sleep, in the pitch black, our first serious challenge was to be Helvellyn. I texted Mummeh and told her of our plans to climb it in homage to her (she climbed it several years ago, via the infamously hairy 'Striding Edge' approach.) Her reply was unequivocal 'Do not attempt Striding Edge in icy conditions'. As someone not prone to overstatement, we took her advice seriously and decided to approach by the less dangerous Western ascent from Swirls car park.
During the journey to Helvellyn, we had been listening to an excellent audio book (thank you Mummeh) of Scott's attempt to reach the South Pole, narrated by Ranulph Fiennes. With slightly unnerving timing, our arrival at the foot of Helvellyn, coincided with the selfless death of Oates. Regarding our inhospitable surroundings, it was not difficult to imagine how he felt as he left the tent.
Of course there was a trade off to not ascending via Striding Edge & studying the map we soon discovered what it was. A 949 metre climb in 3 kms. The directions said 'Don't set off too quickly, it's a steady pull all the way to the summit'. A steady pull would seem to be Cumbrian for 'lung-burstingly tough climb' and my thighs were protesting in short order.
To relieve the agony I suggested some photos. Milky's look of dismay revealed that he had left the camera in the boot of the car. By this time we had been climbing for 30 minutes. Without hesitation he turned around & quickly re-traced his steps to the car, then back again to my lofty vantage point. Once he had recovered his breath he cheerily informed me that camera had been in the rucksack all along. How we laughed.
I did anyway.
'Says here not to leave valuables in the car.'
When I do one of these kind of walks, I do something I read that Joe Simpson does. He repeats the same climbing patterns again & again when he's crossing dangerous ice faces. I count in my head. Only up to four. 'One, two, three, four.' Somehow I know that I can count to four again and again, whereas if I look up to the top of the climb I have to do, it overwhelms me. I find the rhythm comforting and reassuring.
It does of course mean I'm a very boring person to walk with (when the going is strenuous anyway) Milky gaily chattered away, receiving only a snotty intermittent grunt in reply from me. I've had a runny nose since last November and can't seem to shift it. I had stupidly set off without a large handkerchief and so my conversation consisted of the odd plaintive lament ...
'Are you sure you don't have a hanky ?'
On the descent many hours later Milky got his revenge for the camera incident & produced wads of kitchen roll wrapped around lunch.
'Oh these ?' he said casually 'yes - I suppose you could blow your nose on these.'
On the last stretch of the climb, I began to understand how terrifying Striding Edge would have been in those conditions. From the summit we could see the narrow ridge and as the wind was preventing us putting one foot in a straight line ahead of the other I couldn't begin to imagine how it would have been possible.
I kept checking Barley to see if she was suffering in the cold but apart from frozen whiskers and ice crystals all the way through her coat, she seemed fine. What a little trooper. We had to keep moving though, even stopping for the summit photos was excruciating.
Summit. The ears show the wind more accurately. Barley's not Milky's.
The descent was more difficult with the distinct possibility of falling headfirst off the path. We elected to sit down & slide the difficult bits which seemed a really good idea. It was at the point that I was sliding uncontrolled, encased head to foot in shiny nylon, over rocks and boulders, with no prospect of being able to stop, that I began to doubt the wisdom of the idea.
When I finally did stop, by turning onto my belly & digging my walking pole (see MTM) into the ice, the only damage done was to my right thumb which resembled a squished sausage. I told Milky to go on without me & that I would simply compromise the expedition at which he accused me of melodrama, somewhat harsh I thought.
The luxury of getting into the car and turning on the heater was only emphasised by listening to the rest of the audiobook.
Things I learned on this walk.
Not everyone feels the same when you shout above the gale, 'Come on, that's the summit there, it would be pointless to make all this effort and then not stand on the actual summit.'
Spaniels are hard.
Braking distances are greatly increased with the introduction of nylon upon snow.
The following day we rewarded ourselves with an easy flat 10 miles around Derwentwater.
The day was drizzly & grey but as that’s what you expect in the Lakes, it interfered with our enjoyment not a whit.
We checked out the ferry times before leaving and rewarded our industry by catching the ferry back to our start point after a rapidly consumed lunch of hot soup & rolls.
Things I learned on this walk.
Someone will always appear out of nowhere at the point you most need a pee, regardless of the fact that you haven’t seen a soul all day.
They will then decide to sit on a bench to admire the lake, unheeding of the fact that you are squatting, less than 5 feet away behind a wall.
Wet wipes are indispensable.
It's very difficult to fasten gaiters with a mangled thumb.
It's important to be nice to the person who will fasten your gaiters (see above)
That evening I presented Milky with a book of walks and told him to pick one relatively nearby for us to complete the following day.
He chose a corker.
‘Buttermere crags’. 5 ascents with accompanying descents around Buttermere. The guide said it would take 6.5 hours and that most of the going would be ‘strenuous’.
As we parked the following morning in the car park adjacent to the Bridge Hotel the car park guide drew our attention to this sign
and asked if we were intent on venturing up the fells.
We admitted we were and she continued ‘…it’s just that you don’t have any gear with you and we’ve had to call out Mountain Rescue for people in the last couple of days.’
By ‘lack of gear’ she meant no tents or camping stoves or anything that would allow us to camp out overnight in -15.
We assured her that we were ‘on a recce’ and that if it looked too bad, we’d head back down again. Satisfied that she had warned the muppets, she retired to her hut.
The friendly warning reminded me of the way things are done in New Zealand ‘ What you’re about to do is dangerous, but as long as you know that, fill your boots’
I wonder if there will ever come a time in our increasingly nanny-state when people will be able to stop you climbing with the words – ‘Sorry it’s too dangerous up there’. I hope not.
The walk started easily enough, alongside a lake. It was at that point the fun ended. As we struck out on the ‘distinctive red path’ things got hard and stayed that way for the next 5 hours. I won’t bore you with every ascent, suffice it to say that the cold ensured we only stopped for a 10 minute lunch break.
A hastily shouted conversation on one of the summits revealed we were thinking along the same lines when we both said to the other ‘Don’t whatever you do, fall & break an ankle.’
Only a helicopter would have been able to retrieve the injured party, as it took all one’s nerve and concentration to walk alone. The thought of having someone leaning on you in the icy, treacherous footholds we were taking was inconceivable. I envied Barley her 4 wheel traction so much and was grateful I’d brought my pole.
At one point we watched a helicopter quartering the fells and it was a sobering though to realise it was below us.
The time came when we had to make a 'c' word and cut one summit off our walk. We knew the sun set at 1738 and that we had an hour to make it to the valley floor. The extra hour could be spent tackling the last climb or reaching safety in daylight. We both agreed that Mountain Rescue wouldn’t praise us for having to be rescued just to say that we had finished the walk as described in the book. It was a wrench nonetheless, for those of you who don’t know I can be incredibly pig-headed about this kind of thing.
As it turned out, we strolled in to the car park at 1745 as the gloom was gathering and treated ourselves to a well-planned finish by eating Dairylea cheese triangles in the car. Barley approved.
Things I learned on this walk.
You have to be very good friends with someone if you’re going to climb things in Winter.
The wind, which howls ceaselessly over 600 metres, can suddenly drop away, ensuring that your shouted oaths at and about your climbing partner can be heard very clearly, at an appreciable distance.
Never, ever, try to make your way off an icy summit on an unrecognised route to ‘save time’.
If I planned on climbing in the Lakes again in Winter, I would take an extra rucksack, tent, sleeping bags and extra clothing, for when you do break an ankle & have to camp, rather than trusting to good fortune. Things go wrong very quickly when you're cold & have lost your bearings, don't they MTM ?
All too soon, our week at Loweswater was up and it was time to head home. We decided upon a last walk on the Sunday morning so that we could all stretch our legs prior to the long journey, so headed for Whinlatter once again. After a couple of hours walking we enjoyed a hot chocolate at the visitor centre and were entertained by the brassy little visitors to our plates, the robins, chaffinches & siskins. These birds are catered for very well in the form of numerous feeders hanging from 2 huge pines, directly outside the cafe.
Although it's angled and demonic and not the organic style I go for, I love this sculpture of the Cumbrian raven at Whinlatter. It captures the dark and foreboding spirit of the Lakes. I wondered why Cumbria is often represented by a raven & did a little digging.
Rheged was the name of the Ancient Kingdom of Cumbria in the Dark Ages. At its peak around 590AD, the Kingdom of Rheged stretched from Southern Scotland to the Midlands and from coast to coast. Rheged’s most famous King was Urien meaning “city born”. Urien was known as the “Raven King” because of the talisman or good luck charm, which he wore around his neck and bore the symbol of a Raven. It was this symbol which provided the inspiration for our logo. The stone on which the Rheged Raven is often shown reflects the shape of the County of Cumbria today. (courtesy Rheged website)
As we left our retreat I realised I felt so much better about everything. Several days of hard walking and fresh air had cleared my mind. I felt happy and re-energised. I enjoyed it so much I'm taking Mummeh there for her birthday in October.
I feel about the lakes the way I do about NZ, I want people to go there to experience it for themselves almost as much as I want them to stay away and leave it for me.
Cx
Sunday, February 19, 2006
A shift in the bedrock.
I know, I know, twice weekly postings blah blah.
I haven’t been in the mood to blog.
I don’t handle change very well, if at all.
There has been too much change lately, in every sphere of my life.
My Guv’nor left to go to another job & whilst I totally understand his reasons for leaving (no-one deserves to work with the bunch of muppets he had to tolerate on a daily basis) it really knocked me for six.
That may sound over-dramatic & I know at least one person who will
be laughing as they read this (LM) However, it was one of those working relationships when you know your boss will unconditionally defend you to the hilt. The feeling was mutual. When faced with a difficult decision I just did things how I thought he would like them done.
I don’t just mean me though. He was the same with everyone & I don’t know of anyone (or anyone whose opinion matters) who had a bad word to say about him.
I was dreading his leaving do & sure enough, despite holding it together through all the speeches, at the end I blubbed like a baby, leaving copious snot trails on Stan & Milky.
A text I received from a female friend the following day summed it up …
‘Still crying ? How many times have I told you never to display weakness ? You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere. Now I’m going outside to bleed my brakes whilst fiddling incessantly with my testicles.’
And so now we have a new boss.
He seems pleasant and effective.
So there’s obviously a catch.
For the last two months I’ve been looking for a new place to live. This is because my flat-mate indicated that she would like to move nearer to work and that she would like a garden. Looking for a place alone has been a bit dispiriting. I’ve been looking alone because she has a hectic work/travel schedule which isn’t conducive to house-viewing. Two months into my search and I am told she is likely to be moving in with a friend who lives very close to her place of work.
To say I was a bit surprised would be an under-statement.
My options now are these :
Rent alone ; difficult, most studio-type places in the Kingston/Surbiton area commence at c. £700 per month.
or
Advertise for a new flat-mate ; the last time I shared it was with a crack-addict, an alcoholic and a boring mountain bike salesman. There were burly men calling at the address with baseball bats at 2am asking for money. It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat.
or
Dump myself on a friend … again, not ideal, partly because I’m used to my own space & partly because I’d be paying a small fortune in storage.
Of the above I think my best option is to sit tight & see what kind of flat-mate fate throws my way. I really don’t want to ever face moving again until it’s either to NZ or into my own (mortgaged) property.
I have to find a new job by September this year. If I don’t find a new job I have to go work in a big call-centre type building in Lambeth in September 2007. I don’t want to go to Lambeth. I worked in Lambeth for 10 years. That’s enough time to work in Lambeth. My other two options are Bow (where ?) or Hendon. I detest North London & don’t even want to think about the amount of time the journey would take. I can’t imagine a time I’ll ever, ever type this again but of those three, Lambeth is my best option.
I can’t stay doing the job I’m doing, which I like, because as of Sept 2007 my job will no longer exist.
So that’s about it for now, there’s other stuff too but it’s too personal to blog about, suffice it to say I haven’t been feeling at my most communicative.
This entry’s just to say I’m still alive thanks for checking.
On the upside.
I have Barley for almost a month and as of tomorrow we head to the Lakes for r & r & lots of walking. With a walking pole MTM. And a compass, most likely.
The forecast is ‘bitterly cold’ but that’s all I would expect.
Thistle anyone ?
Cx
I know, I know, twice weekly postings blah blah.
I haven’t been in the mood to blog.
I don’t handle change very well, if at all.
There has been too much change lately, in every sphere of my life.
My Guv’nor left to go to another job & whilst I totally understand his reasons for leaving (no-one deserves to work with the bunch of muppets he had to tolerate on a daily basis) it really knocked me for six.
That may sound over-dramatic & I know at least one person who will
be laughing as they read this (LM) However, it was one of those working relationships when you know your boss will unconditionally defend you to the hilt. The feeling was mutual. When faced with a difficult decision I just did things how I thought he would like them done.
I don’t just mean me though. He was the same with everyone & I don’t know of anyone (or anyone whose opinion matters) who had a bad word to say about him.
I was dreading his leaving do & sure enough, despite holding it together through all the speeches, at the end I blubbed like a baby, leaving copious snot trails on Stan & Milky.
A text I received from a female friend the following day summed it up …
‘Still crying ? How many times have I told you never to display weakness ? You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere. Now I’m going outside to bleed my brakes whilst fiddling incessantly with my testicles.’
And so now we have a new boss.
He seems pleasant and effective.
So there’s obviously a catch.
For the last two months I’ve been looking for a new place to live. This is because my flat-mate indicated that she would like to move nearer to work and that she would like a garden. Looking for a place alone has been a bit dispiriting. I’ve been looking alone because she has a hectic work/travel schedule which isn’t conducive to house-viewing. Two months into my search and I am told she is likely to be moving in with a friend who lives very close to her place of work.
To say I was a bit surprised would be an under-statement.
My options now are these :
Rent alone ; difficult, most studio-type places in the Kingston/Surbiton area commence at c. £700 per month.
or
Advertise for a new flat-mate ; the last time I shared it was with a crack-addict, an alcoholic and a boring mountain bike salesman. There were burly men calling at the address with baseball bats at 2am asking for money. It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat.
or
Dump myself on a friend … again, not ideal, partly because I’m used to my own space & partly because I’d be paying a small fortune in storage.
Of the above I think my best option is to sit tight & see what kind of flat-mate fate throws my way. I really don’t want to ever face moving again until it’s either to NZ or into my own (mortgaged) property.
I have to find a new job by September this year. If I don’t find a new job I have to go work in a big call-centre type building in Lambeth in September 2007. I don’t want to go to Lambeth. I worked in Lambeth for 10 years. That’s enough time to work in Lambeth. My other two options are Bow (where ?) or Hendon. I detest North London & don’t even want to think about the amount of time the journey would take. I can’t imagine a time I’ll ever, ever type this again but of those three, Lambeth is my best option.
I can’t stay doing the job I’m doing, which I like, because as of Sept 2007 my job will no longer exist.
So that’s about it for now, there’s other stuff too but it’s too personal to blog about, suffice it to say I haven’t been feeling at my most communicative.
This entry’s just to say I’m still alive thanks for checking.
On the upside.
I have Barley for almost a month and as of tomorrow we head to the Lakes for r & r & lots of walking. With a walking pole MTM. And a compass, most likely.
The forecast is ‘bitterly cold’ but that’s all I would expect.
Thistle anyone ?
Cx
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
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