The last post

I am retiring this blog, sad news for you all I know but wait, dry those eyes, wipe away those tears.  A new blog is on the horizon.  Redundancy is no more so a new blog is up and running.  To all my loyal followers (all three of you), you will find the new blog here.  I hope this beautiful relationship lasts.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Just in case you have been off on a mission to Mars or in a coma for the last couple of months, you can't help but notice that we are now firmly in advent.  Christmas is just around the corner, turkeys and other tasty animals are being fattened ready for the oven.  Let's get one thing straight before we start; I love Christmas.  It doesn't make me grumpy and I don't go all Ebeneezer Scrooge.  It might be because of the kids and all the excitement that goes with them, it might be the gifts or it might just be the food and drink.  We have put the decorations up and Victoria has turned our hall and stairs into Santa's grotto, and before you ask, yes the big fella is real, of that there can be no doubt.  It is fair to say, there is a certain amount of competition in our house as to who is the biggest kid - me or the kids; I think I generally win.  This year we also have the added bonus that we aren't cooking Christmas dinner (although Tina might feel at a bit of a loose end), we have generously been invited to my brother and sister in law's to celebrate with them, kids and all.  Look up "gluttons for punishment" in the dictionary and it will likely read "Darrel and Sharon, Christmas 2009".  Or rather it will when I write the dictionary for all those words I use that other people accuse me of having made up.


So what is my quandary?  It's an odd thing really.  Despite my absolute passion for Christmas, come Boxing day, or thereabouts, I'm itching to get all the decorations put away.  It's a strange thing.  The tree looks pretty, all the decorations are jolly and festive and I will drag the Christmas celebrations out as long as possible - even enjoying Christmas specials reruns on the BBC.  I enjoy putting the decorations up but a couple or three weeks later I've had enough of them.

So here's to Christmas, however you celebrate.  Whether you see it as the Christian(ish) festival or if you're stuck firmly in Briton's druid past and prefer Yule or if you have no religion nor belief, just have a couple of days off, after all, who really needs a reason or excuse to celebrate?

I know that people who know me may well be a little surprised by this blog post, you expect a full on grumpy Christmas, or maybe you suspect I have employed a ghost writer but no, I promise you, this is all me.

Vive La Différence

In true celebratory style, it is my month-iversary at my new (part time) job which I took on after being made redundant and, as I'm sure you are aware, leaves me time to train as a driving instructor.  To celebrate this milestone, I decided it is time for a little reflection.  I am now working for a small company rather than a messy sprawling company with fingers in several international pies so naturally comparing the two seems a good way to reflect.  Please don't consider this to be any form of career advice, if you are young, naive and looking for a job, you will find no guidance here as to the type of company you should consider.  These are simply the views of a jaded and cynical grumpy.  So lets consider a few things:


1.  Bullshit.  Right, we need some blue sky thinking here.  Let's put some ideas in the mental microwave and wait for it to ping.  Run the flag up the flagpole, see who shoots it.  I'm actually quite good at bullshit.  It's just a kind of corporate or technical waffle.  Ten years in the civil service gives you a good grounding.  In fact, in many respects, I quite like bullshit you can use it to your advantage in all sorts of situations.  What I don't like though is that poor cover up type bullshit that managers use to cover up their inadequacies.  The amount of bullshit produced is, no doubt, absolutely proportional to the size of the organisation.  After all, they do say shit floats upwards.


2.  Sycophancy.  We're at the opposite end of the scale now.  I would never do well in a large organisation because I must have been off school they day they taught sucking up.  Big company, in my experience, watch your step so you don't trip over people bowing down to management.  Smaller companies tend to work much more on an everyone getting on together kind of a way.  There's little point getting your nose brown because there isn't the structure to worm promotion in to.


3.  Camaraderie.  I've struggled over this one because the differences aren't quite so obvious.  There is the same camaraderie, in my experience, in any size company; after all we're all working towards the same common goal aren't we? (sorry slipped into bullshit then).  The only difference is in a big company there are more people to relate with and, just by simple laws of chance, there is a higher chance that there will be someone who gets so far up your nose they're wandering around in your brain.  In a big company though, you can often hide from them.  Woe betide some irritating oik in a small company - there is no escape.  Then again, perhaps my ambition could be to be that oik.


4.  Hiding.  Big company, several people doing the same thing, oodles of opportunity to use lines such as "It was him", "He told me to", "Well, I may have done, but you'll never guess what SHE did", "Maybe but at least I didn't....", "Not my responsibility".  You get the picture.  Not that I would ever slope shoulders and pass the buck of course not.  Well, maybe a little, but at least I didn't do what he did.


5.  Technology.  Sorry, I've slipped into my old life now.  Big company, usually big budget for technology.  Small company, bring your own string and baked bean can.  However, there are common issues here as well.  I remember in the eighties talk about the paperless office.  Computers and technology generate paperwork, they don't save it.  And that's true in a one man company or multinational.


6.  Money.  Again, common ground, both large and small companies will probably pay you.   However, don't expect big bucks in a small company.  Come to that, there didn't seem to be big bucks in the big companies either.


7.  Offshoring.  There are two issues here.  Firstly, small company most unlikely to transfer huge chunks of its operation to foreign parts thereby making you redundant.  And anyway, offshore for UK is only onshoring somewhere else?  Second issue, offshoring isn't a real word.  Nor is onshoring come to that (I may have just made it up, if so baggsy the copyright).  Even my spell checker underlines it with a wiggly red line.  And this is the tip of the iceberg.  Don't have a word for it?  make one up or use another word that doesn't really work.  Networking, benchmarking and, my all time anti-favourite - solutioning.


Anyhow, nothing to do with small vs big companies, but in case it has escaped your attention, we have slipped into advent.  Little over three weeks to go till the big fella slips down your chimney.  In an unnatural and unlikely state of organisation we are prepared for Christmas in the Kirby household.  That's it bragging over.  I am, however, desperately excited about Christmas this year.  Any day now it will be time to start winding the kids into a frenzy of excitement.  Then regret it several minutes later.


Finally, a cause célèbre.  I have discovered that I can create sort of sub blogs.  This means I can retire the redundancy blog just as soon as I have a title.  I'm so excited you wouldn't believe it.  I have created another blog-ette.  You may recall that I have got the bike out of the shed and started riding it.  I have created a blog that will, eventually I'm sure, waffle on about my rides and include some pictures of buildings, views and old stuff that will interest me and no-one else.  If you're masochistic enough to take a shufty, you can find it by clicking here.

That's it for today, thanks for your time, I hope this was an enhancing experience for all.  We must touch base sometime and check the methodology to circumvent the pinch points that might just disintermediate the client base and ensure we are in the right ball park.  Remember this blog is available 24/7 24/365.

Is there anything more pointless than a rhetorical question?

Or is this a rhetorical question?  Go on think about it?  Who answered no?  Wrong.  Today I shall be considering the pointless, naturally one's definition of pointless will vary on a number of factors; age, interests and general grumpiness to name a few.  So shall we begin?

1. Facebook.  Oooh controversial this one as I'm sure many readers (assuming there are many) will have come across this blog via Facebook.  Now, please don't get me wrong, Facebook isn't all pointless.  It isn't a bad way of keeping in touch and finding people you haven't seen for ages.  Now add on all those statuses (stati?) that say stuff like "didn't want to write anything", "good morning" and other meaningless, pointless stuff.  Even worse are the damned games, that isn't social networking, that's a games site, pointless on Facebook.  Although I'm quite chuffed with myself, I've managed to work out how to turn off the news feed entries that say somebody has done something pointless in another pointless game.
Finally, for Facebook anyway, is the whole I'm a fan of thing.  I understand being a fan of a sportsman, real cause, music/musician/band, celebrity and similar, in fact I have subscribed to a couple of these.  What I don't understand, and these are genuine, are the likes of '63 Notifications Later and I regret Liking Your Status', 'Laughing When You Shouldn't', 'What Goes Around Comes Around', 'I Hate Getting Texts That Only Say "k'.  Unless someone can correct me, they are completely pointless.

2. Reality Television.  Maybe not pointless if you are a Z list celebrity desperate for publicity.  However the pointless point I wish to make is that it is far from reality.  Whose rather warped idea of reality is it to be locked away in a large house with a dozen hand picked irritants or to be apparently stranded in the Australian jungle or whisked away to a relatively genuine celebrity's house to sing until the general public get pi**ed off with you?  Has anyone seen the Trueman show?  One of the worst (and most pointless) ever pieces of cinematography ever but, if I understand the plot correctly, the main character spends a chunk of his life unknowingly being filmed.  Do it for real to real people and that's reality TV.  No, I don't mean CCTV which, isn't like Orwell's Big Brother, anyone who uses the line has, quite obviously never read the book.

3. The Gym.  It is completely pointless.  It is a well known proven (although possibly completely made up) fact that 99.9% of gym memberships are used no more than about 10% of their true value.  Save your gym membership for about 3 hours and buy a bike, go ride it.  Jog, Swim, do press ups, join a sports club, don't put yourself through the pain and cost.  Do you think I got my svelte racing snake figure by slogging my guts out on a treadmill or weight machine?  I really don't see the point of static bikes or treadmills where you put in all that effort and go nowhere.  That being said, I do rather like the Concept II rowers.

4. Blogs and blogging.  Quite frankly, blogging is akin to masturbation.  Pleasure largely only for the person doing the blogging.  Who really wants to read the irrelevant, pointless ramblings of a middle aged man?  After all, if that's your particular bag then you would be reading my brother's blog.  Mine is, of course, completely not pointless.  Very pointy in fact.

So to a completely non pointless event.  It is very exciting, we saw Father Christmas turn the lights on in Gloucester last night.  Yes, he is real.  He must be, he had real reindeer and everything (sorry, don't know who the kid is).  So it is officially nearly Christmas and I am, rarely, getting excited.  God help you all.

Haunted by the ghost of unemployment

Have you been paying attention?  If so, you will know that I am now working, albeit part time.  During my brief spell of redundancy, I decided to try and reclaim some of that hard earned cash that I have been haemorrhaging into the social security coffers for the last 25 years.  I think I regret it now.  Approximately six weeks after making my claim for benefits and the like, I received a cheque through the post.  Hurrah I hear you cry.  Calm yourself now, it wasn't for that much, also a reduction on my remaining council tax.  Hurrah I hear you cry again. Now, for clarity the total of these sums isn't enough to retire on.  Shortly later, a letter arrives from Inland Revenue telling me they are going to give us more money.  I'm almost giddy with excitement by now.  It seems the system is giving me money!  Now, before we get too carried away, let's hit the brakes for just a moment.  Working tax credit is considered as an income so far as benefits agency are concerned and by now I have a job that I will be starting imminently.  So, as a good honest citizen, it's back off to the Council offices to tell them everything.  So I do.  That's the best part of an afternoon gone being honest and appeasing my conscience; but as a consolation I leave with the warm glow of an honest man.


About 36 seconds later, several million letters appear through my door from Gloucester City Council.
1. A cheque for back payment of housing benefit.  Hurrah!
2. A letter telling me all about my claim that looks much the same as previous letters.  Hurrah!
3. A big fat letter explaining why I am no longer entitled to housing or council tax benefit and indeed haven't been since tax credits went up so I've been overpaid.  Boo hiss!
4. An invoice asking for everything back, including the value of the cheque above all bar about three shillings.  Boo hiss!
5. A new council tax bill, hiking it up to pre benefits levels and wanting the overpayment back.  Boo hiss again.


All the letters arrived on the same day and indeed 1-4 all have the same date and 2 and 3 are from the same person.  My head spins.  There is only one thing for it.  Phone.  Talk to someone, find out what's going on.  So I do. About a week later.  Desperately helpful cheery bloke confirms that I do indeed need to give them money back.
"How would you like to pay it Mr Kirby"
"Well, I wouldn't really but what are my options"
"I can take it over the phone now, pay over three or four months, couple of other options blah blah blah"
I pay in full, they'll probably only write to me again if I don't. "D'you realise I was probably better off on the dole"
"I couldn't possibly comment sir"
"Ah, go on"
"I can't"
"Ah, go on"

"I can't"

He wouldn't be goaded.  Good professional chap.  Not that good however, his name was on letter 4.


So, I am now considering revisiting my own honesty and conscience.  Seriously though, in the same metaphorical boat again, would I bother?  I really don't know.  Claiming dole was easy and quite an experience every fortnight, the rest is hassle.  Benefit fraud must be a full time job and as much work as a real job.


Anyway, how are you all?  Been up to anything interesting?  If you have, blog it, I might give it a read.  Brother, take note, your blog is barren.  That being said, I do know my brother is drinking hard to get his book complete, and a fine book I'm sure it will be.  Shameless plug, where's my commission?
In amongst the benefits melee, I have also been on my first practical driving lesson.  I'm being taught one instructor to two trainees so we get a bit of practice trying to teach and getting used to how much it is necessary to say.  It is possible that my co-trainee was hand picked to make me feel better about my own efforts.  Feel free to draw your own inference.  Over a two(ish) hour drive, notwithstanding I didn't do any manoeuvres, I did drive well enough to probably pass a normal driving test.  Considering it is 13 years since I was last taught to drive, I'm quite happy with that although I have naturally been swotting up. Things on the road and driving best practice has changed in the time I've been driving so I reckon there is a case for refresher courses.  Give it a couple of months, tell me you saw it here and I'll do you a deal.

So if you see a heavy liveried Vauxhall Corsa on the streets of Cheltenham or Gloucester, give it a wave, it might be me...

Given that the spectre of redundancy still hangs, the blog title has a reprieve, giving you all more chance to win the exciting prize I spoke of in my previous blog.  OK, truth is I still haven't worked out how to change the title yet.

My indecision is final

I used to be indecisive but I'm not so sure now. Ah, the old jokes are the best; my brother has, after all been dining out on them for years.

Today's blog entry is all about those indecisions that you make then decide on an option then change your mind and so on ad infinitum until it becomes either irrelevant or a matter of life and death. Fortunately, the decisions I am faced with tend more to the former category.

Firstly, as previously discussed, the title of my blog. Take a glance at the top of the page and you will see that it still refers to redundancy. I am now gainfully (though part time) employed; dole have washed their hands of me so time to retitle. I have decided to prove that I support the whole principle of democracy and throw open the new title to the public vote, Simon Cowell eat your heart out. Suggestions please to the comments on here, Facebook or, if you know me well enough feel free to email me. Please don't come round knocking at my door at the dead of night to tell me your idea. To add some excitement I have decided to throw all cost to the wind and the person who makes the best suggestion could win an (optional) prize of an autographed photo of me. Contain your excitement, please.

My other indecision I had (note the past tense here) made a full on, no turning back decision on so no democracy here. Remember I was debating the idea of two jobs, 12 hour day? Second job being at Royal Mail doing the Christmas cover? Now, I had decided to give it a go notwithstanding a couple of days I couldn't do, then what happens? I'll tell you what. The buggers write to me and say I won't be needed until 2nd December, some 10 days after my original start date giving me about 10 working days. It's barely worth me getting tired for. I have therefore resigned before I start. The deed poll will be stopped, my name will not be Pat. It does make me wonder though if Royal Mail have lost business for Christmas and they don't see so much of a need for Christmas cover? I'll let you mull that one over yourself, I don't feel the

need to debate my feelings about unions and strike action here.

That's it for my indecision but I haven't finished yet, oh no, I couldn't let you down.

I have been thinking. When I was a kid, what I generally do in my blog would have simply been called a diary (not the sort you keep your meetings and dentist appointments in) and, historically, no one would ever be allowed within 100 feet of your diary let alone read it. This whole blog for the world to see is a bit of a turn about eh?

So to my week. How have you all been? I've been fine thanks for asking. I have noticed though that I've been quite inactive and increasingly rotund of late so I have decided to get my bike out of the shed. I stuck it in the back of the car and went for a ride after work, another bonus of working half day. Weather was OK so I thought it would be rather pleasant to go have lunch at

Witcombe Roman Villa, just a couple of miles from the office. Now, I rather like the villa, it is always peaceful and very picturesque. I have been there many times before although only in the car or by walking across the Cotswold way in dry weather. Never did it occur to me that the access road is, essentially, a working farm track. My bicycle is a lovely slick racing machine with tyres no wider than a gnat's pube. It now looks like a rough old cyclo-cross thing. Still, a pleasant meander, 25ish miles and feeling the affects after not riding for a few weeks. Reminds me of a David Letterman interview with Lance Armstrong after winning his 487th (or thereabouts) Tour de France:

"So Lance, how do you feel after winning the tour again"

"I've got a sore arse Dave"

There ends the similarity.

Yesterday saw me on a night out to see Seasick Steve at the O2 in Birmingham. We took reliable information that the O2 is what was the Carling Academy. It isn't. Although there were a goodly number of other people milling about equally misinformed. Once we found the place, still on time, it was a cracking evening. If you haven't come across the fella before, look him up, listen to his music if you like Southern States blues stuff but either way an interesting biography you can read about it on his website www.seasicksteve.com - some music downloads on there too or a good biog on Wikipedia.

Right, I'm off for now. If you see me tonight in the pitch black with a camera on a tripod in my living room, there's nothing kinky I'll just be taking photos of ghosts on my sofa. Check here again in a couple of days, if it works I'll blog the results. If not, I'll crawl into a corner and sob inconsolably.

The end of an era

Have you missed me? It's been a while since I last blogged but that's because I have been busy. Busy doing what? you ask. Go on feel free to ask. Actually, it makes no difference whatsoever whether you ask or not because I'm going to tell you unless I have lost you already.

Last week I made the long last walk to the dole office. I broke my normal routine by checking in with the greeter just a few minutes before my appointment and not going and looking at the rather useless computer things that advertise the non-jobs. This did, however, give me the new opportunity of watching other people using them. In particular a girl with her boyfriend, I presume, who printed off just about every job on the system. In 5 minutes they must have come away with 20 job details each. There are a

couple of possibilities here by my reckoning. Either they were very keen to get a job or they were trying to show their Job centre chap that they were looking for a job and binning the details on the way out or they were just in competition, who could print out the most details in a set time. Whichever way, an odd couple.

So to my interview:

"Good afternoon Mr Kirby"

"Hello"

"How's the job hunting?"

"I've stopped. Not looking now"

"Pardon?"

"I've stopped. Not looking now"

"Can I ask why? You know you must be looking for work to claim job seekers"

"Yes"

........

"I have a job now"

So what happens? Someone rushes on with flowers? Fireworks? Spontaneous, rapturous applause? At least a hug from the job centre staff, after all we have become friends over the last couple of months haven't we?

"You'll have to fill in this section to sign off then"

That's it. I have given many hours of my life to the job centre now I'm fobbed off with a wee form to sign off. No tears, nothing. I filled in the necessary paperwork and left, deflated, disappointed.

The rest of the week is half term. Tina is off work so we have half a week of family time. A rare treat including a trip to Weston. Strange, we went to Weston right at the end of October and experienced better weather than when we went in the summer; and we saw the start of the work on the new pier.

Saturday was Hallowe'en. Now, historically I have been a proper grumpy about Hallowe'en but this year in an attempt to be happy jolly dad and shake off, at least temporarily, the Grumpy Old Man image, we take a trip to Over farm and get pumpkins which are duly carved into jack o' lanterns that looked a bit like these on the left. We don't like waste so decided to make pumpkin pie from the flesh taken out of the pumpkin. Want my advice? Do you? If not look away now because I'm going to give it. If you ever carve pumpkins, please, for the love of god throw away the flesh. Pumpkin pie has to join the very short list of food I really can't stand. It is truly grim.

The kids dressed up to go trick or treating with some very strict rules and, I must confess, I was impressed by the haul they came back with. I did assume that most people were as grumpy as I typically am about Hallowe'en. Maybe I misjudged people or just tarred them with my own brush.

Monday was new job day one. It is a complete change for me. A rare foray into working for a small, non techy company. Very relaxed, very chilled but everyone gets the job done.

And finally to the highlight of the last week. Can we have a drum roll please? After several weeks of study the time came to sit my driving theory test, the first part to qualify to becoming a driving instructor. And, can you be discrete? I was probably more nervous than I can remember having been for an awfully long time. The morning spent on the toilet. So what happens? 96% in the theory and 63/75 in the hazard perception. I blitzed it. I rock. I am great. Here's to the practical training and the next two tests.

I Can't Sing

I'd like to start this blog by making a couple of things clear.

1. I can't sing.

2. I have no musical ability, even less than my brother who could at least play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the guitar.

3. I have no qualification to judge another's musical ability.

4. I think X-factor is abhorrent.

5. I rather enjoy an eclectic mix of music.

All that being said, I can't fail to avoid the current furore over the twins on X-factor. So much so that I have watched (and therefore listened t0 and suffered) this weeks instalments of the X Factor. Agreed, the twins don't appear to have the same level of musical talent that many big names have, think U2, Frank Sinatra, BB King etc. and we have a different league. On the flip side of the coin, there was a pre pubescent kid doing back flips to Fly Me to the Moon. You can't tell me that's right either.

Methinks that we need to lighten up a little here, whilst we can decry the hype surrounding X-Factor and the fact that the once coveted Christmas number one is now a one horse race and not a Christmas single (novelty or otherwise think Slade), lets not forget the talent shows from times past. Good things came from New Faces (Marti Caine, Showaddywaddy) and Opportunity Knocks (Lena Zavaroni, Bonnie Langford). Have I convinced you yet? Think back to X factors over the last couple of years. Apart from the die-hard fans, who could name all the winners or, more pertinently, name more than one single from the winner. Now think back to Christmas 2000 - who can tell me the Christmas number one? No cheating, no looking it up.

It was Bob the Builder. A novelty if ever one was yet a huge selling song keeping Westlife off the number one spot (hurrah) when the 24th December charts were announced. And we all remember Bob The Builder. My point being that a bit of light hearted-ness is no bad thing. I would personally rather watch the twins having a bit of a laugh and putting on a stage show than many of the karaoke singers that appear on the show. Which of course brings up a whole different issue. When I were a lad, there were bands in the charts that could even play instruments. I don't see any of the contestants with a guitar, drums or even a synthesiser on stage.

So in summary, a straight contest, Bob the Builder, Slade, Mud or Boney M vs. This year's X-Factor winner, voted for by a gaggle of pre teen girls. I know which I would prefer.

On the Horns of a Dilemma

What is the plural of dilemma? Dillemmae? Dillemmi, Dilemmas? If there isn't anyone around try saying them out loud, none sound right. However whatever the plural is I have two borne from what is good news.

Today I had a second interview for a part time job in Hucclecote and they offered me the job. I have accepted. It seems a good way to get off the rock 'n' roll and leave behind the fortnightly adventure of the dole office whilst still giving me enough time to train to be a driving instructor. Everyone's a winner so far you might think.

So to dilemma number 1. You will recall that some weeks ago I was accepted for the temporary Christmas cover job with Royal Mail. Not being the union type, I was fully prepared to take this on; now, however, I have another job so the question is can I handle both for a period of four weeks? Doing the sums, a twenty hour week is four hours per day, add that to a ten hour night shift for Royal Mail and that's a fourteen hour day. Five days a week for four weeks. Reasonable money but will it be too much work? Remember, I served my apprenticeship as a civil servant so was used to a fourteen hour week if we were busy; I'm sure you have heard the joke - Why doesn't a civil servant look out of the window in the morning? - Because then they would have nothing to do in the afternoon.

Dilemma 2, and far more important. If you have been following my blog for some time, I think we can consider ourselves friends and what are friends for if not to share burdens of this importance? If you read the title of my blog and the first entry, you will know that it was born to share my experiences as a doley with anyone who might want to read it. So what to do now? I'm quite hooked on blogging and quite attached to this blog. I would be far too sad to abandon it now. It would be like losing a limb. Well, not quite like losing a limb, that's obviously much more severe but you get the drift. So, please feel free to comment, I'm thinking of re-titling to cover new job, training as a driving instructor or just about anything that comes to mind.

On Tuesday next week I shall be making my emotional visit to Jobcentre Plus for my last sign on and to sign off. Tears, I'm sure, will be shed.

Grumpy and Proud

I am a big fan of the BBC Grumpy old series. Probably no surprise to those that know me. Even the kids bough me a Mr Grumpy Tee shirt for my birthday a year or two ago, then a Mr Grumpy toy for Christmas. Since the age of about 12 I watched them and nodded through every comment. I didn't realise it was supposed to be comedy, I thought it was a documentary. Why do I tell you this? Yesterday was signing on day. Another jolly couple of hours at the dole office

It gave me reason to give more thought as to the perfect job. You'll no doubt recall a few blogs ago I discussed my career options. They were quite sensible. After signing on yesterday, I thought I would share some thoughts on the perfect job. Consider the following conversation with Job Centre chap who had read my form declaring my efforts at getting a job:

JC "Quite a variety of jobs you've shown an interest in Mr Kirby"

Me "Mm hmm"

JC "What are you looking for?"

Me "Something interesting"

JC "What's your perfect job?"

Pause.....

Me "Yours"

JC "Really?"

Me "Yes, after all, it's probably seen more growth than any other business of late"

But it got me thinking about some other jobs I have previously considered at least for a temporary position; traffic warden, truancy officer or best of all the guy that gets evidence on benefits fraudsters - you know following and filming the invalid playing football and the like. Put simply, any job that causes misery to people that I dislike; a way to vent my spleen. I fear I wouldn't last long in any of these posts though. I would be that traffic warden watching the clock for the instant that someone goes over their time.

If you are unemployed, you will be familiar with the sheets that you record your job search activities on. You note the date, what you did and the outcome. JC noticed the jobs I was applying for but not the comment against checking the job pages of the Citizen where I wrote "Nothing of interest, the job pages are about as good as the editorial".

Still, I took the conversation on to a different level:

Me "Actually I have a job now. Well not yet"

JC "So you need to sign off"

Me "Not yet, don't start until 23rd November and it's only for a month"

JC "You'll have to sign off and after the job finishes you'll have to sign back on but you can do a fast track renewal"

Me "Is it any quicker than a normal application"

JC "No".

It appears that if you do any temporary work over 16 hours in any one week you have to sign off then back on again every week you aren't working. It's a bit of a faff and I'm sure designed to piss you off so much you won't bother so there will be less people officially unemployed. Not me, Oh no, you won't get rid of me that easily. I will doggedly pursue my right to be a government statistic.

However, my friendly, honest JobCentre Plus adviser did agree that the government don't help people that want to get back to work. He's right.

Anyway, the good news, I have an interview tomorrow for a part time-ish job in Hucclecote where the job description is just for some bloke to come and do stuff in the office for 25 hours a week. I can do that. It's got to be better than signing on.

Happy Month-iversary

I spoil you dear reader. This constitutes my second blog in one week, how will you control your excitement? The purpose of this prolificness? The one month anniversary of the very purpose of this blog has recently passed, how could I let the one month-iversary pass uncelebrated? In order to mark this auspicious occasion, I thought I would give you an insight into my deepest thoughts and discoveries that have been spawned from this event.

• Being made redundant is actually no bad thing. Might be a little odd at first reading but if you have got stuck in a rut and need a kick up the proverbial backside to get out of it then it isn't a bad option. Oh, and a few quid to keep you going and supplement the rather meagre Job Seekers Allowance helps.
• Job Seekers Allowance is pants. You don't really have to be a job seeker, just browse the internet from time to time (or at least tell the Jobcentre you have) and you get your cash. What the allowance allows though, I have yet to discover.
• Jobcentre plus I have talked about before. The staff are generally very friendly and helpful if not easily confused by anything out of the ordinary. The name however is one of Her Majesty's Governments's biggest misnomers. It is barely a job centre (there aren't many relevant jobs and the searches are odd at best) and the plus part of the name must be because they had a few letters left over.
• There are a load of jobs out there. Willing to work? Willing to do anything? Not too fussy? Then get off yer arse and do something. Might be temporary or part time but must be more fulfilling than doing jack. And generally pays more unless you are an experienced, trained, scrounger.
• Benefits fraudsters must be some of the hardest working people there are. As an honest claimant, I have spent many an hour and much confusion mulling over the endless forms. Put that much effort into a job and you could make good money. Unless of course you are an experienced, trained, bone idle scrounger.
• Don't even consider doing anything worthwhile or becoming a useful member of society while you are unemployed. Any voluntary or unpaid work will attract more paperwork than you could imagine and a significant amount of doubt from anyone at Jobcentre or other benefit agencies "surely you can't be working for no pay, prove it, show us a payslip". "But I'm not paid". "Prove it, show us a payslip". You get the gist.
• Make the most of it. I have had some good quality time to myself and thoroughly enjoyed taking a wander round the hills. It's also a good time to consider what you really want to do.
• Security guards can be quite scary. And there are lots at the job centre.
• The main purpose of the City centre during the weekday is to provide somewhere for the unemployed, their kids and dogs to hang out and smoke very skinny roll ups. I don't think the dogs actually smoke.
• Month-iversary isn't actually a real word.
• Despite what you will hear, daytime TV isn't actually that bad if you look about. Loose Women is (are?) great.
• Except the adverts, they are truly crap.

Interview update

I know you have all been waiting with bated breath to hear how the interviews from my previous blog went. So the results have now been received on the teleprinter (Dickie Davies, Grandstand for those who remember the football results clicking through Saturday tea time) and it is 1-1.

First chronologically, Royal Mail. Not so much an interview this, I passed the on line tests some days before, they wanted to meet the candidates simply to make sure that we were real, willing, able and legally allowed to work in the country. Not being Albanian and having a full compliment of limbs, I was accepted. I have put my name down for night shift, reckon that should fit in nicely with other stuff that's going on now. It's only a month through December but at least that's a month of not having to go into the dole office, sorry, Jobcentre Plus; I may miss the soap opera that plays out on a fortnightly basis but that's the price you pay.

Second interview was for the NHS, or rather 2gether trust in Occupational therapy and, dear reader, you will remember that I didn't (and don't) know what the job was really for. In fact, I didn't even know it was for 2gether not NHS. Rather enjoyed the interview even so, kind of degenerated into a chat amongst three people that could have been friends for years. The killer question though was "What can you bring to the job". Tricky that one when you don't really know what the job is. Despite that, and despite (no surprise) not being offered the job, the interview feedback was good, so quite encouraging. The irony of it all is that the rejection call came whilst I was whiling my day away waiting for Anthony to have his hand put in plaster following a rugby related injury.

It is a bit of a dilemma though, plan still is to be a driving instructor so a permanent job wouldn't fit in too well, on the other hand, the pay would be good, I could save some of the redundancy that way. Possibly the best result would be a bit of a part time contract. Trouble is I might have to be a bit clever to do that.

And so to the weekend. The near annual Caravan show at the Three Counties show ground. I say we went to the caravan show, that does over egg the pudding somewhat. It's actually a good way of getting a couple of nights cheap pitch for the caravan right at the end of the season and taking the kids to let off some steam in Malvern. Vic and Anthony also joined me on a bimble over British Camp which, if you've never seen it, is a stunning Iron age hill fort to the south of the Malvern ridge.

This year, we have bought a new second hand camera from CEX, which, obviously, is pronounced the sex shop. It's a Nikon, not quite a compact and not quite a DSLR and has become my new toy. I am seeing far too much of life through a lens so I shall bore you rigid with a couple of my pictures from the weekend. I shall now turn into a photographic bore and wobble on about F stops, shutter speeds and ISO numbers. Except that would mean nothing to me either. Heck, I might even go out and buy a tripod.

And, the pride, the very pinnacle of my photographic and post editing software abilities, a panorama of the Malvern ridge.

I shall be taking commissions for these new found, genius, photographic skills.

Just like waiting for a bus

Although those that know me will realise that I know very little about that to which this title relates. In the last twelve months, the number of times I have caught a bus could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The only reason I caught them then was because I was somewhat incapaitated after breaking my foot (fifth metatarsal if you must know. Apparantly there are footballers who seem to be famous for little other than breaking the same bone). Don't get me wrong, I have nothing in particular against buses if you have no other means of transport or indeed if it is convenient for you. However, I can walk in to Gloucester from where I live and if I want to travel further I own a bicycle and a car which leave at the time I want them leave; from where I am and go to where I want to go not to somewhere vaguely nearby and I never have to get off my bike or out of my car to wait around for another one.

Anyway, I digress, what is like waiting for a bus? Interviews. You wait for ages then two arrive at once.
During my redundancy, apart from successfully applying to train to be a driving instructor (see earlier blogs), I have applied for a number of fairly diverse jobs and this week I have two interviews. First, on Wednesday, I shall be off to Royal Mail to find out if I need to change my name to Pat for the Christmas period. Strange as it may sound, I have always said that if I were redundant over the Christmas period I would love to spend it working as a Christmas relief postman or otherwise Royal Mail employee. I can't explain why, sorry. On top of that, If I can get night shift it might well work well for me.

Second job is a little harder to explain. It is with the NHS. If you are anything like me, you will browse some obscure websites, although in this case I refer to directgov and subsequent links, some of it makes for interesting reading. On this occasion, I found myself on the NHS job pages. I like the NHS. For all its faults, the NHS is, in my opinion, a marvellous organisation and I would be proud to be a part of it if only until I qualify as a driving instructor. So what is odd about this? I hear you ask. I found the job on the website and thought it looked kind of interesting, however, I'm not really sure what the job is. Could be an interesting interview that one. Keep watching, you may read more about it later in the week.

On another note, my busy week just gets busier, I shall be back at Job Centre Plus again on Tuesday to sign on. The ongoing highlight of my unemployment; Yosser Hughes eat your heart out.

I have had a new experience this weekend, one that will possibly live with me for ever. Life changing you could argue. Tina and I have been discussing for some time about hiring a tandem to try. Whilst in Brecon, it came to my attention that Mike and Cat own a tandem so, Saturday night, we rocked up at their house partly to be sociable and partly to have a go. Everybody should try this at least once in their lifetime, I can't remember the last time I laughed so much that wasn't at somebody else's expense. Just one word of advice, if you are on the back of a tandem and your handlebars are attached to the front seatpost, don't try and straighten the bars on the move. Other than Tina trying to kill me, it was a truly enjoyable experience and if anyone has or knows someone with a tandem for sale remarkably cheap, please let me know.

Finally for today, Jayne read my last blog and got unnaturally excited about a mention, so Jayne, this whole paragraph is for you. I don't know how you're going to contain yourself.

Climb Every Mountain

A bit of a change of subject for today's blog following a cracking weekend in the Brecon Beacons. Allow me to introduce you to the Mountain Trail Challenge arranged for the second consecutive year by good friends of mine Mike and Cat. The basic concept is that several hundred nutters walk (the really crazy run) 30 miles if the full route is selected or 20 miles for the short (short, 20 miles, there's a misnomer if ever one was). The route covers some of the most beautiful and awe inspiring scenery imaginable all within the Brecon national park and includes Pen-y-Fan, the highest point in South Wales, although the more immature (that's everyone involved then) enjoy Fan-y-Big much more.


However, for the second consecutive year, I was marshalling along with Tina and the kids. In simple terms, the job of the marshals is to simply assist Mike in ensuring that everyone that starts the challenge somehow ends up at the finish as well. Last year, we stayed up to greet the last finishers at 4am, this year it was a much more sociable midnight.


The event is extremely well organised and, it has to be said, a great deal of fun, at least for the marshals. The atmosphere and the camararderie is second to none between all the walkers and marshals alike; with the possible exception of one couple, the wife had enough and packed up the tent and drove off leaving other half on the mountains somewhere oblivious to this.

For much of the event this year, Victoria, Anthony and I set ourselves up along with Caroline in Checkpoint 3, the last before the end 5 or 7 miles away depending on which route you were walking. From this vantage point you would see most of the range of human emotion - elation for those relishing the last leg to those already on their last legs. I was driving the retirement vehicle for people that couldn't carry on. Reasons varying from blisters the size of a watermelon, to vomitting to one lady who was four months pregnant! Huge Kudos must go to one young lady who had a myriad of blisters on each ankle where her socks were. She removed her socks, had her legs bandaged, borrowed another pair of socks from Caroline and swapped shoes with her friend because they were lower cut. She carried on and completed the full course.


The kids also had a whale of a time. To all those who don't believe kids do anything more energetic than watch TV should have seen Vic and Anthony climb Pen-Y-Fan and carry on providing great help along with Beth and Jayne right up to the last walkers returned. If evidence were required, here they are at the top.

If a sense of irony were required, after volunteering at least in part as a first aider, Tina herself ended up sampling the best of Merthyr Tydfill's A&E department after her middle finger lost a fight with the caravan roof vent. Despite fears that it may be broken, it seems it had been dislocated leaving some soft flesh damage and an inability to now give the V sign with her right hand.

Apart from the fun and the challenge of the event, there is another side. The event is assisted by the Central Brecons mountain rescue team, Army Cadet Force and a number of local groups and organisations, all of whom recieve a donation in exchange for their help.

So, thanks to Mike and Cat for arranging another fantastic event. If it does (and I hope it does) make it to a third consecutive year, Tina and I are more than willing to help with anything we can and there is a ready supply of very eager small marshals. Oh,and Mike, if you read this, I intend to walk it next year.

I've gone and done it

Monday and Tuesday this week have been nothing if not eventful. Allow me to elaborate in chronological order:

Monday I had a test drive with Red Driving School in Cheltenham. It didn't occur to me that in the last five years I have driven (almost) exclusively a large people carrier with an automatic gearbox. Driving instructor's cars are, inevitably, small with a manual gearbox. So having given the thoroughly decent instructor chap a nervous breakdown when I told him, we set off in to the mean streets of dowtown Cheltenham. A very strange experience; some thirteen years ago I passed my driving test, possibly the best feeling being that I would never have to do it again yet here I am voluntarily doing it. However, after driving round the block a couple of times, a parallel park and reverse into a bay it obviously went well. I don't know if the instructor was more relieved or impressed with my driving, the beautiful smooth gear changes and impeccable positioning or the fact that his car was still intact, but he offered me a place in the driving school in exchange for me handing over my hard earned cash. Which I nearly did, I signed up so they can take the fee. In exchange I now have a bundle of driving related books, a handful of DVDs and CDs and access to an on-line learning resource. My relaxed life as doley now has some purpose and I will be spending all my free time studying. Give it a few months and I could be teaching the next generation of boy racers, sorry, responsible young people craving their freedom.

In the meantime, I am still entitled to sign on so long as I don't work more than sixteen hours, however, in pursuit of the mighty dollar I am looking for some part time temporary work for over Christmas. To these ends I have completed an on-line assessment including a personality profiling questionnaire for Royal Mail. Despite this I have been selected for interview. I may, temporarily at least, be forced to change my name to Pat.

Tuesday was sign on day. A bit of a let down, security didn't seem to be too busy and there wasn't a drunk in sight, in fact, there was barely anyone in sight other than the staff, but then I was there at 9am before your average unemployed is up. I gave up my paperwork to the "greeter" and was instructed to have a look on the job search machines whilst I waited. I didn't wait long before an apparently genuinly cheerful advisor called me through. I discussed, in principle at least, the whole driving thing and part time job idea. This was a good move, I'm firmly in the Job Centre comfort zone now. Technical management positions with real salaries? Sorry can't do those sir. Part time job on or near minimum wage? Way hay we know all about those. Have you tried Argos, Toys R Us, Tesco Sainsbury...... I think he ran out of breath before shops that were likely to be recruiting for Christmas.

"Yes," I replied - "I thought Royal Mail as well." There was no stopping him now, he had his breath back "Good idea. Curry's, Debenhams, British Home Stores, ooh don't forget The Quays, they'll all be recruiting."

I thanked him for his time, promised to return in a fortnight and made my exit. He may still be there rattling off more and more shops now.

What's next?

I'm quite enjoying being a gentleman of leisure. So far I have spent days on a bike (thanks for the advice Mr Tebbitt), several hours in the dole office, a day walking in the Cotswolds and I've trimmed my bush. However, I'm aware that I'm really being little use to anyone (please, no need for comment) and only have a certain amount of cash.

So to consider how to spend the next chapter of my working life. There are a couple of considerations here; one, naturally is that I need to make some money, I'm not greedy just enough to pay the bills, have a good time, several holidays a year, dine out lavishly on a near daily basis, that sort of thing. Secondly, I want to do something that I will enjoy and, hopefully, will be a benefit to society or at least individuals. I believe it was Confucius who once wrote: "Find a job you love, and you will never have to work another day in your life" and I quite fancy never working again so here we go.

A quick poll on Facebook received suggestions such as pole dancer, drag queen and escort. I'm afraid I may be seriously underqualified in certain areas for these. So, dear reader, please consider some options with me:

1. Do much the same techy, project type stuff as I have been doing since God was a boy. Pros: It's easy and I could fall into it reasonably quickly and earn cash. Cons: Frankly I'd rather stick needles in my eyes. Don't get me wrong, I rather enjoyed my job on the whole, the people were generally good and the money OK but really do need a chnage now and redundancy can be my springboard.

2. Teacher. Pros: Optimistically, I could be helping to provide kids with a future and be a role model for a whole load of disaffected kids. Cons: All them kids. The subjects I would be suited to teaching are compulsory so you're still teaching kids that don't see the need. On top of that, I don't have a degree so it could take forever to qualify.

3. Further Education tutor: Much the same considerations as above but for adults. Would be easier to qualify for, pays less.

4. Solicitor. I mean the type that deals in law here. This was, for a while top choice number one. However, the amount of study I would have to do, the amount that would cost and the time it would take when I would barely earn a bean is prohibitive.

5. Driving instructor. A bit out of left field this one perhaps? Damned expensive to start and nearly always self employed but hey, what's redundancy for if not to try and get you on your feet again? I remember the day I passed my test, I still maintain it was so I didn't have to spend another minute in the car with my awful instructor again, but I was elated and to see somebody that happy and to know you wre ea part of it can't be bad.

So the news is, I shall be handing over a large wad in trhe next few days and training to be a driving instructor. Hopefully, by new year I will be qualified enough to teach so if you know someone that could make use of an excellent driving instructor, you know where to find me.

On the Rock 'n' Roll

Those who know me will be aware that I am now redundant. Recent events combined with a certain amount of time on my hands have convinced me to blog my observations. I do not intend to mull over my redundancy process, that's history and not necessary to repeat. However, I have decided that after working for 20 some odd years, the time has come to bite the bullet and sign on. Some of you may be fortunate to have ever had to go into the dole office - sorry Jobcentre Plus; I have yet to find out what the plus is for, or to that matter what the Jobcentre part refers to. For those who have never tried it, go here and watch from about 1:08 for 10 seconds or so. If you are old enough, you may even remember Boys From The Blackstuff.

So to my experience. Twice now I have visited aforementioned office and twice I have witnessed the marvels of their security; allow me to illustrate:

Visit one, I am behind a woman with two teenage (ish) kids in tow:

Woman: But I haven't got any fookin' money

Jobcentre Guy: Sorry madam, you need to fill in the form and make an appointment

Woman: My kids haven't got any fookin' uniform and they go back tomorrow [you have had six weeks]

Jobcentre Guy: We are unable to give money out without your full co-operation and the correct procedure, you can make an appointment for later today.

I need not go on, in a blaze of fookin', fascist accusations and ripped up forms the woman was bundled out, kids following obediently behind.

I collect requisite forms and leave, meekly.

Visit two, appointment made, two days later, 10am, I return and am behind a Scottish gent surrounded already by more G4S employees than I knew existed.

Security: We are unable to see you in that state sir

Bloke: I have nae bin drinkin'

Security: It appears to us you have sir.

Bloke: Aye well mebbe a wee sip but that's all.

You can imagine this conversation isn't going far, cue bloke gets bundled out. Incidentally, when I left an hour or so later, he is in a heap outside still.

So to my interview. To their credit, Jobcentre Plus staff are, despite all they must put up with, nothing but courteous and friendly. It seems I have two interviews. One to go through my details, this is easy, just paperwork and stuff. The second is my Jobseeker's Agreement. In order to claim Jobseeker's Allowance, I have to prove I am looking for work. To these ends I have half a dozen pieces of paper stapled together on which I write down what I am doing to find a job, there is no further evidence asked of me, trusting or what? I have promised to do three things each WEEK to try and find a job. Without breaking my agreement, that could be:

Monday - Log onto Glosjobs.co.uk or similar and decide there is nothing

Tuesday - Have a shufty at the computer thingies in Jobcentre plus, after all I might as well, I have to go to sign on.

Wednesday - Quick butchers at the job section in the Citizen.

That's it, another busy week, best take the next four days off.

I will need a new booklet thingy next time sign on....

Finally, I though that I would use my dead time to become a useful member of society, after all it's about time so I thought some charity work might be in order; but no, whoah there. If I work, even unpaid for more than sixteen hours a week I'm entiltled to nothing, nill, nada, zilch. The reason - it means I am not available for work, still makes sense, after all most of the week they have got me on my toes looking for work.

Just remind me why there are so many long term employed?

I have been considering my next career move, but that's another post.