Dear Blog, I have neglected you. Looking at the date of my last entry, I feel as though I should open with 'Forgive me, Blog, for I have sinned. It's been four weeks since my last posting.' However, if you've read previous witterings, you'll be well aware of the existence of a piece of two-by-four used for self-flagellation. It will, of course, be put to good use immediately ... or at least after I've finished writing.
So, what's news? What's the goss? Well, lots I suppose. Mostly minutiae in the great scheme of things, but they've kept me busy. Where to begin?
I've started my new job. I'm working for 'normal' people, at long last. Having said that, I'm in the NHS so normal is definitely a comparative term. The natives are friendly and the big chiefs seem to give a monkeys about how their staff are getting on. Hurrah! It would be nice if they could work out where I'm meant to be, what training I need and how I get it as quickly as possible, so that I can start doing whatever it is they need me to do - which is still a little bit of a mystery. The term 'HR' has been bandied around and I keep getting slightly sympathetic looks and small bursts of mildly hysterical laughter when I'm introduced to my new co-workers. I'm not too concerned. Yet.
I'm entering my fourth week and I still can't get onto the computer system. I've pitched up at the Harpenden site twice now to shadow the PA to the Locality Manager supposedly for a week each time. I think I've racked up about an hour and a half of training in total. This isn't due to unwillingness to train me, just pressure of work which meant she didn't have time. Ah, well, I've always been a seat-of-the-pants girl. This week there was the added problem of two members of staff going off sick at the St Albans site, so for three days I was at one site in the morning and the other in the afternoon. I kept having to pause when I answered the phone, so that I could remember where I was and who I was working for. Once I think I just paused and settled on 'Hello'. Still, I think I've shown my bosses admirable flexibility and actually I've learnt a lot about how both sites work, which is useful. Yesterday afternoon, the Locality Manager walked past my desk at St Albans, having seen me in Harpenden that morning and said,
'Oh my God, you're here now.'
'Yes,' I replied. 'Actually I'm stalking you.' She gave me a bit of an odd look. Note to self ... censor sense of humour.
What else? Children are well settled at their respective Universities. Jo's even managed to find herself a part time job at a coffee shop in Cardiff. In these difficult times I think she deserves a 'well done' for that. She's having a much happier time with her new housemates and seems to have made a couple of really good friends. I'm so relieved.
Tasha's taken to university life like a duck to water. She gets on really well with all 6 of her flatmates - mind you, one seems to be a bit of a recluse, so maybe we should take that down to 5. He only emerges from his room every three or four days, presumably to find food. She says there are two students from somewhere in eastern Europe - Bulgaria, or Romania, or Albania or somewhere. They share a room, even though they are different sexes and aren't in a relationship, which strikes me as a touch odd or vaguely third world. The girl does all the cooking while the boy criticizes the salt levels in the food. She makes a lot of chicken, apparently. Two or three whole ones a day. When asked why, she just said she likes chicken. And who can argue with that?
The other tenants refer to them in a parental fashion as 'our foreigners'. I've gently questioned the PCness of this phrase and asked if it's not a touch patronising, or even a little right wing, these are, after all, people not possessions, but I've been told that I'm wrong and it's a label assigned with love. But then this is from a child who is referred to as 'our Jew' and sees nothing wrong with that, so what do I know. Maybe we grown-ups have an out-dated and far more frightened view of racism and perception of racial and cultural difference than our children who have grown up in a much larger and more established melting pot. Joanna's nickname at school for a long time was Jewanna. I nearly passed out in horror, seeing gas chambers and cattle trucks on the horizon. She told me not to over-react. The red-head in the class was called 'Ginge' and they used to ask one of their black classmates to smile so they could find him in the dark. There is part of my brain that recoils from this like someone with a peanut allergy from bowl of bar snacks. Whose to say, however, that things haven't moved on and my generation isn't the one with the problem? Maybe they just acknowledge the difference and move on because that difference is largely unimportant. Its just like wearing red socks or listening to '80s soft rock. Its simply part of what makes you you.
What else? Well, I could tell you about last weekend when I fell down the stairs, or last week when I lost my underwear whilst walking home, but I thing I'll leave that for another time. I've got a hedge to trim, leaves to sweep and washing to hang out. Oh, and writing to do ... Level 3 A363 Advanced Creative Writing started last weekend and I also need to get on with my proofreading and copy-editing course, of which I've done precisely four pages. Since June! Must get on.
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