I've never really known how to deal with days off. Today is one of these bizarre creatures.
Days off during the week, to be more precise. Weekends are different. There are normal weekendy things to be doing, usually something happening, often lots of things happening. Other people are off at weekends.
These days I'm likely to be working a fair amount of my weekend time. Last weekend, for instance I spent a sizeable chunk of Saturday at the cleaning job, home just in time for a turnaround and an evening's dancing and socialising, and then I spent Sunday at job number one. My weekend boiled down to an evening. Not a complaint, may I add. It was a good evening, as was the Friday evening. This coming weekend I'm only working on Sunday, but out volunteering with Aberdeen Street Pastors over Saturday night. This weekend will be Saturday daytime. Plans for a bonfire and fancy dress party await.
So yes, weekends, I can do. Weekdays are a different beast. I have now had a whole month of life post-routine. Up to this point in my life weekdays in my memory have meant (in order) Childminder's house, nursery, school, college, university, and this summer volunteering up at the Duck where life was timetabled to the hilt. Even a (thankfully very brief) stint of unemployment meant I had an active task to be getting on with.
Today I have no plans till evening and find myself lacking direction. I ought to do something useful, I ought to do some relaxing and storing up energy for the oncoming mental weekend. I ought to do some cleaning and washing up and laundry to be more prepared for next week, whatever it may bring (no idea what the rota says - it's at work and I'm not). I may also wish to write a few thousand words to put towards this stupid novel-writing thing.
Where to start? Maybe that's the problem.
Friday 4 November 2011
Wednesday 2 November 2011
NaNoWriMo
November is here, peeps. There seems to be a two-way choice in modern society right now as to how to mark it being November. Either grow a moustache or write a novel.
Never one for choosing the easy way out, I'm writing a novel. 1667 words a day until the end of the month. Yup, mental. So, dear blog, off you go down my list of priorities. Sorry 'bout that. Nothing personal, I just need your words elsewhere where they count.
This will be a novel where I try to be profound, but not too much, and I try to be funny, but I'm not sure how. I may even try to be satirical, but I'm really not sure how. It will be about people I know and things I know, but also not. I've a few different incoherent ideas floating around the place and 1154 words from yesterday to be getting on with. Wish me luck.
Today is a Writing Day. It is so because I do not need to go to either job today. I've a to-do list a mile long but writing sounds more fun right now. I hope to get a decent bit done despite everything.
Oh, and the builders are in en mass. Every flat in our building bar this one is having a new kitchen, bathroom and central heating. I feel left out. The stuff that's being torn out and dumped out front is the same as what we have. In the end we'll have the one flat in the worst nick and we'll be the only ones paying rent. Nice one, welfare state.
Over and out.
Thursday 20 October 2011
Role People
This is a carefully chosen title. I ought to start by setting the scene. Sorry for the degree of Vauge - blog characters are people too.
There I am - head to toe in black, shoes held on with safety-pinned elastic, playing at being a theatre tech. It seems that a large part of playing at being a theatre tech involves slouching in the middle of empty auditoriums wearing black and looking sleepy. Only an observation, and what I happened to be doing at the point where our story starts.
People are on stage, practising for doing their Thing that evening. My natural place at this point would be on the stage doing the practising, but this year is different because I've been running around mental inside my own life and have just made it back. The people on stage remain my people all the same.
That evening I'm still wearing black, but lurking in the wings doing my techie impression. I'm careful to be in the right place to watch my people do their Thing, even if I can't see it all.
Scene set. On with the thinking. By trade I'm a Scottish Country Dancer, as are many people on this planet, but none of them ever earn a living by it. Their Real Life Job finances the dancing, but if you asked the little honest person inside their head, they'd be dancers by trade. It's a trade that I learnt young, a respectable number of years ago, so only snippets of the learning process remain implanted as memories. That said, the ones that took root have stayed put. I remember being at a dance, and trying to copy my Dad. I am now old and wise, and understand that it is inevitable that we'll all dance like our parents in the end. My Dad was already old and wise by this point, and said that there were better people to copy than him, and told me who to watch. Watch So-and-so, take note and you won't go wrong. Parental advice like that is not to be sneezed at, and so I did. Faithfully, and to this day. It was pretty good advice too. My dancing aint perfect but at least I have my own bad habits and not my Dad's hand-me-downs. All these years, I've had myself a role model, and a damned good one at that.
But role models are people too, and herein lies the problem. One day the illusion gets shattered. It may have been slowly fading and cracking at the edges, but there's still got to be a point of absolute shatter. If they've been a really good role model this gets delayed, I reckon. The little person in everyone's head who likes things to stay The Way They Are is quite good at keeping the role model on the pedestal, hiding the things the Real You doesn't want to admit just yet.
And this is what happened. Guess I'm a grown-up now.
There I am - head to toe in black, shoes held on with safety-pinned elastic, playing at being a theatre tech. It seems that a large part of playing at being a theatre tech involves slouching in the middle of empty auditoriums wearing black and looking sleepy. Only an observation, and what I happened to be doing at the point where our story starts.
People are on stage, practising for doing their Thing that evening. My natural place at this point would be on the stage doing the practising, but this year is different because I've been running around mental inside my own life and have just made it back. The people on stage remain my people all the same.
That evening I'm still wearing black, but lurking in the wings doing my techie impression. I'm careful to be in the right place to watch my people do their Thing, even if I can't see it all.
Scene set. On with the thinking. By trade I'm a Scottish Country Dancer, as are many people on this planet, but none of them ever earn a living by it. Their Real Life Job finances the dancing, but if you asked the little honest person inside their head, they'd be dancers by trade. It's a trade that I learnt young, a respectable number of years ago, so only snippets of the learning process remain implanted as memories. That said, the ones that took root have stayed put. I remember being at a dance, and trying to copy my Dad. I am now old and wise, and understand that it is inevitable that we'll all dance like our parents in the end. My Dad was already old and wise by this point, and said that there were better people to copy than him, and told me who to watch. Watch So-and-so, take note and you won't go wrong. Parental advice like that is not to be sneezed at, and so I did. Faithfully, and to this day. It was pretty good advice too. My dancing aint perfect but at least I have my own bad habits and not my Dad's hand-me-downs. All these years, I've had myself a role model, and a damned good one at that.
But role models are people too, and herein lies the problem. One day the illusion gets shattered. It may have been slowly fading and cracking at the edges, but there's still got to be a point of absolute shatter. If they've been a really good role model this gets delayed, I reckon. The little person in everyone's head who likes things to stay The Way They Are is quite good at keeping the role model on the pedestal, hiding the things the Real You doesn't want to admit just yet.
And this is what happened. Guess I'm a grown-up now.
Things I haven't blogged about yet
I have a smartphone. By this I mean I have a phone which thinks it is smarter than me. On a good day it will let me check multiple different email accounts, use facebook, use the GPS map function and help me track buses around Edinburgh (I live in Aberdeen). To save my ego from being damaged by the sheer superiority of the phone's capability I like to turn off it's fanciest functions and restrict it to phoning, texting, writing notes to myself and playing sudoku. Except I don't ever notice when it rings, and I'm afraid of phoning people. Call that texting, notes-to-self and sudoku then. Oh yes, I has Kool.
Why am I telling you this? Because when self-restricted to these three functions I do actually use them. And when in Edinburgh this summer (resolutely navigating by sense of direction only) I made a wee list of "Stuff I Should Blog About". I hereby resolve to commence blogging about those things, if only I can recall what I actually meant. I have a part time job this month, and intend to write a novel next month, so now seems to be the time.
See future posts for actual blogs about these things. Cheers.
Why am I telling you this? Because when self-restricted to these three functions I do actually use them. And when in Edinburgh this summer (resolutely navigating by sense of direction only) I made a wee list of "Stuff I Should Blog About". I hereby resolve to commence blogging about those things, if only I can recall what I actually meant. I have a part time job this month, and intend to write a novel next month, so now seems to be the time.
See future posts for actual blogs about these things. Cheers.
Magic Powder
No, not fairydust or illegal drugs, or even legal drugs, but some bizarre sort of hair styling product. Warning: This post will probably turn in to a minor rant about hairdressers and hair products and the expensive pointlessness of it all.
This morning I had my first haircut in many, many months - my first professional haircut in a good while longer than that. And I've learned it's best to be brave when it comes to haircuts, and in my case the shorter the better as it'll no doubt be a while until I concede to go again.
The washing bit is nice - a good head massage and the comforting feeling that this shampoo is likely to be much better than my own, and even if the hairdresser is crap, there's only so much Wrong that can happen at this stage.
I get sat down, dripping wet and draped in a big plasticy sheet in front of a mirror. Attractive. What do I want? I explain my conditions: I'm lazy, it needs to be short and very very easy to look after, beyond that, I'm open to suggestions. Much waving and pointing ensued at this point - we take this bit back to here and leave this like so and thin this and froof that and so on and so forth. Frankly, I wasn't paying attention, and she was enthusiastic, so I said yes.
I now have two haircuts, one on each side of my head.
There's a diagonal line across the back of my head joining them together. At this point I'll reserve judgement as to whether I like it or not. Between the two I like the left better than the right, but I also quite like the right. Trying one haircut at a time is just so conventional. Like it or not, there is one thing I shall reluctantly admit. My hair is cooler than I am. This weekend, between midnight and the early hours of the morning you shall find me in my bed, curled up with my stuffed toy cat and fast asleep. I shall be sleeping bald. My cool new hair will be in an expensive nightclub, wearing designer shoes, drinking Jagerbombs and snogging strangers. It's that cool. I am desperately trying to think of ways to de-cool this hairstyle to avoid this. Suggestions on a postcard.
Back to the fairydust. Between these two simultaneous hairstyles I have been shampoo'ed, conditioned, conditioned with something else, cut, razored, clipped, moused, blow-dried, straightened, hairsprayed and "Magic Powder"ed. Oh yes, magic powder. I asked, you see. "To make it all big". That's it, all I got. Magic powder to make it all big. Genius. It's like I've been back-combed by tiny little fairies.
And so all day I've (on occasions, mostly I've been getting on with Real Life, emailing and eating, walking places and washing up, and such like) been musing on what this stuff could be. It feels horrible. Dry and sticky and the same time. If I smoosh my fingers through my hair they come out white and create a huge amount of friction when you try to rub it off. Almost rubbery. I've seen this before, now where?
Lightbulb goes on. Ping! I got it. She's gone and covered my head (paying particular attention to my left ear) with Slip Stop, dammit.
http://www.rscds.org/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&category_id=7&product_id=189&vmcchk=1&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=4
This is Slip Stop (for the uninitiated amongst you). It goes on the soles of dance shoes and on church hall floors to stop old people falling over too much.
In a roundabout way I feel better now. My too-cool haircut has been achieved through dubious magical hair products akin to those used by Scottish country dancers. This levels out the cool factor, and I can once again be seen in public with my own head.
This morning I had my first haircut in many, many months - my first professional haircut in a good while longer than that. And I've learned it's best to be brave when it comes to haircuts, and in my case the shorter the better as it'll no doubt be a while until I concede to go again.
The washing bit is nice - a good head massage and the comforting feeling that this shampoo is likely to be much better than my own, and even if the hairdresser is crap, there's only so much Wrong that can happen at this stage.
I get sat down, dripping wet and draped in a big plasticy sheet in front of a mirror. Attractive. What do I want? I explain my conditions: I'm lazy, it needs to be short and very very easy to look after, beyond that, I'm open to suggestions. Much waving and pointing ensued at this point - we take this bit back to here and leave this like so and thin this and froof that and so on and so forth. Frankly, I wasn't paying attention, and she was enthusiastic, so I said yes.
I now have two haircuts, one on each side of my head.
There's a diagonal line across the back of my head joining them together. At this point I'll reserve judgement as to whether I like it or not. Between the two I like the left better than the right, but I also quite like the right. Trying one haircut at a time is just so conventional. Like it or not, there is one thing I shall reluctantly admit. My hair is cooler than I am. This weekend, between midnight and the early hours of the morning you shall find me in my bed, curled up with my stuffed toy cat and fast asleep. I shall be sleeping bald. My cool new hair will be in an expensive nightclub, wearing designer shoes, drinking Jagerbombs and snogging strangers. It's that cool. I am desperately trying to think of ways to de-cool this hairstyle to avoid this. Suggestions on a postcard.
Back to the fairydust. Between these two simultaneous hairstyles I have been shampoo'ed, conditioned, conditioned with something else, cut, razored, clipped, moused, blow-dried, straightened, hairsprayed and "Magic Powder"ed. Oh yes, magic powder. I asked, you see. "To make it all big". That's it, all I got. Magic powder to make it all big. Genius. It's like I've been back-combed by tiny little fairies.
And so all day I've (on occasions, mostly I've been getting on with Real Life, emailing and eating, walking places and washing up, and such like) been musing on what this stuff could be. It feels horrible. Dry and sticky and the same time. If I smoosh my fingers through my hair they come out white and create a huge amount of friction when you try to rub it off. Almost rubbery. I've seen this before, now where?
Lightbulb goes on. Ping! I got it. She's gone and covered my head (paying particular attention to my left ear) with Slip Stop, dammit.
http://www.rscds.org/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&category_id=7&product_id=189&vmcchk=1&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=4
This is Slip Stop (for the uninitiated amongst you). It goes on the soles of dance shoes and on church hall floors to stop old people falling over too much.
In a roundabout way I feel better now. My too-cool haircut has been achieved through dubious magical hair products akin to those used by Scottish country dancers. This levels out the cool factor, and I can once again be seen in public with my own head.
Friday 7 October 2011
More Success!
Dear Blog, I have another job. I start in two week's time.
Somebody is looking out for me today.
Somebody is looking out for me today.
Busy bunnies
I am today the aforementioned busy bunny. Or pupu, in Finnish. I have three things of great enough excitement to report today, dear readers.
News item #1. Yesterday I had an interview. I wore heels and a skirt and make-up and ironed things and everything. Yes, I'm still sporting a hairstyle better suited to a girl of primary school age, but I like to think I have a certain skill with a Kirby grip. I showed up exactly ten minutes early. I know some go for the super-keen fifteen minutes early, but I know myself - ten minutes of waiting, not looking nervous, not making eye contact with anyone is the limit of what I can stand. The interview takes place in a corridor full of boxes of stock where someone has pushed a few aside to fit in two chairs, but it was cute. I like to think I do better at interview than I do on the basis of a CV or first application. I answered all the questions, didn't swear or fart or insult anyone, so we'll see how it goes. I even tried to sound like I had a clue about what was going on. Mr Manager Dude was interviewing five people, and needed to hire two, so the odds are good. He even promised to let us know either way last night or tomorrow morning. It's only half eight so I'm not exactly expecting the phone to ring right now, but hopefully I'll know either way by about lunchtime. If I do get it, it's a job till the end of the Christmas rush, and then a one in three chance of a permanent part-time job.
News item #2. In the form of an email yesterday evening
News item #3... is about a job vacancy a friend has passed on to me. It's for a full time (three year!) teaching job at a fancy school about two and a half hours away from where I am now. I am woefully underqualified for it, but if I decide that it excites me enough I will still give it my best shot. So I've got some thinking to do about my priorities in this world. I'm comfortable in Aberdeen, but am I tied to the place? What things make me feel tied to it and are they worth staying for? Do I want to be a teacher? I've got 12 days before the deadline for applications. Reckon that gives me about a week to make my mind up.
News item #1. Yesterday I had an interview. I wore heels and a skirt and make-up and ironed things and everything. Yes, I'm still sporting a hairstyle better suited to a girl of primary school age, but I like to think I have a certain skill with a Kirby grip. I showed up exactly ten minutes early. I know some go for the super-keen fifteen minutes early, but I know myself - ten minutes of waiting, not looking nervous, not making eye contact with anyone is the limit of what I can stand. The interview takes place in a corridor full of boxes of stock where someone has pushed a few aside to fit in two chairs, but it was cute. I like to think I do better at interview than I do on the basis of a CV or first application. I answered all the questions, didn't swear or fart or insult anyone, so we'll see how it goes. I even tried to sound like I had a clue about what was going on. Mr Manager Dude was interviewing five people, and needed to hire two, so the odds are good. He even promised to let us know either way last night or tomorrow morning. It's only half eight so I'm not exactly expecting the phone to ring right now, but hopefully I'll know either way by about lunchtime. If I do get it, it's a job till the end of the Christmas rush, and then a one in three chance of a permanent part-time job.
News item #2. In the form of an email yesterday evening
Your ..... application - invitation to self schedule group assessment
Dear... I am pleased to invite you to attend an assessment centre at ..... Aberdeen. To choose a suitable date and time please log in to the application centreSounds a lot like an interview. Yay, go me, woop, etc. I'm holding off selecting a time for it until I hear back from yesterday's Mr Manager Dude.
News item #3... is about a job vacancy a friend has passed on to me. It's for a full time (three year!) teaching job at a fancy school about two and a half hours away from where I am now. I am woefully underqualified for it, but if I decide that it excites me enough I will still give it my best shot. So I've got some thinking to do about my priorities in this world. I'm comfortable in Aberdeen, but am I tied to the place? What things make me feel tied to it and are they worth staying for? Do I want to be a teacher? I've got 12 days before the deadline for applications. Reckon that gives me about a week to make my mind up.
Wednesday 5 October 2011
The Rules
Picture the scene. Me, sitting in my lovely little caravan. It is lovely and cute and comfortable and the sun always shines now that I am elsewhere and thinking back. I am thinking about My Life And Future. Right now, job hunting is the thing to be doing, but it's not the most structured thing to be doing, and I am rubbish without structure. So I wrote rules, and these are them. I feel like sharing today. In no particular order of importance:
#1. Bedtime is 11pm, Morning alarm goes off at 7am, and no snoozing. Or not much snoozing. Or something like that.
#2. Be a useful person. This means cleaning and fixing and helping out. Volunteering and not getting paid is better than being bored and not getting paid.
#3. Keep applying for stuff. Carry CVs.
#4. Don't moan about it. Other people are starving and homeless.
#5. Cheap stuff is good, eat cheaply, live very cheaply.
#6. God is good, and has it all figured out. He won't let me starve. All I really have to do is pray and trust.
#7. Be imaginative.
#8. Limit internet time.
#9. The car is for necessary journeys only.
#10. Stay smart, get a haircut, iron shirts.
So there.
#1. Bedtime is 11pm, Morning alarm goes off at 7am, and no snoozing. Or not much snoozing. Or something like that.
#2. Be a useful person. This means cleaning and fixing and helping out. Volunteering and not getting paid is better than being bored and not getting paid.
#3. Keep applying for stuff. Carry CVs.
#4. Don't moan about it. Other people are starving and homeless.
#5. Cheap stuff is good, eat cheaply, live very cheaply.
#6. God is good, and has it all figured out. He won't let me starve. All I really have to do is pray and trust.
#7. Be imaginative.
#8. Limit internet time.
#9. The car is for necessary journeys only.
#10. Stay smart, get a haircut, iron shirts.
So there.
Interview outfit
Job hunt report. Progress is being made.
On Monday I gave away two copies of my CV. Only two I tell you, poor show kid. That said I did go home with a list of places that were looking for online applications. Yesterday I applied for/enquired about 5 different jobs. One said no thanks, it's gone.
But then life got more exciting - one of the places I'd given a CV on Monday phoned back - I got myself an interview. And it's tomorrow! Must remember not to call Mr Potential Future Employer Blokey "Dude" again.
Email inbox this morning. One no thank you, but also a glimmer of hope:
Also discovered yesterday was a Research Assistant position in my old uni department that I'm mostly qualified for, but not entirely. A bit scary but I'll follow it up all the same.
Today's plan therefore follows thus:
#1 Online assessment, email the uni. #2 Lunch, possibly whilst being big brave grown-up type person and telephoning the council. #3 Job Centre Appointment. #4 CV-ing Union Sq. #5 Home for tea, maybe more online job seeking. #6 Teaching a bunch of newbies to dance.
So much for watching telly in bed.
On Monday I gave away two copies of my CV. Only two I tell you, poor show kid. That said I did go home with a list of places that were looking for online applications. Yesterday I applied for/enquired about 5 different jobs. One said no thanks, it's gone.
But then life got more exciting - one of the places I'd given a CV on Monday phoned back - I got myself an interview. And it's tomorrow! Must remember not to call Mr Potential Future Employer Blokey "Dude" again.
Email inbox this morning. One no thank you, but also a glimmer of hope:
Good news! You have passed the first stage of your application for the position of ... We would now like you to complete an online assessment so we can find out more about you.And tonight I'll get to read about an even less likely but much more exciting job vacancy that might be for me. Probably isn't, but I'll give it a good Think anyway.
Also discovered yesterday was a Research Assistant position in my old uni department that I'm mostly qualified for, but not entirely. A bit scary but I'll follow it up all the same.
Today's plan therefore follows thus:
#1 Online assessment, email the uni. #2 Lunch, possibly whilst being big brave grown-up type person and telephoning the council. #3 Job Centre Appointment. #4 CV-ing Union Sq. #5 Home for tea, maybe more online job seeking. #6 Teaching a bunch of newbies to dance.
So much for watching telly in bed.
Tuesday 4 October 2011
Staying Awake
I think I may come to find motivation a challenge. There's a point mid-afternoon when I'd like nothing else than a comfy warm cozy little nap, but I know fine well it would turn in to a wasted afternoon. That and my bed is unmade and beneath a pile of unpacking.
My next job is tackling that pile of unpacking, but I fancied updating my adoring fans with today's achievements. I have put in applications for 4 jobs and phoned about another, which has already gone. Three more to follow up today a the very least before I'm off out for a free tea.
My next job is tackling that pile of unpacking, but I fancied updating my adoring fans with today's achievements. I have put in applications for 4 jobs and phoned about another, which has already gone. Three more to follow up today a the very least before I'm off out for a free tea.
Monday 3 October 2011
Unemployment
Today a new chapter of my life begins. The summer is over the autumn begins, and I am no longer a student, no longer a volunteer Summer Helper in a scenic caravan, I am now a statistic. Today I phoned a freephone number, told a stranger lots of personal information, and became a Jobseeker. I am officially unemployed. The great job hunt begins, and this is what I shall be doing until I am successful. I hope and pray that this won't be too long.
This blog seems like a clever wee place to document how I get on, what life on jobseeker's allowance feels like, what I do each day, how well I stick to my own rules* and how well I deal with the reverse culture shock of returning to my own life. It's going to become a "This is what I did today" sort of blog.
So today I got up, dressed smartly (I looked good, if out of place at the jobcentre. Brown and pink-ish fatface skirt which came from a clothes swap, brown jumper I've owned for years, brown tights and tan cowboy-ish boots, plus a cream wooley sleeveless cardigan thing. I'm going to make it, or variants of it, my interview outfit.) and left the house. Flatmate has kindly given me a groupon haircut (right now I look like someone who had a neat, short hairstyle about months ago and has now got to a point that is most kindly described as "shaggy". Perfect for hippying it around in the cairngorms but not the neat tidy professional look I'd rather be sporting) so I went with her to print it out, and headed in to town.
Stop #1 Jobcentre Plus. Here's a phone number, off you go and phone it. Oh, and there are some computer's in there you can use to search for jobs. The computer things were actually quite useful. They let you print off little bits of paper with vacancy details on. I spent a while playing with it. Anything in Aberdeen, or thereabouts, that didn't ask for a particular qualification or experience. All I've really done though is found vacancies and printed them off. Applying is the next step.
Stop #2 Hairdressers. Nope, hairdressers are cool funky types who just don't do Mondays. No-one to answer the phone either on Mondays. Tomorrow morning, bang on 9am I'll be on the phone.
Handed in 3 CVs on my way back and made a list of places with adverts in the windows asking for online applications. One of the places even sounded like I might have a chance. No prizes for guessing what I'll be doing tomorrow.
My achievements for the rest of the day also include making a vat of very yummy carrot soup - yesterday I got hold of 2kg of carrots for 10p - and a few loads of laundry. I'm off to wash up and make spag bol for tea. There's even a chance of a swim tonight - for which I will try using my out-of-date student card to get in cheap. This has set me to thinking about the things I enjoy. In short I'm happy when I'm busy, and I'm very happy when I'm helping other folk out and looking after them. I love to host. I have so many pie-in-the-sky dreams but one of them sees me running a coffee shop or a restaurant or both. Sadly what I lack right now is and proper cooking experience of qualifications. This has got me thinking about back doors in to this. I plan to apply for a bundle of Kitchen Porter and waitressing jobs with this in mind.
That'll do. I'm off. Something to leave you with - QI reliably informs me that we make our best decisions when we really need the toilet. So next time you see me hopping up and down outside the bathroom door with my legs crossed - ask me what I want to do with the rest of my life.
This blog seems like a clever wee place to document how I get on, what life on jobseeker's allowance feels like, what I do each day, how well I stick to my own rules* and how well I deal with the reverse culture shock of returning to my own life. It's going to become a "This is what I did today" sort of blog.
So today I got up, dressed smartly (I looked good, if out of place at the jobcentre. Brown and pink-ish fatface skirt which came from a clothes swap, brown jumper I've owned for years, brown tights and tan cowboy-ish boots, plus a cream wooley sleeveless cardigan thing. I'm going to make it, or variants of it, my interview outfit.) and left the house. Flatmate has kindly given me a groupon haircut (right now I look like someone who had a neat, short hairstyle about months ago and has now got to a point that is most kindly described as "shaggy". Perfect for hippying it around in the cairngorms but not the neat tidy professional look I'd rather be sporting) so I went with her to print it out, and headed in to town.
Stop #1 Jobcentre Plus. Here's a phone number, off you go and phone it. Oh, and there are some computer's in there you can use to search for jobs. The computer things were actually quite useful. They let you print off little bits of paper with vacancy details on. I spent a while playing with it. Anything in Aberdeen, or thereabouts, that didn't ask for a particular qualification or experience. All I've really done though is found vacancies and printed them off. Applying is the next step.
Stop #2 Hairdressers. Nope, hairdressers are cool funky types who just don't do Mondays. No-one to answer the phone either on Mondays. Tomorrow morning, bang on 9am I'll be on the phone.
Handed in 3 CVs on my way back and made a list of places with adverts in the windows asking for online applications. One of the places even sounded like I might have a chance. No prizes for guessing what I'll be doing tomorrow.
My achievements for the rest of the day also include making a vat of very yummy carrot soup - yesterday I got hold of 2kg of carrots for 10p - and a few loads of laundry. I'm off to wash up and make spag bol for tea. There's even a chance of a swim tonight - for which I will try using my out-of-date student card to get in cheap. This has set me to thinking about the things I enjoy. In short I'm happy when I'm busy, and I'm very happy when I'm helping other folk out and looking after them. I love to host. I have so many pie-in-the-sky dreams but one of them sees me running a coffee shop or a restaurant or both. Sadly what I lack right now is and proper cooking experience of qualifications. This has got me thinking about back doors in to this. I plan to apply for a bundle of Kitchen Porter and waitressing jobs with this in mind.
That'll do. I'm off. Something to leave you with - QI reliably informs me that we make our best decisions when we really need the toilet. So next time you see me hopping up and down outside the bathroom door with my legs crossed - ask me what I want to do with the rest of my life.
Saturday 24 September 2011
Blog faster, Minion!
Alas, this is the part in every mediocre blog's life when the blogger gets a bit distracted by Real Life, and stops thinking, "Oh my, wouldn't this be a fun thing to blog about" and starts doing those fun things without reporting back. Then the blog readers say, "Oi, blog Minion, we are hungry for you amazing bloggings, with your clever wit and insightful commentaries on modern culture", and the blogger says, "nah, stick it" (for this is a clever, insightful thing to say. Deep. Meaningful. Loaded with relevance to the reader's daily routine) because it just wouldn't do to give the public what they want. This goes on for some time, after which, out of a strong sense of social justice and artistic responsibility, the blogger gives in:
Today I woke up. It was sunny. I had a pee, and ate some cereal for breakfast.....
But you never know. I may not be a writer of yet another mediocre blog. Unbeknown to me this blog may yet be amazing, and picking up popularity in far flung corners of the world. Small Russian children may be learning English at the very moment just to read of this blog. It may be amazingly terrible - as evidenced by the lack of recent posts and continuity. Nobody wants to be mediocre, get (according to Radio 4's Just a Minute on Monday) we all strive for mediocrity and most of us achieve it.
Me. I've thought of some more things to muse about.
Today I woke up. It was sunny. I had a pee, and ate some cereal for breakfast.....
But you never know. I may not be a writer of yet another mediocre blog. Unbeknown to me this blog may yet be amazing, and picking up popularity in far flung corners of the world. Small Russian children may be learning English at the very moment just to read of this blog. It may be amazingly terrible - as evidenced by the lack of recent posts and continuity. Nobody wants to be mediocre, get (according to Radio 4's Just a Minute on Monday) we all strive for mediocrity and most of us achieve it.
Me. I've thought of some more things to muse about.
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Inefficiency
Warning, this isn't the most interesting topic I've ever rambled on about. Is shall try not to turn this in to a rant, for the musing that it has come from was not a rant, merely a collection of thoughts I wish to share. My thought is this: being alone is not sensible. My thought was a not about how it is not good for me (or anyone for that matter, maybe I should start to write about the things "one" does?) to be alone in terms of emotional or social matters, but about how it is just not practical.
As ever it is the need to feed one's self (off I go then) that brought me to this conclusion. Being semi isolated exaggerates patterns that exist in the Real World, and gives me the space to notice them. Quarter past nine at night and I'm hungry, I can tell by the exact location of the unhappiness in my tummy and the fact I'm feeling grumpy and hard done by with no logical focus. So I wander back to the caravan thinking about how I would set about fixing this. Toast, I think. No, using the grill on the gas stove inside sets off the fire alarm, and using the outside stove after dark just becomes a moth massacre. Anything left over from tea? No again. I settled for a traditional jam sandwich in the end, which might not quite fill the whole, but there's not room left for a whole other one. I live my life in units of 1 1/2, you see.
All the while I'm thinking. I'm hungry because tonight's tea has done a half-hearted job. Tonight's tea was some egg noodles, babycorn, my last two mushrooms and the first three leaves of a cabbage. Food would be much more exciting if there was someone else for me to feed as well as little old me. Tonight's choice was dictated by the need to eat the second half of packet of noodles - reduced to clear and not going to last any longer. Sold in a size that two people would eat for one meal, or one person would eat for two. Tomorrow I'll need to finish the babycorn before it grows legs and leads a mutiny - even if that makes it four days in a row. I'll now be eating cabbage all this week and next, for it takes a single person rather a while to get through a whole cabbage. Variety is not for the lonely, says Mr Tesco. Before I get a bunch of comments about starving children in Africa, this an observation, I shall point out, not a complaint. I quite like cabbage.
Then we have the effort involved in the cooking. A meal for one takes a number of cooking implements and a length off time. Cooking the same meal for two (provided you're going to sit down and eat it together) is unlikely to take more pans and utensils, and unlikely to take too much longer, certainly not twice as long. Same goes for the gas I'm cooking on. Ergo, compare me on my own to the couple sharing the other caravan. They do twice the work I do but don't use twice the resources. Single living is inefficient.
I've known this from the other side. Sharing everything doesn't leave you with half of what you had, you still have everything, but those things become twice as useful, but you hold them less tight.
As ever it is the need to feed one's self (off I go then) that brought me to this conclusion. Being semi isolated exaggerates patterns that exist in the Real World, and gives me the space to notice them. Quarter past nine at night and I'm hungry, I can tell by the exact location of the unhappiness in my tummy and the fact I'm feeling grumpy and hard done by with no logical focus. So I wander back to the caravan thinking about how I would set about fixing this. Toast, I think. No, using the grill on the gas stove inside sets off the fire alarm, and using the outside stove after dark just becomes a moth massacre. Anything left over from tea? No again. I settled for a traditional jam sandwich in the end, which might not quite fill the whole, but there's not room left for a whole other one. I live my life in units of 1 1/2, you see.
All the while I'm thinking. I'm hungry because tonight's tea has done a half-hearted job. Tonight's tea was some egg noodles, babycorn, my last two mushrooms and the first three leaves of a cabbage. Food would be much more exciting if there was someone else for me to feed as well as little old me. Tonight's choice was dictated by the need to eat the second half of packet of noodles - reduced to clear and not going to last any longer. Sold in a size that two people would eat for one meal, or one person would eat for two. Tomorrow I'll need to finish the babycorn before it grows legs and leads a mutiny - even if that makes it four days in a row. I'll now be eating cabbage all this week and next, for it takes a single person rather a while to get through a whole cabbage. Variety is not for the lonely, says Mr Tesco. Before I get a bunch of comments about starving children in Africa, this an observation, I shall point out, not a complaint. I quite like cabbage.
Then we have the effort involved in the cooking. A meal for one takes a number of cooking implements and a length off time. Cooking the same meal for two (provided you're going to sit down and eat it together) is unlikely to take more pans and utensils, and unlikely to take too much longer, certainly not twice as long. Same goes for the gas I'm cooking on. Ergo, compare me on my own to the couple sharing the other caravan. They do twice the work I do but don't use twice the resources. Single living is inefficient.
I've known this from the other side. Sharing everything doesn't leave you with half of what you had, you still have everything, but those things become twice as useful, but you hold them less tight.
Friday 26 August 2011
80 Miles
Today I am in a particularly pensive mood. So I shall tell the story of my most recent mini-adventure.
I have been living in a caravan since the beginning of July with the exception of a few nights on a sofabed in an Alsatian village and a night in my old bunk bed in my Grandad's house. That was four weeks ago now and since then I've pretty much been alone in my dinky, chilly caravan. I've had three nights of company in that time, which have been lovely. It seems I like very much to have friendly faces around. It makes sense - since leaving home four years ago I've been living with at least 2 others, initially through first-year necessity, and since then through choice. The relative success of these arrangements aside (first year taught me rather a lot), I've rarely been without company for so long.
This past week I found myself missing Real Life more and more, and feeling down that it would be a while until my next chance to catch up with my Bridget Jones-style urban family. I reckon it's ok to own up to this.
Monday morning each week sees us sitting around the kitchen table in the house discussing which of the three of us gets which day off. This week it was yesterday. Right, thought I, I'm out of here. Public transport between here and Aberdeen conspires against me time and time again, but I thought I'd give it a shot. Being spontaneous, and all that. Tuesday night I buy a bunch of assorted train tickets and book a night in a cheap Invernessian hostel. Wednesday evening, I finish my reception stint, grab a bag and run for a bus. Took me 5 hours to get back to Aberdeen. Dear Universe, Seriously, 80 miles in 5 hours? 16 miles an hour? That's the best you can do and then you get grumpy when we run cars and use petrol and get fat. Kid, don't rant now.
This gives me a glorious 22 hours at home. I have flapjack and a late night natter with the girls about men and babies. I sleep in a real bed, in only one layer of pyjamas in the same building as a toilet. I cook breakfast where the fridge, cooker and sink are in the same room. I walk my new flatmate to work in trainers I haven't worn in months and my feet feel so much better. I catch a bus that comes every 20 minutes instead of once a day. I wander Aberdeen and notice that I no longer recognise the faces of the homeless people, 2 months away and they're off again. I buy some new reading material in the Oxfam bookshop and meet up with a friend for coffee and a giant slice of victoria sponge. It was lovely, we talked for hours about life and the future, and all the things we should do with our lives. Planned adventures and a grand tour of France. It might even happen one day. Plans are much more exciting if they might come true in the end. I met more folks for lunch and dropped in on another in the afternoon before joining the whole gang for an evening's SCD. More friendly faces, more talking, more hugs than I've had in weeks. Since the last time I saw them all, frankly.
In short, I love my friends. They are worth two long late night bus and train journeys, a very short night in a hostel and a painfully early morning train back here. Yes, it's soppy, but most of them won't read this so I'm safe for the time being. As I write the internet isn't working so I'm as safe as houses. I was back in time for kick off at 9:30 as normal, if I bit dazed and hungry.
Been out of sorts all day, mentally contrasting the two and trying to work out which is the best shape and colour for me. I've liked to think that I'd make a middling-good country kid if ever I had the chance. The chance sees me running back to the city and breathing a sigh of relief. Is that just because I'm happier with the familiar - would I breath a similar sigh of relief returning to my own rural corner if it was indeed my own corner that I had built around me? I don't think I'm so bothered about other cities. The answer I think, is that the Big Guy reckons Aberdeen will have to do me for the next little while. Here goes...
I have been living in a caravan since the beginning of July with the exception of a few nights on a sofabed in an Alsatian village and a night in my old bunk bed in my Grandad's house. That was four weeks ago now and since then I've pretty much been alone in my dinky, chilly caravan. I've had three nights of company in that time, which have been lovely. It seems I like very much to have friendly faces around. It makes sense - since leaving home four years ago I've been living with at least 2 others, initially through first-year necessity, and since then through choice. The relative success of these arrangements aside (first year taught me rather a lot), I've rarely been without company for so long.
This past week I found myself missing Real Life more and more, and feeling down that it would be a while until my next chance to catch up with my Bridget Jones-style urban family. I reckon it's ok to own up to this.
Monday morning each week sees us sitting around the kitchen table in the house discussing which of the three of us gets which day off. This week it was yesterday. Right, thought I, I'm out of here. Public transport between here and Aberdeen conspires against me time and time again, but I thought I'd give it a shot. Being spontaneous, and all that. Tuesday night I buy a bunch of assorted train tickets and book a night in a cheap Invernessian hostel. Wednesday evening, I finish my reception stint, grab a bag and run for a bus. Took me 5 hours to get back to Aberdeen. Dear Universe, Seriously, 80 miles in 5 hours? 16 miles an hour? That's the best you can do and then you get grumpy when we run cars and use petrol and get fat. Kid, don't rant now.
This gives me a glorious 22 hours at home. I have flapjack and a late night natter with the girls about men and babies. I sleep in a real bed, in only one layer of pyjamas in the same building as a toilet. I cook breakfast where the fridge, cooker and sink are in the same room. I walk my new flatmate to work in trainers I haven't worn in months and my feet feel so much better. I catch a bus that comes every 20 minutes instead of once a day. I wander Aberdeen and notice that I no longer recognise the faces of the homeless people, 2 months away and they're off again. I buy some new reading material in the Oxfam bookshop and meet up with a friend for coffee and a giant slice of victoria sponge. It was lovely, we talked for hours about life and the future, and all the things we should do with our lives. Planned adventures and a grand tour of France. It might even happen one day. Plans are much more exciting if they might come true in the end. I met more folks for lunch and dropped in on another in the afternoon before joining the whole gang for an evening's SCD. More friendly faces, more talking, more hugs than I've had in weeks. Since the last time I saw them all, frankly.
In short, I love my friends. They are worth two long late night bus and train journeys, a very short night in a hostel and a painfully early morning train back here. Yes, it's soppy, but most of them won't read this so I'm safe for the time being. As I write the internet isn't working so I'm as safe as houses. I was back in time for kick off at 9:30 as normal, if I bit dazed and hungry.
Been out of sorts all day, mentally contrasting the two and trying to work out which is the best shape and colour for me. I've liked to think that I'd make a middling-good country kid if ever I had the chance. The chance sees me running back to the city and breathing a sigh of relief. Is that just because I'm happier with the familiar - would I breath a similar sigh of relief returning to my own rural corner if it was indeed my own corner that I had built around me? I don't think I'm so bothered about other cities. The answer I think, is that the Big Guy reckons Aberdeen will have to do me for the next little while. Here goes...
Sunday 21 August 2011
Fractions of car
I am a very lucky duck-watcher, for this week I am to become a car owner for the very first time. The excitement lead to me jumping up and down in a phone box for the best part of an hour much to the amusement of one particularly nosy village resident. I tell a lie, I am about to become a fraction of a car owner - not because I will need to sell one of every body part that I have two of and half of every that I have one of, but because this car will not only belong to yours truly. It is to be friendly caring sharing community type car. To this end it is unlikely to come into my possession whilst I am having my countryside adventures of which I occasionally tell.
This makes life every so slightly ironic, one feels. Since the moment of ok-do-it-my-Mum-approves I have covered many (enjoyable, calorie-burning) miles on foot and bicycle. I have also spent some quality internet time working out all possible public transport methods of travelling between here and home in Aberdeen. It seems it is possible to travel between the two without a great detour to Inverness or Perth. Nethy Bridge to Grantown to Advie to Toremore to Aberlour to Dufftown to Keith and the last leg on the train to Aberdeen. All well and good, a bit faffy but it does the trick. However. That first bus leg from Nethy Bridge to Grantown were I to get comfy, have a little daydream and not get off at Grantown, would continue on to Inverness, whereupon I would be in time to jump aboard the very train that would finish off my great local bus journey above. God is laughing at me.
In my current relative warmth and safety I'm tempted to get to the main road and stick out a thumb, but I've never hitched before and would probably be scared. I'm a bit of a wimp, you see. Ho hum, if I ever try it I'll report back.
I also have no real need or available time for a trip to Aberdeen. I might go to Toremore and buy some whisky though. Grandads have birthdays.
This makes life every so slightly ironic, one feels. Since the moment of ok-do-it-my-Mum-approves I have covered many (enjoyable, calorie-burning) miles on foot and bicycle. I have also spent some quality internet time working out all possible public transport methods of travelling between here and home in Aberdeen. It seems it is possible to travel between the two without a great detour to Inverness or Perth. Nethy Bridge to Grantown to Advie to Toremore to Aberlour to Dufftown to Keith and the last leg on the train to Aberdeen. All well and good, a bit faffy but it does the trick. However. That first bus leg from Nethy Bridge to Grantown were I to get comfy, have a little daydream and not get off at Grantown, would continue on to Inverness, whereupon I would be in time to jump aboard the very train that would finish off my great local bus journey above. God is laughing at me.
In my current relative warmth and safety I'm tempted to get to the main road and stick out a thumb, but I've never hitched before and would probably be scared. I'm a bit of a wimp, you see. Ho hum, if I ever try it I'll report back.
I also have no real need or available time for a trip to Aberdeen. I might go to Toremore and buy some whisky though. Grandads have birthdays.
Friday 19 August 2011
English Rant
We really do have a stupid language. I have a funny feeling that in a warehouse somewhere are all the leftover letters that got chopped out somewhere and a small bloke in mucky overalls frantically making the other letters that we overuse. 'L's for instance. Take the word 'full'. Thing one contains as much of substance two as thing one's capacity can hold. Full. Nice little word. Does what it says on the tin. 'Fullness', still perfectly fine. Take the idea of being full and turn it into a quality. But then as soon as we prit-stick it on to the end of a word a small goblin sneaks out and pinches one of the 'l's. We wind up will silly unbalanced words like 'careful' and 'fearful' which just look daft. Their only hope of rescue is to wait for transformation from adjective to adverb and wind up being 'carefully' and 'fearfully' made. I grew up in a place called Fulwell. How can a well be full when we don't let it keep all if the 'full'? Silly town. Other words do the same thing in different places. Why not make like the Germans and just clag words together by making them budge up till there's no space between them? Quit pinching letters, there are enough out there to go round! Once you become 'able' to 'use' a thing we chop out one of the 'e's. Now really, we've certainly got enough of them, the most common letter in the flippin' language. Can't cite shortages on that one. Poor things. No wonder our yoofs can't spell and the little bloke in the warehouse is going bonkers. Bonkers, now that's a decent word. No messing about with chopping it up and sliding it in elsewhere. Just a nice simple, usable word. I should use it more often.
And yes, I feel better now. Off to fry some eggs.
Another day another Dawn.
As I sip my morning tea and crunch my morning cereal – Mr Tesco's equivalent of Special K eaten with a spork – I have some small musings to share. Or at least I think I do. Or I shall have once I've finished my cereal. This morning I am up, showered, dressed and back in to bed with a computer and cereal course (there will also be eggs and mushrooms, I have to catch up on 1003 calories I accidentally mislaid yesterday, more on that somewhere) before my alarm went off. Apart from the showering bit this is not an unusual occurrence out here. Back in the Real World this would be barely short of miraculous. This morning a shower was overdue and quite necessary if I want to be in an enclosed space with anyone who possesses eyes and a nose at any point today. Nothing like slightly-too-hot water dripping on you in a cold misty forest to kick the brain in to wakefulness.
Here I wake up, moan about the chillyness and potter around for a while getting narked about the discrepancies of the English language. At home I would throw on my cleanest hoody, brush my teeth and run to uni. When I grow up I would like to be a morning person.
Oh yes, I have been musing on the nature of pride and arrogance and the thin line between them. I reckon the Big Guy's got me sussed and whenever I'm in danger of being a cocky sod he likes to remind me that I'd as dim as the rest of them. Last night I though I would be a smartiepants and take the bus to Grantown, do some food shopping, and come home again. Check timetable – yes, there are buses in the evening which will perform this function. Off I go. £2.33 return – bargain. Poor driver got 33 pence in the coppers that won't go in the phone box. There's three buses 1905, 1931, 2045. I take my time, 1905 drifts past, I buy myself some chips and sit an wait for the 1931 concentrating on the chips because everywhere has neds and this lot were the noisy Ford Fiesta-driving variety. At 1945 I check again and discover the little F that should have told me that this bus only runs on Fridays. That's me told, numpty points given out. 6.99 miles, the last few of which were dark and raining, but I am still alive to tell the tale, and will own up to it because I'm told it is good to look stupid every once in a while.
Tuesday 16 August 2011
Zoom Whizz Splash
Dear blog, I have been terribly lax, and having adventures that I have failed to share with you. Real Life has been doing its thing. I went to France where collectively we sent one guy to hospital, danced in the street and brought home the town's major. I went to Edinburgh, where I stroked a very stroke-able baby, learned a proper thigh-slapping Austrian dance, crewed a theatre show and went clubbing for the first time in what may now be years. I caught lifts from friends around two sides of a square and wound up back in my own little bubble - in caravan number two.
Caravan number two is not the same as caravan number one. For starters it is infinitely cuter but it has its down-sides: In order to sleep two you have to render the main door unusable and come and go through the shower. The door is falling off the hinges and never quite shuts. Coming and going in the rain involves a degree of getting wet. The smoke alarm won't let me use the grill, and I'm now too far away for my poor laptop to locate el internetio. Apart from that it's lovely. Being in the open means I get to listen to the rain on the roof, it's lighter in the mornings and evenings and I'm the one next to the outdoor kitchen now. I reckon it'll get a bit chilly before my time is out, but right now I wear my big woolly jumper and I just about get by.
Today I cycled halfway (at least) to Loch Morlich, on a forest track. Pretty bumpy, but just about cycle-able and not to uppittydownitty. Yes it was raining all the while but I loved it. The bike felt like it was only just standing up to it, and I have endeavoured to invest in a new pair of cycling gloves next time I find myself in the vicinity of civilisation. Reckon I did something like 14/15 miles as a round trip, an hour and a quarter. But now I have starting blocks, a route I now know and like. I can only get faster and go further. This is the sort of thing I saw myself doing more of out here, so I might as well start catching up.
Caravan number two is not the same as caravan number one. For starters it is infinitely cuter but it has its down-sides: In order to sleep two you have to render the main door unusable and come and go through the shower. The door is falling off the hinges and never quite shuts. Coming and going in the rain involves a degree of getting wet. The smoke alarm won't let me use the grill, and I'm now too far away for my poor laptop to locate el internetio. Apart from that it's lovely. Being in the open means I get to listen to the rain on the roof, it's lighter in the mornings and evenings and I'm the one next to the outdoor kitchen now. I reckon it'll get a bit chilly before my time is out, but right now I wear my big woolly jumper and I just about get by.
Today I cycled halfway (at least) to Loch Morlich, on a forest track. Pretty bumpy, but just about cycle-able and not to uppittydownitty. Yes it was raining all the while but I loved it. The bike felt like it was only just standing up to it, and I have endeavoured to invest in a new pair of cycling gloves next time I find myself in the vicinity of civilisation. Reckon I did something like 14/15 miles as a round trip, an hour and a quarter. But now I have starting blocks, a route I now know and like. I can only get faster and go further. This is the sort of thing I saw myself doing more of out here, so I might as well start catching up.
Friday 15 July 2011
Careers and vocations
I am in one of those places in your life that you might call a "transition period" if you were looking to use unnecessarily long words. Just finished university, not sure what comes next. Three months of eccentricity to bridge the gap, but I'm probably transitioning in to a time of jobs searches and money woes.
I pray God has more of a clue than I do right now. Speaking to good friends I felt really comforted by the reassurance the the big guy knows best. I was advised to be calm and keep praying and the thing to do will smack me in the face. A lovely thought, but I know I still need to do the thinking and put the effort in. And that practically, unless it smacks me in the face pretty soon, I'll have to find myself something, be it the right thing or not, to bring in enough money to pay the rent and be able to eat until it does.
One of the things that I had been thinking about was working in the Fire and Rescue Service. I checked it out locally, and there are no full-time vacancies in my area, but there were vacancies for part-time, on-call firefighters. You needed to (1) pass the physical requirements and (2) to be able to get to your station in 5-7 minutes from having been paged. (1) would probably rule me out right now - I'm probably not fit enough - but that's something that can be worked on and changed. (2) would be a bigger problem right now. When I was seriously thinking about this a while back I didn't have a driving license and lived a good ten minute cycle from one station and fifteen from another, with a somewhat unreliable bicycle. I have since passed my driving test, so I'm ever so slightly less incompatible, but I'm a long way from being able to afford a car. I'd love one, but right now I have no need or means to gain or run one, and it would make me very lazy and unfit. Probably. It would also make me much less stressed and much more useful. Today I checked out car insurance quotes by way of procrastination. The simple story is that I would pay the same in insurance as I would for a second hand car, and another whollop in road tax, etc. Not happening then. In a year's time I'm likely to be moving house again. Without tying myself, I'd like to see myself staying in the same city, and who knows, I might find myself close enough to a fire station.
Back to the burning buildings. So yeah firefighting then. Last night I was sitting talking to a bloke who's staying here and (you guessed it) happens to be a fireman. We got deep. The wine probably helped. It's about being tough and sensitive and clever, and I aspire to be those things. I got to thinking about how I would deal with the tough stuff; people die in fires. That would test a faith for sure. Each time I come back to the same thing. I'm young and I have energy - with training I could probably manage the fitness and the strength needed. I think I'd enjoy the schools work, and I think it would be incredibly satisfying when it goes right. I've learned I like to feel useful. When it goes wrong, it would be terrible. I'm scared of the dark as it is, and probably rather naive about the big things in life. It was really good to talk to someone who does all that though. He talked about all the training they get and such like, seems to really enjoy his job.
Then there's the danger to me. Right now I'm comfy and safe and being theoretical, so I can brush it off - I'm ok with danger - like I'm trying to be cool and fearless. I suppose it becomes a more practical case of balanced risks. Pretty sure my Mum and Dad would worry though, others too. Is that fair? My Dad worries enough when I do volunteer work on the streets at night and I'm safer there than I am in my own flat.
Well that's this afternoon's thinking. That and planning fictional murders. Time to get back to the real world and wander off for some free food. Barbecue time out here! I think tonight I shall think slightly differently when being my usual barbecue pyromaniac self.
I pray God has more of a clue than I do right now. Speaking to good friends I felt really comforted by the reassurance the the big guy knows best. I was advised to be calm and keep praying and the thing to do will smack me in the face. A lovely thought, but I know I still need to do the thinking and put the effort in. And that practically, unless it smacks me in the face pretty soon, I'll have to find myself something, be it the right thing or not, to bring in enough money to pay the rent and be able to eat until it does.
One of the things that I had been thinking about was working in the Fire and Rescue Service. I checked it out locally, and there are no full-time vacancies in my area, but there were vacancies for part-time, on-call firefighters. You needed to (1) pass the physical requirements and (2) to be able to get to your station in 5-7 minutes from having been paged. (1) would probably rule me out right now - I'm probably not fit enough - but that's something that can be worked on and changed. (2) would be a bigger problem right now. When I was seriously thinking about this a while back I didn't have a driving license and lived a good ten minute cycle from one station and fifteen from another, with a somewhat unreliable bicycle. I have since passed my driving test, so I'm ever so slightly less incompatible, but I'm a long way from being able to afford a car. I'd love one, but right now I have no need or means to gain or run one, and it would make me very lazy and unfit. Probably. It would also make me much less stressed and much more useful. Today I checked out car insurance quotes by way of procrastination. The simple story is that I would pay the same in insurance as I would for a second hand car, and another whollop in road tax, etc. Not happening then. In a year's time I'm likely to be moving house again. Without tying myself, I'd like to see myself staying in the same city, and who knows, I might find myself close enough to a fire station.
Back to the burning buildings. So yeah firefighting then. Last night I was sitting talking to a bloke who's staying here and (you guessed it) happens to be a fireman. We got deep. The wine probably helped. It's about being tough and sensitive and clever, and I aspire to be those things. I got to thinking about how I would deal with the tough stuff; people die in fires. That would test a faith for sure. Each time I come back to the same thing. I'm young and I have energy - with training I could probably manage the fitness and the strength needed. I think I'd enjoy the schools work, and I think it would be incredibly satisfying when it goes right. I've learned I like to feel useful. When it goes wrong, it would be terrible. I'm scared of the dark as it is, and probably rather naive about the big things in life. It was really good to talk to someone who does all that though. He talked about all the training they get and such like, seems to really enjoy his job.
Then there's the danger to me. Right now I'm comfy and safe and being theoretical, so I can brush it off - I'm ok with danger - like I'm trying to be cool and fearless. I suppose it becomes a more practical case of balanced risks. Pretty sure my Mum and Dad would worry though, others too. Is that fair? My Dad worries enough when I do volunteer work on the streets at night and I'm safer there than I am in my own flat.
Well that's this afternoon's thinking. That and planning fictional murders. Time to get back to the real world and wander off for some free food. Barbecue time out here! I think tonight I shall think slightly differently when being my usual barbecue pyromaniac self.
Wednesday 13 July 2011
Letters
Today I have been writing letters so I find myself a bit written-out, if such a state of being exists. I do have some things to report. Small achievements but noteworthy in their own small way.
#1 "Backwards Duckling" has learned to go forwards, but is still much better at backwards. Most of the ducklings have learned to stop without falling over. The ducks who are sitting on eggs are getting very grumpy, and I'm told this a sign of happenings inside the eggs. The other ducks have been shut out of their space. Ducklings will no doubt arrive this weekend while I'm not here.
#2 Today I left the site, and even left the village. I cycled as far as the next town, bought yellow-stickered goodies, ate fish and chips and ice cream and came home again. Tomorrow I may even go for a walk. I'm slowly building up. By the end of my time here I may even do interesting things.
#3 I was big and brave and talked to the scary campers who look like they might be cool. They're quite nice really and we had a little chat about how likely you are to be mugged or raped in different parts of Aberdeen.
#1 "Backwards Duckling" has learned to go forwards, but is still much better at backwards. Most of the ducklings have learned to stop without falling over. The ducks who are sitting on eggs are getting very grumpy, and I'm told this a sign of happenings inside the eggs. The other ducks have been shut out of their space. Ducklings will no doubt arrive this weekend while I'm not here.
#2 Today I left the site, and even left the village. I cycled as far as the next town, bought yellow-stickered goodies, ate fish and chips and ice cream and came home again. Tomorrow I may even go for a walk. I'm slowly building up. By the end of my time here I may even do interesting things.
#3 I was big and brave and talked to the scary campers who look like they might be cool. They're quite nice really and we had a little chat about how likely you are to be mugged or raped in different parts of Aberdeen.
Duds
The moral of this story. Don't give up on the duds. 16 duck eggs in an incubator. Over the course of a night (no idea which night it was now. Time doesn't really work round here the same as it does elsewhere) seven hatched. That morning we set up a nursery and moved all seven out of the incubator, leaving the incubator switched on to give the "duds" a bit more time. The next day, one more hatched! So now we have eight. They're our best visitor attraction, especially when there are kids around. One young girl who was here when the first seven were hatching was comparing egg hatching to human childbirth, and commented that there is less screaming with ducklings.
My job yesterday was to take the youngest out of the incubator and put him/her/it in the nursery with the others. So I introduced it to water and food and waited to watch a while. Brand new ducklings are hilarious. Everything is new and interesting and needs to be pecked at. They spend a while going for each others' eyes before they learn that other ducklings aren't edible. I watched one of them spend a good minute or two looking and pecking at his own disproportionally huge feet, trying to work out what they were. Even I find them rather cute. I have now experienced the look on a duckling's face when it does its first ever poo. It's a very entertaining look - shocked and surprised.
You meet some lovely people here. Two girls left this morning after three nights here, and we've spent some time with them and generally got to know them a bit. This morning they came to find me to say goodbye before they left. Somewhere inside of me said "eek" in a very small voice. They left their box of incense for the other helper here, who had admired the smell. Slowly this place might just be restoring my faith in people.
This post has now contained enough of what I would call "pinkandfluffy" to last for quite some time. I now have to promise that my next will be more serious and sensible, with much less aww-isn't-that-lovely rubbish.
I'm off to Grantown this afternoon. Not really sure what for, but I really ought to leave the site every few days. Maybe I'll buy some biscuits. That would make me happy.
My job yesterday was to take the youngest out of the incubator and put him/her/it in the nursery with the others. So I introduced it to water and food and waited to watch a while. Brand new ducklings are hilarious. Everything is new and interesting and needs to be pecked at. They spend a while going for each others' eyes before they learn that other ducklings aren't edible. I watched one of them spend a good minute or two looking and pecking at his own disproportionally huge feet, trying to work out what they were. Even I find them rather cute. I have now experienced the look on a duckling's face when it does its first ever poo. It's a very entertaining look - shocked and surprised.
You meet some lovely people here. Two girls left this morning after three nights here, and we've spent some time with them and generally got to know them a bit. This morning they came to find me to say goodbye before they left. Somewhere inside of me said "eek" in a very small voice. They left their box of incense for the other helper here, who had admired the smell. Slowly this place might just be restoring my faith in people.
This post has now contained enough of what I would call "pinkandfluffy" to last for quite some time. I now have to promise that my next will be more serious and sensible, with much less aww-isn't-that-lovely rubbish.
I'm off to Grantown this afternoon. Not really sure what for, but I really ought to leave the site every few days. Maybe I'll buy some biscuits. That would make me happy.
Sunday 10 July 2011
Village Church
I went down to the service at the local church this morning. They have a "trendy" 9:30 service and a "traditional" 12:00 service. Normally the cleaning here takes all morning so last Sunday the other helper and and I, both in our 20s, went to the 12:00, and dramatically changed both the size and average age of the congregation. I didn't mind the service - yes it was traditional, but sometimes that offers a certain familiarity and with that comes a degree of comfort. A good, thinky, sermon and some hymns I recognised sung in the same slightly-too-slow whisper that you could easily find in many a church. What took me was that we were told with great vigour that there is a 9:30 service which is much more modern and that's the one all the young people go to. I'm still not entirely sure what to make of that. I'm still a major cynic, you see.
So today I (alone) made it to the earlier service (tired, soggy and hungry having really slept in, thrown on my cleanest clothes and jumped on a bicycle in the rain) mostly to see what all the fuss is about. I also feel like I ought to find myself a church if I'm going to be here for any length of time, which I am.
Whenever I find myself at a church which isn't (yet!) my own, I find myself thinking as if I was a "mystery worshipper"*. I've never been one, but I spend too much time lurking around this particular corner of the internet. But I got over that feeling quite quickly. *http://www.shipoffools.com/mystery/index.html
A few people gave me that sideways glance that means you've been spotted and you look new and strange, but I introduced myself to the poor couple that happened to be nearest. The service itself was lovely, songs I know and love and a good little preach, even if the poor guy looked petrified. Today we were comparing God's gifts to different types of cake. These people know how to relate to me. There was a sense of that awkwardness that sometimes comes with the CofS trying to be cool to attract precious young people, but I think it was coming from a genuine Godly place, so I'll try and get past it.
What I find harder, even at my own church where I know people, is the hanging around, drinking tea, talking to strangers part. Always makes me feel slightly socially inept, but I stayed afterwards and tried anyway. I got the impression this is somewhere that sees a lot of summer visitors, welcomes them gladly, but doesn't get too attached. I think part of this comes from being somehow associated with an outdoor activity centre nearby. One which may be a Christian thing, or just seems to attract a lot of Christians. I really ought to google it and know these things before the next time I rock up there. I just feel like it might take a while for the local established regulars to accept someone new.
The verdict - no-one's perfect and neither is this place, but it comes pretty close so I'll give it my best shot. This means I will have to shout down my cynical, unforgiving, what-do-they-want-from-me? inner voice and make a concerted effort, week in and week out to get to know these guys and become part of the community for the time I'm here.
So today I (alone) made it to the earlier service (tired, soggy and hungry having really slept in, thrown on my cleanest clothes and jumped on a bicycle in the rain) mostly to see what all the fuss is about. I also feel like I ought to find myself a church if I'm going to be here for any length of time, which I am.
Whenever I find myself at a church which isn't (yet!) my own, I find myself thinking as if I was a "mystery worshipper"*. I've never been one, but I spend too much time lurking around this particular corner of the internet. But I got over that feeling quite quickly. *http://www.shipoffools.com/mystery/index.html
A few people gave me that sideways glance that means you've been spotted and you look new and strange, but I introduced myself to the poor couple that happened to be nearest. The service itself was lovely, songs I know and love and a good little preach, even if the poor guy looked petrified. Today we were comparing God's gifts to different types of cake. These people know how to relate to me. There was a sense of that awkwardness that sometimes comes with the CofS trying to be cool to attract precious young people, but I think it was coming from a genuine Godly place, so I'll try and get past it.
What I find harder, even at my own church where I know people, is the hanging around, drinking tea, talking to strangers part. Always makes me feel slightly socially inept, but I stayed afterwards and tried anyway. I got the impression this is somewhere that sees a lot of summer visitors, welcomes them gladly, but doesn't get too attached. I think part of this comes from being somehow associated with an outdoor activity centre nearby. One which may be a Christian thing, or just seems to attract a lot of Christians. I really ought to google it and know these things before the next time I rock up there. I just feel like it might take a while for the local established regulars to accept someone new.
The verdict - no-one's perfect and neither is this place, but it comes pretty close so I'll give it my best shot. This means I will have to shout down my cynical, unforgiving, what-do-they-want-from-me? inner voice and make a concerted effort, week in and week out to get to know these guys and become part of the community for the time I'm here.
Ducklings
Today's big news. The clutch of duck eggs in the incubator are finally hatching. We have our first egg escapee and more on the way. It's all very exciting for city kids like me. The more seasoned country folks are licking their lips and trying to decide whether this little guy will go best with plum sauce or hoi sin.
In three weeks' time they'll look a lot more like real ducks.
Saturday 9 July 2011
Woods
Today's great drama; we have no water supply. The message came round:
"Water's off. Boil the rainwater. Pee in the woods". It's ok, we have plenty rainwater and plenty woods.
"Water's off. Boil the rainwater. Pee in the woods". It's ok, we have plenty rainwater and plenty woods.
Friday 8 July 2011
People
This place attracts fun people and also some strange people. Or perhaps I should say potentially strange because we almost definitely never know their full story. Almost all absolutely lovely. Tonight's guests are the example of case in point that has made me think about posting this.
In the campsite we have a group of 6 adults who have just asked us to judge their gingerbread man icing competition. Last place decided who is to rise early tomorrow and cook breakfast. It's a good system, encourages creativity. In the hostel we have some gentlemen that I met almost exactly a year ago when I was a visitor to the hostel here. They remembered my name and what I had been doing and asked all about what I'd been up to. Made me happy to be remembered. Our third lot of campers who have arrived sans tent or campstove and are currently sleeping in their car. And then there's me. Sitting in a caravan with a cold nose, a highly sociable stuffed cat and wearing the hugest woolly Granddad jumper you can picture. Variety is spicy, they say. Or something like that.
In the campsite we have a group of 6 adults who have just asked us to judge their gingerbread man icing competition. Last place decided who is to rise early tomorrow and cook breakfast. It's a good system, encourages creativity. In the hostel we have some gentlemen that I met almost exactly a year ago when I was a visitor to the hostel here. They remembered my name and what I had been doing and asked all about what I'd been up to. Made me happy to be remembered. Our third lot of campers who have arrived sans tent or campstove and are currently sleeping in their car. And then there's me. Sitting in a caravan with a cold nose, a highly sociable stuffed cat and wearing the hugest woolly Granddad jumper you can picture. Variety is spicy, they say. Or something like that.
Incommunicado
I find myself musing on the nature of communication. Not too many years ago mobile phones were unusual and the internet was unheard of, and people coped. Talked to each other, made plans, talked on the phone, wrote letters. Maybe I'll start writing letters, I've brought stamps and envelopes so that I can. Maybe I'll just post people drawings. I am someone who reluctantly keeps their phone on 24/7, have done for years, but if I'm out of town for a weekend or just a few days holiday I'll normally turn it off while I'm away. It's like I'm making a point of separating that trip from my day-to-day stresses. Out here with my normal mobile, I don't get mobile signal and I didn't expect to. Internet makes life a lot easier, slow as it is.
This past week my phone is living in “airplane* mode” and serving as no more than an alarm clock. A few nights ago before I went back to town and then returned here I switched it back on to the world and found a magical bubble of phone signal. In come two texts. Yes, I think, I can send an unexpected goodnight text, maybe make contact, and then it's gone. That tiny hint of connection and I find I don't know what to say to who. All at once I want to tell one person that I love them and miss them, another that I am here and safe and not to worry, I want to check others are ok, and I want to wish someone good luck. Then I think about it and I'm not sure any more. Will it break my little isolation bubble? Will telling someone I'm far from that I miss them just make it worse, and worse for both of us? Sucky suck. It may be time to plan phonecall times and cycle down to the village to use the phonebox. It may also just be time to actively remove myself from “the loop” and see how well I survive without it.
Then I go and change it all by getting hold of a mobile with the one network that covers this area. Magically I'm contactable again. It has its uses. The people who are looking after me can be in touch easier. People who need to can tell me things. However I still want to be somewhat coy about how many people have access to the number. Like a clean break. Does this make me a terrible person for almost wanting to exclude people I would happily count as friends? Is it for my own sanity or my own selfishness? Time to do some praying.
*That's American English for you. In this country we can deal with sensible words like aeroplane.
Quietness
It's quiet here. So quiet that I have time to sit and think about how quiet it is. It's a strange thing to think about, one that takes me round in circles. I think I'll soon start to find the energy to find ways to fill these times. Going for walks, writing to people, sending potentially useful emails, and so on and so forth. In the meantime I'm trying to work out just what it is I'm thinking about and I can't. I may even have achieved that rare state of complete blank mindedness. Useless, but I might need some for a while.
Yesterday I graduated. A day of both ceremony and celebration. Was quite good fun in the end. I told myself I was allowed to be excited about it, so I was. I wore a shirt with shiny cuff links and the people I love turned out to be there. The right person* said "Ok, you as well" and bopped me on the noggin, and off I went with another important piece of paper, and a "Good luck, now get on with your life". Funny how no-one mentions the thousands of pounds of debt or the harsh disparity between the number of graduates and the number of graduate jobs. Maybe I could carve a career out of cynicism?
*The one in the biggest shiniest chair wearing the biggest shiniest robe. All so that we would know he was the right person.
Yesterday I graduated. A day of both ceremony and celebration. Was quite good fun in the end. I told myself I was allowed to be excited about it, so I was. I wore a shirt with shiny cuff links and the people I love turned out to be there. The right person* said "Ok, you as well" and bopped me on the noggin, and off I went with another important piece of paper, and a "Good luck, now get on with your life". Funny how no-one mentions the thousands of pounds of debt or the harsh disparity between the number of graduates and the number of graduate jobs. Maybe I could carve a career out of cynicism?
*The one in the biggest shiniest chair wearing the biggest shiniest robe. All so that we would know he was the right person.
Tuesday 5 July 2011
Back to the bright lights
Tomorrow also takes me back to the city for a short while. There'll be people, and lots of them. People I ought to spend time with, listen to, talk to and enjoy it. I will, and I will, but it'll provide a marked contrast from the way of life I've just entered. I wonder if I'll make anything particularly interesting of it or not. Who knows.
Planning for rain
Tomorrow it's going to rain. This here is exciting and worth planning for. This means today has been spend doing dry weather things at great speed and sorting out other things so we can have wet weather things to do tomorrow. This degree of planning ahead is somewhat alien to me.
One trailer load of logs came off a pile in a field, split, moved and stacked ready for the winter. Another load came off the pile and went off to elderly neighbour #2. The third lot are in a covered trailer, hitched to the smallest tractor I've ever seen and are waiting to be stacked under cover tomorrow. Stacking logs under cover is a wet weather job, I'm told, and we must therefore not waste good weather doing it. I now have log-throwing skills which I may even put on my c.v.
Our other wet-weather preparation involved barricading three adolescent duckings into their night-time shelter because they haven't yet mastered the art of waterproofing. Similar to being allowed to stay in bed all day with a supply of food and water, just because of the rain. I wish people were allowed to actually do that.
One trailer load of logs came off a pile in a field, split, moved and stacked ready for the winter. Another load came off the pile and went off to elderly neighbour #2. The third lot are in a covered trailer, hitched to the smallest tractor I've ever seen and are waiting to be stacked under cover tomorrow. Stacking logs under cover is a wet weather job, I'm told, and we must therefore not waste good weather doing it. I now have log-throwing skills which I may even put on my c.v.
Our other wet-weather preparation involved barricading three adolescent duckings into their night-time shelter because they haven't yet mastered the art of waterproofing. Similar to being allowed to stay in bed all day with a supply of food and water, just because of the rain. I wish people were allowed to actually do that.
Monday 4 July 2011
I can do pictures too
Pictures as promised. One of these will be a map of decreasing internet signal strength with distance from the magic box. Right now I'm in the outdoor kitchen (there's an outdoor kitchen!) and down to the smallest increment of signal that openoffice is capable of demonstrating, with occasional wobbles of oh-no-where-has-the-internet-gone?.
This is where I live. The left-hand side of the building is the camper's indoor area, the caravan on the right is the big caravan. That's me. Over the roof of the camper's bit a white thing is just about visible. That's the little caravan, where I'll live next month. One photo takes a good 20 minutes to upload so that's all for now, folks.
Kid, What are you on about?
Post #1. Here goes.
Everyone has reasons for starting a blog, and many of them like to think that they're writing about interesting enough things for other people to want to read them. Some people just write because they'd like to, and then hope that the things they like writing about might just be of interest. That's me, and frankly, so what if I'm not particularly interesting.
This blog starts now simply because I can. Two days ago I arrived in what may well be the most idyllic place this side of heaven. I'm not going to tell you where exactly it is, or what it's called just right now. Mostly because I'm not sure if I want to or not, and this is the decision that can be reversed. I also figure I'd be happier rambling on about my adventures if the individuals mentioned, if indeed I do mention them, won't know it's them I'm on about. To set the scene this couple have a plot of land out in the sticks, in the Cairngorms of Scotland, and this is how they make a living. There's an 8 bed hostel, which only ever takes 6, and a small campsite for small numbers of small tents, and small people. Ok, big people are allowed too. There's also a self-catering cottage, the big house, 2 hammocks, 2 swings, various eclectically-named outbuildings and sheds and two Castleton touring caravans. It's all about hospitality, and I'm here for the best part of three months.
I'm one of two, soon to be three helpers who inhabit the caravans during the summer months and spend a few hours each day helping with the running of the place. Today I weeded sorrel out of a meadow, swept, mopped, cleaned, laundered, smartened up the hostel, lifted a log-splitter on to a trailer, rode in the trailer to stop it falling off, threw some logs around for a few hours, and personally welcomed 6 more people to my new home. I accidently let the Soay sheep in to the campers' field and the chickens in to the Soays' field, then inexpertly herded them back to their rightful places before anyone important noticed. The campers think I'm a right numpty, but it's okay, there'll be a whole new set of campers tomorrow. Yesterday there was more log-throwing, each day will bring challenges and adventures anew. Reluctantly I'll admit that I'm a city kid, and that these little things are quite exciting to me.
It's all a bit different from what I've become accustomed to, a strangely stressful mix of final year study, Scottish Country Dancing and evening work at a city theatre. Not overly busy in terms of hours of the day in which I was "working", but somehow over-full with commitments and expectations. Thinking time gets squeezed in to times and places which ought to be dedicated to more sensible things, like sleeping, or got forgotten about altogether. Quiet times were a rare species, time for prayer more so. Here however, I hope to catch up with these things. I may even plan to, or intend to, because these things are important but I get the feeling that it'll all just happen, there's space and time here for them. I just happen to be documenting my thoughts and adventures in a potentially public way.
The title, well my water butt does indeed seem to be trying to grow it's own pet rowan tree. I'll post pictures when I work out how. This is my first ever blog post after all.
Over and out, Callanish.
Everyone has reasons for starting a blog, and many of them like to think that they're writing about interesting enough things for other people to want to read them. Some people just write because they'd like to, and then hope that the things they like writing about might just be of interest. That's me, and frankly, so what if I'm not particularly interesting.
This blog starts now simply because I can. Two days ago I arrived in what may well be the most idyllic place this side of heaven. I'm not going to tell you where exactly it is, or what it's called just right now. Mostly because I'm not sure if I want to or not, and this is the decision that can be reversed. I also figure I'd be happier rambling on about my adventures if the individuals mentioned, if indeed I do mention them, won't know it's them I'm on about. To set the scene this couple have a plot of land out in the sticks, in the Cairngorms of Scotland, and this is how they make a living. There's an 8 bed hostel, which only ever takes 6, and a small campsite for small numbers of small tents, and small people. Ok, big people are allowed too. There's also a self-catering cottage, the big house, 2 hammocks, 2 swings, various eclectically-named outbuildings and sheds and two Castleton touring caravans. It's all about hospitality, and I'm here for the best part of three months.
I'm one of two, soon to be three helpers who inhabit the caravans during the summer months and spend a few hours each day helping with the running of the place. Today I weeded sorrel out of a meadow, swept, mopped, cleaned, laundered, smartened up the hostel, lifted a log-splitter on to a trailer, rode in the trailer to stop it falling off, threw some logs around for a few hours, and personally welcomed 6 more people to my new home. I accidently let the Soay sheep in to the campers' field and the chickens in to the Soays' field, then inexpertly herded them back to their rightful places before anyone important noticed. The campers think I'm a right numpty, but it's okay, there'll be a whole new set of campers tomorrow. Yesterday there was more log-throwing, each day will bring challenges and adventures anew. Reluctantly I'll admit that I'm a city kid, and that these little things are quite exciting to me.
It's all a bit different from what I've become accustomed to, a strangely stressful mix of final year study, Scottish Country Dancing and evening work at a city theatre. Not overly busy in terms of hours of the day in which I was "working", but somehow over-full with commitments and expectations. Thinking time gets squeezed in to times and places which ought to be dedicated to more sensible things, like sleeping, or got forgotten about altogether. Quiet times were a rare species, time for prayer more so. Here however, I hope to catch up with these things. I may even plan to, or intend to, because these things are important but I get the feeling that it'll all just happen, there's space and time here for them. I just happen to be documenting my thoughts and adventures in a potentially public way.
The title, well my water butt does indeed seem to be trying to grow it's own pet rowan tree. I'll post pictures when I work out how. This is my first ever blog post after all.
Over and out, Callanish.
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