A Serious Lack Of Motivation

Am I bothered though?


No.


I am not. I am quite simply unbothered and totally disengaged. 


My interview yesterday was a complete waste of everyone's time. They had no set questions, were not writing any notes and just talked the WHOLE time. I have never experienced an interview like it at all.  I wonder why I even bothered to brush my hair or wash for it. Because the interview panel had not. No-one even admired my lipstick. They looked really unkempt and dirty.I decided that they have no idea what they are looking for and were just sort of hoping for a disneyesque lightening bolt moment; when they find their prince/princess small cute animals will appear and everyone would have burst into song. Needless to say this did not happen when I was in the room. Thank god as I would have killed the animals. 


 So screw that. I don't want it even if I am offered it. 


Which is lucky as I had an epiphany of sorts on my way to the interview which went along the lines of "I have already lived in London for 4 or so years and this commuting business is actually well, quite distressing. I want to be able to walk to work and to be able to walk to see my friends, not traipse around on tubes for up to 3 hours a day, wondering if my pits smell and when I can next get off and buy some pocket deodorant" 


Consequently I am looking for jobs nearer home. We shall see how this works out.


In Other News...

• Mother has abandoned me for a week.
• I have spent the day listening and singing along to Prince Royce, whilst trying to dance the bachata. I have failed miserably on both counts; mostly because my ability to rap and speak Spanish is pretty lame and dancing the bachata alone is pretty weird. Funny though.
• I did not work Apple Bottom Jeans into my interview, but as they were talking so much I just sung it in my head. 
• Each time I attempt to locate my future ex-husband I fail. But Nan likes the visits to her care home which are a by-product of this completely futile infatuation. 

Another Friday another Dole Office Extravaganza

It is just another fucking Friday (that's my funday)

This was always going to be different to the other Fridays. I knew that from the moment I was given an appointment an hour earlier than usual with no reference to precious point B. This therefore led to a cap on my drinking and use of over the counter medication the night before, simply because early mornings do not suit the unemployed and dejected. 

This Friday I was due to meet my Job Centre Advisor. Now given that less than six months ago that I was responsible in my previous job in providing some degree of careers advice to 16 year olds I was understandably apprehensive. Nonetheless in all the career advice/reference writing I have given the youth of today I have always remained positive and never dismissed their aspirations. Except in those ten situations   one situation where I told a student I was going to relish purchasing my late night kebab etc from them, if they could even read how to deep fry some chips and learn how to hold a knife in a non threatening manner. 

So I arrived; less most of my documentation - which led to another hoohah and I suspect mumblings of incompetence. I think not working for several months has definitely de-skilled me to an extent and caused my organisational skills to take a considerable downturn.

Because of the earliness of my appointment there was none of the usual protracted period or waiting. But during the brief moments of wait I did notice a complete absolute piece of meat. He was not just prospective nookie material. He was and is potential marriage material. I might just make a point of rocking up an hour earlier so I can stalk his unsuspecting piece of ass.

My name was called. Incorrectly. Stupid Persian heritage. Everyone looks around. They think I am a terrorist. Not cool. This is not unusual for me, but clearly makes everyone else feel uncomfortable. They call my name again, in-spite of the fact I am standing up and walking towards them. Everyone looks tense. I want to scream the correct pronunciation of my name. I don't. I just look around the room and give everyone a knowing glance. CHRIST, if I were in a room and I heard that name called I would jump and run. I can not blame them. My neurotic laughing does not break the tension. It exacerbates it. At least when I marry my new victim I can change my name.  

The Meeting

I assume the position opposite my advisor.  She is not hot, nor does she seem kind. This all looks a little Pauline from the League of Gentleman. 


The usual range of questions start the formalities;


 "Have your circumstances changed over the last two weeks?" 


"No, they have not, I am still unemployed, I am still here ,I am still not working." I already have the stubby pen jammed in-between my grubby little hands and without realising I have started stabbing the table. I can feel her eyes upon me and then her coffee stained breath swarming underneath my nostrils.


"Now, today I am going to talk you about a few things. This is our first meeting, I doubt I will get through everything, but hopefully I will get a better idea of you and you will have a better idea of what we can do for you."  


Before she can continue, I abruptly interject "I am not doing a work trial if this is what this is about and I am not going to a job club". The swarm builds up under my nose again, I brace myself as she is about to speak. 


"First of all I need to re-confirm your details."


Details were duly confirmed.


"Now, what difficulties have you been facing?" 


"Many, I won't bore you with details of my life."


"Okay, so let me help you, for example, could the reason be you have not had a success finding a job be because you have any previous convictions?"


"Do train fines count?"


"No. What about drugs and alcohol issues?"


At this point I notice that she has a certificate in her pod which displays the words "Suicide Awareness Training". I hope she does not think that my shuffling about from side to side and scratching of my face is a sign. I have terribly itchy acne and because of the early rise I consumed three coffees and I am desperate for the loo. Which makes me think, that in all likelihood that it is in-fact my coffee breath making me retch.The retching probably makes her think I am a drug addict, along with the awful skin and swaying. Anyway, noticing this certificate does not stop me blurting out "I had no problem with alcohol until I became unemployed". She did not laugh. I find myself stressing that I was attempting to be funny, in return she gives me a pitiful look. 


She moves us on swiftly from this part of the conversation. I was quite grateful.


Action Stations


"I wish to explain to you one of your new action goals. In light of our conversation you are now having to attend a job club. Here are some leaflets with maps and details of ones in your local area."


As she has in-putted this on the system and written it down, there is no getting out of it. The only way I can get out of it is if I sign off. Bugger.


"Secondly , if you can not find a job in your area of expertise within the next month you will have to explore other fields of interest" She looks awfully pleased about this. It is a snear I have employed before, a snear of haha you loser. GOD I AM A LOSER.


"I am not sorry for what I am about to say to you. I know and understand you are doing your job. But please understand my position, I spent so many years at university and I have spent 8 years more or less working in the public sector. I am not giving that up.You can not expect me after 6 weeks of signing to be told that. There are people who are signed on for far longer, who make far less effort"


She sighs, looks more pissed off than at the start of the conversation and hisses"Yes, well this part will be actioned in our next meeting. Now next of all I wish to explain to you about work trials"


Whimpering and still swaying I manage to splutter "What?! No, sorry but no. I have cleaned toilets, been a waitress, stacked shelves, wiped bums, worked in call-centres and done all manner of work. I am by and large experienced. Really, please offer that to a 19 year old who needs it. Putting me in a work trial is truly a waste of your resources organising the placement and so forth. I will do volunteer work which is clearly linked to my career."


Frostier still "Again, we will action this in our next meeting."


"Um, I am not entirely sure you are listening? "


Definitely not listening. 


"Please sign here. Your next meeting is after the holidays.Have a Happy Christmas"


The only good thing I thought was to come from this was finally claiming a stubby pen of my own, but literally when leaving the job centre I got a phone call offering me an interview for a very interesting job.I am still awaiting the details of what I am going to have to present. But rest assured I will, no matter what work in a verse of Apple Bottom Jeans if it kills me.  




In other news...

• I have a black Christmas tree
• I went for breakfast with a property entrepreneur who can not help but steal teaspoons where ever we go and picks 5ps off the floor. 
• We have our first meeting arranged for campaign nanny. 

Cameron, Clegg, Cuts and Campaigns

The Current Campaign of My Life
In the last couple of days, a few very unfortunate things have happened (this is since Team Win of the pub quiz on Wednesday night). Consequently  I am in the process of starting a campaign or at the very least trying to find a campaign that I feel an affinity with relating to the cause  that has got my goat = My Nan, she is 91.


What has happened?
Quite simply my dear old Nan's nursing home is shutting down. We found out thanks to The Great British postal system on Thursday, a whole week after the letter was sent.  It is shutting down due to financial reasons. I blame the following people - Cameron, Clegg, The Bank of England, My Local Authority et al. 


My Rhino
A long with a few honoured friends another love of my life is probably my Nan. I am not ashamed to admit this. She is great. A total living legend. Everyone who knows my Nan can not help but love her. She is amazing for the following reasons;

• She never really learnt to cook anything but rock cakes, and these were always a truly teeth splitting exercise;
• She will respond to all her nicknames with a wink and a giggle; Rhino, Dinosaur, Noonle, Moan, Gorgeous, Sexbomb, Cheekytots, Rachel/Bruno (names given to her by Granddad in preference of her actual name - he did not like it, but married her TWICE in spite of this, they divorced once you see);
• She worked until she was in her 80s. I REPEAT SHE WORKED UNTIL SHE WAS IN HER 80s;
• She would cycle everywhere until her mid 70s when a little unwelcome guest called cancer decided to host itself in her stomach. She won, it got evicted, but she stopped cycling;
• She would in her 80s come and visit me at university. She would down pints of guiness, wacth the rugby and the grand prix with my housemates, come to the union, have a dance and do a few shots of aftershock with us. She could out drink us. The wild thing;
• She has since the age of about 13 had a pint of guiness everyday, without fail;
• Again since the age of 13 she has used vinegar for everything - to wash her hair, brush her teeth, moisturise, clean the house, feed her family, clean wounds everything;
• Until about 86 she would still dance on tables at family events;
• She still thinks there is someone "mug enough" to marry and impregnate me.

I really could go on about her forever. This list does not do the Old Rhino any justice at all. But rest assured if you met her you would LOVE her. Absolutely LOVE her.


Visiting Time: The Pimp Daddy Game
When I go and see my Nan my heart always sinks a little bit. She has dementia, so is not as "on it and as all over it" as she once was. But we always have a laugh. Generally we take her into a family room and then like chavs on a bus play out some 'choons for her on our iphones/pods. I got caught the other day singing outrageously and dancing provocatively towards her with tinsel as a feather boaesque prop whilst my parents were having some sort  of snore of a conversation in the corner (they are divorced), before they realised the floor show had started. 


Dad rolls his eyes and sighs "Please explain to me what our 30 something year old daughter is doing to Nan right now?"


Mum leans forwards pats him on the knees and laughs "Oh, H, it is fine. Mum likes this game, they call it the Pimp Daddy Game,because they think it sounds funny, ruddy idiots, you are lucky your other two kids aren't here with the walking stick and hat, that is when it can get out of control!".


Dad takes a sip of his over brewed tea and splutters "Pimp Daddy Game? What the hell is wrong with you lot? She is 91 show some respect."


I continue to gyrate around the room with the tinsel whilst playing "Crazy in Love" out of my ipod. Nan loves that track, it reminds her of my 21st birthday. She made some great shapes that day. She is repeating/squealing the lyrics "Uh oh uh oh uh oh" and clapping off beat.


"Anyway H, she is 29 and she is 91, they are both adults and if they want to play this stupid game, then I can't stop them. You know what they are like."


Dad then drops his tea on the floor. Nan points and laughs at him. Mum stands up and starts dancing with me. Nan is attempting to slap her thigh like a panto character in excitement. Dad looks upset.I am not sure if he is disturbed or feeling left out...  


And then, out of no where, he leaps out of his chair and starts shaking his thing like it is 1977 and D.I.S.C.O is back in the room. 


We continue in this dance frenzy for about 6-7 minutes, when my mum suddenly sits down and starts acting all normally. Me and dad continue. I then sit down. Dad is then funking out all over the room by himself for about 30 seconds when he realises why me and mum have sat down. The care home staff are in the doorway laughing their heads off with a few other residents. 


I remember thinking to myself at that moment, this is not the first time I have been caught dancing like a  dick for my nan in here and it won't be the last. The thing is, after getting that letter, it probably is. 

What now?

Since that visit and the letterofdoom I have been writing to all manner of people and visiting different care homes. It seems like this could be about to get complicated. They want to shove her to the back of the list and reassess her finances, there was no mention of reassessing her health. Just how much money she has in her pension pot. Fuck that, the woman has health needs, which unfortunately as a family we are not able to support her with adequately otherwise she would still be with us. 

 I have also been doing a lot of research about the care home crisis in this country. I feel a bit embarrassed and ashamed that I had not realised how bad it was. Normally, as I was teaching I was always primarily concerned with resources and funding at work, not anything to do with my family. Thankfully free time has allowed a change of course. 

I am truly disgusted at how this whole situation has been handled by the home and everyone connected with it. It is really very upsetting. She is 91. She worked until her 80s. She is a totally lovely little old lady. And just before Christmas they are telling her to leave her home of two and a half years. It makes me so sad. It is so cold.

I really hope that I can do something beyond dancing around the care home to make this situation better for my nan and other people in a similar situation. IT IS UNACCEPTABLE.

The following articles/discussions have proved a good basis for me to get a better grip of what the situation in the country is, have a read:

• Southern Cross Scandal 
• Protect Those In Home Care
• Human Rights and The Elderly 

In other news...

I am still of course still learning to rap (nan loved my reworked version of "Apple Bottom Jeans") and applying for jobs.