Yellow

Sometimes, when it's hard, when it's sneaked up on me and caught me, I wish I were brainless and soulless. I could just eat and fuck and sleep and preen and shit.



It's somehow somewhere between the Moody Blues and Holly Golightly's Mean Reds.
I now call them the Harsh Yellows.
And I just want to put that film on and pull the covers over my head.
And that's what I'm going to do tonight.

And on with 2012...

I seem to have made several resolutions subconsciously this year. I've never tried to give anything up or make huge changes to my life, but a few little things seem to have slipped in:

1. I don't want to waste my time in ways I did in 2010 and 2011. Essentially, this means thinking about the ways my efforts and energy are being spent. I want to be more proactive, and I've found myself nipping a couple of things in the bud (gosh, I just typed that phrase without thinking) already. Fair-weathered friends need not apply. I don't want to waste my time on you.

I really couldn't resist posting this, just for the line

'I don't want to waste my time..'

   
     2.  Already I seem to be making good use of my weekends. Five days' work and just two day weekends has always seemed a slightly unfair balance, but making sure I get the most out of those two days is so worth it. I've seen some great friends and really enjoyed the beautiful winter sun and that's a kind of therapy in itself.

     3. PLAN. And this I'm doing so far, slowly but surely.

I've been lucky enough to see nearly everyone I love over the last month. I haven't seen lovely Katie and I didn't see my Auntie Lis on Skype over Christmas, but I think everyone else featured, and this makes me very very happy. The important people are my life's constants... and I know they will always be there. They're the ones to bother with.

The word 'constant' brings to mind a friend of sorts who is leaving Bristol soon. It's pretty strange to think about, as it's a  permanent change, effectively moving someone out of my life who has been around for three and a half years. I don't know how big an impact it will have (very little for them, I'd imagine), but I think we've been helpful to one another the last few months, at times we've both needed it.

The next few months, then, should be interesting. The next few blog posts? Who knows. I have a cheeky little literature based post I'm putting together mentally at the moment, so hopefully that will transfer to screen soon. My audience of one (hi fan!) should enjoy that.

Oh, what a month!

The title of this post is slightly inspired by a song that was on Now 35. My sister Kate and I shared the cassette and I knew 'tape one side one' inside out. It feature songs like this, the song I now associate with U2 more than any other and this beauty. Kate was a little more adventurous than me and made it to the second cassette, and this song has stuck with me:

Anyway - oh what a month! I last wrote the day before the second interview for a job I was promptly offered, which was most exciting and long awaited. We agreed I'd start the following week, despite the fact I had birthday plans on the Thursday and Friday, and I'm very glad I started so soon. Waiting until January would have made me incredibly nervous and I'd not have enjoyed Christmas nearly as much as I did. My team manager is new to his role too and, luckily, he was eager for me to start promptly. So now I'm a 'Bid Executive' - writing, editing, proof-reading and formatting proposals and tenders for teams across the company. The financial company. I'm not sure I'd ever have thought I'd work for a financial company, but we'll see. It's a strong, well-respected company, people have been very welcoming and there's potential for development - if that's what I'd like to do. When I'm back on my feet financially (which really won't take too long), I feel I'll be more able to assess and plan. I think I need to focus on the things I want and then prioritise: what do I want to do most? Now, however, is not the time to elaborate, and I'm just really grateful to have a job. As you can see.

I really do wear smart clothes. I don't, however, have hair like this.

Image borrowed from Nuclear Family Warhead.

Accepting a job after a Great Wait was the first main event in my Very Busy December.  My Birthday, on the 15th, was a splendid affair. My mini sister, Alice, and lovely mother took me for a lunch and exploration of the SS Great Britain, which I would thoroughly recommend visiting. I don't think the food is served all year round, but it was delicious (if ridiculously filling - the start of the festive gluttony) and the ship itself is presented fantastically. It really was like stepping back to being a passenger or member of the crew and I loved it. I'm really lucky to have gone and it was a great treat for a poor lady. After cups of tea and present opening (I'm a very lucky girl), Mama left and, slightly later, we went to the pub. It was busy and noisy with an open mic night, but the close friends that could make it arrived and left at different times, so I spent four hours entertained by different people. Twas a delightful evening, which ended with me walking home with mini sister and her beau, singing a great song and cuddling my chips'n'beans'n'cheese

Jumping forward several days, it was Monday 19th. I'd had what I can only describe as a birthday 'comedown' the evening after my birthday: everyone had left and I was a bit tired and just felt sad. It wasn't helped by a timewaster, but I managed to expend my energy usefully (there's a lot to be said for late night cooking and Sunday misdemeanours). I didn't sleep at all well on Sunday night, so by 16:45 on Monday, I was looking forward to going home and, in all honesty, sleeping. My (then) manager came back to her desk and said 'I was just in Reception. The receptionists have been trying to get hold of you - apparently there are two people downstairs to see you'. It was day four in my job. I knew about five people in the company (1,000 people are based at my site in Bristol) and I could not imagine who would be visiting. I seem to remember being very apprehensive as I walked downstairs, and... upon turning the corner... Kate.

My sister Kate, who I last saw in Australia in June 2006, and who the rest of my family had seen in April 2006. Kate who has been on some kind of waiting list for a Residency visa in Australia since 2007. Kate who got married in 2007 to Damo (also waiting for me in Reception), who we'd never met. Kate who, upon receiving her visa in January, had kept their visit a secret from us all. Kate who I proceeded to hug and scold and cry on - 'What are you doing at my WORK?'. They spent a few days surprising us all and filming reactions and it was incredibly emotional. 

Christmas was, quite simply, THE BEST.  I always knew that whenever Kate came back, she'd slot back in beautifully and it would be like she hadn't left.  And that's exactly how it was.

Kate and I were so very squashed here:

'smile girls!' ... 'we can't move to smile!'

The only way to end a huge post about an incredible December is with the news that in July I'm going to be an Auntie! I'm hoping everything will continue to go well for Sophie and Mat and to their Bean I say: we're all looking forward to meeting you! And just look at us... aren't we an attractive bunch?

Black clouds and black cats

A few weeks ago, I had days/afternoons where I felt like I was held together with tape, or perhaps stitched together.  I wasn't broken per se, just not myself entirely.  Certainly not as 'strong' as I wish to be.  It got better, for various reasons, and things were a lot easier for a while, until a couple of days last week, when it sneaked back.

When I have a day or two, or even just several hours like that, it's really hard to remain positive and focused.  I don't always deal with it well.  I seem to flit between wanting to shut myself away (physically or metaphorically; avoiding everyone or, if out, being 'invisible') and wanting to ask someone for help.  The latter, if by the 'great' 21st century methods of communication, isn't always helpful.  It's not always possible to see someone I'm close to and trust enough to talk to when I need that kind of support, so I end up sending a text message, which on most occasions makes me appear whiny.  It's not possible to communicate tone or to elaborate.  Imagine if the vast majority of our interaction was through Tweets.  140 characters to let those closest to you know how you are on a really tough day.  Ridiculous, non?  So why do so many people try to do so through the (slightly longer, but equally impersonal) text message?

However, I can handle difficulties far better than I used to, on many occasions.  Alongside a couple of people I used to work with, I used to draw myself out of a tough work day using, that's right, the Internet.  If typing 'fat cat' into Google didn't make us smile, we knew we'd had a really awful day in the office.  It mainly did make us smile, and how could it fail?

He looks a bit like Max with a glandular problem.  I don't know whose copyright this is.

I can also reason things far better than I used to be able to.  If I'm panicking about something, I can often stop myself mentally and ask what exactly is wrong, and whether I can do anything about it immediately.  It's not a fail-safe, and there are nights (like just before interviews, annoyingly) I simply can't sleep.   My mind may be in many places, even if I'm not feeling overly panicky or sad, but taking a (metaphorical) step back, and attempting to rationalise a situation (much harder to do when it comes to my own thoughts or worries than others') can help immensely.

What caused me to feel as though I were held together only by stitches?  Various things.  I knew that if I didn't have the awful unemployment and financial worries, the potential for drama and upset in other areas of my life would have been far more manageable.  I've got into some very stupid situations in the last few months and I neither desire nor need the trouble.  There are a couple of things I'd like to rectify, not least because I'm partly to blame for the fact they need to be rectified.  And with these I'll try, but frankly if they're proving to be consistently difficult, I'll question whether they're worth it.  It's during the toughest times that we show our potential - our strengths, stamina, flaws and resilience, and friends prove themselves, or prove that they're less worth it, possibly even fair-weathered.

Although I've felt a lot better this week, I wanted to try to write a few words about it, because when it happens it can be scary and dark, and I can find it increasingly difficult to communicate this.  I'm incredibly lucky that these occasions are infrequent and don't last as long as, for example, they often do for bi-polar sufferers.  Last week, I remembered a letter Stephen Fry had written to a girl named Crystal, who had written to her hero in desperation as she tried to battle depression.  The letter's reproduced on Letters of Note (a fascinating website), and a comment I read about it elsewhere made me wonder whether its publication in 2009 has led Fry to regret writing it.  I hope not: remembering that 'like the weather... [these feelings] will pass' has helped me and, I imagine, will continue to help others immeasurably.

If we can achieve half as many things as these men have, we'll have done well...

I've been meaning to post this for a while, but somehow in the hugely hectic bubble of unemployment, I've not had a chance.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend an event that featured the great Tony Benn, as well as Paul Stephenson OBE, as part of the Bristol's first Festival of Literature.  I'm almost ashamed to say that I wasn't aware of Paul Stephenson before hearing about the festival; a further reminder that my knowledge of Bristol's history is atrocious.  In 1963, as Martin Luther King inspired black people across America to fight for equality, Stephenson campaigned tirelessly against racism in Bristol, targeting Bristols' biggest company, the Bristol Omnibus company.  Although it's not considered an academic source, his Wikipedia page probably provides the most comprehensive overview of Stephenson's achievements in Bristol.  His work was supported by the great Tony Benn, who is somewhat of a hero to, I think, many Bristolians, and eventually by people of all races in Bristol.

The talk was to promote Stephenson's book Memoirs of a Black Englishman, which is introduced by Benn.  As well as looking at his great achievements, the book apparently paints a picture of Stephenson's upbringing and a gives a lighthearted look at other aspects of his life.  It's on my birthday/Christmas list (should anyone request one!) and I'm really looking forward to reading it.  

We were shown this excellent BBC short film about the Bristol Bus Boycott:

Both Paul Stephenson (aged 74) and Tony Benn (86) spoke so well: they were coherant, sharp and funny, with some fantastic anecdotes.  What really struck me, as well as how wonderful these men are, was that they had so many great stories to tell.  Their actions directly contributed to making Bristol (and by extension the UK) a better, fairer place.  It truly was a time of heroes.  I wondered whether we -my contemporaries and me- will be able to claim the same.  We are incredibly lucky to live in a world that, despite the many, many political, social and economic issues, is more of an equal, fair place.  There's still a long way to go of course and that is one of the reasons why I think it's very important we continue to tell these stories.  I'm looking forward to reading the book and I'm very excited to see what next year's Festival of Literature brings.

Interestingly, as I was writing this, this fantastic song came on.  It's a very fitting way to close.

Unemployment blues

 In a few days, I will 'celebrate' three months of unemployment.  That is not a sentence I imagined I'd be typing - I'm not sure if that was blind naivety or optimism.  I'm not going to write about 'the situation', because so many websites are doing that, in one way or another.

Personally, it's tough.  Of course it is.  It's frustrating, lonely, boring and disheartening.  I miss seeing people every day and the engagement, interaction and stimulation that work brings.  I've tried to compensate for some of that with reading, writing and activities like walking and visiting museums, although not nearly enough.  It's hard to get the balance between 'MUST JOB HUNT' and looking for voluntary work or trying improve myself or my CV in some way.  I could write a lot more but, essentially, being unemployed tends to make me feel a little like this:

Image courtesy of the Cat Pet Shop blog 

Naturally, the financial impact of unemployment is heavy.  I'm extremely grateful that I don't have any children or dependents and I have neither a mortgage nor a car to maintain.  Luckily, for the last few weeks at least, Housing Benefit has covered my rent and Jobseekers' Allowance has covered most of my bills and food, enabling me to job hunt without the crippling fear of being evicted or starving.  

I thought I'd write about what I miss most, obviously in a very spoilt, luxurious and probably selfish way.  As the weeks go by, I'm noticing more and more things I'd like to have replaced or bought.  Most notable this week are birthday presents: I have five family birthdays between this week and mid November, with another before Christmas, plus mine and a couple of close friends'.  Of course, most people have told me that I needn't buy them anything, but not being able to do so is (or would be - I have some potential ideas) very frustrating.   Trying to get beyond this and even begin to consider Christmas, I find myself starting to wish that some kind of Grinch would steal the festive season.  Alternatively, this lady could cast her evil spell on the land and ensure it is eternally winter, but never Christmas:

One problem with that (and there always is a problem with these misdemeanours) is that I'm in desperate need of a really warm winter coat - something I could have done with during the last two winters at least, and have not yet bought.  The same applies to glasses, as on the rare days I wear them I'm actually using lenses that are too weak for my needs.  I could also do with some shoes and boots, as the one pair I have (save 'interview shoes' and trainers for exercising) that aren't broken are slightly battered boots, which I wear everywhere and will inevitably wear out from all the pressure I'm putting on the poor soles (oh, what a pun, Suki!)

I'd also love to have been able to replace several luxuries over the last few months.  I'm in need of a hair cut, my poor hairdresser couldn't believe what he was looking at when he cut my fringe a few weeks ago.  I've burnt all of the (inexpensive, but nevertheless lovely) scented candles I like to have in my bedroom.  I've also run out of alcohol completely, and with friends coming for dinner (cheap option and a way to see friends who are employed and able to go out more often than I can currently), it'd be great to offer them some wine.  Plus, let's face it, I like booze.  Most devastating (relatively) is the fact that most of my lovely collection of nail varnishes have gone gloopy.  Barry has let me down finally.  The man I on whom I thought I could depend.  And it is a dark day.

Image courtesy of Marie Claire.  

I don't actually have all these colours, sadly.

I wanted to write a lighthearted article about the completely selfish woes of being unemployed - a break from the hundreds and hundreds of pieces about the job market and the increasing rates of unemployment (although, arguably, such articles are keeping someone in a job).  Currently, I think this will read as completely self-centred.  One of the benefits of having a 'secret blog', I guess.  Barry will never know how much he's disappointed me.

There's no reason why you should be the person who reads my observations

I've just discovered the song 'Nervous Breakdown' by Black Flag.  Loving Frank Turner has its benefits when it comes to uncovering great (often older) bands: bands he covers, who I feel I really should know if I wanted to be any kind of music fan.

I've never considered myself a huge music 'fan'.  When I said that to someone at Glastonbury this year, he said: 'So, why are you at a music festival?'.  I love music. I love hearing new things and sharing it with others.  But I've never considered music as my 'life', like some people do.  I don't spend all my money and time on it and I can't relay hundreds of facts about a band or specific album or immediately recall the name of an artist's cat/mother/guitar.  I think I've never had the time, money or perhaps inclination to spend hours discovering new bands.  Perhaps it's partly because I didn't do so when lots of people seem to - as teenagers.  Sharing a room with two sisters and having one CD-Radio-Cassette player meant time alone was fairly rare and chances to dominate our playlist scarce.   We didn't tend to listen to John Peel late at night; the internet was shared too (and, let's face it, I spent much of my time typing to pointless [and a few less pointless] people on MSN Messenger).  Money was perhaps a factor.  Some people seem to have spent all their earnings and/or allowance on fashion or music.  I'm not sure what I spent mine on.  Possibly trying to keep up with some set of Joneses, possibly trying to discover what I am and what I wanted.  Why is that something the majority of humans seem to agonise over?

One of the aspects of music I love is being able to share it.  Strangely enough, I talk about it rarely -if ever- with my female friends.  We cover a plethora of subjects from books to people we know to people we don't (normally historical or literary figures) to fashion to, naturally, food.  It's siblings and male friends I seem to share music with more.  And when I find myself spending time with someone who talks about a subject with real passion, it's fantastic.   Until it (and they) seem to, inevitably, disappear.

Possibly the greatest thing about a Frank Turner gig is singing along with hundreds (nay, thousands now!) of other fans, who all know every single word too.  He plays intimate gigs beautifully (so I've heard... I've not had the privilege of being truly 'intimate' with FT!), but I'm optimistic that next years' gig at Wembley will be just as uplifting.

Intimacy seems to be something I associate with music to some extent.  I think it's like passion.  It's the idea of sharing something great with someone else; someone who, like me, loves it, despite the fact we're so different.  As someone who spends so much time alone, and who finds it difficult to express myself; to open up or to be understood, it's always brilliant to find someone with whom I can share something real.  These people are few and far between and, although those that disappear are probably not worthy of time or thought, it's always sad when they go.  'Exuent Friend'.

Tomorrow, my friend Joe is very kindly taking me to see Dananananaykroyd on their final tour date in Bristol.  He was adamant that I see them before they split up and, despite my 'I'm unemployed!' protests, he bought me a ticket as a birthday present.  Thank you, Joe!  If I get very sweaty and crushed and smothered by bearded men in the famous 'wall of cuddles', I shan't mind, because I know it'll lift me and make me want to throw rum over myself in excitement.  Actually, that's probably pretty inevitable...