Better To Just Be Real. Show Up, Do Your Job And Be A Nice Person

That Time We Discussed My Declining Years and The Disparity Between Your Early Twenties and Mid-Late Twenties

Oh yes, dear readers, it's another rant.

I've come home from work, quickly demolished two glasses of wine and of course a Blog Post has been born.

Strap yourselves in; it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Buckle up now.

As I am sure I have complained about before, and as we all know, I have studied Law at University and now for some unknown reason have completed the Legal Practice Course at Law School as well.

An example of the many, many hoops I have jumped through thus far on my journey to become a badass solicitor.

Not bitter.

Obviously.

(Although my bank account is still crying from the last round of financial assault the Solicitors Regulation Authority managed to get away with.)

ANYWAY.

The next step after a 4 year Law degree, 2 years at Law School and 6 years' work experience as a paralegal/legal assistant is a 2 year training contract completed on the job and a Professional Skills Course repeating much of what I have already undertaken at Law School.

Do you understand why I have a permanent eye twitch yet, dear readers?!

ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?!

The next step requires training contract applications.  Having waited several years for a training contract to plop itself down in my lap (not really sure why I thought that was a valid tactic), I have decided to take a more pro-active approach to the whole farcical situation.  Better late than never, or so I'm told.

The other night I sat down ready for application hell and discovered...well...exactly that actually.

I was half way through an application when I got to a set of three boxes that enraged me so much that I had to go and watch calming videos of people applying acrylic nail polish to calm myself down lest I fling my laptop across the room.

Oh hush, you big baby, I didn't go through with it!

The application enraged me so much that I have decided to write this Blog Post and correct the glaring errors in employers' ways.

For it is not just one application that is needlessly grueling; all applications seem to be designed to confound, irritate and otherwise perplex.

So, here are my attempts to help those misguided HR departments out there...

1. Questions to Avoid

"Why do you want to work for this firm?"

Stop, stop, stop asking me this.  The answer is, invariably; "Because you have a vacancy and I need money."

Which apparently employers don't like.  Even if it is the truth.

Case. Point.

But then why do I have to explain myself to this stranger in a dodgy pinstripe suit.  Tell me why YOU want ME, Big Partner Solicitor Person.

Apparently employers don't like that either.

The truth hurts, boo.

I know that you are supposed to say a load of buzz words that you have managed to pick out from the firm's website but, let's be honest, it's always a lie.

Is this the way we want to start this new glorious relationship, potential employer?

Oh, apparently it is because I can hear you muttering about how important the work/life balance is in this firm (normally exclusively reserved for Partners who need to spend the afternoon boozing with some clients), progression is available (after 5 years and we dangle that carrot in front of you for the whole time to make sure you work your little yoga bum off) and that our salaries are competitive (competitively shit for this over saturated market you mean).

Ah.  So lying it is then.

And they say lawyers are unscrupulous. 

2. Provide Results From All University Modules, Exams, Driving Test and All Smear Tests

I'm not saying that academic results aren't important; of course they are. Especially in a career in Law.  All I'm saying is, why do I need to provide every single result of every single exam since I was 15 years old?  I got 9 GCSEs, 4 A Levels, a University Degree and a Post-Graduate Diploma.

Do you realise how many exams that adds up to?!

I do: 53.

53 individual exam results I need to include on every single training contract application.

I mean...seriously?! Is anyone even looking at these at this point?

Apparently not.

Isn't it enough to say that I passed them? Can't I just give a vague outline instead of the actual percentage that I got in each module at Uni? (This is not an exaggeration - I have to type out the number for each exam.)

And haven't we got passed that ideal that only academics can make it in the Law world? What if I didn't excel at school but have a great work ethic, an understanding of how to handle clients without wanting to poke my eyes out with a stapler remover and the ability to click buttons in my case management system which generates all the necessary letters for me anyway...don't get me started on that last one.

I understand that employers need a bar by which to judge the multitude of applicants against but why does it need to be in this much detail? If I was a complete fraud and unable to string a coherent thought together I am pretty sure one of these institutions would have outed me by now.

No caption required.

3. My Life Is Empty and Has No Meaning

And, finally, the questions in the training contract application that lead to this Blog Post in the first place:

- List your hobbies/interests and membership of clubs
- List your involvement in the community and/or charity work
- Positions of responsibilities

I was looking at the above questions and pulled this face:-

And am just as cute. Obviously.

Hobbies and memberships of clubs? Err...next.

Involvement in the community/charity work. Umm...

Positions of responsibilities. ...my boss let's me put the clean tea towels out sometimes?

Looking at these questions blankly and scratching my head (which incidentally is turning grey because I'm old) it struck me how geared up these applications were for University students.  In fact, the only things I could include in most of these questions took me all the way back to my early twenties.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.  These questions started making me question my life: why wasn't I a member of a club? Why didn't I do any charity work? What did I actually do in my spare time?!

My new Facebook profile pic.

And the more I pondered, the more I thought...why the hell should I have to explain myself to you, anonymous and mystical training contract giver?

I like my life.  My life is fulfilling and fun and full of light, laughter, love, family and friends.  If I want to spend the entire weekend in my pyjamas watching Big Bang Theory or bouncing around in muddy puddles with the Boyfriend and Nessie, in what way does that affect my ability to do a fantastic job 9-5, Monday to Friday?

It doesn't and that is what infuriated me so much.  Why should I spend my time filling these boxes with guff from years ago?  What employer wants to know I joined the snow sports team (but only for the socials) or that when I had loads of free time and wasn't desperately trying to pay off Law School loans (thanks again, SRA!) I had the time and inclination to raise money for charity.  I work damn hard in the week and if I want to devote my weekends to doing nothing that is my prerogative.

My thoughts exactly Mr Puss Cat

Why wasn't there a box for 'shit you do really well at work', 'list all the jobs you've had and the experience you gained i.e. leave a URL to your Linkedin here' and 'what is the nicest thing you've done for a colleague' or 'would any of your employers have you back or would they laugh in your face and tell you to take a long walk off a short pier?'

See? I fixed your stupid application, Head of HR.

It was at this point that I put the application away for fear of typing in caps lock 'WHO THE CARES?'

Won't some magical training contract guru think about us, the aging, work weary wretches of the world that didn't get off our arses at Uni and make all these application at the appropriate time?

Please?

Pretty, pussycat please?

In light of the above, maybe it has become clearer to some of the non-Law crowd as to why I have been preparing my lap for the training contact ploppage instead of actually filling out the applications.

Or maybe it just goes to show I'm too lazy to be a solicitor.

Eh.

Paralegal for lyfe, innit?

(I didn't say any of those GCSEs were in English.)

&&Fin.

A Little Strike Each Day Can Chop Down Big Trees

That Time We Discussed Current Events (Ooh, High Brow For A Change)

Hello, dear readers.  A second post in just over a week?!

It's almost like there was some kind of rough plan when this all started.

This. #relateable

In any event, the evenings are getting darker, people are trying to save up for Christmas jollies and the Christmas spirit is in the air.

Lego Boyfriend loves Christmas and huge baubles. Apparently.

I have even had my first slice of Christmas pudding.

Although it seems as though not everyone is full of festive cheer.

Life marches on regardless of the season and unfortunately that appears to have brought some rather poorly timed strikes.  Both Southern Rail and the Post Office have announced varying degrees of inconvenience over the Christmas period.

Southern Rail have organised a 48 hour walk out over the last week with further strikes to be announced in December and January.  As someone that used to commute to London, I understand how annoying this is for everyone involved.  Not just the commuters but also the poor sods that have turned up to work only to have abuse hurled at them by disgruntled and caffeine deprived commuters.  I get that it is annoying for everyone and that the Aslef union feel this is their only option at this point.

But...this all started over who was going to be responsible for opening train doors.

Or we could just...you know, do it ourselves.

...or...no? Oh ,okay then.

It was announced that no trains would run on any Southern Rail routes and left approximately 300,000 people displaced in what Talk Radio called 'the worst disruption in 20 years'.

...don't give me that! I remember the snow of 2010.

And before anyone cries 'lazy journalism' this is actually a picture from 2010.  So nyeah.

And despite my rather facetious claim above, the argument is a lot more complicated than who gets to push one button to open the door of the train.

Apparently.

The problem of course with all these trains being disrupted is not just the effect it has on the rail infrastructure but all of a sudden there is an increase in cars on the road as people try to find alternative routes to work.

As Steve so eloquently states below:

I wish the #southernrailstrike ends soon, so all their customers can use the trains again, cos they can't fuckin' drive! #normalroaduser

— Steve Harris (@steve99999) 13 December 2016

And just in case we need any further proof that Harry Potter has the perfect quote for any and every situation...

Hagrid doesn't give a fuck who closes the carriage doors on the Hogwarts Express. #southernstrike pic.twitter.com/I6ZyJrPZ6M

— The Grump Crusader ツ (@grumpcrusader) 8 August 2016

In other news, it's not just the trains that have the British public in what could be described as A Mild Flap.

Apparently the Post Office have joined in on the fun.

You should think yourself lucky that 'e-cards' didn't really take off  in 1994.

But, not to be outdone by Southern Rail, the Post Office decided to really infuriate the general populace by announcing a five day strike in the week before Christmas.

Fingers crossed you didn't do all your shopping on Amazon.

Oh...bugger.

IT'S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS, RIGHT?!

(Namely the thought that my house is warm and devoid of screaming toddlers which leads me to internet shopping and wine drinking.)

Although, unlike Southern Rail, Post Office have insisted that it should be business as usual for 97% of Post Office customers.

Phew.

Incorrectly misappropriating political slogans. Yay. 

But seriously..sozlol to those of you that don't get to send out your Christmas cards this year.

I bet e-cards are looking pretty good right about now.

"Hmmm, festive and depressing.  I really just wanted depressing but if this is all you have I guess I'll take it."

...Or not as the case may be.

Speaking of the Post Office, does the strike mean that lots of boys and girls won't be receiving their postcard from Father Christmas this year?!  For those not in the know, if you send a letter to Father Christmas at the North Pole with your Christmas wish list, he used to send you a postcard to confirm that he had received the list and was working hard on all the presents.

I don't know if he still does or not because, sadly, we fell out of contact and haven't spoken for a while.

I mean, it's more recent than you would think, but hey...life gets in the way I guess.

...I think I read a fanfiction about this once.

Meanwhile, the strikes are making headlines in the papers:

'Christmas strike misery as Post Office workers stage five-day walkout and rail services are hit by industrial action' - The Telegraph

'December strikes do not signify new 'winter of discontent'' - The Guardian

'No trains, no cards and now no presents! Christmas strike nightmare gets worse as Argos delivery drivers announce they will stop working next week in a dispute over pay' - The Daily Mail (punchy as ever.)

'Argos strike latest: Delivery drivers announce three-day Christmas walkout' - The Independent

Wait...Argos are striking too? (Kind of thought the Daily Mail might just be making that up.  As usual.)  This saddens me because when I was younger we used to write letters to Father Christmas with our wish lists of gifts and toys etc.  This is obviously Not Unusual.

What was slightly strange was the fact that my mother and father used to sit my sister and I down with the Argos catalogue so that we could look for ideas.  Again, actually quite a good idea for despairing parents that have no idea what you mean by "that one doll in the adverts after 'Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids' but before 'My Parents Are Aliens".

However, it wasn't until I was much older that I realised how strange it was to write a page number and/or the 7 digit product code in my letter to Father Christmas.

Apparently, he only shops at Argos.

It's a good job I was am a naive and trusting child.

Well...if Argos drivers do go through with the strike, look on the bright side; that's a lot less vans and trucks on the road to make way for all those commuters!

I'll just leave this here and let you come to your own conclusions about my feelings on the matter.

Maybe instead of moaning about it (I know we are British but come on!) we should take the opportunity to appreciate what Christmas should really be all about.

Even the Grinch got it right by the end of the book.

So, forget the cards and the presents and enjoy spending time with your friends and family.

...unless of course you need to get a train to see them.  Then, in that case, just ignore this Blog, drink some form of mulled alcohol and cry on the inside like a winner.

Geez...no wonder these never took off.

If we learned nothing else from Christmas television adverts, it was that there's always Skype right?

And that you can rely on your family and friends to be rubbish at charades.

In any event, are we sure that the people striking didn't just fancy an extended Christmas holiday?

Which actually doesn't sound like a bad idea.

Any unions out there want to strike over the working conditions of paralegals?!

Well, might as well jump on the band wagon as trains are currently out of the question.

&&Fin.

The Greatest Gift In Life Is Friendship, And I Have Received It

That Time I Discovered Reason #46783 To Be Thankful That Sam Archer Was My First True Love

Sometimes in life you stumble upon people that genuinely care about you. When you find these people, dear readers, hold on tightly.

Whether they be friends, family, co-workers, people online you will never meet.

If someone cares about you, is happy for your happiness and sad for your sadness; cherish them. They are important. And rare.

I am lucky enough to have several of these people in my life.

One of whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for 23 years. And he turned 26 this year.

In celebration of this fact, I suggested that we attend a silent disco which was being held in the Shard in London. This suggestion was met with such enthusiasm that before I even had time to 'like' the event on Facebook, I was being informed that a ticket had been purchased for me and I should therefore organise my life sufficiently to attend on 12th February.

And thus began the rather bizarre (but awesome) weekend of Amy Jay and Sammy Ay (2016).

Looking pretty respectable at the start of the night...it went sharply downhill from here

We trundled off to the Shard (well I tottered in my ridiculous AmyJay patented heels) and boogied our little bums off!

Plus the view was pretty epic. (Exhibit A)

It was an amazing night and I would recommend it to anyone - it was busy but not heaving, the drinks were actually decently priced for London and there was always something that we enjoyed singing or dancing to on one of the three channels.

(Admittedly, we spent the majority of our night listening to the cheesy red channel but I have photographic proof that we listened to the blue and green channels at least a little bit. See Exhibit A, above.)

In any event, the night was epic - we stayed until it closed - and then we headed back to Sammy Ay's flat. Sadly, this was something of an adventure all by itself as we struggled with Uber drivers trying to pick us up from outside London Bridge train station.

But we made it home eventually! (And promptly ordered pizza. London, dear readers, is open for anything at any time; including pizza at 4 in the morning. Epic.)

After eating an entire pizza to myself, I snuggled up with Sammy Ay and went to sleep, safe in the knowledge that I would not have a hang over in the morning thanks to my beer (prosecco, darling) sponge.

...not quite as dignified now!

...and then came the adventures of Sam's actual birthday.


NB: Some of the following circumstances and conversations may have been dramatized (slightly) for humorous effect.

AJ (Me): It’s your birthday today, Sammy! We are in London and I want to take you out somewhere. We can do whatever you want so have a think and let me know.

(SA ponders this prospect very seriously for several quiet moments and then gives me a Look.) 

SA: Okay…(pause for dramatic effect) Since you found out your ex was cheating on you, have you had a sexual health check up?

(AJ, blinks owlishly, laughs heartily and wonders where this swift change of topic has come from) 

AJ: Err…no actually I-

SA: That’s what I want to do today then.

(AJ gapes unattractively at SA) 

AJ: What? No it’s not! We can do anything at all – museums, touristy things, a nice lunch, cocktails…

SA: You said anything and that is what I want to do. Look, I’ll come with you and get it done too so you won’t be on your own. It will be over really quickly and then you’ll know for definite that you are okay.

AJ: But I don’t even have any-

SA: DON’T YOU DARE SAY YOU DON’T HAVE ANY SYMPTOMS, YOUNG LADY! You might have something and not know it and then you could be infertile. INFERTILE. (SA goes on a caring, Nurse-like rant about STDs and INFERTILITY whilst AJ still gapes unattractively). 

AJ: OKAY! Okay, okay we will go.

SA: Thank you. …it’s only because I care, you know.

AJ: …I know.

(SA and AJ share A Moment. Lights go down.)

~*~*~*~*~*~


So we decide to begin our day in a small, independent, in no way chain-y coffee shop whose name may or may not have rhymed with Sharstucks because caffeine, London and reasons.

Inside there is probably a 10-15 minute wait for hot drinks and there are 7 or 8 people queuing up on this drizzly, Sunday morning.

I receive my chai latte (oh, yes, dear readers, I’m one of ‘those’) with no drama and we move to exit the coffee shop.

I am safely through the door, as is the front half of SA, when I hear behind me ‘oof-blop-splash’.

Turning around, I take in the sight with horror.

SA has knocked someone’s £4.50 coffee out of their hands and it is now trickling down the street like the blood of a fallen soldier.

This is the number 1 reason why people get shanked in London. (Jointly tied with snarky Blog Posts probably.)

SA is frantically apologising to the devastated patron and offering to buy him a replacement coffee when the most London-y response of all Londoners is uttered:

Sad Coffee Man: I don’t have time for this!!

And that was that. We scampered away with our tails between our legs and my chai latte cradled protectively to my chest.

Ain’t no fool knocking this one out of my hands.


~*~*~*~*~*~


Upon arriving at the clinic in Soho, it is immediately apparent that I Do Not Know What I Am Doing when the friendly chap behind the counter smiles at me and I look blankly at SA and say (OUT LOUD) ‘What do I want?’ in a manner not dissimilar to that of a toddler ordering McDonalds with Mummy.

SA, rather despairingly, informs the man that we would like a check up each and we are promptly given a time to return in about an hour.

This leaves us with enough time to find somewhere to have lunch so we toddle off.

And eat in a small, independent, no way chain-y Italian place that may or may not have rhymed with Schmizza Exschmess.

When we return to the clinic, I have to register my details online which takes less than 5 minutes and am then handed an ominous looking tube. The friendly chap behind the counter must have taken in my wide-eyed expression of panic and taken pity on me for he was very gentle with his explanation of what would happen next.

I was to take myself off to one of the private rooms, take a quick swab (the location of which I will leave to your imagination although probably not very hard to figure out given the circumstances in which this tale is told) and then I would have a blood test.

This, all in all, did not sound too bad; I didn’t even have to pee in a cup! (Something of a disappointment given that I had held in my chai latte and elderflower fizz from lunch in anticipation of needing to provide a sample.)

SA, however, was not as lucky.

Multiple samples, a blood test and a finger prick later…

SA: You okay?

AJ: Yeah, wasn’t as bad as I thought. Just the one swab and the blood test.

SA: (anger begins to cloud SA's face)…what?

AJ: What?

SA: That’s it?! …you bloody breeders *grumble grumble* (SA puts still bleeding finger into mouth in the most dignified way he can but definitely appears to be visibly pouting).

AJ: (Trying to lighten the mood) Maybe they just didn't like the look of you?

SA: .... (Is not amused)

AJ: Okay, well, I got blood all over my new shirt though because I couldn’t stop bleeding after they took my blood test. …make you feel any better?

SA: (Mumbles around finger still in mouth) …a bit.

AJ: Good! Now, come on, let’s go buy you a plaster from Boots!


~*~*~*~*~*~


The reason this is a shining example of a true friend is thus; Sam wanted to spend his birthday doing something that solely benefited me and my health. There was nothing for him to gain in doing this, no benefit and it would not effect his life in any way whether I got checked or not. And yet, despite all of this, he was so insistent that we go because he cared that much about me and my well-being.

That is a true friend right there.

TL;DR – My friend made me go for a sexual health check up on his birthday. Hilarity ensues.

&&Fin.

He Immediately Arose, Purred Loudly, Rubbed Against My Hand, And Appeared Delighted With My Notice

That Time We Celebrated Cats

What The Buzz: #BlackCatDay

Firstly, I must apologise for the late posting of this What The Buzz article but I have been muchos busy over the last few weeks with London Comic Con, moving house and other personal errands.  Moving house has proven to be something of an interruption for my social media as I have not reconnected my computer as yet!  So this blog post is a little late, but as they say, better late than never.

Amongst the other more pedestrian twitter trends this week I came across a little gem that was very close to my heart. On Tuesday 27th October 2015, it was Black Cat Day in the UK. 

This is a day promoted by the Cats Protection League (http://www.cats.org.uk/black-cats) and got trending on Twitter very quickly with people more than willing to share their pictures of their adorable moggies.

There has been lots of research into black cats and, in particular, their adoption rates.  It has long been noticed that black cats tend to take up to a third longer to adopt than more colourful kittens in rescue centres.  This to me seems completely bizarre as I have always adopted cats on the basis of their personalities/characters and not on what colour fur they have but clearly it is a trend for other adopters.

Whilst researching for this blog post, I came across some interesting superstitions and myths surrounding black cats.  Most people are aware of the superstition that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck but this tends to be a Continental superstition that has grown in popularity in the UK.  Historically, in Britain, a black cat has always signified luck and in fact many ships had black cats as pets in order to have good luck on the high seas.

Modern culture seems to have developed the idea that black cats are unlucky or the familiars of witches and that could potentially explain the lower adoption rates of these moggies.  But, as Groucho Marx once said, 'A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere'.  Insightful as ever.

This hashtag was very poignant for me as my family currently have two cats in our family (one of which is black and was a rescue cat - a little bit damaged but lovely) but up until two weeks ago there was a third.

Toby channelling his inner 'Toothless'

We recently had to say goodbye to our third moggy, Harry, as he had developed untreatable stomach cancer.  So it was, with heavy hearts and very damp eyes, we sent him to sleep.  Harry was only 6 and was the soppiest cat I have ever known - he would cuddle up with you whenever you sat down and wherever you were.  If you were in the house - he would find you! And there was no way you could say no to a Harry cuddle. 

Harry - such a tart

Definitely big on the cuddles

He would roll upside down and let you rub his spotty belly and just generally love being loved.  He was a very unconditional cat and loved everyone.  There was a special bond between Harry and I in particular which I attribute to me being his sole human for a few weeks when he was a kitten as the rest of the family were away on various holidays.  I don't know why but that seemed to have bonded us for life (however short that may have been).

I was serious about not saying no the a Harry cuddle.  Even if you were only sat down for 5 minutes.

So this blog post is especially important to me to say how much I appreciate my two other cats (Maggie and Toby) and also as a huge shout out to Harry who is still loved, still missed and still very dear.

#AllCatsAppreciationDay

&&Fin.

Teachers Can Change Lives With Just The Right Mix of Chalk And Challenges

That Time We Celebrated World Teacher Day

What The Buzz: #WorldTeachersDay

It has been estimated that we meet between 10,000 – 80,000 people in our lifetimes.  (Obviously, if you are a somewhat anti-social blogger, slaving over articles each week, that number is likely to be at the smaller end of the scale).  I will openly admit that I am not good with names and have the memory of a sieve so I have very limited space to remember individuals.  This was never more true than when I went to a business meeting and greeted the host with a polite ‘nice to meet you’ at the same time he gave me a warm smile and said ‘lovely to see you again’.

There were not many warm smiles after that social faux pas.

But, despite the odds (and my limited brain power), there are some people in your life that you just don’t forget.  Favourite teachers are some of those people.

I’ll admit that I had a fairly pleasant overall experience at school so perhaps it is easier for me to find positives than those that didn’t.  But some of the teachers I had shaped the adult that I became and I would like to take the time, on World Teachers Day, to say thank you.

 

Teachers these days appear to have a, frankly, impossible task and I do not envy them one bit.

 

If they are not getting abuse hurled at them from jumped up 12 year olds, they are getting abuse from parents who don’t understand how perfect little Timmy could have done anything to warrant a detention and, in any event, he has a judo competition that he cannot miss so no, he will not be attending the punishment and no, they won’t take any action themselves.

And then parents wonder why their perfect little brat grows up into a rude adolescent with no respect for authority including (or perhaps especially) their own parents’.

I am a firm believer that teachers should be there to teach – how to write, how to express yourself, the facts and figures, lateral thinking, how to work in a team, communication and even a little bit about self-confidence.  But parents should be responsible for the rest – manners, respect, discipline and all those other things that develop children into well rounded adults.

 

So this is for all the teachers that go above and beyond their job description.  This is for my teachers that taught me to push myself further than I thought possible. For my teachers who made me fall in love with writing and reading and solving puzzles.  For the teachers that praised me when I did well and were disappointed when I didn’t try my hardest.

 

Thank you.  And happy World Teachers Day.

 

&& Fin.

Cyberspace; A Consensual Hallucination Experienced Daily By Billions

Day 1 - That Time I Decided That A New Year Meant A New Day Count

It is 2011 - a new year and new opportunities are waiting. I went home for Christmas and it was wonderful to be back. It made me realise how much I had missed my friends and family. It also made me realise how much I want a good degree and how I need to seriously get my act together if I am going to deserve one. I'm back in the Netherlands now and, after getting through my 'first day' chores (which included food shopping, showering, tidying my room etc etc), I have managed to study my week 1 War and Peace lecture slides.

This is a good start for me.

I was also struck recently by the realisation that the majority of my generation really don't know how to treat/communicate with other people. I was only home for 10 days and yet this applied to at least 3 separate occasions where I was left quite speechless because of other people's behaviour. And, before I sound like an old woman that is just taking a pop at the youth of today, it's not just people in my age category either. My University has been absolutely terrible in terms of keeping its placement students updated with what is happening at home/about second placements. I also had a telephone interview recently to work with some barristers and, not only did they call me over an hour late, they spoke to me for about 10 minutes and mostly about the fact that the man's parents were stuck in Heathrow.

It wasn't a particularly impressive display of professionalism.

In this day and age, with mobile phones and facebook and instant messages, people seem to have forgotten actual, conversational courtesy. I recognise that I am ranting about our dependence on technology in an online blog but when I was at home I refused to go online for longer than a few minutes to check my personal emails and then I went back to my family.

And, actually? It was rather liberating not checking facebook every few minutes, not trawling through junk mail in my inbox, not making idle small talk with people I haven't physically spoken to in over 3 years.

If I didn't think it would make me a complete social outcast, I would delete my facebook right now and be happy about it.

(This rash decision would later be followed with floods of tears since most of my photos are saved on facebook and not backed up anywhere else. So I'm just as dependent on the internet as the best (worst?) of them. Irony; thy name is facebook.)

&&Fin

Take In Laundry Before You Take In Partners

Day ?? - That Time I Made Some Stupid Decisions

I know, dear readers, it is a rare day when I make a stupid decision but, alas, that day has arrived.

Money is not the root of all evil. Alcohol is. I'm pretty sure that should be made official because not many people would disagree with me.

Moving swiftly on...I did laundry today.

Well...I tried. It's taken me roughly 5 hours to complete this gruelling mission. I don't think I could tell you why in all honesty because it's all blurred into a hazy, lint-filled memory. The washing machine was fine until it decided to lock the door at the end of the cycle and refuse to give me back my clothes. I waited for over 20 minutes for it to stop having a hissy fit and finally give up.

Then there were no spare dryers.

This wouldn't annoy me so much if there weren't 3 dryers filled with dry clothes that just haven't been collected. I decided to be nice. So instead of taking the dry clothes out and dumping them on the 'collection' table I went back to my room with my wet clothes and decided to wait for half an hour to see if these clothes were collected.

They were not.

Eventually I managed to find a dryer that was empty.

It didn't work.

Normally this wouldn't be such a big deal but I had just washed my only set of bed sheets so they kind of needed to dry in order for me to catch some zzzs later.

Some time later (I forget how long because I was so busy pouting about it) I found a dryer that worked and was empty. Huzzah! For a building of 300 people I feel that 8 dryers may be pushing it a little on the availability front.

I'm kind of missing home and the magic washing machine fairy.

AKA Mother.

&&Fin.