Buses

Jobs are like buses. No sooner did I receive word that I got that SAAS job, I got word of 2 further interviews. I had one of these yesterday. It was to be a clinical coder for the NHS (Google it) and if I’m being brutally honest I only applied for the sake of it and thought no more of it. I was then surprised when I received notification that I had an interview. I then forgot all about that as well as after my SAAS job victory I totally relaxed and left the list to one side. I went home and spent a weekend with my mother basically eating and doing lovely things such as meeting up with an old school friend (who by coincidence happens to be a clinical coder). I returned after this indulgent weekend and then spent the week doing, well, not very much at all. In fact I can honestly say last week was particularly uneventful, I did the pub quiz, met up with friends, went to the cinema during the day etc etc I also went to see The Sound of Music at the Playhouse and it was very good. On Saturday the majority of the Forsythian cousins and I went out for a meal and drank far far too much wine and in amongst all this I actually bought a car.

Aside- yes I know I don’t need a car in Edinburgh. Yes, I know they are expensive, I know they are a bitch to park, yes I know because of this, and my personal green house gas emissions will cause the world to implode. But you know what? I don’t care. I want one, I want one, I want one!!!! So I am in the process of purchasing a 2003 blue/silver 5 door Peugeot 106 with only 23,000 miles on the clock. This means all you people I keep saying I would visit; well now you can’t hide, I coming to see you.

Back to the man story. So after the cousin dinner party I was very unwell. I mean seriously unwell. I was unable to emerge from my slumber and filth until the mid afternoon and was unable to keep down solid food till the early evening. However, fortunately I recovered enough of that evening’s festivities –Andi’s birthday. Yes, my gay ex-hubby (we had painful and public face book divorce 2 weeks ago) was yet again on holiday from the Fort (does he ever work?) and along with kiddie doc Jen and my wife- whose birthday was on the Saturday (she went out with her family, I didn’t abandon her for mine, dinnae yea worry and I got her a lovely, but unfortunately broken present) ate lots of pizza and watched the wonderful ‘Up’. If you have not seen this film, do it. Do it now. The first ten minutes contain some of the most moving scenes in film history. And Up is a cartoon.

And then all of a sudden, it was Monday and I had an interview. For all my other interviews, I have been meticulously prepared, checked out the job, the company, spent ages getting ready etc etc. But for this one, I barely remembered I had to go for it. I almost cancelled going because I hadn’t slept well. I finally got my act in gear and spent a whole ten minutes googling the job online and then got the bus to the hospital. On my arrival I was stupendously early as always and had a leisurely cup of tea. I was uncharacteristically chilled out, maybe this was because I realised I didn’t need this one and I entered the interview arena with confidence, oozing charm if I do say so myself. The 3 interview panellists were all delightful people, it was more like a chat than an interview. They laughed at my jokes, didn’t seem to mind my wildly gesticulating arms and seemed to think I knew what I was talking about. I was then told that the job would pay more than I thought, there were casual Fridays and flexi time on offer. Also my pension from my years as an FY doctor would be carried forward and slot into this one. And I do love a good pension. It was over and I left the room where it dawned on me- gosh I want this job. It sounds more interesting and generally just better than the other one. I was told I had a 1/5 chance and they would phone me Thursday/Friday.

So it was to my great surprise whilst buying flour in Tesco today (I am a good housewife) that I got a phone call from one of the panellists to tell me the they had completed the interviews a day early and that they wanted to offer me the job. I was stunned and delighted. I was so happy in fact I ended up buying the most ridiculous things in the shop, far too heavily burdening myself, resulting in a spilt bag incident at a pedestrian crossing and being aiding by a passing stranger. However, this supermarket related incident could not curb my enthusiasm and I have been on cloud nine since returning back to my home. My wife is on nights this week so I was unable to whip myself into a cleaning frenzy so instead I sat in my sofa eating cherry tomatoes and hummus on crackers feeling generally smug.

And here I remain, my wife is up and left for work and I am now watching the Olympics feeling restless, but contented. I won’t be starting the job till April so intend to pack in a lot of visiting with my wee car (getting it on Friday!) so watch out people.

Oh, and did I mention I have another job interview tomorrow afternoon.

Buses.

Job

It’s happened. After 5 months/ 149 days/3576 hours (approx) of official unemployment; Morag Christie has a job.

Now, don’t get too excited. It is not my dream job by any means and technically until I prove I’m not a serial killing paedophile and get my disclosure Scotland certificate, I can’t start. But it’s an offer, it’s a job and I now can pay my rent (after March this was going o become an issue as on March 18^th my JSA i.e. dole money was going to run out).

Phew, phew, phew.

Thank-you Student Awards Agency Scotland (my new almost-employer) for taking a chance on me and allowing me to give advice to young poor impressionable students and deny them funding. I relish the opportunity to ‘advise’ them to get weekend jobs because its recession and the government spent all their parents’ tax money on duck houses thus decreasing funding dramatically and the 25% increase in post-graduates leading to an altogether strain on the financial stability of the organisation. Sounds like great fun eh?

Phew.

Sorry that is just how it feels. I had anticipated when I got the news I had managed to secure employment that I would feel elated and want it party, get drunk and dance on tables. But what I actually felt was like there was a mill stone around my neck that had been finally lifted from my shoulders and thunk loudly on the ground at my feet, sending mill stone dust whooshing around me. I had a sit down, phoned my mum in disbelief and then did what is fast becoming one of my favourites past times of late- I cleaned. Favourite is not the word. Compulsion in fact. Yes, on hearing the news I had got a job a felt the compulsion to clean. I polished the window sills and mantle piece then cleaned the kitchen. I even moved the cooker and mopped the floor. I would have moved the fridge too, but it began to topple in my attempt and I could just visualize the scene that would greet Sarah on her return form work of my rather attractive pink love heart slippers poking out from under the horizontal fridge freezer and decided to leave it be.

I’m now having a sit down and a cup of tea out of my new mug. Who says I don’t know how to have fun?

I must back track slightly to events prior to today. The last I wrote I was getting very philosophical and this was mainly because I was waiting the results of a job interview that I thought I’d get. And then of course didn’t. Fortunately, I got the news whilst visiting my mother in Killin, the home of her fancy man. Yes, my poor mother is still waiting for her house to be finished and had gone to dog sit whilst her hard working fancy man completes the work. We had decided to go to Calander for the day, a nice wee town near Richard’s house and were just looking round a nice 2^nd hand book shop- (but mainly just talking to the resident book shop cat) when I heard the news that I still didn’t have a job. So I decided that the best way to deal with this news was to buy an extortionate amount of sweets. I got vanilla fudge, honey roasted cashews, milk chocolate jazzies, sherbet pips and mixed fruit creams. I spent the next 2 days in the country eating these whilst drinking left over wine from Christmas and watching truly appalling true life movies and crime shows. By the end of it I felt much better, spiritually, but not physically.

The Borg also were there of course, the full complement of five. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned before, but of the 5, 3 are young siblings, the other 2 are slightly older mum and (honouree) auntie. Jet is the mum dog and is a bit stiff around the back legs, but still as enthusiastic as her brood. When giving them their afternoon constitutional, I play the game commonly known to many as fetch. When playing this with five dogs, the game talks a slightly different format that I would describe as manic dash. This comprises of me wresting the ball from Tom, having the dogs running around me in ecstatic pleasure, jumping with an insane amount of anticipation then the ball been thrown, the Borg tearing after it. The ball lands and is usually initially caught by Megan, the small (but most devious) yellow lab before it us wrestled from her by one of her siblings the black ones Tom and Sally. Pip the auntie has by this stage realised it’s all over and given up, ran back to me to see if I have another ball just for her to throw (I don’t). A then a curious event occurs. After all the excitement, all the jumping and scrabbling, barking and near death leaping off the garden embankment, which ever child dog has it, they drop it. They drop it and run off. Then Jet the mum dog picks it up and returns it to me. It’s a curious thing that I’m sure if I was in my philosophical mood of last week, I would reflect on.

Anyway, since then it has just been the grind of job hunting (mercilessly over- I’m not going to stop job hunting, but just take it down a gear, maybe 2) and of course socialising.

The pub quiz was missed last week as my cousin was ill (don’t worry, just a cold) and grave news was also received. I mentioned back in the beginning of the blog my aunt Moira’s cat Asti. A magnificent beast of white and tabby, a stalwart of the family and not totally in love with his cousin cat Edgar when he was staying. Well, alas after 16 years of bravely defending his home from interlopers, the occasional spider and the more frequent mouse, he sadly passed away last week. It’s hard to describe the sadness of losing a pet to those who have not had a beloved pet die, but certainly form experience, when Linford, the equally magnificent black fluff monster died several years ago I felt quite bereft. It was an unexpected grief, one I felt a bit ridiculous about. I’m meaning he was only a cat, was he not? But I think a family pet, especially one you have had for years can leave you quite profoundly sad because of the associations they carry. Linford had been in my life from an early age, he had been there during school, university, holidays, illness and death. When I would come home from school before mum got home from work, he would greet me with great enthusiasm at the door and accompany around the house as I completed my daily ritual of ripping off my school uniform and purging myself of the school day (school was not my favourite time). He was there where when I was studying at university- even when I didn’t want him to be. I recall on one occasion his persistence was so over whelming I had to eventually lock him outside of the house and close the curtains. So when my cousins and aunt expressed their great sadness on the loss of Asti, I could easily comprehend their emotions. RIP Asti, king of the Forsyth cats, you shall be missed.

Gosh this blog is getting long and I’m hungry. More socialising has occurred, but I’ll talk about that next time.

To end on a happy note, as mentioned, the quiz was missed 2 Mondays’ past. However last night, we made the quiz (without Niall who was until this morning in Ghana and missed the last few quizzes) and I am happy to report that after finishing last, then finishing 2^nd last that yesterday we finished 3^rd last. So a definite improvement.

Things are looking up.

Waiting

Sorry, you have been waiting for this blog. I did promise I’d write weekly and I’ve kept you all well, waiting. To be honest if you are a regular blog reader you’ll be aware that my life hasn’t been scintillating recently, the last Buffy themed entry being a testament to that. Plus, I’ve been a bit melancholy with the whole jobless thing neither of which is contusive to cheerful blog writing.

So today, the theme is waiting. I’m writing this as I wait for Andi’s bed to be delivered. For those of you unaware, Andi had just bought a flat in Edinburgh, but lives in Fort William. Fortunately for him he has an unemployed friend who has the time to sit about his house waiting for things to be delivered. Last Friday I also did this and was actually a little disappointed that by 1030 all the people had come, delivered their wears and were off again. It meant I had to go do something productive with my day and not just hole up in a corner of Andi’s unfurnished flat watching the extra features of my heroes season 3 DVD boxset like I had planned (don’t get me started on Heroes, while a silly programme with massive plot holes, it has become my new obsession, a mere pale comparison to Buffy of course, but nothing could ever fill that gaping hole in my heart).

Anyway, so waiting has become a major part of life recently and it dawned on me that waiting had been a major feature of most of my life in its entirety. I hated school, and spent my entire day waiting for the school day to be over. I then hated work and spent the day wishing my life away for the few precious moments I had at home before going in for another shift. And finally since moving to Edinburgh, I have been waiting to get a job. Now of course during my wait, I have been doing stuff. Seeing friends, decorating houses, moving a lot of other people’s furniture, but essentially in the back ground, waiting.

This concerns me. Should waiting define my life? But then looking around me and I notice a lot of my friends and family are doing the same thing. A lot of my medic friends are going through the hideous interview process again and waiting to hear if they have got the jobs they so want (and deserve). My mother is still waiting for her house to be finished! And it occurs to me that perhaps waiting isn’t a bad thing, perhaps in fact it us what it is all about.

Hmm how to explain what I’m getting at. I’ll use the medium of film as it’s the one I am most familiar with. When you are watching a good film or a TV series, you are desperately waiting to find out what happens next and how things will end. But when you do, it’s done, finished and even if you’ve enjoyed it, there is part of you that wishes you could go back and watch it all again with no memory of seeing it in the first place; to get that feeling back, the excitement of waiting to see what happens next. Will the goodies prevail? How will things turn out? Seeing things you weren’t expecting, surprises, delights, expectation. It’s all part of the process of enjoying the production.

And this is how I have decided to try and view my life. Everyone knows that the best part of a film is watching the protagonist going through a hard time and then in the end emerge triumphant. So I am nominating myself as the hero of my own life film. This is my difficult time, my cross roads, my period of transition. I will eventually get a job, things will change and for good or ill, I will and find out the outcome of this chapter of my story.

But until then, I just have to wait.

The Plan

So last week I told you about the list and not putting things off till tomorrow. This week I give mention to the plan. The plan has emerged directly from the list. The list was just the stepping stone.

The first few days of the list filled me with a great passion and I did things that I had been putting off for ages. Andi was still hanging about like annoying step-child and kept dragging me along to buy paint and mirrors and the like (I secretly enjoy this but don’t tell him, I might need favours in the future) so I put him to good use. I decided finally after all this time, it was time to get rid of Buffy. Yes, my Buffy VHS collection was going to dust. I must state here, I did buy Buffy the complete series on DVD box set some months ago so, never fear, I am not Buffy-less, but it was time I got rid of my mixture of taped off TV Buffy videos and bought VHS box sets.

For those of you who don’t know, Buffy was a popular teen fantasy drama that lasted for 7 seasons starring Sarah Michelle Geller. It was pivotal in re-starting the popular media interest in vampire lore and was also the first main stream TV series to have a strong female main character and mainly female supporting cast. It was shown very late on BBC2 and my passion for it could not wait for this to happen. Also BBC2 edited the crap out of it too; I mean sentences just cut off mid way through- intolerable. Now fortunately for me, I had two lovely neighbours the Crombies in my old (now sold) family home. They had Sky television and every Thursday/Friday night for over 5 years they either allowed me to come over and watch Buffy; if they were out they set the tape up for me or gave me the keys to their house so I could watch it in their absence. I know, amazing kindness to a desperate teen. However it didn’t stop there. When I finally went to university, they continued to tape it for until finally series 7 finished and they were released of their obligation to me. What lovely people, shout out to them.

Anyway, so the point of that little homage was that I had kept all these tapes for all these years, but as we know VHS is dead, long live DVD, so I have upgraded. Thus the Buffy tapes had to go. My landlady wife was on nights last week and was trying my darnedest to be quiet during the day so she could sleep in peace. I keep my Buffy videos on top of my wardrobe in a plastic box. It’s a high wardrobe that required me to stand on a chair and hand the box to an expectant Andi. Unfortunately, as I passed it to him the box completely disintegrated on his head and Buffy videos went flying everywhere crashing to the ground in a most alarming manner. I froze- had we woken my wife?! No. Phew. And fortunately, Andi was still conscious. I like to think of this as the Buffy videos final hoorah, a silent, but spectacular assault on an oppressive male (well, sometimes he tells me I look like I’ve not got any make-up on when I do just to annoy me; so not oppressive, but a bit annoying). Goodbye Buffy VHS, I loved you so.

Wow, that was far too much about Buffy. I think have a Buffy problem. I need to go to Buffy-holics anonymous. Oh, dear lord stop!

So the plan. Yes, the plan emerged from the list. The list was working well, but soon it began to take a life of its own requiring appendages and notes all over the edges. This was not orderly, so I came up with the plan. The plan is a list of ultimate goals and things I’m working toward. I cannot do all the things in the plan straight away so I write a daily list from the plan using it as a reference to keep me on track. Clear now?

I could tell you about the plan, but I think I’ve bored you enough with the Buffy story so suffice to say there is a plan and hopefully something will come of it.

Hmm, I feel this a particularly boring blog entry, but I’ve written it now and feel it would be wasteful to delete it so like it or lump it that’s what you are getting this week. It’s finally happened. The unemployment has won, I now officially have nothing to say, dullness has enveloped me entirely, the ‘fun’ part of day is watching an amusing clip on YouTube, getting a bargain in pound stretcher or seeing a minor celebrity in John Lewis – that was on Sunday last; Angus Purden famed for being the face of the Postcode lottery on STV and also one of the hosts of Cash in the Attic. He was wearing a blue puffa jacket and was looking at kitchen appliances.

Oh, heaven help me why do I know that?! Please, someone, give me a job!

Tomorrow

Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow. I’d do it tomorrow. That is today’s blog theme. Firstly however, I must do the necessary and talk about the festive period. I last left you with the knowledge that I had an interview on the 22^nd. ‘How did it go’ I hear you ask, well let me tell you...

The interview was scheduled for 330pm. I had calculated that I would leave the house a bit after 2pm to ensure I got a bus in plenty of time and found the place (it was a 40 minute bus trip away at least). As many of you know, I am messy so I had decided not to dress in my interview clothes or do my hair until the last minute. At 1pm I got a phone call from he interview people that went as follows

‘Oh, hello is that Morag Christie’

Yes

‘This *Blank Blank* from Blankety Blank’

Yes

‘I know it’s an inconvenience, but do you think you could come in an hour early, it would be great for us as we’ve had a cancellation’

I then had two choices.

1: To say yes to please them and run around madly to get ready

2: Say no and risk losing their favour.

I said

Yes, that’s no problem.

The next ten minutes I can only describe to you as a frenzy of unadulterated action. When they had called I’d just made cheese on toast (with Wooster sauce) and hadn’t had a bite. I crammed a few bits in my mouth, dashed to get changed, tore through my hair with a pair of (Sarah’s) hair straighteners and ran out the door, briefcase flapping (yes, briefcase, I’m a professional). I then faced an unexpected problem. I was wearing high heels. Many of you may have noticed, it’s been a wee bit snowy and icy lately and I then had to navigate my much ungritted icy road to get to the bus stop. I eventually arrived at my destination and quite soon my bus appeared. Hoorah, I thought, it’s going to get better now. But no. The bus was going very slowly, it was busy and snowy so I didn’t pay much heed. Then it got slower and slower and slower. Then it stopped. A wee voice came over the tannoy ‘Would everyone leave the bus please’ so we did and fortunately another bus was waiting. Now whether this was a scheduled bus swap (why though?) or the bus was in genuine trouble, I do not know, however the next bus seemed to whiz along and eventually I got to my stop. I then faced the high heel snow/ice dilemma again, but managed with little incident to get to the office. On my arrival the place seemed deathly quiet apart from the sound of sobbing, off putting to say the least. I checked in (albeit a very smiley man at desk, not sobbing) and sat down. It was then I located the sobbing- it was the TV showing the funeral procession of fallen soldiers. Moving, but not the soundtrack one needs before an interview. I had, I must mentioned, despite everything arrived 20 minutes early. It was then I noticed a sign asking you to use the hand gel to kill the naughty swine flues germs so being a good girl I put it on. This stuff was curious, it came out bright green and foamy and wouldn’t blend in to my hands. Rub as I might, I was left with a curious sticky residue. It was then of course, my interviewer arrived and I had to shake her hand. Cripes. As you imagine, by this stage I was beyond reason and I have no idea how the interview went. I still don’t know as they said they’d let me know at the of January.

Anyway, moving swiftly on to more pleasant things, Christmas. Now, I’m not going into go into too much detail here, as to be honest that would be dull. Basically, the 23^rd saw a new wave of snow descend on Edinburgh and on arriving at the bus station I discovered my bus would be leaving at least 3 hours late. Much dismay. In the mature way of all children I phoned my mum to whine, like she could do anything about it. Well, she could! She knew that my step-cousin was driving through from Edinburgh that very morning and after a series of phone calls I got hold of her and hey presto a mere 15 minutes later, I was dashing up north with tenuously linked family member. The Dingwall network saves the day!

I arrived home only to leave again. Not until I was reunited with my best girl Aimie the exotic teacher (she’s lives in Dubai= exotic, no dancing as far as I know) and did the Dingwall pub quiz which was controversially moved to the Picture house from the Mallard (Dingwall readers ‘gasp’, all else go ‘what?’). My team didn’t win, but more importantly my team beat Niall’s team. Grin. Niall did however win marshmallows and white lightening cider in the amazing pub Christmas raffle, so one wonders who the real winner was.

Anyway, after a flurry of hellos and goodbyes, on Christmas Eve, mum and I made the brave drive down to Richard’s in Killin. Yes, we decided to spend Christmas with the Borg and despite having to stop every so often to physically wash the crap off the windscreen as the washers were frozen despite near 100% screen wash, it was an uneventful journey. Christmas day was nice, food presents, dogs and wonderfully watching LOTR; Fellowship of the Ring in the evening. Due to the worrying forecast, we headed back early on Boxing Day and the next few days were spent with the rest of family, eating and drinking and the like. The journey back to the burgh was not nice, over 5 hours on a bus fearing for my life as the snow pummelled down on the 30^th, but I arrived safely, eventually.

Hogmanay saw a new set of plans arise. It was my intention for many weeks hence to go to a ceilidh in Glasgow with assorted cousins. But on wakening, I found myself shattered and feeling reluctant to go. Added to this was the knowledge kiddie doc Jen was having a small soirée to which a few friends including Karen from the Borders (whom I had not seen in quite some time) were attending. The previous night, my eldest brother had been lamenting his lack of plans and it was then I stumbled upon an idea. Why not give him the ticket, he’ll dance and be gay and I’ll stay in Edinburgh, see my friends and have a reasonable night’s sleep (any night out with my Glasgow cousins never results in a good night’s sleep). And this is what I did. Niall did indeed dance and have a splendid time and I went to Jen’s who fed us a huge amount of food, drank champagne and watched the fireworks at the bells. So it all worked out just beautifully.

Since then it’s been back to the grindstone of job hunting intermittently dispersed with having Andi of the Fort come round and pester me to get things and plan the decoration of his flat (which he’s yet to get keys for) as he’s on holiday in the burgh. I enjoy planning house decoration and sorting out; all those mornings watching ‘Homes under the hammer’ were not wasted.

Now we come to the title of today’s blog ‘Tomorrow’. Last night as I was watching BBC iplayer in bed (my landlady wife at work on nights again) and I was feeling a touch melancholy. Upsetting thoughts running through my mind like ‘I’ll never get a job’ and ‘what if when I get a job I don’t like it’ and ‘what if I get a job and don’t like it, but can’t afford to leave it so instead of living the dream I’ll end working in an endless 9 to 5 existence with no meaning or pleasure.’ That sort of thing. Then I began to think about all the things I keep meaning to do like take stuff to the charity shop, make a doctor’s appointment, work on my eportfolio in case I get a pathology interview and I was thinking that everything was just getting all on top of me, all these little things on top of all the big things and BLAH!!!!!!!!!!!

I keep saying ‘tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll deal with it tomorrow’ and then at midnight I have irrational panic. So I decided. No more ‘tomorrow’, it’s time for ‘today’ to start. So I made a list of things I need to do. Just a few little things, but today I did 5 out of 6 of them. And it felt good just to start getting the things I can control under control. Okay it probably won’t change my life or the world, but it makes me feel more in charge of my own life and as such tonight instead of ‘tomorrow, tomorrow’, I’m thinking ‘hoorah today!’ So my advice is to you, however small or big the worries are-

No more tomorrows, today is here!

Ask a busy person

They say the best way to get things done is to ask a busy person. I have to agree with that statement. I mean this blog is the perfect example. I have no job and little else to do and yet I seem to be neglecting it greatly. I haven’t much to say really, but I feel guilty and thought I best write before the annual festive period about that special baby’s birthday occurs.

Some moderately exciting events have happened over the last few weeks which I should have written about, but didn’t. The unemployment is really beginning to make me lazy (ier). My eldest brother for example held two consecutive Saturday night dinner parties for each side of the family’s cousins’ at the end of November/beginning of December. Niall cooked for I think the 2^nd and 3rd time ever in his life and the latter occasion was a full roast turkey dinner. Both were very pleasurable and inevitably drunken occasions, but I feel rather that I have missed the boat to write about then, pity. Fortunately, my far less lazy brother has written about them on his blog so if you do wish to hear about the festivities then please click on my face and then the Nev 360 link. His last two entries concern the dinner parties.

My lovely landlady wife also held a Christmas dinner about a week ago, I can’t possible say ‘we’ as all I did was buy the table cloth. Jenny the kiddie doctor and Sarah’s brother attended as well as their two Labrador’s Megan and Katie, who I must say, are much better behaved than the Borg, but that may just be because there are 3 fewer of them. They did make a terrible hairy mess on the floor though which slightly OCDly of me, I hovered up and cleaned on Monday once my landlady wife had gone to work. On occasion, when I clean I get carried away and do odd things like hoover the window sills.

This weekend past was host to another festive party when my landlady wife and I hosted an evening of Christmas cheer which consisted of playing trivial pursuit, watching ‘Love Actually’ and eating a tremendous amount of Marks and Spencers finger food. We were joined in this by the aforementioned kiddie doc, Karen of Stirling (not Karen of the Borders, she as far as I know is still there) and running Louise. My brother also made a brief appearance so he could change into a builders outfit, but again I refer to you to his blog as I am sure he will explain that in due course in far more detail.

Talking of my eldest brother, he made his move to Edinburgh a few short weeks ago and then instantly went to Ghana. However, he did finally spend a few nights in his new flat last week and one night joined my newly married Simon (name check) and Devil Mike (so mentioned as the first time I met him he was painted red and dressed like the devil, he is personality wise, very lovely) went on a pub crawl of his new area i.e. the royal mile. This resulted in me being very very ill the next day and glad that all I had to do that day was wait in for the new TV to be delivered. And speaking of hangover, I had another after Esme’s birthday night in Glasgow a week last Saturday. It was merry affair indeed that was ended up in our exclusion from a rather peculiar night club in which they served free toast after Esme’s boyfriend ‘accidently’ stole some beer. The three of us after bidding goodnight to our comapanions had to wait for over an hour for a taxi home in the freezing cold and ended up ‘rescuing’ a rather silly young girl who had gone out wearing nothing but a pair of high heels and dress which in my opinion was barely a belt and she had no jacket or tights. We let her in our taxi and I berated her for this and also for getting into a taxi with 3 strangers- I mean we could have been serial killers (I am not, I don’t think Esme is and I’m pretty certain Stephen isn’t either, but that is not the point).

Gosh this blog is fast turning into a rambling list of drunken nights in the wrong order. I’ll do you a time line

28^th November- Niall’s first Forsythian Christmas Party

5^th December – Niall’s Christie Cousin Christmas Party

I spent the next few days in Aberdeen helping him pack, clean and move. We got a van down to Edinburgh and moved into his new flat which almost killed us both (4^th floor flat to 3^rd floor flat- you try it)

11^th December- I go to Glasgow for Esme’s birthday. I get very drunk and feel very ill the next day. In the evening after my return to Edinburgh my landlady wife and I get a Christmas tree named Trevor.

13^th December- fake Christmas in the Christie-Marshall household. There is no mulled wine to be found on Princes Street. Dogs attend the event and leave hair as a Christmas gift for Dyson the hoover.

17^th December- the first of what I suspect to be many of pub crawls with Niall

19^th December- joined by some friends, we hold another festive evening in which some mulled wine was available.

So soon it will be Christmas. My plans are changing at fast pace, I don’t know where I will be (weather dependent, don’t snow please), I hope to be attending the annual Dingwall Christmas pub quiz on Wednesday evening. If I win I have to declare my winnings to the job centre people. No, really. After that I assume the festive period will contain the usual eating of turkey and consumption of wine just as long as it doesn’t snow too much resulting in that mum and I can’t get down to her fancy man’s or her house explodes. It's something to do with too much pressure on the central heating, if she doesn’t bleed it frequently then it’ll blow the street up or something. The plumber said he come sometime between now and Thursday. No, really.

So a well planned and organised period ahead.

Oh, and did I mention, I have a job interview tomorrow?

Rejection and Recuperation

Ah, another moderate gap between entries. This can only mean one of two things, either I have been busy or I have been avoiding writing. It is the latter. The reason for this is my failure. Yes, my dreams of becoming Scotland’s next poisons expert were shattered on Friday when yet again I received another rejection letter. I have applied for 42 jobs in the last 12 weeks and while you may think that is a small number, you must realise that each job application can take from up to 1-3 hours (sometimes more) so complex are some of today’s application forms. Also you have to factor in the time searching for appropriate jobs added in the bimonthly pop into the jobcentre which takes up an entire morning due to its location far away from my flat. Plus there’s the ever important tea breaks.

Tea breaks are important to me. Apart from my last job in the hospice in which I would say, in 50% of days there would be a communal staff tea break, regular tea breaks were unknown to me. In my first job in the hideous GI ward I barely had time to take my coat off let alone leisurely drink a cup of tea. My second job in the Belford was a strange beast in which I always managed to get myself busy (Andi who works there presently seems to do nothing but have tea breaks, I can’t decided whether this is due to a recent lack of patients or my inability to manage time). My 3^rd job in Sick kids was variable beast in which my role rotated round the various areas. Whilst on the ward it was tea a-plenty, but on the acute unit or day case- the insanely busy centre where you see what seems like hundreds of patients all with minor ailments all demanding far too much attention in my opinion- you never even got the whiff of a biscuit. I then move onto my FY2 year which heralded a new kind of frantic activity first in A&E then the surgical ward. A&E was supposed to have regular breaks, but all I managed was a lunch stop and tea is not a speedy lunch beverage. Also I sweated so much in my shiny plastic suit that adding a steaming hot cup to tea to the mix would have only have increased my malodour. We then come to ward 33, surgical ward from hell. If hadn’t already decided to quit before this job, I definitely would have stormed out in a triumphant and spectacularly melodramatic style whilst working in this post. I did at one stage actually stamp my foot on the ground with sheer anger and frustration (then promptly burst into tears with one of the lovely secretaries), but worst of all in this job if there was a tea break, well, there was no tea. Instead a monstrous coffee machine that demanded feeding and not a tea bag in sight. It was quite horrific. And now full circle back to the afore mentioned hospice and now my current state of affairs- unemployment.

It has now been 3 months since I moved to Edinburgh and tried to get a job. In my head, I had predicted I would have a job by Christmas. That predication seems unlikely to be fulfilled. I have had interviews for 3 separate jobs (and 3 interviews for one of them) with 3 rejections and countless rejection letters from positions that I never even got interviewed for. There have also been the non-informers- the jobs to which you apply for and you hear nothing, not even a letter to say ‘NO WAY YOU UNDER-EXPERIENCED PILLOCK’ which I personally feel is the least they could do. Even a wee email, not even the cost of a postage stamp. I despise them most of all.

I was in the jobcentre today in fact and sitting, waiting for the man to sign me off and I looked around me at all the other people sitting and waiting for the same thing. Literally dozens of people all looking and applying for the same jobs as me and I thought ‘dear lord what chance do I have?’. Now I know many of them won’t have degrees, but scarily a lot of them looked perfectly respectable. I wondered what had brought them to this ghastly place and were they thinking the same about me? If they knew what I had given up, would they beat me over the head with their sign-in clip boards?

But then I remind myself that my flatmate who is meant to finish at 5 never gets home til nearer or past 7. My recently married friend isn’t getting have Christmas with her husband because someone screwed him over in the rota. My friend in the Borders has been forced to be rota master and having to work her holidays to cover for 2 absent colleagues. Another friend in Perth is working 2 jobs and is about to eat her juniors they are so incompetent. And Andi, well, he lives on friggin’ Fort William for crying out loud.

And then I remember, at least now I can have as much tea as I want.