Andrew Carter's Blog - Posts Tagged "monday-musings"
Monday Musings 6
First of all, my apologies for not writing anything last week. It was not because I am now writing a blog for Leeds City Magazine, have got too big for my boots and forgotten my humble beginnings. It was merely a case starting a new job and not having the time to do it. I'd also eaten an incredibly salty pizza last Monday which made me dehydrated and unable to focus.
I’d planned to perhaps write something on Tuesday instead and toyed with the idea of writing Monday Tuesings, which I thought would have been very clever before realizing that Tuesings is definitely not a word and it wouldn’t have made sense. I also dislike word / name combinations so it would have been a bit hypocritical. People in silly magazines referring to as Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez as “Bennifer” was just unacceptable.
My plan is to juggle both this and the Leeds City blog. I don’t know if this is too much but I will give it a try, like Kevin Keegan did when he managed Fulham and England at the same time. It was too much for Keegan in the end if I recall correctly, although writing a few words of nonsense probably shouldn’t be compared to managing a nation should it? I will probably start writing one or both on a fortnightly basis to avoid overkill though. I don’t want to become a complete pain in the neck.
I finished at my old job without incident; a couple of celebratory pints at lunchtime made for a drowsy afternoon before saying my goodbyes. I’m inept with goodbyes and don’t really know what to say. Under pressure, I found myself saying; “We’ll have to go for a beer sometime,” to a man who didn’t work in my department and I’d spoken to very briefly, twice. I very much doubt that we will stay in touch.
My last day of work happened to fall on my birthday. I am a bit of a misery when it comes to my birthday – a birthday Grinch. I don’t feel I deserve praise and gifts simply for being born, which is something that I had no control over at all. I’m getting on a bit too - at twenty nine, it’s now difficult to try and claim that I’m still in my mid-twenties but try I will.
A pair of my friends threw a highly enjoyable engagement party on the Saturday and after thinking I’d escaped it, I had to sit through a rendition of Happy Birthday which is always fairly excruciating. What are you supposed to do? Sit and grin? It always seems to go on for twice as long when it’s your birthday.
The first week at my new job has gone well and I’m hopeful that having been an employment journeyman, working in sixteen different jobs over the years, I may finally have found something to stick around in for a while. (Sixteen isn’t just a figure plucked from the air by the way – I have just written a list. I’m evidently not very busy this evening.)
I’d got some slick new shirts for my birthday but have since found out that the dress code is casual and I am the best dressed man in the office by some way. Like when you forgot it was a non-uniform day at school. I’m going to persist with the shirts for the time being though. Possibly roll the sleeves up?
It can be tricky to get the balance right when you start a new job; you want to come across as keen and enthusiastic (by overdressing for example) but you don’t want to keep asking, “What shall I do now?” or words to that effect. Also, when chatting to new colleagues, you don’t want to come across as rude and / or really shy by not engaging in a bit of conversation but then you don’t want to be a loudmouth that is distracting people from their work. There was a small mishap in the staff room where I coughed whilst waiting for a lady who was washing a cup at the sink. It was a genuine cough but she took it as a, “I’m waiting, hurry up,” cough and probably thought, “Who does this new guy think he is?”
Everyone is very friendly, although I have been warned that you do not want to get on the wrong side of the cleaner by a couple of people. They have said it with a smile but the sort of smile that means; No, really you don’t.
I have to cycle up a horror hill on the way to the new office which will hopefully push me to pass my driving test in the not too distant future. I despise driving lessons and am not keen on paying thirty quid to feel inadequate and useless. It doesn’t help that the area where I practice manoeuvres is frequented by droves of other learners, all of whom seem to be at least ten years younger than me.
After ballsing up a parallel park three times in a row and becoming horribly flustered, it doesn’t help when you see a seventeen year old girl effortlessly gliding into her spot further up road. I have long known that I am not a natural driver but lessons also make me feel like a complete moron. I find myself unable to follow simple instructions and my mind often goes blank when my instructor asks me the most basic of questions.
Louise is being very patient and taking me for the odd spin, which while highly emasculating, is certainly helpful. However if she has to grab the wheel again because I am admiring a nice football pitch and not looking at the road, I think her generosity, and indeed our relationship may end before I have my pink licence.
I’m surprised that I got my current job without a driving licence. Having a car appears fairly important because we go out to visit customers in their homes. Worry not, I am not a door-to-door salesman - it is a council funded job where people are aware that you are coming and from what I’ve seen so far, you talk about fairly useful things.
The world of door-to-door sales is not, however, completely alien to me. In bizarre circumstances in a previous job, I once found myself going out for the day observing a man whilst he tried to sell incredibly overpriced Kirby vacuum cleaners to people in their homes. I’m really not sure why I was there but vaguely remember being stood in a kitchen in Wakefield while this man, who had a tattoo on his neck, unconvincingly showed an elderly woman that the vacuum could clean ceilings. It was one of those moments where you really question where your life is going. What decisions have I made along the way that have led to this?
On our return to the office from a visit today, a woman asked for my assistance as she had got her car stuck in some mud and couldn’t get out. Panicking, I did that thing where you go and stand by the scene, make a few “hmm” noises but actually have no idea what to do and help in no way whatsoever. I eventually went inside and got the assistance of some colleagues and we managed to push the car out of the ditch and to freedom. After (being part of) this good deed, I strode back into the office and sat down at my desk in a cheery mood. A few minutes later I looked back and saw that there was a thick trail of muddy footprints leading from the door to my chair.
I’m suitably terrified about seeing the cleaner tomorrow morning.
I’d planned to perhaps write something on Tuesday instead and toyed with the idea of writing Monday Tuesings, which I thought would have been very clever before realizing that Tuesings is definitely not a word and it wouldn’t have made sense. I also dislike word / name combinations so it would have been a bit hypocritical. People in silly magazines referring to as Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez as “Bennifer” was just unacceptable.
My plan is to juggle both this and the Leeds City blog. I don’t know if this is too much but I will give it a try, like Kevin Keegan did when he managed Fulham and England at the same time. It was too much for Keegan in the end if I recall correctly, although writing a few words of nonsense probably shouldn’t be compared to managing a nation should it? I will probably start writing one or both on a fortnightly basis to avoid overkill though. I don’t want to become a complete pain in the neck.
I finished at my old job without incident; a couple of celebratory pints at lunchtime made for a drowsy afternoon before saying my goodbyes. I’m inept with goodbyes and don’t really know what to say. Under pressure, I found myself saying; “We’ll have to go for a beer sometime,” to a man who didn’t work in my department and I’d spoken to very briefly, twice. I very much doubt that we will stay in touch.
My last day of work happened to fall on my birthday. I am a bit of a misery when it comes to my birthday – a birthday Grinch. I don’t feel I deserve praise and gifts simply for being born, which is something that I had no control over at all. I’m getting on a bit too - at twenty nine, it’s now difficult to try and claim that I’m still in my mid-twenties but try I will.
A pair of my friends threw a highly enjoyable engagement party on the Saturday and after thinking I’d escaped it, I had to sit through a rendition of Happy Birthday which is always fairly excruciating. What are you supposed to do? Sit and grin? It always seems to go on for twice as long when it’s your birthday.
The first week at my new job has gone well and I’m hopeful that having been an employment journeyman, working in sixteen different jobs over the years, I may finally have found something to stick around in for a while. (Sixteen isn’t just a figure plucked from the air by the way – I have just written a list. I’m evidently not very busy this evening.)
I’d got some slick new shirts for my birthday but have since found out that the dress code is casual and I am the best dressed man in the office by some way. Like when you forgot it was a non-uniform day at school. I’m going to persist with the shirts for the time being though. Possibly roll the sleeves up?
It can be tricky to get the balance right when you start a new job; you want to come across as keen and enthusiastic (by overdressing for example) but you don’t want to keep asking, “What shall I do now?” or words to that effect. Also, when chatting to new colleagues, you don’t want to come across as rude and / or really shy by not engaging in a bit of conversation but then you don’t want to be a loudmouth that is distracting people from their work. There was a small mishap in the staff room where I coughed whilst waiting for a lady who was washing a cup at the sink. It was a genuine cough but she took it as a, “I’m waiting, hurry up,” cough and probably thought, “Who does this new guy think he is?”
Everyone is very friendly, although I have been warned that you do not want to get on the wrong side of the cleaner by a couple of people. They have said it with a smile but the sort of smile that means; No, really you don’t.
I have to cycle up a horror hill on the way to the new office which will hopefully push me to pass my driving test in the not too distant future. I despise driving lessons and am not keen on paying thirty quid to feel inadequate and useless. It doesn’t help that the area where I practice manoeuvres is frequented by droves of other learners, all of whom seem to be at least ten years younger than me.
After ballsing up a parallel park three times in a row and becoming horribly flustered, it doesn’t help when you see a seventeen year old girl effortlessly gliding into her spot further up road. I have long known that I am not a natural driver but lessons also make me feel like a complete moron. I find myself unable to follow simple instructions and my mind often goes blank when my instructor asks me the most basic of questions.
Louise is being very patient and taking me for the odd spin, which while highly emasculating, is certainly helpful. However if she has to grab the wheel again because I am admiring a nice football pitch and not looking at the road, I think her generosity, and indeed our relationship may end before I have my pink licence.
I’m surprised that I got my current job without a driving licence. Having a car appears fairly important because we go out to visit customers in their homes. Worry not, I am not a door-to-door salesman - it is a council funded job where people are aware that you are coming and from what I’ve seen so far, you talk about fairly useful things.
The world of door-to-door sales is not, however, completely alien to me. In bizarre circumstances in a previous job, I once found myself going out for the day observing a man whilst he tried to sell incredibly overpriced Kirby vacuum cleaners to people in their homes. I’m really not sure why I was there but vaguely remember being stood in a kitchen in Wakefield while this man, who had a tattoo on his neck, unconvincingly showed an elderly woman that the vacuum could clean ceilings. It was one of those moments where you really question where your life is going. What decisions have I made along the way that have led to this?
On our return to the office from a visit today, a woman asked for my assistance as she had got her car stuck in some mud and couldn’t get out. Panicking, I did that thing where you go and stand by the scene, make a few “hmm” noises but actually have no idea what to do and help in no way whatsoever. I eventually went inside and got the assistance of some colleagues and we managed to push the car out of the ditch and to freedom. After (being part of) this good deed, I strode back into the office and sat down at my desk in a cheery mood. A few minutes later I looked back and saw that there was a thick trail of muddy footprints leading from the door to my chair.
I’m suitably terrified about seeing the cleaner tomorrow morning.
Monday Musings 7
So, after a short absence, you’ll no doubt be delighted at the return of Monday Musings.
It's been a busy couple of weeks.
Louise and I moved house last Friday. Into a house that we have bought, which is a substantial thing to happen I suppose. It was a stressful few months leading up to it, although for long periods I didn’t have a clue what was going on. Stamp duty? No idea.
Unlike me, Louise is good at life admin so took the reigns and did almost everything. After she had spoken on the phone to solicitors or estate agents, I tried to read whether the news was good or bad before responding with a nod and a smile, or a concerned look and shake of head. These expressions normally did the trick in terms of feigning my understanding and involvement and I imagine they will also come in handy for when we start planning our wedding.
Eventually, with the help of parents but not really solicitors – they didn’t do much – we managed to get a lovely little place. Apart from the fact that I’m currently sat on an inflatable camping sofa which needs more air in it, things are taking shape nicely. I'm hoping that a proper sofa will magically appear without having to trawl around Ikea again, which is a harrowing experience. The meatballs are overrated too.
Moving itself wasn’t too bad although the clean-up mission of the old flat was obviously arduous. I did my bit but became distracted while hoovering, first playing a lengthy game involving attempting to chip a tennis ball into a bin before, less imaginatively, putting the hoover on scales and attempting to guess its weight. This was probably not essential information. For those of you that are interested, I can tell you that a Dyson hoover is surprisingly light.
We are still waiting to hear how much of our deposit the landlord will pocket. If he doesn’t notice where I dropped a hot iron on the carpet and smouldered it, I think we have should get most of it back. It’s a big if.
I was happy to get out of the flat. Although we leave with fond memories and met some good people on the street, the time had come. This was made apparent when, at 4am on a Tuesday, the damp wallpaper above our bed peeled from the wall and smothered my face while I was sleeping. Genuinely terrifying.
I won’t miss the guys who lived above us much. They had - I kid you not - a bouldering wall built in their living room, which was directly above ours. When I first saw them putting it up, it looked like a sacrificial artefact and I’d feared that they were Satanists. Fortunately they were just keen climbers but within a few nights, I’d decided that Satanists would have made better neighbours.
Every night they put on the sort of rock music I listened to when I was fifteen and continually fell off their wall onto the floor. They can’t have been very good climbers. In fairness, it was probably good fun but it became a bit tiresome. One (or possibly both) of the guys were aspiring musicians too and ostensibly the most creative time for their song writing was post 11pm on a weekday.
I made my feelings about these guys crystal clear – not by knocking on their door and asking them to quieten down – but by neglecting to take their wheelie bins out when I took mine, which I had always done for our previous neighbour, a quiet community support officer. That had the shitbags told.
Having read that back, I realize that moaning about people younger than me making a bit of noise and enjoying themselves makes me sound like an old bastard. Is that’s what I’ve become? I do have increasingly grey hair and sometimes my back aches. I spent last Sunday at Furniture Village (where I bumped into a similarly fraught looking friend with his fiancée) and I don’t just find Radio 1 irritating anymore – I can’t actually listen to it. I have also recently acquired my first pair of glasses. Is that it? Is my youth over?
My optician, who was oddly flirtatious, informed me that I have probably been short sighted for quite some time. I think deep down I knew this but was in denial. I think part of me is still concerned about potential new nicknames. "Specky four eyes'' was particularly damning in my primary school days.
The final straw was during my recent (failed)driving test when the guy asked me to read a number plate and all I could see were shimmering black blobs. He gave me another chance with a closer car, but I failed again. With this, my cheery (miserable, bit of a bastard) examiner tutted and went to get a really long tape measure. As I stood in the morning drizzle watching him scowling and taking forever to unravel the thing, I considered whether this was the unhappiest I'd ever felt.
Fortunately after a bit of squinting, I just about managed to read the last one. The damage had been done though; before getting into the car, I already felt like a failure, which is poor preparation for a driving test.
I need to pass soon really. Last Monday (why is it always Monday?), I had a horror show. I arrived at work and realized I had left my bike keys, and front door keys on the floor of our garage. Panicking that we were going to get burgled within 48 hours of moving in, and it would be my fault entirely, I paced around the office sweating before reaching a solution.
I called my dad and he sorted everything out.
The perks of having a retired dad are vast. He dropped the keys off at my office and even gave me a lift to a meeting, which I was now running late for. We got badly lost. After my dad nearly pulled out in front of a van near Bradford, he looked at me and uttered the wise words: 'Stress is contagious Andy.'
It certainly is.
Anyway I made it to the meeting eventually and everything was fine. Thanks dad. This sort of thing shouldn't be happening anymore should it?
My next driving test is coming up pretty soon though I’m not going to reveal how soon. If it takes me ten attempts and until October to pass, then I would like people to assume that by soon, I meant October. No other tests were taken between now and then. I'm not going to mention it again until I’ve passed.
With that said, I've just had a flashback of Friday night and I think I told my friends the exact time and date of my test. I also have hazy memories of sitting in my pal’s living room at 3am, drinking a large Merlot and slurringly attempting to describe the synopsis for my next book. It can’t have sounded very good at all.
I do plan to start my second book soon. I keep putting it off with things like: ‘When we move house, I’ll start.’ My latest idea is that once I have a new swivel chair, I will begin. I’ve never owned a swivel chair so how helpful it will be is unclear. It could easily be more of a distraction than an inspiration.
One thing is for sure, this inflatable camping sofa isn't going to cut it.
It's been a busy couple of weeks.
Louise and I moved house last Friday. Into a house that we have bought, which is a substantial thing to happen I suppose. It was a stressful few months leading up to it, although for long periods I didn’t have a clue what was going on. Stamp duty? No idea.
Unlike me, Louise is good at life admin so took the reigns and did almost everything. After she had spoken on the phone to solicitors or estate agents, I tried to read whether the news was good or bad before responding with a nod and a smile, or a concerned look and shake of head. These expressions normally did the trick in terms of feigning my understanding and involvement and I imagine they will also come in handy for when we start planning our wedding.
Eventually, with the help of parents but not really solicitors – they didn’t do much – we managed to get a lovely little place. Apart from the fact that I’m currently sat on an inflatable camping sofa which needs more air in it, things are taking shape nicely. I'm hoping that a proper sofa will magically appear without having to trawl around Ikea again, which is a harrowing experience. The meatballs are overrated too.
Moving itself wasn’t too bad although the clean-up mission of the old flat was obviously arduous. I did my bit but became distracted while hoovering, first playing a lengthy game involving attempting to chip a tennis ball into a bin before, less imaginatively, putting the hoover on scales and attempting to guess its weight. This was probably not essential information. For those of you that are interested, I can tell you that a Dyson hoover is surprisingly light.
We are still waiting to hear how much of our deposit the landlord will pocket. If he doesn’t notice where I dropped a hot iron on the carpet and smouldered it, I think we have should get most of it back. It’s a big if.
I was happy to get out of the flat. Although we leave with fond memories and met some good people on the street, the time had come. This was made apparent when, at 4am on a Tuesday, the damp wallpaper above our bed peeled from the wall and smothered my face while I was sleeping. Genuinely terrifying.
I won’t miss the guys who lived above us much. They had - I kid you not - a bouldering wall built in their living room, which was directly above ours. When I first saw them putting it up, it looked like a sacrificial artefact and I’d feared that they were Satanists. Fortunately they were just keen climbers but within a few nights, I’d decided that Satanists would have made better neighbours.
Every night they put on the sort of rock music I listened to when I was fifteen and continually fell off their wall onto the floor. They can’t have been very good climbers. In fairness, it was probably good fun but it became a bit tiresome. One (or possibly both) of the guys were aspiring musicians too and ostensibly the most creative time for their song writing was post 11pm on a weekday.
I made my feelings about these guys crystal clear – not by knocking on their door and asking them to quieten down – but by neglecting to take their wheelie bins out when I took mine, which I had always done for our previous neighbour, a quiet community support officer. That had the shitbags told.
Having read that back, I realize that moaning about people younger than me making a bit of noise and enjoying themselves makes me sound like an old bastard. Is that’s what I’ve become? I do have increasingly grey hair and sometimes my back aches. I spent last Sunday at Furniture Village (where I bumped into a similarly fraught looking friend with his fiancée) and I don’t just find Radio 1 irritating anymore – I can’t actually listen to it. I have also recently acquired my first pair of glasses. Is that it? Is my youth over?
My optician, who was oddly flirtatious, informed me that I have probably been short sighted for quite some time. I think deep down I knew this but was in denial. I think part of me is still concerned about potential new nicknames. "Specky four eyes'' was particularly damning in my primary school days.
The final straw was during my recent (failed)driving test when the guy asked me to read a number plate and all I could see were shimmering black blobs. He gave me another chance with a closer car, but I failed again. With this, my cheery (miserable, bit of a bastard) examiner tutted and went to get a really long tape measure. As I stood in the morning drizzle watching him scowling and taking forever to unravel the thing, I considered whether this was the unhappiest I'd ever felt.
Fortunately after a bit of squinting, I just about managed to read the last one. The damage had been done though; before getting into the car, I already felt like a failure, which is poor preparation for a driving test.
I need to pass soon really. Last Monday (why is it always Monday?), I had a horror show. I arrived at work and realized I had left my bike keys, and front door keys on the floor of our garage. Panicking that we were going to get burgled within 48 hours of moving in, and it would be my fault entirely, I paced around the office sweating before reaching a solution.
I called my dad and he sorted everything out.
The perks of having a retired dad are vast. He dropped the keys off at my office and even gave me a lift to a meeting, which I was now running late for. We got badly lost. After my dad nearly pulled out in front of a van near Bradford, he looked at me and uttered the wise words: 'Stress is contagious Andy.'
It certainly is.
Anyway I made it to the meeting eventually and everything was fine. Thanks dad. This sort of thing shouldn't be happening anymore should it?
My next driving test is coming up pretty soon though I’m not going to reveal how soon. If it takes me ten attempts and until October to pass, then I would like people to assume that by soon, I meant October. No other tests were taken between now and then. I'm not going to mention it again until I’ve passed.
With that said, I've just had a flashback of Friday night and I think I told my friends the exact time and date of my test. I also have hazy memories of sitting in my pal’s living room at 3am, drinking a large Merlot and slurringly attempting to describe the synopsis for my next book. It can’t have sounded very good at all.
I do plan to start my second book soon. I keep putting it off with things like: ‘When we move house, I’ll start.’ My latest idea is that once I have a new swivel chair, I will begin. I’ve never owned a swivel chair so how helpful it will be is unclear. It could easily be more of a distraction than an inspiration.
One thing is for sure, this inflatable camping sofa isn't going to cut it.
