A Freddo bar away from death - How I became a lazy cyclist

In the first few month of 2009 I hardly did any cycling at all. The tablets I'd been on since 2002 to treat my arthritis I think had stopped working. Since 2008 my symptoms had been getting a lot worse, and we almost didn't book a cycle tour in either 2008 or 2009, because both times I doubted whether I'd be up to it physically.

 


The hospital had offered me some much stronger medication (methotrexate) but I can't remember if I'd started on that by 2009. I'd been hesitant about taking it, due to the monthly blood tests and the alarming list of potential side effects. The fact that in larger doses it's used for chemotherapy didn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm. But whether I was on it or not by then, I can't remember. What I can remember is saying that the only way I could do a tour in 2009 was via B&Bs. There was no way I could cycle camp, it would be too hard.

I'd had a bloody horrible time camping in the summer of 2008, on the church camp at Winksley when I just couldn't get comfortable in the night, and I totally spoiled it for Ruth, so unless there was a big improvement in my symptoms, I wasn't about to try camping again.

Although I wasn't in the best physical shape for going cycle touring, I really fancied doing the Sustrans Lochs and Glens North Route between Glasgow and Inverness. I figured that if I only tried to average about 40 miles a day and if I only pedalled when absolutely necessary I could probably do it. My feet and hands had been painful on some really short rides earlier in the year, on one in particular I felt like I came within a Freddo bar of death. Thankfully I found a Freddo bar in my pocket, so I got through it. As well as sore hands and feet, I was worried about becoming fatigued so that was another thing in favour of the freewheeling idea.

 


Judging by the route profile for the Lochs and Glens, I reckoned I probably only needed to pedal about half the time (pedants such as Graeme please note, this actually means half the distance, not literally half the time, I'm well aware it takes longer to go uphill than down).

By the way, my physical feebleness wasn't the only reason I decided not to pedal too hard (or much). I also don't like to stress the bike. I don't know what tolerances they use when they test bikes, but I don't want to go snapping bits off mine by riding the thing like I'm the Incredible Hulk. I figure if I ride it quite softly, it will most likely cooperate. One of my favourite things when riding a bike is to ride it so it feels like I am not trying. If ever I was a He-man figure in the past, which I doubt, I've gone beyond that now. I don't want to go blowing my knees out or snapping a chain by trying too hard. Isn't the whole idea of a bike to make life easier, not harder?

So that was how I arrived at the decision not to try very hard at all on my bike in 2009. I wasn't sure what I'd got in reserve, and I didn't want to blow the tank early.

Sunday 10th May 2009.
Ruth and I rode to Darlington and caught the train to Glasgow.
I don't like riding on urban cycle paths due to the regular deposits of broken glass and dog poo which are found there, and I tried to persuade Ruth to do the first few miles out of Glasgow by train, but she wasn't having any of it. We'd booked a B&B in Balloch, and much as I whined on about getting the train at least as far as Bowling, she took no notice. She said it would be all part of the experience.  



Within a few miles of leaving Glasgow station we'd totally lost touch with the Sustrans signs, and we ended up in what to me looked like a pretty run down area. I'm a bit ashamed to say it now but I was feeling very self-conscious because we were on nice bikes with good quality kit and I was expecting to get some hassle or to even get robbed (probably by skinheads in shell suits with flick knives). Then, just at the height of our being lost, and my feeling anxious, and while I was hopping around outside a scruffy looking pub desperately needing a pee, and contemplating doing one behind a nearby skip, we were offered help by a man carrying some wrapping paper who'd just got off a bus. He took one look at us and he could obviously tell we were struggling. It was the first time I'd ever met a real Glaswegian, and if I'd inadvertedly picked up too many stereotypes from watching Russ Abbott's C U Jimmy, my defences were about to be lowered.

The man with the wrapping paper wasn't approaching me so he could head butt me in the face and tell me to 'Stitch that!', No, he seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare, and clearly wanted to help me find my way, as have all the other Glaswegians I've met since (see India 2012 and Kilberry 2012). With no sense of irony in evidence he pointed down the road and said 'See that burnt out shell of a building, turn left there, follow the path along the river for a bit, and you'll soon find your way'. The burnt out building proved to be not just a useful waymark, I also managed to have a pee behind it too.

I started feeling better for a while about the whole venture, the sun came out, but then Surprise Surprise! a glass related puncture. How unexpected! Not! Having tried to get Ruth onto a train to avoid this, I started having one of those I told you so type moods. Luckily Ruth took complete charge of the situation and fixed it while I stood around being pathetic, and pulling faces for the camera.

 


Once we got as far as Bowling, the route turned into a very pleasant canal towpath, and the sun was still out and we saw lots of families out for their Sunday walk, and it was just like seeing families anywhere else in Britain out for a Sunday walk except in Glasgow, every man had a can of Tennant's.

I felt pretty fatigued for the last few miles and I was glad to arrive in Balloch just before 6. The B&B Woodvale was absolutely fantastic, Alison the owner was really welcoming, we went out for a walk to the shores of Loch Lomond and an Italian meal in the evening, and I started to relax into the trip.

Monday 11th May 2009
Balloch to Strathyre.
A problem I'd been having in early 2009 was that I had been using toeclips on the bike, but after about 15 miles or so's riding I kept getting really bad pains in my toes, and I had to get off the bike and walk around a bit to allow it to wear off. It certainly made doing long distances difficult. Anyway, I decided after breakfast on the Monday that the toeclips had to go, and I'd just have to use flat pedals alone, so I spent about half an hour dismantling them before we set off.

 

Upon leaving Balloch, we encountered a man who was stumbling out of the local corner shop, drinking cider and arguing with himself. At 9.30 in the morning. I tried not to make eye contact with him, because I didn't want him to start arguing with me instead. 

The first part of the day was quite easy, as far as Drymen, where we stopped and sat outside a cafe for quite a while having coffee and cake, and not worrying too much about the time.

 


By the time we got to Aberfoyle, it was nearly 2 pm, and I was having real trouble seeing. I think the cheap suncream I'd put on my face had run into my eyes, and coupled with the glare from the sun I could barely stand to keep my eyes open. We went in a cafe for some lentil soup, but even in the very dark indoors of the cafe my eyes were so painful I had to borrow Ruth's sunglasses, and I ended up keeping them on all week. I've always hated it when people wear sunglasses indoors, ever since my step dad (nickname Roy Orbison) used to do it while he was drunkenly putting frozen peas in the deep fat fryer (but that's another story), so I felt the need to explain to the waitress that I wasn't either a blind man, a poser or simply being ignorant, but my eyeballs had been taking a bath in suncream, and they were stinging like mad.

Another downer about reaching Aberfoyle was that as well as being blind I realised that my back tyre was flat again. It was most likely glass residue from day before.

I was feeling pretty low now, and also panicky about the time, but Ruth took control again, fixed the puncture, and finally we set off again about 3.

From Aberfoyle the route signs directed us onto a steep forest track. We met 2 other cyclists on mountain bikes and we all realised together that we were lost in the forest. Eventually we found the main road again but we still had a steep climb to do over Duke's Pass. We seemed to be averaging about 3 miles an hour at this point.

Once over the top of the pass, we followed the road as it wound downhill to the edge of Loch Venacher. The path alongside the loch as far as Callander was pretty gravelly and then after Callander there was another bumpy section of cycle track to Strathyre.

 


It was just after 8 pm when we got to Strathyre, and I felt absolutely knackered. Until Arnside in 2012 this was the latest I'd ever arrived at my accommodation. My good intentions of getting there about 5 had gone out the window. We just managed to get to The Inn and Bistro down the road from the B&B minutes before they stopped serving. I felt a lot better after a good meal, but then some guy in a kilt started playing the bagpipes at absolutely deafening volume inside the pub. Ruth thought this was most excellent and very Scottish, and added to the atmosphere, whereas I just wanted him to go away.

Tuesday 12th May.
Strathyre to Aberfeldy.
The next day got off to a better start. We followed a lovely little country road to Balquhidder, where we visited Rob Roy's grave.

 


Then just after joining the railway path to Killin, I got my third puncture in 3 days, on the front wheel this time. More glass. Ruth hadn't realised this as she was riding in front but by the time she came back to look for me I'd almost fixed it. Although I hadn't done much to fix the previous two I think I must have got the idea because I had it repaired quite quickly. We followed the railway path through Glen Ogle to reach Killin about 1.30.

 

By the time we reached Killin I was having one of my trademark dips in both body and spirit. I was having a few stomach pains, well sort of a cross between that and a stitch, and I was having trouble speaking. 

Again Ruth took charge. She went in the first pub we came to, ordered me a Venison burger and chips and a pint of coke, and made me sit down, eat and drink. I murmured some protest about how we should have shopped around for somewhere cheaper, but she said it was more important to bring me back to life, and she was right.

 


I felt a lot fresher after lunch and we set off along a minor road which ran alongside Loch Tay. I always imagine roads alongside lochs will be flat but they never are, especially not in Scotland. It was tough to get any momentum on the undulating route along the Loch edge, and before long we had to stop again to get some coffee. Sweaty and scruffy looking as we were, and Ruth with her regulation oil mark on her calf, we felt seriously underdressed for the extremely well to do Ardeonaig Hotel. It cost about £7 for two coffees but it was worth it. It was great coffee served in a silver coffee pot and there was plenty of it. It certainly put some life back into us. The middle aged lady who took our order insisted on bringing me the bill in one of those leather folder thingies and then she insisted on bringing me my change back in the same leather thingy after she seemed to have had to walk to the moon and back to get it, and I imagine she thought I should give her the £3 as a tip, and it's probably the kind of place where most of the guests can't be bothered to wait around for ages for £3, but to me £3 is £3, and I'd already spent about a million quid on venison burgers that day, and I'm not made of money.   




Full of caffeine and with my £3 change safely tucked away we set off again and before long we were rolling down the hill into Kenmore. Ruth and I had a wobbly embrace on the grass verge in Kenmore, and we had the strong feeling that we were over the worst. And we were.

 


The rest of the day consisted of an easy ride over smooth roads to Aberfeldy and then an excellent and relaxing evening starting with our outstanding B&B Balnearn House. It was run by a lovely young couple with a baby, which was unusual because normally B&Bs are run by old folk, and it had wood panelling and we got bathrobes, and there was quite a nice view out of the window except for all the diggers and JCBs which were digging some stuff up in the middle distance.

 


And after using the bathrobes and lazing around a bit, we went to the Black Watch Inn and I had my first bowl of Cullen Skink which may have been the best thing I ever tasted, and I said that to the woman at the bar, and she said she'd be sure to tell her husband, who'd made it himself out the back.

Wednesday 13th May 2009
Aberfeldy to Balsporran Cottages.
3 days into the trip and apart from a bit of cloud in Glasgow, all we'd had was sun, sun, sun. Not even a cloud in the sky. We started Wednesday with a nice easy ride on smooth roads to Pitlochry, where we stopped for some coffee, lemonade and a scone. We got a bit lost near the Hydroelectric power station which didn't appear on our map, even though the fish ladder next to it was. Eventually we retraced our steps and realised we had missed a Sustrans signpost due to it being very near another sign advertising ice cream, which had caught our eye instead.

We rode on main roads as far as Blair Atholl where we used the toilet and raided the local shop for food, drink and ice cream to see us over the Drumochter Pass. The guidebook had been at pains to tell us not to get caught out going over the Drumochter Pass, about how the weather can close in suddenly, and how you can end up dying of exposure. With weather this sunny, all I was in danger of was melted ice cream on my legs.

We followed the disused old A9 (now traffic free) and then a very well surfaced cycle track up and over the Drumochter Pass. It was very picturesque except for all the litter strewn next to the A9 where car drivers and coach parties had mindlessly chucked their rubbish instead of taking it home with them.

Pretty much as soon as we crested the top of the hill, and had only just started rolling down the other side, the first building we saw on the left was our B and B, Balsporran Cottages. And it was a very welcome sight. It's a bit isolated up there so the owners do you a lovely homemade evening meal (including crumble) and we spent the evening eating and chatting to the other four guests, and the B&B owners. Two of the other guest were in their seventies, and it was the usual story. They were all as thin as pipe cleaners and they all liked to walk about 40 miles a day for fun, and the oldest woman only had about half a lung left and she'd also had to cut part of her own leg off with a penknife and leave it in a bog, but she could still climb Ben Nevis in about half an hour, carrying a tent and a spare pair of boots. Excellent. And I'd been sweating about doing 40 miles a day by bike. No problem!

When we'd planned the trip, this was the day we thought would be the hardest because of the big hill, but in actual fact it felt quite easy, and it was definitely my best cycling day of the trip.

Thursday 14th May 2009.
Balsporran Cottages to Carrbridge. Any day which starts with 12 miles of gently rolling downhill sounds like a good day to me. This is what it looked like from the route profile in any case. Right, I'm not pedalling I thought, not until I have to.

I managed the first 4 miles without pedalling at all, but then there was a slightly uphill bit going through Dalwhinnie and I started doing that rocking backwards and forwards thing to try and scrape a tiny bit more momentum out of the situation. As I almost came to a standstill, and probably looking a little bit like I was having a seizure, I saw Ruth coming the other way to look for me, in case I'd had another puncture. I'm okay, I said, I'm trying not to pedal. But seeing her coming towards me put me off a bit, and I did actually start pedalling, so I don't know how far I could have got if I'd just carried on rocking.

 


Because the route became a bit undulating thereafter, I had to continue pedalling on and off between Newtonmore and Kingussie, and so I didn't get my full 12 miles of rest. Mind you, you can overdo it with the freewheeling. If you don't bend your legs once in a while, they start to seize up. At least mine do.

We stopped at Gilly's Kitchen in Kingussie, which the hard nuts we'd met at Balsporran had recommended to us, we had some coffee and I bored the polite young assistant with my anecdote about I knew exactly how to pronounce Kingussie (Kinnoosie) because there's a funny scene about the place in Slumdog Millionaire. You know the one that won all the Oscars? Set in India? She was only about 12. She'd never even heard of it, I was wasting my time.

I've had a few spokes pop in my time, and always on the heavily laden back wheel of the bike, which I had to eventually get rebuilt later in 2009, but usually they go when you're carrying some weight. This time one popped just as I lifted the bike away from the wall of the coffee shop, to set off again.

By a brilliant piece of good fortune, there is a bike shop directly opposite Gilly's Kitchen, which I took my pringled back wheel directly into and asked them to fix it. By a not so brilliant piece of good fortune, it was the mechanic's day off. It was only about 10 miles further to Aviemore so we rode on there with my mis-shapen wheel making an annoying grating sound on every revolution.

Just before Aviemore we made an unscheduled stop at the Frank Bruce Sculpture Park, where there's some pretty weird stuff going on. Whenever I'm on a bike ride I usually try and avoid getting off the bike to do any walking, but Ruth is more in the moment and she'll go look at pretty much anything that takes her fancy, even if it means tramping two miles up a hill to look at a couple of rocks (see Isle of Arran electrocution story 2012). This was one of the better and more thought provoking detours we've done.

Fortunately, when we arrived in Aviemore I was able to get a quick repair done to my back wheel at Bothy's Bikes. 'You really need a new wheel' the mechanic said. After repairing it, he invited me to ride it round the car park for a bit to try it out, which I did, but as tactfully as possible, he told me, if it falls apart on the road, it wouldn't be his fault. I agreed not to blame him.

While he was fixing it, we had some fantastic cake at the Rothiemurchus Visitor Centre. There was a bit more down and up and then we arrived into Carrbridge.

When I'm riding with Ruth we often settle into a pattern where she rides a little way in front, and we often don't speak for quite a while, as we enjoy the ride in our own heads. This day in particular, but on the trip in general, I can often remember watching her riding style and admiring her steady metronomic pedalling and her serene demeanour. It's on days like these that I think she was born to ride a bike. I'm often up and down during an average touring day. Sometimes I feel really glad I'm there and sometimes I feel desolate and like it's all going wrong, and why didn't I just stay in? Ruth on the other hand tells me that she enjoys every second of it. And I believe her. My enjoyment from these things often comes from reflecting on things afterwards, and writing it all down, and talking about what's gone before, but I think she genuinely and actually enjoys it all as it's happening.

Later on that day it rained for the first time in our 5 day trip, and I expended more energy fighting with my neoprene overshoes trying to get them on than I did cycling. Ruth had to take over in the end, as I was heading straight for pulled muscle central.

The B&B in Carrbridge was lovely (Pine Ridge). It was run by a lovely lady called Shona along with her small and somewhat limpy dog, who was adorable, but probably would have been quite ineffective as a guard dog. Sometimes when you turn up at a B&B it feels very much like a business transaction. I am giving you some money, and you are letting me stay here for a bit and giving me some of your food. The great thing about the B&Bs on this trip was that they felt like a home from home. There was still an exchange of money involved but we felt totally comfortable being there and fully able to be ourselves.

By a strange coincidence, after having spent part of the day at a Sculpture Park, when we went to put our bikes in the garage it was also full of wooden sculptures that Shona's husband makes. But he wasn't Frank Bruce, so it was only a small coincidence.

 


We went out to look at the famous Carr Bridge and take some photos next to it, and then we had a cheap meal at the local pub. It was quite relaxing, except for the quite loud woman at the next table with the peroxide blonde hair who felt the need to comment on almost everything that her two teeny tiny children Savannah and Archie did. 'No Savannah dear, that's not how we eat asparagus now, is it?', and so on.

I sometimes think some parents feel the need to do a John Motson style commentary on every single thing their children are doing, just to prove that they are indeed out there, doing some parenting. But what do I know? Probably nothing, it's just that when I'm eating a meal two tables away, I don't want to come away afterwards feeling like I now know someone else's children as well as they do. I don't care if Archie wasn't brought up to make chip sandwiches.

Friday 15th May 2009
By now the good weather had finally deserted us. We had a rainy and steady climb up to Slochd Summit and then pretty much a roll down the hill all the way into Inverness. At one point Ruth rolled down one hill too many, and shouting didn't work, so I had to phone her and ask her to cycle back up it to take the turn that she'd missed by getting carried away.


On the way, we stopped at the Culloden Battlefield Visitor Centre for coffee and crumble. We found it to be a very haunting place, and over our meal the conversation ended up mostly being about violence and oppression. And then a couple of coachloads of American tourists came piling in, and I was glad I didn't have to queue up behind them, because we would have been hours.


It was a comparatively short day at 29 miles and we got to our B and B around 3 O'Clock. Luxury. This gave us time for a shower and then some Costa Coffee, Cider and Pizza, but no soup! We caught the train home the next morning.

On reflection, what an excellent experience that week was! I would like to do it all again someday. The weather was great, the winds were benign, the locals were friendly and the mishaps were small. If only all trips were like that.

Although I felt a bit crap physically on some of it, like heading into Balloch on Day 1, and on the long drag into Strathyre on Day 2, and just before and just after Killin on Day 3, I felt a bit better every day, and I think in the end I probably could have pedalled more, and I most probably wouldn't have fallen down at the roadside and died. Ditching the toeclips certainly helped, and probably so did the very kind weather, and no doubt it helped a lot that all the B&B owners were kind, and all the food and drink was good, and that we were out there, in the fresh air, doing something we really like doing. And certainly it helped that at the times when I was at my most feeble, Ruth was not, and she helped me through it. And it helped a lot to see her absolutely in her element, enjoying every second of it. And even being with a man with bad feet and a tendency to moan and a reluctance to pedal didn't dent her enthusiasm.

When I look back now at 2009, I realise how much better I've been since then, in health and in what I've achieved on a bike. The drugs that I initially didn't want to take have worked out really well for me, and if they're giving me side effects I haven't noticed what they are.

But I still like to conserve energy when I'm out on the road, by pedalling softly, and by not trying any harder than necessary. But that's the thing about a bike. If you help the bike, the bike helps you. And so if there was ever a form of exercise for lazy people, cycling must be it. And that's probably why I keep doing it.

Symmetry, Loss, Letting Go, Life of Pi, Inception and Deja Vu

I went to see the Life of Pi movie last night.  I went by myself which is just as well because it cost me £11.  This was partly because I didn't want to wait an extra half an hour to watch it in 2D.  This would have saved me £3.  I really wanted a coffee too, but that would have been another £3, so I decided to have the 3D instead of the hot milk.

Even the cheap seats at the cinema now cost around £8.  With prices as high as these, I might have to keep going to the cinema by myself.  There's a bit in Trading Places when the really mean Duke brothers give one of their staff a very small Christmas bonus, and he says 'Gee thanks, maybe I'll go to the cinema....by myself'.  Well, now it's not just poor domestic servants that have to go by themselves, the prices are almost reaching personal loan proportions.

In last night's case, going alone wasn't entirely to do with the cost.  Ruth thought the book was garbage, so she didn't want to see the garbage film that went with it.

It was either 10 or 11 years ago that I read the book, I'm not sure which, but one thing I do know is that I read it over Christmas Day and Boxing Day, so going to see the film on Boxing Day had a nice symmetry to it.  I'm a big fan of symmetry.  Earlier in the year I took great delight in going to see Total Recall aged 44, 22 years after going to see the original when I was myself 22.  For good measure I took my 22 year old stepson with me to see the remake.  Numerologists could have a field day with that one.  The only problem being that the remake seemed to have been hit by the recession and instead of going to Mars they had to tunnel to Australia instead.  I was blown away by the special effects of the Arnie original but the Farrell affair just made me want to go to sleep.

Anyway, the film of 'Life of Pi' was pretty good, in places it looked stunning, but overall I think I preferred the experience of reading the book.  In the film, I could have done without the boat, and the phosphorescence, and the special effects and all the jazzy stuff they can do with computers now, the most compelling parts were listening to the older Pi talking.  In fact, I would have probably enjoyed it more, if it was just him talking.

Looking at it from a selfish point of view, it's possible I just didn't actually need this film to be made.  For me the experience of reading the book was such a rich and imaginative experience, that I already had all of it, and more, in my head.

There were times when I found the film very moving, and mostly these parts were created by a man sitting in a room talking to another man and recollecting stories from the past.  There was a point near the end, when I nearly started crying, but I managed to suppress it, because I didn't want anyone else to hear.  I was already wearing stupid 3D glasses over my own, I couldn't cope with any more embarrassment..

The part that got to me was when the older Pi was talking about the point where he and Richard Parker went their separate ways, and he said something like this, which I am paraphrasing terribly.  'Life is all about letting go, but what hurts is when there is no pause, no time to share what we've been through together, no time to acknowledge the passing, before we part'.  He was talking about the tiger, but also about his family, who were lost in the shipwreck.  This is maybe why it's so important for people to be with their loved ones, as they die.  Just to be aware of the process of letting go.

One of the things I love about the film Inception is the part where Leo finally realises that he has to let his wife go, and move on.  He finally accepts that they had their time, but now he has to go.  He has to move forward, and be with his children in the future.

And thinking about the subject of loss reminded me of another of my favourite films.  Deja Vu.  In that Denzel says 'Everything you have you lose', and although it's never explicitly stated, it seems likely that the family he no longer has, were lost in a terrorist attack, which partly explains his determination to change the past.  He makes a comment along the lines of 'loved ones gone in an instant', and his suffering is very much like that of Pi in Life of Pi, whose family are lost very suddenly and without warning.  This must be the hardest loss of all to take.  As miserable as losing someone to an illness is, at least you get used to their absence in increments.  It doesn't just go from all to nothing.

When I read Life of Pi, one of the parts I enjoyed the most were the descriptions of animals, and their behaviours, and this had more resonance with me at the time than the human stuff.  But I think 10 years on, the parts that stuck with me from the film, were the human dramas.  The decision to sell the animals and move to Canada, which took the family away from their home and their country, and Pi away from his girlfriend, and then the loss of Pi's family in the shipwreck, and finally the bonding with, and then the loss of Richard Parker.

I usually find it quite annoying when people in the cinema start talking, just as the credits start to roll, about how the film of their favourite book, wasn't as good as they expected, and how they missed this bit out, or that part was too long, or about how Galadriel isn't as tall as I imagined etc..

But I think that almost happened to me yesterday.  Because I'd already seen the extended edition 10 years ago, in my own head.  And I loved it.

Job Interviews are easy now - They're like exams I've already revised for

When I was at school I used to do exams.  Proper exams.  3 hours in a room with just a pen and a few pieces of paper (although they had started to bring out answer booklets by the time I finished).

And I was quite swotty at school, so I used to properly revise for exams.  And if you properly revise, there comes a time before the exam, when you need to stop trying to remember stuff and trust in the fact that you've done enough.  I was never one of those people reading notes outside the exam room, or reading notes on the bus on the way to the exam.  I used to mostly give up the night before, sometimes earlier.

And it's quite a nice feeling, knowing that you've done all you can, and now it's just about you and the exam.  I always found it was a good idea to try and remember that feeling during the first 10 minutes of every exam, when I used to have a complete and utter panic attack, and be convinced I couldn't do any of it.  Usually if I was still in there after 11 minutes, I did okay.

Well, job interviews are a bit like exams.  Except the subject is me.  And I used to revise for interviews the same way I used to revise for exams.  I used to look through lots of notes I'd made about different jobs I'd done, and I reflected on things like when I'd faced a challenging situation, or when I'd done well, or when I'd exceeded expectations, and all that telling your life story / competency based crap that you have to go through to get a job.  I used to wonder what they'd ask me, and I used to get ready to answer whatever came at me.

But these days I don't bother so much.  And for two main reasons.

1) I've done this exam so many times now, I know the answers off by heart.  I was crap at O Level Chemistry, but if I'd taken that bloody exam as many times as I've been interviewed for jobs, I'd have been getting 100% by now.

2) Self-confidence.  I'm not a performing monkey (some people might not agree), I'm a person, with a life story, and an employment record, and a history, and it is what it is.  And some of it is crap.  My employment history, like my life, is full of blind alleys, and some things I wish I hadn't done, and some things that didn't work out.  And sometimes what I am, and what I've got is totally not what an employer is looking for.  And that's fine.  It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me, it just means I don't match what they want.

That's not to say I've not done some work things really well over the years.  It's not to say I don't have skills and talents and abilities, and strengths at work.  But being myself, and letting them find that out early is a good thing, not just for them, but for me.  There's nothing worse than doing a really good interview, and then ending up in a job where you want to flick your own eyeballs out with a grapefruit spoon after 5 minutes, just so you can get out of there.

The thing I've learned from all the interviews I've done, past and present, good and bad, is this.  There's no point telling them that you're who you think they want you to be, unless you are in fact that person.  If you're not, they'll soon find out, and they'll probably be really annoyed that you wasted their time, because now they've got to do the whole thing all over again.

And so job interviews for me now are easy.  They're like exams that I've revised for.  I don't overprepare, I go in, I show them who I am, and then I leave.  If they ask me questions, I answer them, if I want to ask questions, I do.  If they ask me why I only worked in a call centre for 3 months, I tell them it's because the job was totally wrong for me, and I found that out by working in a call centre.

I maybe wouldn't elaborate and say I knew the job was wrong for me about an hour in, but it took another 3 months less one hour to get out of there.  And I maybe wouldn't mention that if I'd only figured that out about myself before I went for an interview for a job in a call centre, I never would have gone to the interview, and in doing so wasted the time of the people who interviewed me.

But whatever I tell them, they will know that it's me talking.  They won't be fooled into thinking they're talking to Orville when they are in fact talking to Keith Harris.  And it will then be up to them what they do with that information.  And after getting to know me, if they think I'm not right for the job, they might be right.  But if they think I am right for the job, then they also might be right.

Life's too short for pretending (well it's okay if you're an actor, or at primary school), but when you're a grown up, just be a grown up.  When you take exams, you can't pretend to have revised, you either have or you haven't and it shows through.  And the same goes for interviews.  If you don't show them who you are, they'll probably notice anyway.



Postscript to this blog entry.  The interview I went for this morning, I got the job.

The Five Year Engagement - A stupid title but a good film

My favourite author Kurt Vonnegut was fond of saying that all his arguments with his wife boiled down to her being 'Not Enough People'.  All couples could do with some backup in the form of friends and extended families, but we're not all lucky enough to have it.  The ones that don't are likely to spend a lot longer kicking each other in the arse during the course of their relationship than the ones that do.

And like couples in real life, couples in films need backup too, especially ones that are in romantic comedies.  If ever a type of film needed a supporting cast, the romantic comedy is it.  And that's because it's pretty boring to spend an hour and a half watching someone else's relationship implode before being slowly put back together again.  It's nearly always the same.  First they fall in love, then they have a load of problems due to their total incompatibility, then they gradually find a way of living together without punching each other really hard in the face, blah blah blah, the end.  It's dull.  Films are supposed to be escapism.  If I wanted to watch two people arguing for an hour and a half about nothing in particular I could just set up a webcam in my own house.

So anyway, I'm writing this because last night Ruth and I watched the Five Year Engagement, which had Emily Blunt and some bloke in.  The title is stupid and misleading, because the whole film hinges on a couple's decision not to get married because they have to move to Michigan.  This makes no sense whatsoever.  People move around all the time these days.  Half the people I know don't live near where they grew up, and where their families are.  Some of them don't even live in the same country as where they grew up.

But that's the thing about weddings.  Usually you get time off work to go to them, especially when they're your own, and you can go home to get married, or your family can come to you.  There's about a billion internal flights a day in the US, I'd be amazed if it's impossible to fly from San Francisco to Michigan relatively easily.  So why didn't they just take a couple of weeks off, and get married anyway?  He gave up his job and moved to Michigan with her, and they were living together, so they were virtually married anyway.  And she was a student with 8 weeks off every summer, that would have been the perfect opportunity to fit a wedding in.  All her family were English anyway, so she would probably have wanted to get married in England anyway.  Where they lived in the US was irrelevant.

Leaving aside this stupid fact, the film was a lot of fun to watch.  And that was largely because of the supporting cast.  There were some sick and twisted psychology students, a Welsh professor played by Rhys Ifans who was involved in a particularly funny chase, there was a heated argument between Elmo and the Cookie Monster, a bit of mime, somebody getting shot with a crossbow, some blokes going hunting, growing beards, knitting woolly jumpers, and drinking out of a woolly mammoth's hollowed out foot.  In fact, many of the best bits of the film had nothing to do with the central relationship at all.

So for me, it was a bit like Four Weddings and a Funeral, in that it was the interaction of the wider cast of characters that made the movie.  Imagine if Four Weddings had only had the vacuous Andie Macdowell character prancing around fancying herself and Hugh Grant bumbling and stumbling over his words for 90 minutes.  It would have been death.

Similarly, I was once chained to a chair and made to watch 'Failure to Launch' with Matthew McConnohee (I can't spell it properly, I give up) and Sarah Jessica Parker.  What a terrible film!  I probably would have had more fun reading a paint chart for 90 minutes.  But it was worth watching this particular dung heap for an hour and a half purely because of Zooey Deschanel, who played Sarah Jessica Parker's quirky room-mate.  She saved the movie.

And I've found myself, that it's not just in the movies, but in real life, when it's a good idea to have a good group of friends in the picture.  Because even the biggest stars sometimes need a bit of help.

Skyfall - Even James Bond is being affected by the austerity measures

I went to see Skyfall yesterday.  The new James Bond film.  Wow, things aren't what they used to be.

The film was 2 hours 20 long, but it could have been over in the first 3 minutes.  James Bond fell off a train and went headfirst into a river at about a hundred miles an hour.  Do that in real life and you die.  Added to that he'd been shot, so he definitely shouldn't have made it.  It wasn't the only implausible bit of the storyline either.  He also had a punch up underwater in a frozen lake, which went on for about 10 minutes longer than the world underwater holding your breath record, added to which, as I know from watching Bear Grylls, if you fall into a frozen lake, you can't move after about the first 10 seconds because your body completely shuts down.  Apart from these glaring factual inaccuracies, I really enjoyed the film.

It started off like they usually do with lots of people getting punched in the head, and stuff getting wrecked and blown up, but then it all went a bit low tech and old-fashioned.  It was almost like they used up all the budget in the first half, and the last hour was seriously affected by austerity measures.    James Bond used to routinely get helicopters and underwater cars, all he got in this one was a gun and a radio, and he even had to go back to his own house in an old car towards the end and raid the cupboards for something to fight with.

Without giving the end of the film away, it was a lot like watching the 80s TV series the A-Team where BA Baracus has to disable a posse of heavily armed men with a wheelbarrow full of cabbages and a potato gun.  Judi Dench bless her was making bombs out of leftover curry paste and staples and even Daniel Craig was struggling to find something deadly to massacre the helicopters full of ninjas with that arrived on his doorstep.

One thing I really liked about the film was that there was quite a lot of talking in it, especially between James Bond and the bad guy, played by Javier Bardem.  I can't be doing with films when it's a non-stop Transformer-a-thon of special effects, where there's not even a gap long enough between explosions to check whether you've got tinnitus or not.  I especially liked the bad guy's entrance where he started talking at James Bond while he was still absolutely miles away, and I was even thinking he probably should have used a megaphone, or got closer before he started, but I'm sure he had some sort of microphone near him, what with it being a film and all.  I really liked Javier Bardem as the villain.  He managed to convey just the right air of menace and was just crazy enough, without going completely over the top.  He was a lot more like Dennis Hopper in Speed than Heath Ledger in Batman.

Another good thing about the film was that it was very old person friendly.  I've written before about poor old Roger Moore in Octopussy, running around at age 57 chinning circus performers whilst wearing big cloppy shoes and gorilla outfits, but this one was even kinder to old folk.  The last 20 minutes saw the positively ancient pairing of Judi Dench and Albert Finney, trying to run around but being barely able to move, yet still managing to dodge bullets and explosions.  At one point Albert Finney does a brilliant impersonation of a statue, when someone shoots a gun at him and he doesn't even move.  He just waits there while the bullet blows the doorframe he's standing in apart.  At his age, he wouldn't have seen it coming till about 10 minutes after he'd been shot.

As well as watching old people failing to run around on the screen, the audience at the screening we went to were ancient as well.  It was the middle of the afternoon on Orange Wednesday but it looked like a reunion of all the people who'd been at the original Dr No screening 50 years ago.  I haven't seen so many sticks and wheelchairs since I went past the motability store in Stockton the other day.  I was almost getting comfortable in my seat when the old lady with the two sticks who was trying to get to her seat behind me started rocking my seat backwards and forwards like I was on a see saw, just before she fell over and had to be helped up by some other crumblies.

After spending so much time lately working with people who look about 12, I felt like I'd accidentally stumbled on to the set of Last of the Summer Wine.

The old ladies in particular wouldn't have been disappointed, as Daniel Craig in particular looked chiselled and rugged throughout, so chiselled and rugged in fact, he looked almost pixalated.  He did gratuitously get his kit off a couple of times for the benefit of the grandmas in the audience, although it didn't do much for me.  And it wasn't the best Bond film I've seen for Bond girls either, the ones that were in it were either disappointing, or dead.

But as for storyline, and excitement, it was one of the best, and I'd definitely recommend it.  Even if there was no hollowed out volcano with hundreds of people in coloured jumpsuits and a megalomaniac with a massive laser and a plan to takeover the world in it, it was still a really good film.

And much as I still enjoy watching the old slapstick Roger Moore doing his one liners after he's thrown someone out of a window, I'm warming to Daniel Craig.  I wasn't a big fan of his after Casino Royale, and I've never seen Quantum of Solace, but I enjoyed him in this, and I feel like he's lightening up a bit now he's got into his stride.

Looking forward to the next one....

Is this a restaurant? For a minute there I thought I'd wandered into a toy shop

Tonight I had my second leaving do in the last 3 days.

Tonight's meal had twice the number of people in attendance but it was also twice as much money for half as much food, which is a big consideration when you're unemployed.  That Copper Beech place we went to on Wednesday, the dinners were huge, and even with drinks you still got change out of a tenner.  The mince and dumplings I had could have fed a village, and the parmos were so big you could have used them as liferafts in the event of a flood.

But for all the cheapness on Wednesday, the food was still excellent.  Also, I understood the menu.  I knew what every dish was.  Parmo, check.  Mince and Dumplings, check, Fish and Chips, check.  I had a pretty good idea in my head what each of those things might look like, and when they got delivered to the table, I had no trouble telling them apart.  And neither did the waiter.

The restaurant tonight was a lot posher than the Copper Beech, but it was one of those places where they build stuff out of your food.  Dan Footy's dessert looked like a scale model of the Black Pearl out of Pirates of the Caribbean, and as for me, I got served a stack of something that looked like a replica of the paperwork I used to batch.  It even had orange case separators made out of carrot.  The veg was advertised as being hot pot potato, but it looked more like potato that had been hit with a hammer, mixed with some carrot and then assembled into a square in one of those car crushers.

I didn't have chips, and I was glad I didn't, but some other people did and they were those big chips that you got about ten of and that you could have started a game of Jenga with.  If I'm going to order chips, I want them to look like chips, not building blocks.  I'm not a child, I haven't played with blocks and bricks and that type of shit since I was about 9.  I just don't get what the appeal of this kind of food is.

The choice of food on offer played havoc with poor old Deano.  He'll only eat traditional British meals, so he ordered sausage and mash which you would think would be a safe bet, but they'd even tried to cut the sausages in half and build something out of that.  And instead of good old Bisto on it, it had some sort of black sauce, and they couldn't just slip him a wadge of mash, they had to mix it with some green stuff so it ended up being the colour of mint chocolate chip ice cream.  For God's sake, just give us food we understand!

Not only could we not tell what the meals were, neither could the staff.  Nothing looked like you thought it would, and it took about 10 minutes of swapsies before we got the right dinners.

Also, the gap between the courses was really long, and I think at least some of this was probably because of all the time it took to assemble the stuff out the back.  I've put IKEA bookcases together in less time than it took to fetch our desserts.

It was £13.95 for two courses tonight, plus drinks, so £15 each near enough whereas on Wednesday I was almost embarrassed to walk away after only paying £8.40 for what I had.  Not only embarrassed, I could only just get out of there under my own steam.  I nearly had to put my stomach in a wheelbarrow to get it out to the car, it was so full.

Maybe there are some people out there who want to pay extra to have their dinners made to look like stuff you might find in a 3 year old's bedroom, but I'm not one of them.  Just give me a proper dinner, that looks like a dinner please, and not one that looks like a Lego house.

Thank you.  Rant over.  Now I'm off to make some toast.

Getting fired and laughing at stuff - 20 years on

The last time I worked in a big office was in the early 90s.  Gazza was bawling his eyes out and the internet hadn't been thought of.  It was all faxes and post then.  I think mobile phones were just getting off the ground, but only just off the ground because they were as heavy as a log.

Even though that was half my life ago, I still remember that time like it was yesterday.  I can't remember the work very well, but I remember the laughs.  I remember going out to the pub for lunch all the time, and I remember being off my bonce on whisky at the Christmas party because there was no other booze left, and I'm told while I was out of it I won a competition for moving an elastic band from my forehead to my neck without touching it, just by wiggling my face, but that part I don't remember.

I remember getting absolutely bollocked for bouncing hundreds of direct debits that I wasn't supposed to, and I remember having trouble getting to work because of the snow, and I remember being late in and having to take it out of our lunch breaks.  And I remember arguments about parking charges and I remember being in a very minor car crash with Alison Rhodes and I remember her falling on her arse in her wellies on the ice, and it was funny even though her bum really hurt.  And I remember Andrew Spink being annoyed that Leeds had sold Vinnie Jones, and I remember the two of them dressed up for Yorkshire Day (Alison and Andrew, not Andrew and Vinnie Jones).

And I remember Mandy Mason dressed as Andy Pandy and I remember her going on maternity leave to have her daughter who is now all grown up.  And I remember Anne Smith and her stories of horrible car crashes and the worst broken arm anyone had ever seen.

And I remember that the manager's office doorframe was coming away from the wall, because of all the times it got slammed behind one of us, when we'd got absolutely hammered for making a mistake, and I remember the long walks across the office we had to do when our badge card numbers got read out.  And I remember how they used to draw the blinds before they used to shout at you.  And I remember Liz Thompson always wore trainers and she was always chasing and tackling things in them, or so she said.

And I remember that they brought Total Quality Management or TQM in, and part of it was that there was supposed to be a no-blame culture, but I still remember getting the blame for a lot of stuff.

And I remember Angela Richardson used to hang around for hours out the back looking through boxes and I remember that we used to make each other giggle, just by saying the word 'smashed'.

But the thing I remember the most is the laughing.

Anyway, since then I haven't worked in a big office, with lots of people.  It's all been small offices with only a few.  Until the last 4 months.

I'm 20 years older now but it's been like going round again.  Working with a new bunch of young people, all in their twenties or younger.  They've all got smart phones now, and they're all on Twitter, and they like to Facetime each other, and music's all gone digital and now there's more different colours of drink to get hammered on.  And nobody uses faxes anymore.

But some things have stayed the same.  Sometimes you still get called into meetings to get bollocked, and sometimes you even get called into meetings to get fired.

But the thing I'll remember the most has been the laughter.  And if I can still remember the people I was laughing with in the early 90s now, I'm sure in twenty years time I'll remember the class of 2012 just as well.

I may forget what a PFF2 is, and I might forget that it goes 'cover letter, then financial' (although I doubt it) but I'm sure I won't forget the people.  I didn't forget the ones I went to Germany with in 1983, I didn't forget the ones I worked with in 1990, and I won't forget Gibbo and Rob and Vicky and Footy and Rookesy and Deano and Joss and Lucy and Sophie and Cozza and Kirstywho'snotaGeordie and Steve and Phil and Edd and Rebecca and all the rest.

Because whatever differences we may have had, whether we were older or younger, or came from different places, or had different backgrounds, or had different life experiences, we all had one thing in common.

We all knew how to laugh at stuff.