War on Font

I realise there are plenty of more important things to be upset by, but over the last few weeks I've become increasingly annoyed, to the point of hatred, with the font Comic Sans.

I was determined not to gripe too much about my new job, but I seem to have landed in a company obsessed by this font. It is used unsparingly on posters, leaflets and websites. I'm going to make it my mission to eradicate it. But they aren't alone - it crops up everywhere, although thankfully Blogger doesn't offer it as an option.

I can only assume my company uses it because they think it suggests a fun, friendly and quirky nature. Let me disabuse them of those notions right now.

Do we really want to appear fun? I think not. How about ridding ourselves of the public-sector jargon-speak first?

Friendly? Certainly, but accessible is part of friendly, and the dreaded front isn't actually that easy to read, online or off.

Quirky? Again, we are hardly a quirky organisation, but Comic Sans is so ubiquitous, you distinguish yourself more by not using it. I understand we don't want to look too corporate, but there is a middle ground between that and looking like amateurs.

Personally, I'm rather a Tahoma kind of girl. Clear, easy to read, the thinking person's Arial.

And while I'm on, I'll be removing all of those exclamation marks too. We are not an over-excitable teenager on text.

Hard Day at the Track

Coming out of my work-based bubble, I'm slowly re-emerging in the real world and socialising again.

This weekend it included a day at the races as a guest of the Queen.

Indirectly.

The girlfried of a friend is PA to someone or other at Buckingham Palace and she was offered tickets for Ascot through her work. I went because it was a day out, a chance to dress up and most importantly, it was free.

The Premier Enclosure was rather disappointing - nowhere near as exclusive as I had hoped - in fact more people seemed to have the special pink badges than didn't. And more than a few people flauted the dresscode - there was many a man in a pink shirt sans tie.

I had what is termed a small flutter on the races. I know next to nothing about horse racing, odds or gambling, but you have to indulge a little I feel. Of the seven races, I gambled on just three, using equally unscientific methods in choosing my horse each time.

In the first race, I went with number 3 as number 3 has always been my lucky number, although I've never lucky and have no idea where the notiion came from that this was my lucky number. It failed to place.

In another race, I backed "Roker Park" drawn to the name as it was the name of Sunderland football team's old ground. Not that I'm a diehard football fan - I'm rather a typical fair weather supporter and supporting Sunderland an accident of birth rather than any great loyalty to them. In typical Sunderland fashion, the horse ran an unspectualar race, finishing second last.

But I did have a win. Ever cautious, I placed the minimum each way bet on a horse called Joshua Tree. I was thinking about Gram Parsons, rather than U2. It came from behind to win, and I went home £48 richer. Not enough to change my life, but it covered the cost of Pimms and the train ticket there and then some.

The View from the no. 42*

Weeks of my life have been consumed with buses. When I wasn't on a bus, I was waiting for a bus, running for a bus or changing buses.

The journey to work was generally fine, although my main bus seems prone to breakdowns - in the space of a week, I was on a bus that broke down, then I was the bus following a bus that broke down that had to pick up the stray passengers.

The bus journey can be rather pleasant on a morning. Apparently it takes you right past Tommy Steele's house, except I'm not entirely sure which one it is. There are some beautiful properties along the route, although their appeal is somewhat marred when you think about how many people must gawp into their gardens each day from the top deck of the bus.

The return journey however is a more stressful affair as no bus seems to travel without a handful of teenagers discussing how much alcohol they've recently drank. The young people of my new worktown are an interesting breed - the girls are like a race of superbeings, none of them over a size 6 or under 5ft10, all with waist-length toussled hair. None of the adults look like this so presumably they all either leave the town at 20 or decline dramatically (perhaps as a result of all that vodka drinking).

Anyway I was tired of the traffic and teenagers, so I've made a change to avoid the bus. I've not moved house or quit the job (although both thoughts have occurred to me). No, I've taken the rather less radical step of being a travelcard that allows me to take the train home (or more accurately two trains and a bus, as opposed to the two buses). My quality of life has improved although I'm sticking with the morning buses.


*the number of the bus has been changed to protect the innocent

Harvest

I'm still someway off "The Good Life" style self-sufficiency (and being Felicity Kendall, much to the OH's disappointment), but I've had some success in the garden this year.

I planted some radish seeds and so far I've harvested 6 of them, but there are more still growing. I'm rather proud of this achievement.

Although I'm not that keen on radishes and there isn't much you can actually do with them, besides put them in a salad. If anyone has any radish recipes, please do let me know...

The next door neighbours apple tree continues to shed its fruit into our garden, most of them falling and rotting before we can do anything with them. But at the weekend, I plucked some from the tree and made an apple cake. It has turned out well but obviously we can't eat a cake every week, so again if anyone has any healthy recipes for cooking apples, please do post.

Changes

Whereas before I took a train then a tube to work, now I take the bus. Two buses in fact.

This is just one of the changes involved in the change of jobs.

Where I was in the arts before, I'm now in the Voluntary & Community Sector.
Where I worked in central London before, I'm now on the outskirts
Where my job had a UK-wide remit before, I'm now working at a local level in one borough
Where I worked 10 to 6, I now work 9 to 5

Its a lot of change. I'm still exhausted by it all. I'm still not sure what to make of it.

On the plus side, I have a new health club and whilst I am missing my outdoor swimming, this place is clean and quiet.

A Proper Grown-Up Job

I start the new job tomorrow and to say I'm nervous would be an understatement. This is a Proper Grown-Up Job. A job with a 50 page business plan with "outcomes" and "deliverables" for the next 3 years with my job title next to them. I have targets I'm expected to achieve and I'm trying not to freak out about something I have to do in 2011.

Its a whole new sector, in a new location and in an office where I'm don't know where the kettle is located. In fact, I don't even know if they have a kettle.

But there may not be time for tea with all those deliverables to be delivered.

I'm not a technophobe but...

Mobile phones are a necessary evil of the modern world, but frankly they bore me. And nothing marks someone out as inane so much as endless obsessing and talking about new phones.

Now I've realised why this is.

Changing mobile phones is time-consuming. Doing it regularly probably doesn't leave you with much time for outside interests.

My old phone had become increasingly random, which was bad since it was always temperamental. So I took the free upgrade. Its a good thing I have a week off work as there is no way I could fit this around a full time job.

Waiting in all day for the phone to be delivered.
The endless switching, removing and inserting of Sim cards
The hours of charging
Phoning to register the phone.
Not completing the call because it turns out I need to do something else with the Sim card first.
More struggling with the Sim and the battery

I'm surrounded by pieces of phone, old and new, packaging, accessories and instructions that don't quite explain things fully enough.

And that is before I've even attempted to use the new phone, which has more functions than my computer. All I want from it are the basic phone calls and texts, for them to work overseas and for the battery not to need charging constantly.

Exit Stage Left

I no longer work in the theatre industry. I imagined telling the company where they could stick their job, making a speech to set the record straight and dancing gleefully out of the office. But of course I didn't do any of that. I worked my notice as diligently as ever, mumbled my thanks at my leaving do and left quietly, still with some feelings of doubt and regret.

I'll miss a handful of people in the office and several more across the industry, plus a few other things that made the days bearable.

I'll miss the outdoor swimming, and despite the rocky start, I'll miss the "Bums, Tums and Thighs" class (I had farewell more teary with the instructor than with any of my colleagues).

I'll miss the smiling man who hands me the London Paper every night and the woman who sells the Big Issue.

I'll miss lunches from Food for Thought. I'll miss the shops, although my savings plan won't. I'll miss the journey to work that I can do without even thinking.

But I won't miss the job and I won't miss the department. And perhaps I will be able to re-enter somewhere down the line.

Overheard Conversations No. 7

On the train, a Canadian mother is talking to her young daughter, aged around 4, who is swirming about in her seat.

Mother: Sally, protect your underwear! That's the responsiblity you take on when you choose to wear a dress.

Sound advice there, that many young celebrities would do well to observe.

The Replacements

The advert has been placed to find my replacement and the applications are rolling in. Its not looking good. I don't think I'm irreplaceable. Far from it, I think my job could be done by a trained monkey, so long as that monkey was trained in databases, web editing and desktop publishing. Its just the quality of applications so far has been poor.


Shrewdly, my manager has asked for applications the old fashioned way, a CV and letter by post and the majority of applicants have fallen at this first hurdle by emailing their application, thus proving they are unable to follow simple instructions.


And it seems that the young generation can't write covering letters anymore. "Here is my CV" alone on a page is not a covering letter. At the other end of the spectrum, a rambling three page missive about what you did at university with no reference to the job offered, isn't the way to write a letter either. You don't start a business letter "Hello". And a letter starting "You must be sick of reading these letters by now" may make yours stand out from the crowd, but in the wrong way.


Then there are those who don't actually want the job, but are unemployed and have to prove they are looking for work. So we receive a CV that has been photocopied badly folded twenty times to fit in a miniscule envelope , accompanied by an unreadable handwritten letter - all of which reaks of smoke. Anyone familiar with Trainspotting will recognise this as the Spud school of job applications.


Some have written acceptable letters, but they've talked up their experience - when you read the CV "extensive" turns out to mean three months in one job. And where has this trend for quoting a colleague or former employer at the top of the CV come from? This has passed me by but I don't like it. One quoted a former colleague saying she was "a problem-solver" but on further investigation the company is something she started herself after college so the "colleague" was more than likely her best friend. Another gave pride of place to a quotation from a publisher saying she "was very naughty for leaving" that company.


There was also one from a recent graduate who admitted they didn't have the experience we are looking for, but was willing to work for £4k less than the starting salary "subject to a review after 3 months". I'm sure they would be willing to work for that - for someone with no experience of anything, that would be a pretty good starting salary in most industries and very well paid in the arts.


My favourite so far has been the one that began "I am ideal for this position. I am currently manager of a massage parlour" and then lists their duties in the parlour, starting with "operating the massage machines". I've been in this job nearly five years and have so far haven't seen the connection with massage.

Shortlisting will be difficult. Not because of the usual spiel about receiving over 100 applications it was a tough decision. It will be hard to find six decent candidates to pick from.

You don't see that every day

A woman in her 70s, wearing blue nail varnish on her toenails.

It matched her raincoat.

Life and Death in the Media Age

I experienced something new last night - sitting in a pub watching a televised funeral. I didn't set out to watch it in the pub - the trains home had all been cancelled due to the storms so we decided to wait it out in a nearby pub. The pub, where we've frequently watched football and cricket, was showing the memorial.

It was bizarre, but then the whole thing has been bizarre.


The memorial was, I suppose, a fitting tribute. The music was good, the rest I'm not so sure about. A celebration of his talent would have been good without the coffin being on stage.

It felt disrespectful somehow to be ordering a round of drinks while Brooke Shields was talking, although I did it anyway. In a hushed sombre tone.

Paul Gambaccini was commentating on the show and he made the most memorable comment on the star's death. Asked if in years to come, his legacy would be the music or the controversy, he replied that it would be the music "because anyone can own a llama". Having a pet llama wasn't the scandal that first comes to my mind, that is still in acceptable levels of eccentricity as far as I'm concerned.

Micro-Climate

I live in a modest abode, not a vast estate. So it was rather strange on Saturday to find that it was raining in the back garden, but not in the front.

Boss Time

It was hard to ignore Michael Jackson at the weekend, whether it was the OH's obsessive news watching and "Earth Song" singing and the sound of his greatest hits coming from every car stereo. But despite this, the soundtrack to my weekend was not Michael Jackson, but Bruce Springsteen.

We were at a party on Saturday, which as a sign of our age began with watching Andy Murray at Wimbledon and ended with watching Bruce Springsteen at Glastonbury. Some wine was drunk in between.

Bruce was great. I've always liked him and used to make my mother play his albums constantly on any car journeys when I was a teenager. But with the Glastonbury performance, he convinced even people who had never been interested in him. He has some great songs, and he (and the band) put in so much effort to their performances still. Tom Jones should take note - he put so little effort into his Glastonbury show that he was still unruffled without a hair or touch of makeup out of place at the end.

He clearly loves performing, realises he has the greatest job in the world and enjoys it. Something many stars could learn from...

Tough & Corny

Putting my worries aside for an evening, I went to the cinema to see Rudo y Cursi, the new film starring Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna. Y Tu Mama Tambien is one of my all time favourite films, and this film was pretty much a "Who's who" of Mexican cinema.

The film was fantastic, soothing my worry that I'd gone off cinema. It was sort of about football, but you didn't have to be a football fan to enjoy it as you only saw the games through people's reactions to it.

The screening was a special event with the stars, director and producer in attendence. I'll admit that was one reason for me wanting to go - I do find Gael Garcia Bernal very attractive (despite his shortness). The discussion after the film was the usual thing - the panel were great, but were let down by the audience's contribution - mainly inane comments or nitpicking criticism that missed the point. But the stars made it a special event. They were witty and engaging, with way more charisma then you usually see on today's stars. Of course, there is no reason why they shouldn't be - young, good-looking, and talented. And perhaps that is the nub of it, most stars today aren't that talented and even less of them could be described as talented.

Carnival!

I stepped out of my door, with the intention of taking the bus to the library, when I became aware of the sound of a marching band. There was no traffic in the direction I was going and then I noticed that people were standing in their gardens, on their doorsteps and on the curb.

A sign of the times, I wondered whether it might be a parade by an extremist group, but it turned out to be the local carnival. I had no idea it was happening but clearly it was a very big deal for other locals. Besides the crowds lining the street, which increased as I walked down the road, some shops had even closed for the day, with signs in their windows saying "See you at the Carnival".

So I slowed down and lingered a while to see the parade. As parades go, it wasn't really that impressive, but the fact that I saw some semblance of community for the first time seemed more important.

Having seen the entire parade pass by (a marching band, a beauty queen, one small float, a group with decorated umbrellas, some army cadets and their tank and some drummers), I decided to continue my journey to the library but as the traffic was being held someway back, I thought it best to walk. This meant that for a good ten minutes, until our routes diverged, I looked as if I was joining with the parade!

All in all, it was a cheery little event, but without the more colourful elements of the parade around it, the sight of the minature army and tank going down the high street might have been a bit troubling.

Escape from The Rut

I've been in The Rut for a long time. I've been bored and unchallenged, my mind was rotting. I filled up my time with "projects" to distract me, so I wouldn't dwell on The Rut too much. I'd made The Rut quite comfortable, made the best of it.

Then this week, I seem to have found a way out of The Rut. A new opportunity. A proper step in the right direction. Something challenging but perfectly possible.

I'm going to do it. I'm going to leave The Rut behind. But why don't I feel happier about it? Its the little things that make The Rut bearable that I'm worried about leaving behind. And that,strangely enough, I worked so hard to get into The Rut in the first place, that it feels like quitting to leave it behind.

Still it is all "subject to references" which is quite a bit thing when one of the problems with The Rut other people taking credit for things you've done. So I may not quite be out of The Rut yet.

Film Recommendations Wanted

So we've got the Love Film service and we received DVDs through the post. But the problem recently is that I haven't been enjoying many of them.

Here is a quick sample of recent picks:

Hannah Takes the Stairs - an American indie film in the little known genre called "Mumblecore". The sound is poorly mixed and the characters witter on about their nothing lives. I turned it off.

Somers Town - I've enjoyed Shane Meadows other films, but didn't warm to this one, perhaps because I knew it had started life as an advert for the Eurostar.

Blame It on Fidel - A French child suffers when her parents become revolutionaries. I found it hard to care.

The Baader Meinhof Complex - The Baader Meinhof gang are a minor obsession of mine, but this made a very interesting period incredibly dull.

Righous Kill - It should have been a warning sign that it was a film starring De Niro and Pacino that I'd never even heard of. Less than the sum of its parts.


There have been two that I have enjoyed

Mad Detective - very interesting film from Hong Kong about an ex-detective with mental powers that are great for detection but not for his own sanity. Like nothing else I've ever seen.

Six Shooter - a short film by Martin McDonaugh. Very funny in an odd, disturbing way.


So I'm looking for some recommendations. What have you seen that you've loved? I will watch pretty much anything, except chick flicks. It doesn't have to be new even.

Overheard Conversations No. 6

On the train, a group of men in their late twenties get on at the stop after mine and sit by me. From their conversation, I gather that they are all members of a swimming club that meets at my local pool, which isn't the one I use and I'm rather relieve now I don't.

Man 1: You should get John to join
Man 2: He doesn't like swimming. I don't know why. Actually I do know why. He told me why.
Man 1: Why?
Man 2: He finds it boring, just swimmig up and down.
Man 1; But its not boring. It is like flying, soaring in the air. Its a beautiful feeling
Man 2: And you can see up people's crotches

The system

Why does travelling by the London transport system always feel like such a battle? Surely a transport system is supposed to ease your passage through the city, making things easier. But not in London. Every day it feels like the system has to be outwitted, and it becomes a battle of wills, you versus the system. You feel a sense of achievement if you manage to get somewhere without too much of a problem. But if you beat the system on your outbound journey, it will punish you on your return.

And this is when "a good service is operating on all London underground lines". And for this they want a payrise, they feel they deserve more than the £50K most tube drivers earn?

I managed to navigate my way to and from work yesterday, only adding three hours onto my day. Today, I fear the system will take its revenge.