| Not Dead |
[Nov. 14th, 2006|05:18 pm] |
I haven't updated my journal properly since beginning work. I've tried several times, but it has been hard to describe everything that has happened in the past two months. I love my job. Every time I get praised or paid for it I feel a bit overwhelmed. Why hasn't anything gone wrong yet? Ok, there have been slips and disputes but I seem to be doing ok.
It's been very tiring - I've had just so much to learn about: the breaking news procedure, legal dangers, finance, shorthand, interview techniques, asking the right question etc. After two months basic training and a week of regional reporting, they've sent us to write real articles on the desks. I'm on my first, writing about business news. I'll go on to do sport, TV, world news, political and general, markets, energy and so on.
I'm one of two brits out of the six people they employed in the UK, as a group we probably speak about 10 foreign languages altogether and I'm the only one who only speaks European languages! Must learn Arabic...
So the people I work with are probably one of the best things about it and the fact that I don't have to explain who I work for when I interview someone. The name opens a lot of doors. It also means you get followed around press conferences by the competition, even if you have no idea what you are talking about.
Some of the trainees have had more luck than me so far in getting their name known. I'll get there, slowly as always. And it would be nice if it didn't have to phone the computer department with problems every single day.
London is dark and grey, but I feel like I'm at home. Whatever happens, wherever I go next year, it is going to be really hard. So I'm enjoying myself for now. |
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| Wednesday evening |
[Oct. 27th, 2006|11:05 am] |
hey amigos
I really should have blogged something by now - let's just say I have a lot less sitting around time at the moment (in a good way).
But i'll be in ox on wednesday evening for a grad recruitment thing, so if you'd like to come along for free drinks at freuds (6-8), and pretend to be a wannabe journalist / tecchie / business guru then come along and see me being all enthusiastic. |
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| Moving out |
[Sep. 1st, 2006|02:44 pm] |
Last day at the box company. Hopefully I will never end up here again unless I do an Andrew Gilligan. (No, not like that). And even he's got a column now. As my lovely boyfriend pointed out the other night, I've got my foot in the door. I can have a career 'in the media' and say 'I told you so' to all the unenthusiastic careers advisors / relatives / teachers along the way. I just hope I like it.
It's typical that the day before I start work at the shiny *big place* I won't be able to have a shower in our flat as we once again have no hot water. Repair man is coming on Monday. A lack of hot water also characterised my stay in Paris, so even if I am now part of the earning, working masses rather than the penniless student elite, some things never change. A properly working boiler cannot be bought for love nor money. I'll be going round to someone else's flat to use the shower. I can wash in cold water, but not wash my hair. It actually gives you a headache. (Makes hair very shiny though).
I'm reading 'The Age of Uncertainty' by Galbraith at the moment. Some dubious bits but very, very witty. Another classic from my dad's bookshelf. I counted 13 bookcases in my parent's house. Now I'm gone they can get some more. |
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| Artful thinking |
[Aug. 30th, 2006|03:41 pm] |
I spent the bank holiday weekend in Falmouth with a friend from sixth form. She is now working as a fine artist and has not had a bad first year, with two commissions to her name. By 'fine artist' I mean someone who paints on canvas - it's not a qualitative assessment, but distinguishes her from a sculptor, graphic artist. installation artist etc. I think her work is excellent and I'm hoping to buy a piece later this year.
Five years ago, I was planning to go on an art foundation course and go to an art school. I choose my sixth form because over 50% of the people studying there did an artistic subject (by this I mean art, graphics, textiles etc). I was mildly amused that at oxford people referred to my degree as an 'arts' subject. Not art as I knew it.
By the end of my first year at sixth form, I'd already compiled my portfolio, spent most weekends drawing in art galleries, selected several art schools and taken two term's worth of life drawing evening classes when I suddenly changed my mind. The first worry was that art had started to take over my life. I did four A-Levels, but the work I did for art was the same as the other three combined. I was also devastated when a piece didn't meet up to my expectations. When you invest 20 hours in a painting, you feel utterly crushed when the rest of the class and your tutor point out weak areas. There was also the feeling that I might be good at something else. I didn't know what this could be, but I thought that I might be able to salvage my disappointing results in my mocks to do something a bit more academic.
Discarded spirit bottles and drug foils surrounded the outside of my friend's house. Her housemates regularly snort cocaine off the television set. Plans to meet with people often fall through, everyone is always skint. Her house has no heating. It is a party house. Two reasons why people drink frlghtening amounts of tesco value vodka. Most people seem to be drifting along, unaware of the world outside their little student town. It's like the Oxford bubble but without intellect and diversity. It's a load of posh. young 'artistes' being funded to party. There is a small minority like my friend who are serious about their work and abhor the wasteful lifestyle.They struggle.
We did some great things like body boarding, snorkeling, swimming around caves and eating cornish pasties. Falmouth is a fun place to visit, but not to live in.
When I went to uni, I missed the arty community from my sixth form. It felt like something important had gone missing from my time. Spending time with only art students this weekend made me grateful that I changed my mind. Not all artists are layabout drug addicts, but the artistic community just doesn't appeal to me any more. I only liked it for the art anyway. But obviously that wasn't enough.
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| Calling the kettle black |
[Aug. 16th, 2006|01:19 pm] |
I can't quite believe I'll be starting a real job in two weeks. One that will involve high levels of concentration and less free time to read my book under my desk. Having not heard from my new employer since April, I was feeling a little worried (perhaps my references didn't check out and I'd been mysteriously linked to a Surrey terrorist network). But no such excitement - I heard from them yesterday about my tenancy reference for my darling landlord, hereafter known as JJJ (because his name has 3 J's).
JJJ is turning out to be a bit of a pain in the arse. But no worries, as armed with numerous leaflets from the C.A.B we'll hopefully be kicking his if anything goes wrong. I won't talk too much about flat stuff because it is about as interesting as my dad talking about his 'family research.' As far as I'm concerned, all these ancient ancestors are dead, didn't do anything groundbreaking with their lives and have no bearing on mine. Just because no one has ever been a journalist in my family doesn't mean I can't be one (something my auntie suggested once). I don't care if my great great great uncle's sister's dog left a shilling in his will to someone else I don't know. Maybe I'm being selfish. I just can't see why my auntie and dad wouldn't prefer spending some time with real people during their retirement, possibly through volunteering.
I scraped a distinction on my master's with 0.4%. I don't feel that overjoyed because I'd already guessed my mark, it was only a year course and I did it for fun. And fun it was, even if I have to beat the certificate out of the university with a stick.
Incidently, this was the degree which involved me focusing on a dead French poet and spending hours locked in the library. You probably don't care that he was adopted, changed his name four times and murdered two people. But I do. Maybe I'm being selfish. |
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| GET ME OUT OF HERE |
[Aug. 10th, 2006|01:34 pm] |
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Ignorant scumbag quote of the day:
"They should be tried by treason, because that is still a hanging offence. Let's get tough on these people."
(On the 21 people who were arrested today on suspicion of a terrorist plot.)
Idiot comment of the week:
"I can't believe Blair won't discuss giving Margaret Thatcher a state funeral in the future - after all she's done for this country!"
Only three weeks to go in this job. |
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| Nightwatch |
[Aug. 2nd, 2006|09:23 am] |
In my current job, I don't need a fully working brain. This is fortunate as I barely had 5 hours sleep last night. Sadly, this lack of rest was not caused by fun. For the fourth time in a year, my dad was taken into hospital with chest pains and an irregular pulse. This is after his appointment to see a heart specialist was postponed until October. The second time they were able to re-set his heartbeat using drugs. Twice they've had to stop his heart and give him electric shocks to re-start it. I am hoping that the former treatment was successful during the night. It was my mum who called the ambulance, we received a single response unit (like a doctor on call) because he was closest - it only took him about 5 mins to arrive. But those five minutes dragged on. I banned my mum from the bedroom because she was going into a panic and told her to prepare an overnight bag. I just sat at the end of their bed, telling my dad to breathe deeply and checkng his pulse etc. I didn't really know what to do. The paramedic decided to call for an ambulance with a heart unit just in case, because his heart was 'taccy' (whatever that means) they arrived wiithin minutes and did an ECG (like a monitored heart report) in their vehicle, blocking our very narrow road for half an hour.
Just had a call from the hospital - I can pick up dad this evening. They manged to re-set his heart using drugs. Thank god! He is now seeing another specialist in two weeks time. Nothing like a visit to casualty to bump you up the waiting list.
The paramedics were absolutely fantastic. Honest and good-humoured, despite working under immense pressure and (probably) extreme fatigue. They treated my dad with respect and even managed to calm my mum down - no mean feat. They didn't ask to see proof of medical insurance (like in France), they didn't treat him any differently because of his age (67), they didn't even complain about having to squeeze past the ridiculous number of badly parked cars. They were everything that is outstanding about the national health service.
It is sad that it takes months and months to see a heart specialist, even when you've had a stroke and undergone two inversions. We could pay for dad to see that same specialist in private but it is against all of our principles. A belief worth suffering for? Should we pay if we can?
I say no. But it isn't me in hospital and I know I cannot change this unjust world alone. And it's my dad. And I love him whatever he decides. |
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| Et ça continue... |
[Jul. 12th, 2006|11:33 am] |
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3rd August 2005 (My first ever Livejournal post)
I am sitting at my desk looking at some hideous picture of mystical wild horses pinned up by my co-worker. One of them is looking wistfully over it's shoulder, probably gazing at a magical castle. The other is looking directly out of the picture, as if to say "Do you have any taste?" as they emerge from a light green fluffy forest.
12th July 2006
I am once again sitting at my desk looking at some hideous picture of mystical wild horses pinned up by my co-worker. It feels like I have stepped back in time. I am working at the box company again, for easy money. This easy money will pay for a deposit on a swish London mansion in Kensington, where Alex, Sarah and I will live, along with a random addition, called Jamie, who seems like a pleasant future housemate. If we fail to find a mansion in our budget, we will probably be downgrading to something slightly less grand in East London. Even if we don’t have stables, it won’t be the end of the world.
Some things haven’t changed. I’m in love. I miss my boyfriend and send him sneaky texts while supposedly at work. I am trying to find somewhere to live. Most of the people I work with are still here and I remember their names. My co-worker is still rude to the employees. I am reading under my desk, I am ignoring letters from the student loans company. I am planning weekends to see friends. I know amazingly talented people who’ve achieved great degree results. My dad is still in-and-out of hospital (but no worse).
Some things have changed. I’m starting a real job in September, I’m not leaving the country. Some of my old school friends are ‘settling down’ and talking about mortgages, babies and taxes. I find this slightly alarming. I feel displaced in time and I am getting used to England again. I miss all the good things about Paris and I’ve forgotten most of the bad things (but not the dog crap all over the pavements). I feel older and calmer…at least until I mess up a simple task at work again (like putting an envelope addressed to the office in the post). Oxford feels like a long time ago and I miss it a bit less. I feel less scared about the coming year.
I feel like I’ve changed but as far as most people here are concerned I’m the receptionist, indistinguishable from the 50 year old woman I share my job with. It’s as if a year hasn’t passed. And there is something both comforting and unnerving about that. |
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| geekery |
[Jul. 7th, 2006|11:29 am] |
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*Callling all more knowledgeable people*
Does anyone know if I can connect a 2002 college computer to a wireless network if I buy a wireless adaptor?
Stupid conversation of the day:
Me: Mum, it really is worth you and dad getting broadband, it will save you a lot of money.
Mum: Won't the surge of electricity blow the circuit board?
Me: *Cries.* |
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| I am a zombie |
[Jun. 17th, 2006|08:44 pm] |
Thought of the day: Sleep deprivation does strange things to you.
I played in an open-air orchestra concert this afternoon. It was the most enjoyable concert I've ever played in. It was very relaxed, we played together extremely well. I think it had something to do with the fact that it was informal, the audience could come and go, they clapped along, it was jazz music. The fact I had a mic didn't bother me either (flute players usually have the safety of being drowned out). I spent the interval teaching some of the players how to speak French with an English accent. Apparently they think it will help improve their chances with the opposite sex. Bizarre. Then we finished the concert and ate some cakes donated by the local baker for the music festival. We drank some little coffees and I felt an overwhelming love for France. |
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| “Fractures well cured make us more strong.” G. Herbert. |
[Jun. 14th, 2006|12:48 pm] |
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I’m an optimist. I always look back at difficult periods in my life with a bizarre fondness. When I think of my time as a receptionist at the Disneyland Hotel in my gap year, I remember pulling faces at the bell-boys from across the lobby, making jokes about guests in languages they couldn’t understand, going to the cinema at 3am after working until 1, and the enormous parties held by the French Canadians where I rarely understood the conversations. It didn’t matter at all.
Whereas the good memories make up the most of my experience, the horrible parts are short but vivid snatches. The time when I had terrible gastroenteritis, and couldn’t walk to the phone to call a doctor. The time when someone died in my building and no one found her for a week. The time when a hotel guest offered me money to ‘accompany’ him to his room. But the worst memory is of when a German boy collapsed in the middle of the night and I had to act as a translator between his distressed mother and the paramedics. My German wasn’t up to much then.
The good memories of this year will dominate, as they always do. But I need to remember the worst parts because they are equally, if not more important.
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| Must...keep...motivated |
[Jun. 8th, 2006|08:17 pm] |
Only a viva and one half of an essay left to go and my academic career will be over. On Tuesday at 2pm, all my work will be handed in. My dissertation will be lovingly bound, my heart-ache will end.
This will come as a relief. I've enjoyed this year, I've enjoyed student life. But I can safely say that I've had enough. I want to spend time enjoying myself without the feeling of work-related guilt. But more importantly, I can't imagine myself doing a Phd. This year has been about more than studying. In fact, I never really expected it to be mainly about the studying. The fact that the research has been pleasurable came as a surprise to me. It's been another gap year between two stages in my life, though trust me to rush into something incredibly hard under the guise of 'a break.'
Before I leave Paris, I'll write something about the good and bad things that have come out of this year. But I'll only be able to do that once the guilt has finally gone away. |
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| FREE TRIP TO PARIS |
[May. 30th, 2006|07:34 pm] |
Ok, first things first, who would like a FREE TRIP TO PARIS with me, at the end of July? Provisional dates: weekend of 22nd or 29th.
Here's the catch: You have to be strong, there won't be a lot of sightseeing.
Why? My dad has been ill again and is unable to drive to Paris to help me move out. I can't contemplate driving for the first time in France in this manic part of the city. So I'm planning to carry what remains of my stuff home on Eurostar. Various other trips will lighten the load, but I'm sure that I can fit what will be left into four large suitcases.
So, if you would like to help me, I'll pay for your ticket and food etc. An overnight stay at my place will probably also be necessary and so some touristy things possible.
All of this will work out cheaper than having my things freighted etc. So let me know :)
Begging terminated.
Charles spent the weekend chez moi, we enjoyed modern art, the resistance, steak and chips and gossiping about all of you (not anything private of course, we are trustworthy people). I think that after English Ben, Charles is one of the most fun people to gossip with. Today was spent avoiding work, trying not to fall asleep in a lecture, drinking tiny coffees and complaining about work with a friend. She has exams, which are at least over in a two to three hour period (though yes, I know finals are a different matter). The slow grind of the dissertation is getting me down. I can't write fast enough for my liking. Though every time I despair, I try to remember that I am doing this in my second language, I don't need a good mark and writing something this complicated requires time. But I wish I knew more people doing my subject, so that I could share my worries. My final chapter will definitely be my weakest, but at least it will give me something to talk about in my viva.
I also get the feeling that I will have an argument with my landlady. I've decided to move out a month earlier, and given her two months notice (I only need to give one) but I think that she was counting on my rent. It doesn't help that she's my flatmate's mother, and that they've invited me to their country house in a couple of weeks time. Business is business, but I still feel guilty.
So lots of things to worry about, but I feel strangely calm about them. Probably because this year has given me some sense of perspective. Or because I'm just becoming more lazy, Parisian style. Probably both. |
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| Rear Window Party |
[May. 26th, 2006|11:03 am] |
I'm turning into the character from the Hitchcock film. Instead of being incapacitated by a broken leg, I am kept indoors by the third (and final!!) chapter of my dissertation.
Most of yesterday afternoon I watched an Antillean family have an enormous, very exciting sounding wedding reception in their apartment, which is opposite mine, across the courtyard. They even had a live band! There was a female singer and some drummers - the music echoed throughout the entire building to the other side of the street. People were dancing, not a care in the world, on the balconies, in all the rooms. Fiesta!
What was also interesting to watch was the reaction of the other neighbours. They came out onto their balconies, looked very angry and stomped back in again. Ok, it was loud, but it only lasted from 4pm-8pm. And it was a wedding! And a national holiday!
The parties that usually take place in this building are also loud, and take place until 5am, keeping everyone awake. And they don't seem to celebrate anything much, except the god of alcohol and pot.
They were jealous because they can't dance at their parties.
Good luck to the couple. At one point the bride was leaning over the balcony, looking tired, dizzy, sweaty but elated. Forget the seating plans, if I ever have a wedding reception, it is going to be just like that. |
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| From the Alfreds |
[May. 22nd, 2006|11:49 pm] |
"I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees."
Alfred Tennyson, Ulysees, 1842.
"Je ne sais où va mon chemin, mais je marche mieux quand ma main serre la tienne."
(I don't know where my path leads, but I go better when my hand is holding yours.)
Alfred de Musset, 1844. |
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| On finals and cat postmen |
[May. 10th, 2006|10:08 pm] |
Finals are horrible. I'm not saying this in a gloating way, having already done them. I'm just sympathising with the pain of those who are in their final year. I remember feeling constantly sick, tired, stressed and apathetic, all at the same time. And also a little sad because the end of finals meant the end of oxford and the end of a relatively cushy life. And then I was too knackered to celebrate straight away. Give it a few days though...
My dad's birthday card turned up at home today. I sent it on 13th February to arrive for his birthday on the 17th. No explanation. I'm inclined to think that the fault lies on the French side, because it usually does.
It took 85 days for the card to travel 258.5 miles.
A cat carrying my card could have done it 39 times faster:
(Average cat walking speed approx 5mph, plus hitchhiked ferry ride.)
My dad likes cats. |
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| Learn French for free this summer |
[Apr. 28th, 2006|10:43 pm] |
My French friend's brother, who is 18, well brought up, polite, etc is hoping to come over to England for a few weeks this summer.
He wants to know if anyone is willing to put him up in exchange for conversation lessons, housework, gardening, odd jobs etc.
Let me know if you or anyone you know might be interested. |
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habibiya's journal