This week, has been a good week

You might have noticed a slight change to the site. I decided, after a few thoughts and mild annoyance over the way that the site could cut off the end of blog entries that I could do with trying a slightly new layout. I hope it’s appreciated. Certainly, the blog looks less busy now.

It’s a rather pleasant feeling to go through a week and realise that all of the worries that were darting through your mind on monday have disappeared by friday. On Monday, I had the follow up of the interview, where I showed I could greet customers. it went well, despite my concern that I was toning down my approaching customers too much. Then again, after a job where you were encouraged to not stop short of rugby tackling the customer, I suppose it is easier to lay off.

Either way, I must have done better than I thought, because I actually got the Saturday job! Admittedly, the weekday one would have been more useful to me, but I’m hardly in the position to complain about that. Besides, it wouldn’t have been terribly practical; while I would have had some more money, I would not have been able to obligate the contract before my PGCE began. I would also have to stop helping out at the school, which I would miss an awful lot. The decision to take me on Saturdays was a relief, as the last thing I would want to do is to turn round and say ‘Ummm… About that contract…”

I started last week, and found it a strangely uplifting experience, when I really should have been more nervous. I think it is because I have started so many things this far (if you are as vague as possible, then it would be at least the 6th time I have been a newbie somewhere), and so it was difficult to be nervous about starting something. Besides, I had so much to learn, I didn’t quite know what was best to be concerned about. Ironically, I’m the only member of my family who has perfect vision. Because of a lack of glasses wearing, my entire knowledge of spectacles can be written on the back of a stamp. I’m picking up more information as I’m going long, but at the moment it is remembering all the points of the special offers that is confusing me.

The other thing that was nervewracking was the pioneer show of ‘My Special Selection’, the Hospital Radio, Desert-Island-Discs show that I took over from the old presenters last summer. After numerous weeks of writing letters to the local papers and fielding lots of questions, it felt strange that the date finally arrived and that I was starting to present the show. Thankfully, the interview went excellently, despite my lack of sleep the night before, and my guest, Dirty Nails, was a hoot. I came out of the interview, with my body screaming with the sensations that reminded me why I loved radio so much. For whatever reason, putting a mic in front of me and getting me to blather on is as natural as breathing, and I liked the fact that my research paid off. The past few weeks have been a idle mixture of planning, writing letters to newspapers and trying to cover all of my bases, but still-here I was, running about like an utter loon sorting out the LPs. Radio broadcasting may seem calm, but there is an awful lot of running about and trying to keep your head just above water when you are only used to doggy paddling.

My plan to eventually dominate the world through radio remains on track, by any rate!

The September Issue Movie/lack of Superbowl

Before I begin, I just want to point out where my lines in the sand are:

1. I am a woman.

2. I am not interested in clothes to a stupid degree. Of course, I know what I like, I enjoy wearing stuff that suits me, and I do browse in shops with lots of lovely stuff I can’t afford, but my purchases are usually done on the way to elsewhere. I never go out specifically to buy clothes. Clothes, for me, are what happens in between the cinema, bookshop and HMV.

3. I have a sense of what the words ‘in fashion’ mean, thanks to siblings who care about that type of thing, and through popping in and out of shops.

4. I can tell you now that the whole ‘washed out peach and stonewash demin’ thing that every shop I go into has looks terrible, and that I am largely put off by Topshop, Monsoon and Accessorise as everyone wears it. This isn’t a superiority complex. This is just my belief that it’s a shame when you see people meet up and they are wearing exactly the same outfits.

5. American style wise, I wish we had American Gap and Old Navy (which are sort of the same thing), as they believe in colour, rather than beige. I also do not quite understand what happens to some old people, particularly in the USA, where they suddenly get old and start wearing numerous shades of brown.

Okay, so I am not (really, infact) hopeless. I’m just a tomboy. This probably explains why I wanted to shout at the screen throughout the September Issue movie

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, IT’S ONLY CLOTHES!!!”

Fair play, she’s a woman in a top role, doing what she loves, the Editor in Chief is a hoot, and being internationally significant publication (which I haven’t read outside of a doctor’s waiting room), but I watched an argument about textures in fashion, and I couldn’t get past that original thought.

So, in summary, The September Issue: No action sequences, and lots of bitchy stares. It’s like Spinal tap, but with better hair.

*/rant*

In other news, I was tempted to watch the Superbowl tonight. Being part of that British minority that actually understands the rules (think of it like a giant game of Risk and you’re halfway there), I feel semi obligated to sit down and watch some mattress wearing and bike helmet wielding men crash into each other. However, I feel I should say that American Football is far from being poncy rugby. The reason why they wear so much padding is because, unlike rugby, they can knock you over from chest level upwards. Rugby may knacker your legs and shoulders, watching American Footballers collide is like watching a car accident.

From the matches I have watched, I enjoyed the strategy and the insight it gives into American Culture. However, I have to get up early tomorrow and you can’t see the adverts over here anyway (which is about 70% of the appeal of watching it), so I am going to read about WWI instead.

Stumpy meets World

Well, someone has to be chuffed, and that person has to be me!

As I have mentioned a couple of times on this blog, I am a keen knitter who recently branched out in crochet. For your enjoyment and puzzlement, I present a selection of images of stuff I have knitted. The only stuff I haven’t properly included in this entry are very late christmas presents. However, they are not as late as the 3rd Christmas present, which lies under my bed and the yarn isn’t even unwrapped from the sheet of paper around it.

Firstly, for your pleasure, meet Stumpy II. It is the cousin of Stumpy I, who is the plastic apatosaurus that I bought from the Field Museum in Chicago. Next, we have Shaun the Sheep. I am currently completing Timmy (I have been doing for over a year, it must be said), and finally, I bring you the ducks that I made for my friend Maddy. I now have at least two more ducks to complete soon.

Oh, and this is me.

I think I should put my picture to a blog now.

Interview-tastic shenanigans and getting up on my high horse

Well, I had the interview on friday and a follow up on monday, and once again I am being all cautious about it. This is out of habit and a semi-superstition that I have. I am scared that if I turn round from the interviews, particularly a second stage interview, and say  ’actually, that went better than I thought’ (like every other time I have got this far) that it will all fall apart around me and nothing will change. It’s better for me to do the interviews, swim 26 lengths of a pool and then read all afternoon. If that sounds terribly specific, that’s because this is what I have done now, in order to stop myself over-analysing every action.

It was an interesting set of interviews to wait for, as I was not too nervous about it. I think it was because I had applied, and got reasonably far, for a Graduate role for this company before. Okay, so I was not the droid they were looking for, but I still maintained some respect for the company for the verrrrry long phone call to tell me why I wasn’t suitable for their business. If you went and put all of the feedback that I got from every company into a handy picture book, this place thatyoushouldhavegoneto (hint as to where I work in that) would be at least a third of the plot, all of the pictures and arranged the colour scheme.

While I prepared for this interview as much as I have for others, I did not feel like I was going to fall into the unknown. I did all of the practising and research that I usually do, but my reaction was calmer than what you usually suspect.

If there is one thing I like about interviews (if, indeed, you can use that sentence), I do enjoy wearing formal clothes. I have never been an immaculately dressed lady (my style is more ‘Wash and Go’ than Charles Worthington), but there is something about the preparation and walking around my big formal interview suit that makes me feel 6 inches taller than I actually am. I actually feel smart enough to develop a slight swagger when I walk, like a blonde midget gangster, as for once I feel that I am properly grown up and mature; I feel like one of those smart, industrious, crackberry fiend commuters I often sit next to on the early train to London.

Either way, I think the first interview went well. It was more formal than I expected, but  did not stumble over everything, and I was able to answer some questions before they had asked them. I came out of it feeling quietly confident, and was pleased to receive a second phone call that afternoon. Today, my second interview involved a deeper explanation of what the role would involve, and i had to try an exercise of approaching customers as they entered the shop. I’m hardly blowing my own trumpet here, but approaching people to ask whether they need anything is something that I have no qualms with (again, ‘Wallflower’ has never a word used to describe me), and I generally enjoy solving problems quickly. I only became a bit nervy over whether I was doing enough. Of course, the bookshop I worked at encouraged you to pounce on the customer as soon as they showed an interest in anything novel  and stationary related, but I decided that such an approach on a monday morning in a small town would be the equivalent of vocally rugby tackling someone. As a result, I toned it down a bit and then spent the next hour wondering if I was being still too enthusiastic, or not quite enthusiastic enough… Either way, expect a blog celebrating a new job, or not. It’s a win-win blog entry as far as this little webpage is concerned.

***

Yesterday, I read this article by a-bit-of-a-snob who wrote a well meaning yet slightly annoying piece on being an unemployed graduate in the Observer. For a lot of his article, I agreed with it. Yes, it’s annoying to realise that you are not going to find a good job as quickly as you hoped. The point about working in a shop while having a higher qualification and still being treated as though you have the IQ of chewing gum by ignorant customers is also noted and filed under ‘empathy’, and I think he has done the best description of the sheer misery of job centre visits I have ever read. This is even without my own personal belief that the brighter the colours  and shinier the pictures as you enter, the worse time you will have.

However, my sympathies were hampered by his arrogance. I could not quite understand why Andrew Hankinson, semi-employed, caught in commission writing hell writer at large (I would say look out for him, he’s obviously a pretty talented writer), turns down work that he’s offered by his Dad and looks down on working in shops. Apart from the fact that I have worked alongside lots of degree/Masters/PhD holders in a variety of retail environments, I think that acting like such work is below you is ultimately the reason why you may not be finding work easily. Surely taking any work to keep mind, body and sanity together, rather than being a martyr to the cause and not accepting help from your parents (if his dad still needs thompson directories delivering, I’ll step in) I was brought up to believe that bar the sex industry, gangland culture and killing animals, take a job if its available (though I should admit that the sex industry is not because of any criticism, it’s because I would never be able to pole dance without a crash helmet on). I find it hard to believe that others are above types of work, regardless of qualification.

Out of recession

"IIIIII've got £90,000 in my pyjamas, I've got 40,000 French Francs in my fridge..."

Today, the British government announced that we are now not out/almost out/out of recession now/by as much as we should be/yet.

How does this make me feel? Plain. Neutral. Nothing. Nothing at all.

I know that, with the announcement of the recession being over, I should be happy as things will get easier. Theoretically, I’ll be able to find a good teaching job just that little bit easier (particularly as the tabloids are screaming that the population is rising, so someone needs to teach the tykes… is it just me, or do when people ignorantly make out we are over-crowded I get images of people being pushed into the sea?), clothes and food should come down in price, and the general price of living (such as bank rates, and all) should be comfortable. However, I find it hard to imagine the end of the recession like some magic bullet.

After all, prices go up and down despite the economy (my food bill went up £5 a week in my final year of University, and the economy then was doing alright). Also, just because someone has worked out that the GDP has gone up by 0.1% in three months doesn’t mean that suddenly there will be a pile of jobs dancing in front of everyone’s eyes. I have noticed in my local area that there signs that the economy is becoming friendly again. Only last week, I noticed new shops with vacancies in the windows, and quite a few more houses for sale. In fact, I have an interview this week. However, many companies are still not hiring people, despite having a talented population out there, and I will be surprised if this employment situation changes over the next few months.

I would love to at least be relieved, but I have seen what the recession has been like many of my friends, and I don’t believe that the general lack of awesome sauce that they have experienced will just go away because the ledgers look like they might balance one of these days.

***

In other news, I had my second experience of diplomacy today, when I helped as a playground assistant. While I was out of my depth slightly (as in, I wasn’t sure where the first aid box was kept at one point), I have now read up on child discipline and I’m resisting the urge to take up hula hooping again.

Aw, Bless

Today, I am happy. Having a few days of nothing to speak of meant that I was able to move on to the hellish medium level of Guitar Hero (suddenly, having to use my little finger to press the blue means that my hands are even more painful), catch up on the epic Pratchett season on BBC  Radio 7 (which the BBC seem to have done an amazing job by not advertising it at all), burn myself on many hot surfaces, and eat profiteroles without using the hands (which was fun, but probably not the right behaviour for Pizza Express).

This week has been productive. Oxford Brookes has sent on a few forms for me to fill out, and I spent more time with the class. To this end, I ended up helping out on my first school trip, and taking a lunchtime shift during ‘Wet Play’. The trip was to the local supermarket, to learn about how the supermarket works and how to make sausage rolls (which is sort of linked to what they are learning in english and history, and meant that they could get themselves covered with food intentionally).

The trip went well, despite feeling like a broken record at the time (“Max! Be Quiet!” “Max! Don’t interrupt!” “Max! That’s rude-do not do that again!”*). I also got to know some of the kids out of the classroom environment. On the way, I sat next to one little girl who gave me a conversation that changed every minute or so, meaning that I was constantly trying to find responses.

Me: “So, do you like drawing pictures?”

Girl: “Yes. I also like cheese and dinosaurs!”

Me: “… What kind of dinosaurs do you like?”

Girl: “Lots. I’m not wearing my hairband today.”

I then dealt with a child who had a front tooth fall out. It was all a bit of a drama, but I was able to get her to laugh, after her surprise, by pointing out that when I was 7 both of my front teeth fell out in such a manner you could have driven a double decker bus through the gap.

‘Wet Play’ is when the kids have to play within the classrooms during break, as the weather is not suitable. Instead, the kids eat inside the classroom, and break out the lego. It was the first time that I have really had a class to myself, as up to now there has always been a teacher in the room with me. Failing that, there has been an adult in shouting distance. It meant I had to deal with my first disruptive child. It was no real problem really. While I think I could have controlled the situation better, I did well with the class. Besides, all of the tempers were running high because they were full of beans and couldn’t run about outside. This is what I am going to be learning how to deal with anyway.

Anyway, now it looks like that I will spending some time doing stuff. I have an interview with a shop next week for some part-time work (to fund the PGCE), and I’m helping out more with the school. It means that I’m not pining over the loss of the last job and bored out of my mind.

* I changed the kid’s name, to protect the guilty. However, I did spend 90% of the tour keeping that kid in line.

“Can I hear a ‘Wa-hey!’ from this corner of the room?”

Because of the Christmas work that I did, and despite all of the necessary, tedious ‘only being able to get a part time job’ stuff… I have officially made it out of my overdraft!

Yay!

Of course, it’s not by much, and I’m not saying how much, and all of that malarky (largely as my bank account has already taken more shots than a ‘all you can drink’ night at a scabby nightclub), but it’s a big important step in the right direction. Completing this task also means that I have now completed 2 New Years resolutions without mortal injury, as alongside this I can now crochet.

What I need to complete,  is described (with annotations) on this figurative list below:

Get part time job to raise funds for teacher-dom (I’m counting this one as half completed as I have an interview next week),

Pass driving test and make a decent start on Pass+ing,

Write more often,

Meet up with friends that I have promised to meet for ages now,

Finish reading ‘The Right Stuff’ by Tom Wolfe, House of Leaves, and ‘The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists’ by Robert Tressell.

For that matter, I need to finish all of Discworld, though I’m anticipating this with slight dread as I have enjoyed the books so much, it’ll be a shame to know that I need to find a new series to talk about incessently,

Have another lovely holiday somewhere. I have an itch to see the Northern Lights (which is not helped by the fact that the ‘His Dark Materials‘ trilogy is my favourite trilogy of all time), an itch that I badly need to scratch.

I would put up a photo of me dancing, but I'm afraid that I'm banned by the Geneva Convention.

Anyway, if you have never met me, then please just imagine a woman dancing as though she is being tasered, and that is me!

*dances*

Arming herself with the curriculum

Yes, someone out there trusts me with the national curriculum, red pens and a classroom… scary, isn’t it? Not so! I’m going to filling out an awful lot of lesson plans just like the best and the rest of them.

I got into my PGCE course.

Just after my adventures of asking for hot tea in Chicago and the Southern States of the USA (both are harder than you might think), I finally sent my application for Teacher Training into the big, wide world for me. This had its advantages and disadvantages. Pluses included that I would put my skills at the school to good use, I could potentially have a career in something I enjoyed doing, it would stop people going ‘you should really apply for teaching’ and it would give me a brilliant excuse to do junk modelling. There was also the fact that, at this point, all I had to lose was a non-returnable off peak return train ticket.

The one real disadvantage? If this didn’t work, then what the hell was I going to do? I was hardly scraping the barrel here,  but I would be very upset if I wasn’t suitable for the course. Somehow, as much as I wanted it, it would make me feel that I was letting down others too, as well as proving that I was unsuitable for any kind of test or second interview.

About two weeks later, I was asked for an interview at Oxford Brookes. I had chosen Oxford Brookes as I wanted to get as much experience as possible with the classroom, plus it would give me a great chance t return to the area where I grew up. I know Oxford and all that malarky rather well, after spending my childhood there.

So, how weird is this? A decade ago, I left the area I called home . Now, a decade later, I’m returning there again! Yay!

My joy at the interview lasted about thirty seconds, after I realised the preparation I would have to do. Armed with shortbreads and a pint of coffee, I promptly went on to the internet and read every bit of information I could find. I discovered it was conviently split into two camps of ‘DON’TYOUHAVETOAWRESTLEATROLLORSOMETHINGBEAFRAID!BEVERYVERYAFRAID!’ or ‘It’ll all come out in the wash, you’ll see’. I placed myself in the middle of those two, and started revising the densest piece of text I have seen since University.

The interview day went really, really well. I first had to teach a task in five minutes to a small group of adults. I decided to teach people how to make origami paper boats. Thankfully, it’s one of those skills that doesn’t take you very long to do, and after a while you can almost do it without looking at your hands. After that, I had to sit through a maths test (to which I still do not know two of the answers), write an essay, something similar to ‘What I did on my Holidays’, so they could analyse my writing style. Alongside this, I walked around the campus and it just felt right to me. It reminded me of my Undergraduate University, except that Oxford Brookes was built on the 1950s and does not have the smell of damp that I always associate with my old department, and there isn’t a history of Quakerism. On top of that, I could easily imagine myself in the classrooms or living back on the campus. I always thought that it was a good sign when you look around somewhere and go ‘I could live here’.

After a quick lunch, where everyone casually tried to figure out how well each other had done, I went off to have a half hour interview, where I only managed to talk myself into a corner once. After that, I went home, feeling strangely calm, instead of the jitters I usually feel after an interview.

So, now I actually have a direction to aim to. I am applying for part time work to raise some cash for the course, I’m attempting to understand the legal-ease that is the Student Loan application, and for once, I am content because I think I made the right decision.

Heaven knows I’m mildly annoyed now…

I would by lying if I said that this week had been easy for me.

Firstly, I have now properly left my Christmas job. Once again, they could not take on after Christmas, but I know they will be in touch if anything changes. It was only weird in that my leaving felt like the last half an hour of the ‘Return of the Kings movie’. Because the weather last week had been a tad extreme for this neck of the woods (and that the snow plough did not reach my road until the afternoon), I came in to work a day in lieu for the extra time off I took last week. This means that I have essentially now said goodbye to everyone at least three times now… here’s hoping they don’t think I’m like an endless Frank Sinatra ‘I’m really retiring now, honest!’ concert.

It’s a strange experience, going through the motions for the last time. As I looked around the staffroom at all the damaged Twilight books, it occurred to me that I could now shop as a customer, instead of a feeling like a bookseller in disguise. I will miss the jokes, the customers, the type of work, but I will also miss being part of a job where your opinions count. Anyone who has worked in any shop can tell you at least 3 stories off the top of your head can tell you of a customer who has acted like you were simple, deaf, or that you are about to have some bad news explained to you, and so you can only understand by someone telling you v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. Where I worked, my opinion on books counted to the customer (even if, admittedly, I never admitted in any certain terms that I hated the novel-I just used terms like ‘powerful’ or ‘niche’ instead). It’s refreshing to be in a job asked what you thought. This is the same reason I enjoyed working in the Deli, and at a restaurant when I was at University.

My problem, only a day after I properly finished, is that now I feel a tad aimless. I have a list of things to do, but now the centre of my week has been taken away from me, I have a lot- maybe even too much-of time to do it in. There is also the fact that I am a lot more prepared for another bout of joblessness. I have pile of CVs that only need some mild tweaking, I have already got some applications written, I have a pile of Hospital radio stuff that I was able to work my way through in double quick time (this is partly because it has hung over my head all Christmas and I wasn’t able to do anything about it), all the books I got for Christmas are nearly finished. When all is said and done, I’m really rather bored right now.

There is also the fact that if I have nothing to do, my brain decides to work the night shift. Already, I am starting to fall asleep at 1am, getting up at 8am,  having a selection of espressoes, and then wondering why my body clock has moved 3 hours west of Iceland.

Yes, I am complaining about being organised, but the fact is, all I can now see is my spare time floating in front of me, and I would rather I was actually making myself more useful. Of course, you could also say that my CVs and cover letters need tweaking if I have been looking for Graduate work for well over a year, but then I could easily call you a few things if you think that.

Secondly, is the fact that sometimes, I could really hate social network sites.

Moral of the story is: don’t add me if you don’t like me, and please remove your comments about me from your Facebook page. That way, your wall won’t look like a shrine to your immaturity, you won’t look like an idiot and I won’t care what you actually think.

Right, my moaning is over, I have completed today’s list, and the RSI from playing Guitar Hero has gone down. Time to pretend I am a rock god, me thinks!

Normal (within a selection of defined parameters), optimistic and bubbly Graduatecalling will resume shortly, I imagine.

It is an ex-dole folder, it has ceased to be.

Honestly, this is something like the fifth thing that came up when I typed 'Dole Folder' into Google Image

Today, because my mum finally lost patience with the fact that my stuff was piled up in every room of the house, I was made to do the annual trawl. This largely requires me to argue that ‘it might come in useful’ at my parents, sulk, and then throw t all into bin bags. I will then spend the next three days wondering if I have thrown out anything important (however, within a month, I will have forgotten what exactly I threw out).

You, being the intelligent type that you are, may have noted that I do not like cleaning out my stuff. My parents, as wonderful as they are, do not see ‘mess’ as I do. My mum likes the bed to be made, the place to be hoovered and for things to be dusted. I, as a rule, generally do not see my stuff as ‘mess’, until I have piles above my knee, I have actually lost something (“I know where it is, it’s in the middle of THAT pile!” was the constantly heard refrain to my housemates in my last year), or I have tripped over something. It’s enough to cause a bit of friction with my folks, but I’m getting better. I even learnt how to iron shirts last week (I never had any shirts at uni, so never bothered).

As I was planning my escapade, my mum pointed out that I could throw away all the paper I had accumulated.

“Yeah” I responded, wondering how I could put it off for longer.

“You could even get rid of all that paper the Job Centre made you keep.” She added, making me realise that she had probably spotted the dust on top it.

For a few seconds, my brain appeared to have turned into the angel and devils you see on the shoulders of characters in Looney Tunes. One side of my brain positively rejoiced from throwing away the folder full of cover letters, rejection letters, ‘New Deal’ information, the ‘proof of working hours’ forms (the one that even the staff turned round to me and said ‘Yeah, it’s appallingly written, isn’t it?’), and a few random letters from the DWP. All of it, unless you are me, is largely difficult to make or tail of.

It was my other reaction that startled me, as the victory music my brain chose- Journey’s ‘Don’t stop believing- a gut feeling told me that I wanted to keep it. For around four or five months, this little folder felt like my comfort blanket against bureaucracy. It was bought every fortnight to the dole office to show them that I had put some effort into applying for vacancies. I had used it to watch my (backsliding) progress with interviews (even if the ’sent off letters’ section was bursting at the seams compared to the ‘replies’ part), and had used it many times to prove interviews abroad. If it wasn’t for the folder full of the information about everything I could possibly think of, there is a good chance that I would have not made it to Holland for the job interview.

Yes, a mis-sorted scrapbook of all of your failures for a good part of 2009 was a sad thing to want to still hold on to, but throwing it out felt like a waste. Alongside this, there was a thought that I just needed to check with my parents.

“But, what about if I need to sign on again?” I asked. This was a thought that had been swimming around my head for a few weeks, ever since I knew that my Christmas job was coming to an end.  After a few months of being employed, I didn’t want to go back to feeling as low as I had been right then.

“That won’t happen.” was the immediate reply, when my Mum saw my face. The dole had been practical, but the DWP had been about as useful as a chocolate teapot. “This is not last year. There are a lot more businesses, and people are looking for staff now. We’ll find a way round it this time.”

Needless to say, the original side of my brain broke out into a parade, and refused to show any form of sentimentality to that pile of misery, and was only stopped from burning it because A4 paper is not as good a firelighter as old newspaper.

***

Also, if you are from out of the UK, you may have heard about our snow, and I imagine that you will be laughing until a tiny bit of wee comes out. Being a Brit, it seems, seems to be largely about complaining about how cold it is and running out of salt.

It does all seem rather nuts sometimes about the amount of fuss several inches of snow can cause in winter, but you may not understand one factor about the climate here; it’s damp.

The UK (and Ireland for that matter) receive a heck of a lot of rain for most of the year. Because of this, the climate is wet. Without sounding like I am talking to a class of 6 year olds, this makes the climate chilly-which happens to be the bane of my life.

January, for the UK and for me in general, is constant freezing rain. When snow does arrive, it is usually in my neck of the woods fairly light, and destroyed by the rain in a day or two. To actually have a few inches of snow, snow that actually sticks about and causes pretty icicles or snow that causes schools to be shut and adults to panic buy food (which is fairly ridiculous I admit, but it’s hard to ignore a weather report that essentially tells you to REPENT YOUR SINS, THE END TIME HAS ARRIVED!!!) is fairly rare. Certainly, I have never known people in the area to be using sledges for well over a decade, or maybe more.

It’s been a lot of fun for the past couple of days. All you can hear everyday is the sound of sledges, I have been in a skidding car, and I even built Dennis (who fell over after one and a half hours as his body overly relied on the Greenhouse behind him).  I even can’t be angry at it for too long, as if you watch it as the passenger in the car, the landscape is beautiful.

My Snowman, Dennis