Living to be the next 'in-turn'

I don’t like the word ‘Intern’; I’d prefer to call us something along the lines of ‘Company Observers’ or ‘Spectators of Workplaces,’ for that better describes what we do.

We come in, meet the team, receive a desk and sometimes even a phone number and email address by which we are contactable. We drink the company coffee, learn by example and if we’re really lucky, we actually contribute rather than merely examine the colour scheme of the office, or the efficiency of their recycling procedures.

The word ‘Intern’ suggests to me that we ‘in turn’ might… make the coffee, get a byline, be offered a job…? I suppose I should acknowledge the fact ‘intern’ doesn’t in reality stem from the combining of the two above words. Such is life.

As an Intern, you never actually admit to your powerlessness. On speaking to clients or companies over the phone, you confidently lead them into a false sense of security. “My name’s Georgie and I work at the ‘insert your company here’”.

Again, you live and breathe as though you were a tax paying, benefits accruing, hard-working, company employee. It doesn’t matter that, in fact, the only thing you share with your ‘colleagues’ is the fact that you buy your lunch at Waitrose; they use their neat salary, you use your £5 lunch allowance, keen to maintain appearances of grandeur and secretly determined to spend every penny of your essentially free lunch.

When you do get a byline, it stares back at you from the page, as incredulous as to how it got there as you are. No matter, it is there for the world (or in some cases a slightly smaller percentile) to see, absorb and ultimately judge. It’s slightly like hanging your undies on the washing line on the day your brother invites all his friends over for a beer and BBQ.

Building up a portfolio of work is, I think, the same as compiling a photo album. It’s self-absorbing, ego-boosting (like having a great tan line in that photo) and it is that all important proof that you have not simply wiled away the summer watching re-runs of Dawson’s Creek and Hollyoaks. It’s something to look back on in years to come and show the family. “Here’s what I did that summer after I graduated,” says an older, and more wrinkled you flicking through pages of neat prose and copy. Hours and hours and hundreds more hours of unpaid work. “That’s great Granny. Can I go on my skateboard now?” Perhaps not quite the reaction you were after.

It's been a funny day

It's been a funny old day today.

Fridays normally make me happy; it's dress down day at work and we generally finish a good 45 minutes earlier than usual and bring out the beverages for a cheeky 25 minute social pre-weekend gathering.   It's a time to breath a sigh, sip a wine and for me... be embarrassed by whatever remark my two bosses decide to launch my now-suspecting way. (For anyone that doesn't know me, I have a tendency to blush whenever the attention is on me, not because I'm embarrassed but because...well actually, I don't know why, I used to be great in the centre of attention, I wanted to be the next Judi Dench and really could act and sing and be on stage and do it well. But since leaving school, it's as though my inner actress has simply resigned; if I get too much attention, I feel myself turn that merry old shade of lobster red and I simply cannot shake it. I wish I could, I think it's psychological. It happened once, and now it just happens sporadically and generally at the most inopportune of moments, like meeting a cute guy, or being asked a question in front of the office at work. Sigh.) Anyway, digressing. I really am not shy. I can talk for England, or write for England perhaps you are thinking, (the amount I ramble on about absolutely nothing interesting). 

So back to today. I sort of found myself a little bit in limbo. Having worked 'where I am' for almost 5 and a half months, I was reminded today of the refuge I had take in temporary work, almost to the extent that I believed it would never end. My boss suddenly called across the office, 'Georgie, is this your last day today?' and the lead 'whatever' that runs inside of me plummeted to the depth of my toes and I suddenly feared I would once again be unemployed and 'looking for work' (as that is officially recognised as a state of being now).  I have possibly another week at work where I am, perhaps two if I'm lucky, but then I return to that well trodden path of job-seeking and 'decision-with-consequences' making - neither of which I am much looking forward to.

A handful of us went for a drink after work and having spent copious months with a minimal-at-best social life, it was a relief to just have a drink and be driven through town with the windows down and a vocal appreciation for a Bon Jovi CD resounding through the air.  

Once home, it seemed as though my Dad had brought half the army combat gear back with him from work before he heads off to 'wayward places' - (he is RAF, but his kit suggests otherwise.) I even had the especially surreal experience of trying on a bullet proof camo vest, gas mask, hard hat (for want of a better definition) and trekking boots. The bullet proof vest as you might imagine was full of solid panels that felt like concrete but is actually far lighter than those used by the mil in Afghanistan, etc. I immediately felt strange wearing such an essential piece of gear that's sole purpose is to prevent death, but also comforted by its substantial thickness.  The gas mask reminded me a tad of scooba diving and that sensation of breathing into a snorkel that I never really liked and could never adjust to. I didn't keep that particular piece of paraphernalia on for very long. 

Another weird element to my 'unusual' Friday was the conversation we had in the evening; reminiscing on our earliest memories, whether they be fabricated through photos or legitimate visual recollections.  Mine was when I was two and a half, dressed in a red snow suit and sitting on a rocking horse in a German hospital, with my Mum, sister and Godmother while I was suffering from Croup. The rest is sketchy. My Dad remembered being waste-high to a snow drift but wasn't sure whether it was only photos that had induced such a clear and defined memory. It's odd how you can remember something so vividly only to find out that you have remembered it entirely wrong or with little sparks of creativity along the way. A study in the last decade or so gathered a group of adults and showed them a series of photos from their life.  One photo had been fabricated to show a hot air balloon ride that never actually took place and almost every single one of the participants built a believable and nostalgic story surrounding the non-event.  I wonder how often we see photos of ourselves as youngsters and engineer a whole memory solely from that one visual aid. Manipulation at its best??

Now I know many of you might be disappointed by this blog and its lack of wit or humour, but I've been feeling uncreative for a while and tonight I just wanted to write something contemporary rather than try to delve into the past and recreate some exciting or fascinating event from a period of my life. I hope you trust me when I say there is plenty more to come of 'My own little Hogwarts' and 'The Alabama Chronicles' (amongst others) and I hope you'll all continue to read and comment on any of my blogs that you like.

Happy April Fools for anyone who suffered the wrath of such a day. (I believed Facebook was being shut down. Shame on you Sam and Amy.) Besos a todos.

The Highway Code

'Little Dog Syndrome'

I watched an advertisement the other day that I laughed at.  At first I wasn't sure what angle they were going for as people zipped along pavements with furious expressions, sending passers-by hurtling in random directions and narrowly avoiding collisions. They revved and snarled and seemed truly incensed about life and their surroundings.  The tag line was something like 'You wouldn't act this way on the pavement so don't act this way in a car' and I actually cackled.  I sat there thinking, 'That is so totally OTT, people just DON'T act like that when they are driving'.  I thought it was just another far fetched ploy by the advertising companies to make a little money with an analogy that didn't quite fit.  Today however, I regret I was proved wrong.  

Today I took my first long distance drive. (All you Americans out there will mock my definition of long distance but regardless, it was the furthest I've yet gone solo by car.)  I drove from Barnard Castle in County Durham to Newark in Lincolnshire, a drive that takes around 2 and a quarter hours.  Straightforward, direct and for the most part relatively pleasant, this journey should have been a doddle.  All I had to do was drive through town, join the A66 for 10 miles to the Scotch Corner roundabout and then A1 South all the way to Newark. To be honest I don't think I did too badly.  After crawling along behind a 'monster'* tractor in an uphill struggle towards the A66, (all the while worrying that either he or I would have engine failure and start sliding downhill,) the 10 mile stretch towards Scotch Corner was a delightful stream of ups and downs as the dual carriageway rolled gracefully along with the hills.  

*'monster' - wheels the width of my car and twice the height that would no doubt squash me and my little Polo into the tarmac... never to be seen again.  

At Scotch Corner (I for some reason always picture a Scotch Egg when I hear this place mentioned...) I completely disregarded both intuition and parents' advice telling me to position myself in the right hand lane and swerved across into the left hand lane. It was one of those moments where you wonder whether your brain and hands belong to two entirely different human beings as there appears to be no obvious connection.  I knew I should be in the right lane but my hands weren't having any of it.  Somehow I managed to scrape little Polly Polo across at the last minute, screaming at me for trying to accelerate away hard in first gear and not at all thanking me for it afterwards.  

Once onto the A1, I cruised along for a little while at a safe 73mph singing along to oldies like American Pie and Build me up Buttercup when all of a sudden I felt a whoosh of air as another monster vehicle practically took the side of my car off.  It was a big silver beast and was gone before I got a good glimpse of who was driving such a pretentiously enormous car.  A presumed case of 'Little Man Syndrome'.  I grumbled and edged across into the left hand lane for safety.  Natasha Bedingfield 'I Bruise Easily' came on and I giggled at the irony.  "I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me." 

I began to understand what my driving instructor used to say about how you can very quickly be dragged into a torrent of fast moving traffic when on the motorway.  It reminded me of the swimming pool at Center Parks where the rapids take you around on a little course and everyone moves at a different speed.  If you don't want to be smashed about you have to 'go with the flow' and weave in and out of people, all the while feeling slightly out of control of your own body. On a motorway, if you want to avoid being stuck behind a lorry you have to pick your moment carefully in which to fuse with the deluge of cars next to you.  Once you have accomplished that tricky manouever, the ominous black SUV is starting to threaten annihilation from behind so you brake and get sucked back across into the slower *and safer* moving traffic once again. And such is life on a motorway. Forever speeding up, slowing down, speeding back up again. Hardly economical really.  

At one point I almost ended up on the M1 but spotted the tell-tale sign at the last minute that told me to re-align with the right stream of traffic.  Lucky me.  I feel like I did an OK job; Polly was in one piece by the end of it, I played a continuous stream of sing-along songs to keep my cool and I arrived at the correct destination without even having glanced at a SatNav (which is more than I can say for a lot of people...)

Photo from this link

The A Team goes for Plan B

The World in colour

I am the A Team. Singularly. When Plan A doesn't work, I invent Plan B. When Plan B doesn't work I look to Plan C and so on and so forth. Plan A was to become an airhostess and travel the world with British Airways - (read my first post to see why). Plan B was to power through drama school and become an actress (I applied to audition for Hermione on Harry Potter - read 'My own little Hogwarts' to see why).  Plan C was to be a teacher, but then I decided I really just didn't want to be. 

I've gone through most career options and zipped through the Alphabet with assorted 'Plans' and reckon I'm back at about Plan B, for the second time around.  Plan B) ii) is to go and see the world. Or at the least leave England which I haven't done in almost 18 months. 

I'm staring at the recently acquired map of the world taking up the entire far wall of my room and it's colourful. Not just because I've graffitied it with my 'already visited' and 'aim to visit' colour-coded stickers, but because the map itself is...colourful. 

Canada for example is Green. I'm not sure why Canada is green, perhaps they have a lot of grass there. Spain is a pale shade of Pink. I'm fairly sure there's no pink in the Spanish flag. The sea is Blue- well, that at least is reassuring. I look at the world map and it's multicoloured, it's diverse, it shows variety which is exactly what the map itself represents; an individuality about its population, a uniqueness about each place.  

When I lived in the USA, my sister and I wrote out a list of all 50 states and we kept it in the car.  Whenever we travelled, and we usually did so on a rather epic scale, we contented ourselves to peer out of the window and scrutinize every car registration plate in order to find one from each state.  They were all different; Alabama (our state) said 'Heart of Dixie' and had pink flowers and blue writing.  I don't remember the others so well. But it was fundamentally a task of completion, a small substitution for actually visiting EVERY state.  We completed it during our final few months, with Alaska being the final, devilishly elusive state.  (Apparently no-one on the Interstate was ever from Alaska.) 

My point is (I have slightly digressed here) that seeing the world is for me the ultimate goal of completion. To see what exists to be seen and to be lived; not to take our planet for granted but to recognize that it provides a spectrum of differences, although fundamentally united by similarities.  It would take a lifetime to go everywhere, but we can all aim high.  I will probably not see the entire world, but I shall endeavour to get a glimpse of it if I can. 

Japan in our thoughts

I've got to admit, before today I was completely in the dark about the tragedies that have been tearing through Japan's coastal regions over the last few days.  I was elsewhere doing irrelevant things and hadn't bothered to watch the news.  Today I read on the BBC that the consequences of the earthquake and tsunami will result in a loss of life that has not be reached since Japan's WWII involvement and the death toll  is predicted to reach 10,000 in single areas alone.  It was just over six years ago that the countries fringing the Indian Ocean were hit by a series of earthquakes, which produced tidal waves of enormous capability and shocked and horrified the world.  It's an unimaginable case of dejavu, with footage once again showing people fleeing from rapidly approaching walls of water, cars desperately trying to outdrive the full force of the ocean and everything from buildings, boats and vehicles being swept along as the water literally surged inland.  

From my computer, it was surreal to acknowledge the people in cars as actual people, that the heartbreak and loss of life that literally unfolded before my eyes was every bit genuine footage.  In an attempt to pass the blame, I feel angry at the film industry for the part it plays in immunizing society from the shock of real disasters and for the momentary disbelief that I felt when I watched the footage.  It is a horrible horrible thing that has happened to Japan and the only consolation we can take is that some were able to evacuate the area beforehand.  To those left behind, hopefully aid will come in abundance from any countries or individuals that are able to give.  I hope we can all keep praying for those that are suffering, who have lost homes and families and have the mammoth task and responsibility of rebuilding their lives. 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-12725485
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-12307698

1001 page views

Typically I missed the 1000 page view mark. That would have been the one to preserve in my memory but unfortunately, when I came to refreshing the page, Raf-brat Georgilee had leapfrogged the 1000 mark and gone straight to 1001. Well, at least it's a nice round number...

I thought reaching my first little milestone deserved a blog post in tribute since when I started blogging a couple of months ago, I didn't think it would take off and I didn't imagine anyone would be interested in reading about my own little Hogwarts or our crazy, small-town life in Alabama.   But you have proved me wrong and I know that at LEAST half of my cherished page views are by actual people, not just my own 'old-reliable' computer.

It's been great fun writing little bits here and there about this and that, and hopefully, if you like what you have read you will recommend it as a bit of bed time reading to your friends and families and continue commenting as you have been doing on things you especially like!  You can even (although I think you could need a googlemail email add or Twitter or something) follow me, meaning you don't have to rely on me putting the latest on facebook to know what's gone up.  Click the follow button on the left of the blog and I guess just follow the instructions! (You must be able to tell I'm not technology minded; someone please buy me Blogging for Dummies.)

Let me know if any of you are blogging as I'd be interested in reading your stuff too.  Thanks guys, and happy Wednesday!

[Photo taken from Volleywood - blog entitled 'Greek League Resumes!']

Lunacy ad infinitum

My life is spinning like the headiness of a hangover.

One factor at the mercy of another at the mercy of another at the mercy of another.

The situation is like this. 

***The temping agency that I am registered with is currently seeking short term job opportunities for me. 

***Whether I can take any of said job opportunities depends entirely on whether my ex-employers would like me for a spot of extra work this week.  

***Whether I can accept my ex-employers' work offer depends entirely on whether the fantastic magazine publisher in London to which I have applied for a four week internship requires me to attend an interview this week.  

I'm expecting phone calls from all three of the above companies but not in any particular order. 

Idyllically, I would first hear from high profile London publisher, proposing an interview for this coming Friday.  

This would be followed by a phone call from my ex-employers, stating they would like my assistance for a few days this week (not dependent on 'which' days I can do). 

And thirdly I would hear from my trusted temping agency saying they have no available work for me this week but they remain ever diligent in their efforts to secure me something soon. 

Let the multi-dimensionality unwind.