Observations

Update: I have been successful for the first interview, but now await the date of a second one. Sigh.

So to interview yesterday - first of two in the next couple of days - and it went reasonably well I think. The main thrust seemed to be about why I was attracted to the job, which is something of a move away from the areas I have been working in till now, and I think I managed to put forward some convincing and cogent arguments.

Prior to going in, I was - as is usual for me - thinking that I would just say 'fuck it' and go home, but I took a deep breath, checked my tie in the mirror for about the hundredth time, and strode in. After a brief tour (very interesting facility they have, which - should I prove successful - I'm sure I'll write more about) I was deposited in the room for the scenario test, and despite my imagination concocting all kinds of things from a panel of professionals firing off questions to a full re-enactment of a road traffic accident, a la Casualty, it turned out to be two facilities-type questions to be answered on MS Word in 30 minutes. Again, I think I fared well enough, as I should with more than 20 years' experience in the field, and proceeded to the panel interview. They were not the scariest panel I have ever faced, and I found myself relaxing into the task as I went on, and could see that I was getting some positive responses. No doubt that last sentence will be the jinx which means that I don't get the bloody thing, but we will wait and see. There were, I was told, six candidates to be seen, and a possibility of a second interview to follow. I was also informed that they would feed back their decision quickly. And so I wait.



On the way there, I had an unwanted demonstration of the worst of this city as I sat on a bus at Parliament Square. A man got on and presented a £10 note to the bus driver, which has been a faux pas for at least the last ten years, and was told that only pre-paid tickets or passes could be used within the central zone. Not to be discouraged, the man said he only wanted to travel one or two stops and then he would get off and collect some change from a shop (as there is a Tesco Metro not far from the bus stop, his argument didn't really hold water, but there you go) but the driver was having none of it. By now, the patience of (no doubt) a lady civil servant near the front of the bus had been exhausted and she said, in a raised voice:

"What are you doing? Get a move on!"

The man ignored her and continued his futile negotiation with the driver and so the woman went on: "You're holding everybody up. Get off the bus!" she said. The man turned to us fortunate, seated passengers and waving his tenner, said:

"Has anyone got change?"

Everybody except the woman simply shook their heads and stared at the floor, while she ranted:

"NO! Now get off the bus!"

He realised that he could not go on and stepped out of the warmth of the doorway into the snow and freezing wind. As we moved off, the woman was saying to her companion:

"He was just wasting everybody's time. Ridiculous!" As if it was vitally important for her to get to her meaningless place of employment in Whitehall so that she could whinge about everyone over her coffee. All funded by the taxpayer. I ask you.

Onward and upward, as they say. Preparation for second interview now, which takes place tomorrow morning.

Once more unto the Breach

Another year, another interview. And it hasn't come any too soon let me tell you. I had a good feeling about the job when I first saw it advertised, and so far so good, though I will find out on Monday whether it gets any better. Between now and then I will be preparing some responses and wondering about the 'impromptu scenario' they've told me to expect before the interview itself starts. The location (oddly) was one of the reasons I felt optimistic about it, being as it is in the same area I've worked for the last three or four years. I don't know why that in itself made me feel more confident, but it did. Genius loci, or whatever.

Although the salary is a little less than I have been used to, the associated benefits more than make up for any disparity, so I will be happy enough with getting there and with my pay cheque at the end of each month. As for the organisation, well, I have always wanted to feel that I could offer a little back through my labour, and there will be an element of that. I won't say any more for fear of jinxing things, but it is at least a positive step.



And, as is often the case, the bus law seems to have come into force again, as I received a call immediately after hearing about the interview with an offer of - potentially - another job. This would be a contract (six month) position, but compensation for that would be received in the higher salary. Currently, needless to say, both irons are in the fire and I am going to do my best to keep the bellows going.

Luck be a lady on Monday morning, please.

Miracles

A graph from the Office for National Statistics on age profiles. Interesting how it resembles a Rorschach blot, don't you think?

DISCLAIMER. This post was due to go live tomorrow, but I've been looking through my archives and realised that I have posted on 2nd February in each year since I started this thing (I only began in June 2007, and could not have done so in that year, even if I'd wanted to) so the anally retentive numerologist in me just had to make the change to today. For that reason, the piece may not be as (ahem) exquisitely crafted, and adherent to Aristotelian Unities as you would normally expect, so please forgive me, but here goes.

As I watch my life ebbing away to the background of Bargain Hunt and re-runs of Top Gear, I realise that all the current noise about ageing, death and all that brouhaha is becoming increasingly relevant to me. A terrifying spectre punctured the fog of my cold-infected brain the other morning as I listened to Today on Radio 4. Somebody was speaking about the population profile of the UK, and came up with an image of certain towns in this country only being populated by pensioners as our inevitable march towards immortality (though it looks set to be an immortality of almost total lameness, propped up by countless interventions and cocktails of drugs. No thank you) continues. I'm no spring chicken, as you are doubtless fully aware, but the thought of living only among the over 60s in such circumstances is not an attractive one, to say the least. I've nothing against the older generation per se, and as with any age group, I do try to speak as I find. There are of course as many curmudgeonly kids as there are sprightly OAPs. But I digress.

What I wanted to elucidate was the feeling of confusion I have over medical science in these marvellous modern times. We are proving ourselves increasingly able to defy nature and prolong life (in whatever condition said life may be) almost indefinitely. Don't misunderstand me, I have no ethical objection to stem cell research or any of that good stuff, and I can too completely understand why any family would wish to try and keep someone alive for as long as possible. I also respect those who (on the flip side, if you will) wish to push the boundaries of legality and question the status quo when it comes to the right to die. Terry Pratchett is - and we would expect no less - making a fine stand on this point, as I'm sure you will have heard. It is a complex issue, no doubt about it, and open to some SERIOUS abuse, which is why I feel that English law (though an ass, let's face it) is perhaps for once best suited to dealing with it - i.e., on a case-by-case basis. If only the media could be kept at a distance, we might see some sense. But that ain't gonna happen.

So (once again trying desperately to return my thoughts to the original argument) I really want to talk about the disparity between what we are capable of when it comes to keeping people alive, thanks to increasingly sophisticated treatments (along with - naturally - much hand-wringing to accompany them) and our inability to safeguard the health of children for the want of the most basic care in countries less fortunate than our own.

I have a problem understanding where we're going with this, and begin to question the point of it. Why do we expend so much money and effort in developing procedures and medicines which can fight almost any disease (even the most fundamental disease of growing old) and injury when we allow millions of kids to die from malaria (I'm sure Ashton Kutcher is well-intentioned and all, but it won't really cut the mustard, will it?) and malnutrition every year? Especially when the treatments are only available to a - in relative terms - select few. In much the same way as Barack is diverting vast sums from the 'folly' of space flight to pay for some much needed basic stuff back home, perhaps we could think about doing something similar with the extraordinary sums pumped into prolonging what is often already a lost cause on the hospital wards? Easily said, I know.

Stormont in a tea cup?

The other night I managed to watch Ken Loach's The Wind That Shakes The Barley, which concerns early 20th Century Republicans and highlights the brutality of the Black & Tans. This is a period of history not taught in schools (well, not in my day. Though admittedly I may have been sketching colonies on Jupiter [I know now of course that Saturn is the only planet which can sustain human life] in my notebook, if not playing flea racing with Mike Pike, I'm sure I don't remember anything about Irish history, yet I can clearly recall the Bessemer burner and the Corn Law Repeal Act of 1777) but which I believe definitely should be. It has informed, and continues to inform, so much of the political landscape in the UK.
The following day, I watched some of Simon Schama's History of Britain, which was concerned with the Great Potato Famine, and the re-enacted scenes of the landlords wreaking havoc on the small communities in the West of Ireland in the aftermath of the famine echoed strongly for me as I watched the Black & Tans exacting their reprisals on the people.

Brown and Cowen (sorry, but - jeez, what a toad!) suddenly at Stormont. Stones at Altamont. Peter Robinson and Mrs Robinson, milf wife, though nobody's talking about that now, which indicates how seriously everyone is taking it. Ian Paisley, Bob Paisley (of an era, strangely, though of course the wrong Paisley is dead) Gerry Adams and Martin McGuinness keeping those dissidents in check for the time-being. Well, it must be pretty boring going back to watching daytime TV and popping to the shops when you've been used to organising mass bombings and ambushes of the British Army, so the balaclava boys are no doubt itching to get out there again.

Did they use a fish-eye lens?

Mark Simpson reminds me of Patrick Kielty and his glasses are just the wrong side of fashion-conscious to be very annoying. He tells us - and we have to believe every word he says because he is wearing a nice black coat - that there is no prospect of a return to full-scale violence. The sticking points, according to the lovely Mark, are around policing and justice and those bloody awful parades those weirdos in the bowler hats seem to love so much. Personally speaking, I have always leaned towards the Republican cause, mostly because I never liked parades. Apart from the Rio and Notting Hill carnivals.

Delicious

A straight City post today. Aren't you the lucky ones?



I know when to eat my words, have no fear about that. I am not afraid to say: 'I was wrong' and change my opinion on a subject. That subject is - of course - Carlos Tevez. I have previously blogged that I felt he was not a great signing, believing some of the busted flush stuff I had read, and the limited evidence I had seen for myself in matches. Now, 17 goals to the good and a fabulous spat with Neville Neville's lad, I am prepared to admit that I was mistaken. The return leg midweek is set to be a corker (I hope I'm not putting the mockers on anything) if the last one is anything to go by.

So, the wonderful little Argie aside, as well as the always satisfying victory over the Rags, what's the state of play at Eastlands now, according to the Great Sage - i.e., me?

To start with, I believe Mancini had an easy ride up to the Everton match, which I always thought would be a toughie. I had, however, expected a bit more from us than we showed in that game, and it was something of a capitulation, straight out of the City old school - despite Everton being (as always) hard bastards and right up for it. United are a bit of a curate's egg (in its original sense, if you please) at present, with Rooney almost looking like he's the only good part of the team, so beating them made for a relatively easy and somewhat odd task, even if there were a few dicey moments towards the end. We've pretty much strolled past our other opponents since the Italian took over, and no disrespect to Scunthorpe fans, but the FA Cup doesn't look to have dealt us such a bad hand either. Well, we shall see, eh?

General thoughts on the team? Given continues to be fantastic, but we still look frail at the back, though I don't think either Lescott or Bridge being out of action has necessarily contributed to that. Richards' fine goal against Blackburn aside, I have serious doubts about him, and Zabaleta is all fire and no finesse, seemingly in danger of picking up a booking almost every time he goes into the tackle. Toure is fine, if a bit long in the tooth (though not as long as Sylvinho, that's for sure)

Midfield is decent, though I was hoping for a bit more from Daddy Dick this season. Barry has been solid if unimaginative and De Jong is excellent as a Gattuso style breaker-upper. Up front, well, no worries as long as Tevez can continue his run of form, if Bellamy can come back into his, and if SWP (I realise he isn't a forward in the true sense of the word, but he is very much an attack-minded player) stops being so infuriating and puts together a couple of decent performances for us. I had my doubts about Adebayor before the incident in Angola, so it's anyone's guess what sort of player he will be when he does return to the first team.

Not that I'm really interested in it, but FWIW in the 'us making or not making the top 4 this season' argument, I am firmly in the 'not' camp. We are still prone to too many stupid defensive errors, and are readily rolled over by determined teams who won't allow us to play our quick break game.

All in all it must be said, not too unhappy so far. Except that I cannot fathom the Vieira thing. Not one bit.

Walthamstow

Due to a very minor ironic twist, I ended up in Walthamstow on Friday, but I did not get there by bike. Rather I was on the bus. On the way to a little job - little being the operative word, and I think it unlikely to cause the taxman too many concerns - with a good friend and one-time business associate. The interminable ride on the 230 did not exactly inspire me to follow up with a cycle, although I have never been to the market before, and it might be worth seeing that.

We were feeding some CAT6 cables to the head end of the sound system within a church; one of those massively popular places that seem to be able to deny the realities of credit crunch Britain as if protected by some divine power... No, wait...

Anyway, it was good to be doing something which did not result in a net outpouring of funds for a change. Although introduced as 'one of our top technicians' I betrayed my woeful lack of knowledge about all things jumpered and patched, and although we wasted about 13 metres of good cable, the job was done to the client's satisfaction, meaning that we were at last rewarded with the IP address displayed on the command line. I assure you that I was not conducting some kind of anti-religious dirty protest, but I managed to spread copious amounts of dog shit from the bottom of my shoe around most of the establishment. I sincerely hope that this will not mean that no further business will be done.

And there's the thing. Further business. Much needed at present, so if you want something done, why not consider Solar Organic? We are in the business of solutions, and always provide value by design, so give us a go. I will check my shoe thoroughly before entering your home or place of work, I promise. Even though it might mean that I'm reverting to my blue collar roots, and eschewing the protection of Messrs Brown and Cameron by quitting the middle class (I never really fitted in anyway. Monthly payments are far too infrequent for me) you could make me feel like a viable human being again, so it would be well worth your while.

Torpor

Fuck this arctic weather pattern, rendering a coffee outside impossible. Fuck this snow, causing the old and infirm (and occasionally the young and fit - you know who you are) to fall down and strain, sprain or break things; leaving trails of salt all up the stairs; turning to filthy brown slush; balling itself up so that kids can throw it at buses; turning the news into endless pieces to camera by some idiot standing on a bridge over the M1 saying how cold it is in the Yorkshire Dales. Fuck it.

But worst of all are the postponements. The stupid bloody weather has stolen one of the few beacons of joy in the bleak, post-solstice world we find ourselves in by forcing the risk-averse 'managers' (I choose my words carefully) who seem so prevalent in life these days to cancel football matches. There is no justice. As some twat said on the BBC yesterday or one other day in the recent past - 'This is the 21st Century, and people want to know why we can't function normally just because a bit of snow falls'. Comparisons have been made with Novosibirsk, where everything runs smoothly in temperatures of minus 200 and octogenarians skip about in 6 feet of snow carrying 40lb backpacks full of coal. Which they will eat, rather than burn. Personally, I blame Fearne Cotton.

Anyway, as the City site says - somewhat dramatically - tonight's game GOES AHEAD! So, in the absence of any Gooner shite to show, I think I will take a punt that the local might manage to tune into ESPN and hie me down there to watch it.

Then tomorrow, with my injured ankle slowly improving, I will strive to emerge from the shell. If Carol on the weather this morning is to be believed, the temperature should be slowly climbing as we head through the week, so it will be time to put some air in the tyres, tighten the brakes a bit, don the gloves and hat and hit the road. I've had an idea to cycle to the end of each of the tube lines (with the exception of the Heathrow end of the Piccadilly, due to horrendous roads, though I may change my mind on that one, depending how the project goes) starting with the northern end of the Victoria Line. That shouldn't be too arduous from here, and will be a good introduction to the project. I will follow that with the northern end of the Piccadilly and work my way round from there, taking the odd picture and writing a few bits on here. Well, that's the plan anyway.