Nerves

Apologies for the recent online silence, but I have been in mourning for the (to all intents and purposes) end of Manchester City's season. I thought we were doing OK against Chelsea in the first half, but they fucked us in the end. At least we weren't the ones on which Torres bust his still intact cherry, and for that small mercy we can only be grateful. The Kiev match was a wash-out once Balo had received his marching orders, even if it was something of a relief that we were out of that stupid Europa League competition. I am now reduced to hoping that the Rags get caught by the Gooners in the finishing straight. Fourth spot is by no means a foregone for us, and that will sure as eggs is eggs seal Mancini's fate if it so transpires.

But enough of this maudlin talk. We have failed two big tests and have to move on. Now for another test - this time for me.

I mentioned my NEBOSH training in a recent post.

And now the moment of truth approaches. Yes, it's the exam. A two hour pen and paper assessment with a pass mark of 45%, due to commence at 10am on Thursday 24th March. The pass seems fairly easily achievable, and as a result I feel that I've become a little complacent. My original aim was to try and get a distinction (which I believe to be 70%+) or at least a merit (which I think is 60%+) but I am now fully prepared to settle for the pass. I don't have a particular fear of written exams, though, I have to say. I feel that I have always (at least since I left school. Whilst I was at school, through a mixture of laziness and some very poor teachers, I did rather abysmally) more or less performed well in such pressure situations. I'm just hopeful that I will get some of the more woolly questions about health & safety culture, where I can freeform bullshit, rather than the hard fact regurgitation of some of the other areas - although the PEME, ERICPD and POPIMAR pnemonics have sunk in, so I suppose I shouldn't have that much to worry about.

I never thought, I must confess, when I started here in what felt like a sleepy backwater after the madness of Defra/Interserve, that things would get as hectic as they have, but I'm not complaining. At least I've got a job, and if I do manage to achieve that pass, my CV will appear a damn sight healthier than it did before I arrived.

Education

I'm part way through a training course about health & safety. It's one I really should have taken at least 10 years ago, and - even worse - I sort of passed up the opportunity around that time once, in the distant days when I somehow felt I was in control of even a tiny particle of my own destiny. But I digress.

It's a very good course, I have to say, even taking into account the human propensity to appreciate any (learning) opportunity as we grow older, and it is also extremely demanding. No less than two hours' homework per night is required, answering recycled questions from previous exam papers. This highly challenging schedule naturally coincides with about a million other things going on in my life at the same time, as if my particular boat has floated out of some drowsy bayou into the maelstrom of a fully fledged mid-Atlantic depression, all at once. But no matter; that's the way things go sometimes.

As I said, health & safety is the name of the game. NEBOSH no less (NGC1) and always interesting when learning about legislation to see the disconnect between best practice and the real world. The trainer is firmly of the opinion that the Health & Safety At Work Act (1974) is good legislation, because it is worded in such a way that all possible eventualities relating to safety in industry are captured. Testament I suppose to this view is that the legislation is still active and relevant after 37 years, even though of course the detail of the Regulations and Approved Codes of Practice relating to it have changed as the years have gone by. This is the beauty of the primary legislation, which pins a duty of care on employers without being proscriptive and thus painting itself into a corner. And, an even better argument, witness that the number of workplace accidents has decreased markedly (a figure of 1.4 fatal injuries per 100,000 in 1992/93 was as low as 0.5 per 100,000 in 2008/09) since the Act was introduced. From that angle - and despite tragedies like the Herald of Free Enterprise, Piper Alpha, the Gulf oil spill and others - it's really hard to argue with.



Everyone of course still hasn't got a fucking clue about what the legislation really means, and persists in the pathetic 'elf 'n' safety gorn mad' cant about the smoking ban (actually brought in under the Health Act) and all manner of hackneyed shit, without realising what a great job this law is doing on their behalf.

In Gear

So, just in time for the end of oil, I have at last joined the driving classes. Yesterday was a very fraught one as I waited for the time to tick down to 3 o'clock and the start of my second test. I performed terribly, I thought, stalling the car 3 times and even trying to move off in 2nd gear, so that the examiner had to remind me to change down! I felt that I had done much worse than on the first attempt, was incredibly nervous and convinced that I would fail. But, the examiner uttered the following words as we pulled into the test centre:

"Alan. That's a pass."

My response?

"Are you serious?"

Thankfully he was, and he handed me the necessary paperwork and took away my provisional licence. It was actually the same examiner who tested me the first time, and he went through the same 'relaxation' routine again, asking me what I did for a living. Maybe it was because I told him I worked for the government as opposed to Channel 4, which disposed him more kindly towards me. Or maybe it was because there were several lunatics on the test course and I successfully managed to avoid death or serious injury. Without a word of a lie, as I waited at a junction in one of the quieter back streets of Wood Green, a vehicle passed that was clocking easily 50, maybe even 60, miles an hour. Who knows? In any case, the parts of the test I was worried about all went smoothly - most notably the reverse parking - and those I had no concerns about - such as hill starts - went badly wrong.

After it was all over, I felt as if I had been put through the wringer and had all of the emotional energy squeezed out of me. But for now, pending some insurance shenanigans, I can get behind the wheel and contribute to the great carbon emission competition.

Jumping in

Had a few last night, saying goodbye to one of my mates who is continuing his long-term plan to permanently settle in the sunshine. Bastard. On the 274 on the way home - fairly late, I suppose - I was listening to my iPod and reading my new Brian Clough book, so I didn't hear the commotion that was going on up at the front (I always sit at the back of the bus if I can) until things had obviously deteriorated somewhat. A bit pissed, I looked up and could see a young man remonstrating with the driver through the closed door. The bus moved off, and then slowed almost immediately, and I could see through the windscreen the guy approaching the front of the bus on the road. I could hardly believe my eyes as he reached up and removed one of the windscreen wipers (they are very large). The driver got up, opened the doors and started running up the street after the assailant. Then, almost immediately, he came running back and jumped back into the driver's seat, with the guy half-heartedly following him. I couldn't figure out what was going on, because there was none of the usual verbals. The bus started again, and I could see the guy on the right hand side of the road, deliberately running into the path of the slow-moving bus, forcing the driver to stop in order to avoid hitting him. He did the same thing again on the left, and still there were no arguments between them, no shouting. Everyone on the bus seemed to be ignoring it, and then the guy just gave up and the bus pulled away. The next stop was mine, and I was a little nervous that I might see him and somehow become involved in the insanity, but it didn't happen and I arrived home unscathed in the middle of The Negotiation Limerick File.



So, on to pastures new next week. After 10 years of security, it's strange to be at the mercy of the world, looking for something new every year, and it doesn't seem to get any easier to deal with the new boy apprehension of starting in another job - despite the oddly incestuous nature of working in a city as large as London. For example, at my last workplace, the person who I was initially covering (for maternity leave) used to work with someone who took a job (not mine) at the place I left, and several of the contractors I had worked with before. Now, I'm moving to a government department which one of my best friends worked for up until just before Christmas, and I have been to the pub a couple of times with one of his friends and colleagues, who will soon be one of my customers. I realise that Facilities Management is a relatively small field, but all of that still seems somewhat coincidental. Not that I'm a superstitious man. Oh no.

I admit to feeling a little nervous about the assignment, which is scheduled to last for 12-14 months. There appears to be a serious amount of 'change management' involved, and that is never easy when one is providing a service. It's possible that this change (which looks to be fairly major) will work to my advantage, but equally possible that it will all go tits up. Only time will tell, and the clock starts ticking at 10.00 on Monday morning.

It does mean that I will have to postpone my driving test re-take, which was scheduled for January 17th, as I will be involved in orientation (it's a complex estate, and will take some getting to grips with) for the next couple of weeks.

Word.

Trotters for tea

Bit tasty that was, eh?

Coming back from 2 down to win 4-2. Oh yes. I'll have nothing said about Rolando's snood. Not a word, now that he's settling in to the Manchester way of life at last.

And of course Liverpool bought the Katie. Just a shame that it was the Rags wot done it. I was hoping for either a nil nil or a 3-3 in that one, and similar for Arsenal/Chelsea, but you can't always get your druthers, can you?

Another bleeding interview today, which I think went reasonably well - at least better than the last one I did. Maybe by the middle of next year I'll have had enough practice to qualify as a decent interviewee. I don't think I did enough to get the job, and I'm not all that sure I want it, in any case. Time will tell, and I expect to find out later today. After that, not much till mid January now.

A merry fookin Xmas to one and all.

Elated in failure

It's odd, but I feel strangely exhilarated by my failed driving test today. The reality was much less harrowing than the prospect, and the examiner was a nice man who did everything he could to put me at my ease. He failed as spectacularly as I did, but at least he tried, bless him.

I failed on what I expected to fail on - the reverse parking manoeuver - and knew as soon as I heard the wheel hit the curb. But the feedback provided was excellent, and now at least I know where I need to focus in the next test.

Which will be on the 17th of January 2008.

Squeaky bum time

I think the next week or two are going to be very big for me.

As you know, I have my driving test on Tuesday. The instructor is becoming increasingly annoying, and either way, I'll be happy to see the back of him. A failure will mean going to another school for the lessons I think I might need in order to have another crack at it, a pass will mean just that.

My current job is ending at the end of December, and I have been scouting around for opportunities. Yesterday, I spoke with someone at an executive search company. It wasn't the kind of outfit I would have normally considered, but I was put in touch through someone I have worked with before. It will be interesting to see if anything comes of it.

I have also been talking to another agency about a job, and something was put on the table, but after about a week, I have heard nothing. To be frank, the job wasn't hugely appealing to me, so I would be quite glad if it was removed from the equation at this stage.

Finally, I have an application in for a job which would seem to be ideal for me. I hear that they aim to fill the post within 2 weeks, so (all being well) I should be contacted for an interview very soon. The prospect causes my sphincter to tighten ever so slightly, as I don't really like interviews. But, endure them we must. All in all, my mouth is silghtly dry as I ponder the definite, as well as potential, events that lie ahead of me.

Ah well, City are through to the quarters of the 3 handled cup, so that at least is good news.

Beep beep beep beep yeah

Only 13 days remaining till my driving test. I have now entered the 'final phase' of the seemingly interminable driving lessons I have been taking forever and ever and ever. I am too old to be going through this and I wish I had galvanised myself to do it sooner. But I didn't, so there you are.

Today was spent around the avenues and alleyways of Wood Green, turning the car around, reverse parking, reversing around corners and emergency stopping for two hours. Followed by a quick tour under the bonnet (Missus)

I don't particularly like my instructor, who is a singularly homourless man, and not best suited to the rigours of pedagogy, I feel. Shit, he can drive though, so that makes it all right, I guess.

The test itself is a blank book, and it is down to me to write the story. I seek alternative endings (jeez, my hat is raised to that guy - kids, wife, fly agaric, driving...), but know that I am likely to be propelled down the predictable soap slopes, most proly (as I am taking the test at Wood Green) with the 'Christ, didn't I see that coming?' ending.

But one can dream. I have sought advice, have travelled through despair, elation, anger and hope to where I am now, which is a state of reasonable competence and confidence. This will again evolve, without a shadow, to not much less than mild terror as the big day approaches.

It's a funny thing, driving. Even the pathetic little Micra I sit in on my lessons pits the equivalent punch of Tel Aviv's soi-disant nuclear arsenal (compared to, er, Tehran's - for example) against the fastest Allez (with a fully doped Spanish or Italian or French or American rider, making the most of his erythropoietin and banana with energy bar) but I don't get the same rush behind the wheel as I do when I am on two wheels, with the wind whizzing past my ears and the tarmac blur beneath me. And when I look around at the other folks who are negotiating the currents of London traffic, I figure (without wishing to be too derogatory) that it can't be that hard to master the art of driving.

If only there were some other reward at the end of it all...