SO NOW WHAT...?

Hi girls and boys. You just will not believe what has happened since my last blog. Honestly - if someone wrote my life as a book, no-one would publish it because everyone would be saying "But that kind of stuff never happens in real life!" Want to bet? Okay. So a quick recap of the last blog - Monday - find out redundancy is on. Tuesday - go to hospital to see consultant and get told camera down throat ( and in at the other end as it turns out) is inevitable. Here then - is the next episode.

Last Saturday, I received a letter from the hospital telling me I am booked in for the test on 15th May. Was shocked to learn colonoscopy is also on the cards and consequently went into deep depression (again - is being manic depressive all part of being a writer?). It ruined the weekend which was a shame because Hubby and I went down to Middle Sister's for a family tea on Saturday and I was too out-of-it to really enjoy it. Anyway, along came Monday and off I toddled to the office (like Shakespeare's schoolboy 'creeping like a snail, unwilling to school') and the guy I have been PA to said "Let's go out for a coffee and a Danish." As we were sipping our cappacinos he apologised to me for the way the company have handled the redundancy. He knew it was on the cards way back in December but had been told not to tell me. In the next breath he told me he would be resigning that day and I was the first to know. By mid-afternoon, he was gone and everyone was gobsmacked - mostly the Newish MD who walked around looking like a shell-shocked soldier for the rest of the day.

On Monday evening, Youngest Sister called. She was very worried about me, said I was not my usual self on Saturday and had lost all my sparkle. She convinced me I should make an appointment at the doctor's to find out why the endoscopy/colonoscopy thing is deemed necessary when my only symptom has been the anaemia - surely the sensible thing would be to try me on iron tablets first and see if they made a difference rather than subjecting me to the two horrible tests. I rang the doctor on Tuesday and got booked in for this Friday, so I will go armed with a list of questions.

Five minutes after getting to work, yesterday, Newish MD came into my little cubby hole. I knew, as soon as he shut the door, that he was going to lay something heavy on me. With my line manager now gone, they thought they had a new role for me. Would I be interested in heading up the new Customer Services department? Chairman walked in an hour later and reiterated how desperately they now need me to stay. What would it take, they wanted to know, to achieve that? By yesterday evening, I had a written proposal in my hand which I took home to show Hubby and discuss with him. Basically it would mean working the three and a half days a week I originally suggested months and months ago. The salary would drop but there would be the prospect of bonuses which would - theoretically - more or less make up for the shortfall.

Since all I have managed to line up is one interview and there is no guarantee I will get offered the job, Hubby thinks I should accept their offer and use it until something more suitable comes along - that way I don't actually wind up jobless for any length of time. Chairman has been with me most of today tying to persuade me to stay and he is prepared to be as flexible as I like.
I'd like to actually tell them to stuff it because only last week I was told they didn't need me and now they begging me to stay. But realistically, the offer they have made consists of of a pretty good package which I probably would be a bit daft not to at least try out.

Now - dear Blogspot Buddy - add to all that the fact that Sarah the Publisher called me yesterday to say they may have to suspend the second Yuck book indefinitely because Ashley the Illustrator has let us down big time and not come forth with any further illustrations - I will perhaps be forgiven for feeling that The World And His Wife Are All Out To Get Me - what was it Kenneth williams shouted in Carry On Ceasar? "Infamy. Infamy. They've All got It in For Me."

I know just how he feels!!!!!!

HERE I GO AGAIN ...

It pains me to relate, Blogspot Buddies, that the unhappy rumblings mentioned last week have become ear-shatteringly horrid thunderclaps of reality! I am being made redundant. I was not altogether surprised yesterday when the newish MD came into my office at quarter to five and said "I am really sorry, but I am going to have to let you go." In a way it took the decision out of my hands. Now I really have to find another job, I have no choice. My official leaving date is 16th May and my golden handshake consists of three weeks pay and any holiday I am entitled to up to and including this month. If I am lucky I may come out of it with a day or two extra but I am not holding my breath.

It was so weird that I was so utterly calm all the way home. Two minutes inside my front door, though, I blurted the news out to Hubby and promptly burst into a shock of tears - completely taking myself by surprise! Hubby wrapped his arms round me and said sweet things like "It's not your fault." and "We will get through this." and "It isn't the end of the world." I mean is he a darling or what?

Actually as luck would have it I was already in the process of completing an application form for what could be the most pefect job in the world for a Writer-On-The-Brink like me. Seven days on, seven days off with four of the seven on being mornings only and not one day finishing after 5 pm or so. The trouble is of course that jobs like that are so rare that it is odds on they are going to be inundated with replies. My one edge is that I worked there before - in a different capacity - but long enough to know where they are coming from. Anyway, I have posted the application form off (via the franking machine at the office - I might as well take 'em for every penny) today and the closing date is Friday so we will just have to wait and see. Hubby had a word with his manager last night who told him that, if things get desperate, they'd get me in there, somehow, even if it was only as a stop-gap until I've found my feet - or my ideal job, of course.

What really gets me the most is that this is the second time in three years that I have been made redundant. Honest - was it something I said? Or does the British workforce just have no time for middle-aged ladies? Losing the current job is no skin off my nose - I haven't been happy there for at least six months (as you all know) and, anyway, it's their loss. The real crux of the matter is the nagging feeling that, despite age legislation and everything else, middle aged people - and in particular women - just aren't wanted anymore. Sad really. Especially since I still feel more than capable. I don't think I am over the hill yet. We will just have to wait and see what happens now. If I can get some writing done during the interim period, all well and good. I know I am too good to waste! I will keep you updated. If it all gets too much you can always switch me off and go and make a nice cup of tea!

I had a hospital appointment today ( I know - it never bloody rains but it always bloody pours). My doctor is worried by the fact I am anaemic - and have been for over six months. Evidently, my blood count is 11 when the average is 12 (11 what? 12 what?) and they are exploring all the options - including the fact I am vegetarian (I haven't eaten red meat in at least fifteen years and only had chicken once when there was no choice on the menu - that was in Paris so I blame the French). I do eat tuna at least once a week and salmon once in a blue moon but that's it. The other option could be Polyps (what-yps? Do doctors speak plain simple English anymore?) Everyone is saying what might be at the root of it, but not why or how! As I just said to Bro in Denmark, doctors seem to think that everybody has a degree in medical teminology. I have been told I have to go for an endoscopy in a few weeks. I kind of know what one of them is and I am dreading it already. I am sure I will think I am choking to death, despite being told I'd be sedated. Hubby said "You probably won't know anything about it." When the consultant mentioned the procedure I just said "Why have I got to have that? I am just a bit anaemic. There is nothing else wrong with me. I feel fine." He looked quite uncomfortable under my accusing gaze. He shrugged and said "It is the only way we can find out." I said "But why? Find out what?" He just said unhelpfully "It is a standard procedure." I gave up at that point. Even when you ask you don't get answers, so why ask?

Oh well - big sigh - such is life.

WHAT'S A WRITER TO DO?

I really don't get it. How come I have to have a major clear-out every few months just so I can get into my study and write? I filled a huge black sack with unwanted rubbish a couple of evenings ago and produced a bin and a half full of shredded letters, receipts, circulars - all of which had mysteriously accumilated in my little sanctuary of creation without my knowledge. Having made it a safe and clear space again, my intention last night was to go in and write, write, write. So why did I spend the evening watching Tom Hanks in Castaway on BBC 3? Okay - so it just happens to be one of my favorite films and he just happens to be (in my humble opinion) one of the world's most talented and enduring character actors (and a personal favorite of mine I have to admit). But I have the DVD sitting up on the shelf, so why watch it on TV?. Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice.

I think it is actually because I am a little bit out on a limb just now. The third and final Yuck book is finished and with Sarah the Publisher and the second in the series is almost complete - I saw the cover art last week by Ashley the Illustrator and it all made it kind of real. It looks as if the second one will be published this autumn and the third one next year some time. All exciting stuff. But of course now the series is written, what do I do next? I don't have an actual project - just about a million and a half ideas. I went to the London Book Fair with Hubby on Tuesday in search of inspiration. I think I overdosed on it. I couldn't help it! There were new books and publishers' catalogues and publicists and fellow writers at every turn and I came away fired up - so fired up in fact that I am still smouldering with exhileration.

I guess now would be the right time to stand back and take stock of things really. I am still in my utterly thankless PA job - I never dreamt in January that I would still be looking for a new job come mid-April - with no sign of change even on the horizon. I still desperately need Time to go out and publicise the Yucketypoo series properly. On top of all that, another publisher has asked for the first three chapters of my historic novel - which I haven't even started yet ( I did not expect such a fast response from them when I emailed last week to ask if they would be interested in it) and there are slow uneasy rumblings within the company where I am working where words such as 'cut-backs' and 'redundancy' are making distant (but palpable) unhappy echos. I haven't mentioned this to Hubby yet as rumblings they still are, and I know he would only start to panic.

So what's a writer to do? At least I am no longer in the depths of despair. I am in turmoil for other reasons. So. Do I start the historic novel? Do I get back to my poetry (which is my real purpose of being)? Do I take the first job that comes along per chance the unhappy rumblings become reality?
Or do I just wait and see what transpires? Any ideas? Or commissions?

Answers on a postcard please...

ANOTHER WEDDING.

We had the most brilliant weekend up in Peterborough! Eldest Stepdaughter married her long time partner with Grand-daughter as the most miniscule and perfectly beautiful Flower Girl you can imagine and Eldest Grandson just the most perfect Best Man! Considering the entire country was under threat of being seiged by snow, we were incredibly lucky. It only rained once and that was between the ceremony and the reception and there was no snow until the following day. It was just so wonderful seeing Eldest Stepdaughter looking so happy. And Laid-Back Son-in-Law (as he shall henceforth be known) just so utterly chuffed - as if Life had handed him a whole bowl of cherries - which I suppose in a way it had. Or a lottery win of some significance. Hubby held up very well. He wept buckets when Eldest Stepdaughter married the first time round. Not tears of sorrow, I hasten to add, but tears of downright pride and joy. Then, when Youngest Stepdaughter married some years later, he stole the show during the speeches and had 'em rolling in he aisles. He was, quite rightly I felt, at complete liberty to feel so proud of himself.

It fell to Granny - ie. me - to keep Youngest Grandson happy throughout the ceremony. He only began to build up to a howl once so I deftly walked him to the back of the Registry Office and back which was enough to send him into little coos of appreciation as he smiled and gurgled up at me for the rest of the service. In fact I think we bonded somewhat as he seemed quite content just to lay there in my arms. For a three month old, he is very expressive, I must say. After the service, we all head back to the house for light refreshment and a couple of hours later went along to a quaint little contry pub where they had hired a private annexe for the Wedding Breakfast. It was a lovely meal, much highlighted when Eldest Grandson clinked a glass and proposed his first ever toast "To my mum and Mark for getting married. Congratulations." Short, sweet, precise and a huge step forward into manhood for him. We gave him a standing ovation because he is usually so shy. The meal itself was divine, with plenty of choices (even for a Veggie like me), good food, good drink and very good company. Grand-daughter kept us all entertained with her dancing afterward. She just loves music and has a surprisingly well-developed sense of rhytmn for one so young. It all went very well with the party breaking up aound 11pm. Eldest Stepdaughter and Laid-Back-Son-In-Law went off to their hotel for the night and the rest of us piled back to the house exhausted but happy. At lunch time the next day, Hubby and I had to head home ourselves as he was due at work that evening.

It really could not have gone better and Clever-Son-In-Law (who else) had been roped in to be the official photographer. Is there nothing technical that man can't master? He took to the role like a duck to water and took almost 300 pictures over the course of the weekend; all on a digital camera he'd borrowed from a friend and had only a few days to get to grips with.

I think that's it wedding-wise till next year now. Last year we went to six of them so I guess it is no surprise we've only had the two this year.

I'll be back in a few days with a writing update I promise.

AN HOUR, AN HOUR, MY BREAKFAST FOR AN HOUR!!!

Hubby and I went to a wedding reception on Saturday night. It was an old chum of mine from my days as a Nursery Nurse and, despite the fact it was in Wimbledon which is no more than five or so miles away, Hubby and I decided to book ourselves into a hotel so that we would not have to worry about getting home; neither of us drive and it would have meant having to catch a tram and then another tram and then a ten minute walk so we thought, what the heck, why not? We got there around four in the afternoon. It was a converted family house at the end of a quiet residential street and we had Room A, which is a family room on the ground floor. We were made very welcome and given our key and we were glad to get in and unpack our suits for the evening.

The first thing Hubby did was grab the TV remote to see if he could get to the football results and the first thing I did was bounce up an down on the springy bed like an infant on holiday. Then we made use of the hospitality tray and had a coffee then I had a good look round. It may have been a small family hotel, but the proprietors had gone to great lengths to make it feel like The Ritz (and of course I went for tea at The Ritz not so long ago so I speak from experience). Pure white towels - a pile of three in varying sizes - adorned both corners at the end of the bed and the room was tastefully decorated in pale green and magnolia, with heavy drapes that matched the heavy quilt and the two cushiony parlor chairs, which stood, one each side, of a perfectly polished little oval table. There was also a single bed against one wall with a dorma bed beneath that and I think it would have quite comfortably accommodated a family of four without any problems at all.

After showers and getting changed, we headed off into Wimbledon Village fo something to eat and had a nice meal at Pizza Express, then we headed off to the reception via a Black Cab from Wimbledon Station. As soon as I mentioned our destination to the driver my confidence faded a tad. "Wimbledon Park Golf Club, please," I said, adding when I saw his tremor of panic "Home Park Road?" "Ah, Home Park Road, yes of course," he said with some kind of accent - Polish possibly - and Hubby and I clambered in. We arrived in Home Park Road and the taxi driver slowed down as he searched for anything that resembled a golf club. He finally stopped outside a pair of wrought iron gates and we got out. It was raining quite heavily by now and when we tried the gates we couldn't open them. "Maybe there's another gate further along?" I suggested. A minute or so later we found some more gates to a car park but we couldn't get through them either. As we wandered back towards the first set of gates, a car pulled up beside us and an anxious -faced woman popped her head out. "Are you looking for the reception?" I asked. She nodded. "We think it's over there but we can't get in," we told her.

Back at the frst gates, we pressed the security buzzer and nothing happened. Luckily for us some kichen workers came out with several bags of rubbish so we asked them. "How do we get to the wedding reception?" One of them nodded and input a security code. Hey presto - the gates opened like magic and we went towards the club house; accompanied by the anxious faced woman and her companions. We went straight into a bar which was next to a big empty room where a live band were setting up and we ordered drinks. We still didn't know if we were in the right place for the right reception but two Budweisers later I ran into Kirsty - the blushing bride - who was sitting in the cloak room feeding her little daughter a bottle of formula. We were really pleased to see each other and her mum was there, too, who I also know quite well, so there were hugs and kisses all round. "I found Kirsty," I told Hubby when I got back to the bar. "So we are in the right place!"

It was a very nice evening all told. We didn't know anyone else so we just kind of hovered but we did get to speak to Neil, the handsome groom (who looked very dashing in his tails, I must admit) and I took a couple of photos of their first dance and the wedding cake, but that was about it. The place was thronging with people and there was hardly room to move sometimes, but the atmosphere was nice. By eleven o'clock, though, we'd really had enough. We said cheerio to the happy couple and the bride's mum and went back out to the rain. Half an our later we were still trying to find our way back into town and my new shoes were becoming decidedly uncomfortable. Suddenly, Hubby bolted across the road, waving his arms frantically and I wondered uneasily if he'd had one vodka and diet coke too many. As it turned out he'd spotted another black cab so we got in and arrived back at the hotel five minutes later, exhausted, wet and tired.

Just before we settled down for the night, I put our watches and the little travel alarm clock we'd taken along (well we didn't want to miss breakfast, after all we'd paid for it!) forward one hour and then we went to sleep. It was an odd kind of night though. The room was black as black can be and the only way you could use the loo was by turning on the bathroom light which also activated a rather noisy air extractor, and the quilt just got heavier and heavier as the night went on. We were both going from pleasantly warm to boilng hot to freezing cold after kicking off the covers in the space of five minutes, but we did manage to sleep reasonably well. When the alarm went off at 7.30 the next day, we knew we had an hour in which to shower and dress before the dining room would open for breakfast and finally, at around 8.40, we decided we'd waited long enough. We went to the dining room and turned the door handle - it was locked! "Let's give it ten minutes or so," said Hubby. Ten minutes later, we tried again. It was still locked. "I hope they didn't forget to put their clocks forward," I remarked. Another guest appeared and tried the door. It was ten to nine by then and the door was still locked. "Errmmmm..." said Hubby and just then the door opened a crack. A sleepy face peered out. "Dining room opens at eight thirty," the disheveled young lady told us huskily. "But it's ten to nine!" we protested. "The clocks went forward didn't they?" There was a moment of silence as it slowly dawned on our young hostess. "I thought that was tonight," she said in cold terror. "No it was two o'clock this morning!" said Hubby. "I am really sorry," she said, suddenly awake and flustered. "But it'll be half an hour before I can open up because I need to cook." The door snapped shut and we looked at each other. "Let's go and get a paper," said Hubby as we pulled on our coats. So we wandered into the towncentre, via Starbucks (naturally), bought a paper and sat down to breakfast at the hotel almost an hour later than we should have.

Ah well, never mind. What's an hour between friends? It was still a nice hotel and still a good weekend. I just hope we aren't staying there when the clocks go back, that's all!!!!!!