Career girl

I was never one of those people who always knew exactly what they wanted to be when they grew up.  My list of chosen careers morphed throughout the years (ooh, that rhymes!  I should have been a poet!).

It went something like this:

- Age 11 - Psychiatrist.  Swiftly kiboshed when i realised you needed to be a medical doctor first.  This in itself wasn't so bad, until at the age of 13 I realised I well and truly couldn't do chemistry.

- Age 13 - Lawyer.  Wasn't really sure why.  At this age, I think I was only aware of three careers - doctor, lawyer, teacher.  It seemed the best of a bad bunch.

- Age 14 - Actor.  Got the chance to play Anne Frank in a 45 minute school play, and it rather went to my head.  For about two weeks.

- Age 15 - Teacher.  Mr and Mrs Nunn (also teachers), threatened to disown me if I took this route.  This made it infinitely more appealing.  It was also around this time when I watched Dead Poets' Society.

- Age 16 - Psychologist.  Back to psychiatrist, but without the pesky medical degree.

Anyway, my school, being the pushy exam-factory hothouse centre of academic excellence, made us all see careers advisors in our GCSE year, when we were about 16.  Some of my friends' parents paid for them to have pricey aptitude / career tests where a computer programme told them what their ideal career was.  I was really, really jealous of this (I loved anything computer-based, because I was am a massive geek), until the results came out.  One of my friends who was literally almost blind without her glasses was told that her top choice should be "Airline Pilot".  At which point I realised it was all guff.

Anyway, off to the careers advisor I toddled, for my 30 minute interview.

It started well.  He asked me my favourite subject (English).  He asked me what I was taking for A-levels (English, French and History).  He asked me what I wanted to be.  I said I didn't really know, and may have questioned whether that might have been his job to come up with suggestions.  He looked thoughtful.  He ummed.  He aaahed.

He looked at his feet.  Finally he spoke.  "Have you ever considered becoming... a careers advisor?"

This seemed a coincidence.  But I put it out of my mind.  Until a schoolfriend came out of his office an hour later.  This particular friend had wanted to be a doctor all of her life.  She was gifted at science and was well on the path to her medical degree.  It was likely to be a short interview she had with him.

"That was rubbish.  He told me I should be a careers advisor."

Worst careers advisor ever.  Only knew one job.  His own.  I could have done a better job than that.  I could have been a better careers advisor.  Oh.  Hang on a minute...

Brush with disaster

I have been a slack Plogger.  Apologies.  We have been experiencing the joy of having a new kitchen fitted.  This was a task that was supposed to take two days, but actually took about a week, and involved a kitchen fitter who "didn't like" following the plan we'd carefully agreed on, and decided to fit the sink where he thought it looked best.  It was joyous.

Last weekend was lovely.  My university friends came to visit en masse (to help us test out our new kitchen).  TheBloke (TM) and I had a good clear up of the house before they came over.

"TheBloke (TM)?" I called out.

"Yes," he said.

"Why have you left a paintbrush in the middle of our lawn?"

"I haven't," he asserted.  This was clearly a lie.  Because there was a big old paintbrush in the middle of our lawn.  I decided I'd go back to worrying about why the sink was in the wrong place.

A day later we heard a loud thunk.  "What was that?" TheBloke (TM) wondered, as the cat thundered through his cat flap.

We didn't have to wait long to find out.  We are clearly the owners of the most stupid cat in the world.  Despite never yet having killed anything larger than a small spider (and if we're being truly honest about that one spider incident - he stepped on it accidentally and then looked as mortified as a big ginger kitten can), he appears to think he's Paintbrush Hunter Supreme.

Not only had he gone in to a neighbour's garden to steal the paintbrush (indeed, the paintbrush wasn't ours), but had managed to jump up onto a fence, jump up from the fence to our conservatory, and then through the upstairs window, all carrying a paintbrush.  Which he then proudly deposited at TheBloke (TM)'s feet.  And this is a big old paintbrush.

Idiot cat.  He's clearly hinting that the new kitchen could do with some redecoration.

Writer's block(ed sink)

As a reasonably long-time blogger, I'll admit there are occasions when it's difficult to find a topic to write about.  There might be really funny stories from work that I'd like to tell you about, but it would be inappropriate to do so (I recently had to complete some mandatory e-learning on "Social Networks", so I'm not allowed to tell you anything about my job at all.  I work for MI5.  I'm a spy.  Bwah ha ha.).  Perhaps there's something fascinating in my personal life, or that of a friend, but because they might read the Plog, I can't divulge all.

So sometimes, in order to generate material for you, my dear reader, I have to do one of two things:

1. Visit Mr and Mrs Nunn - this provides me with endless anecdotes with which to amuse you.  However they are often so ridiculous, most people refuse to accept their veracity.  Which is unfair, because anyone who's met my parents knows they are unconditionally crazy.
2. Have a kitchen installed.  Last time this happened, the kitchen fitter ate all my chocolates (whilst replacing the ribbons to make it look like it was a full box of chocs), disappeared for a month and stole my iPod.  Whilst I'm hoping for nothing quite so calamitous this time, I am still hopeful it will provide me with an anecdote or to, with which to regale you.  The kitchen is about 75% complete so far (with the sink already fitted in the wrong place), so there's good scope.

You will be delighted to know that in addition to having a kitchen fitted, I am also meeting Mrs Nunn for lunch. Surely this should spawn a bumper crop of Plogs?  Watch this space.

Financial support

I am regularly berated for working in the financial sector.  The press hasn't been kind to bankers over the last few years, and whilst my job (designing and delivering training) is about as far away from understanding the ins and outs of hedge funds as possible, I can't deny that the training I deliver is indeed for a bank.

No-one enjoys winding me up about this more than my brother, Jack.  Jack also works in Learning and Development, but works in the charity sector for a cancer charity.  TheBloke (TM) is an accountant, but he too works for a charity - focused on homelessness.  Between them, they enjoy making pointed comments to me about the "evil financial sector", and how I'm a leech on society.

Until I found the foolproof argument.

"So," I said to TheBloke (TM).  "You work for a charity, right?"

"Yes," said TheBloke (TM).  "Because I am altruistic* and essentially better than you."

"And charities are funded how?"

"Mostly donations," he said, "and sometimes government funding."

"Interesting," I said.  "And do they pay you a salary?"

"You know they do," TheBloke (TM) said, narrowing his eyes and raising his ridiculous ginger eyebrows as he knew I was up to something.

"So are you actually taking money from a charity each month?  Depleting the charity of funds that would otherwise have tackled homelessness?"

"Well," stuttered TheBloke (TM), "they need accountants..."

"Answer the question, bitch!" I shouted.  "Do you or don't you take money from a charity each month?"

"Well, yes," he admitted.

"OK," I said.  "So we've ascertained you take money from a charity each month.  Good.  And this charity aims to prevent homelessness?"

"Yes," he replied.

"So essentially, its aim is to eliminate homelessness?"

"Yes - ultimately."

"So if the charity succeeds in its aims, you'd actually be out of a job?"

TheBloke (TM) looked a bit perplexed.  "Well, erm..."

"So," I said, "you're essentially hoping that homelessness continues - in order to support you.  You're actively working to ensure homelessness continues.  Sicko.  Plus every holiday you take is effectively prising a meal out of a homeless person's mouth.  Even as we speak, some homeless guy in Scotland's dog is going without dinner tonight because you chose to do overtime last week.  I hope you're proud of yourself."

TheBloke (TM) wept quietly in the corner.  I turned my attention to Jack, "And you," I said.  "You're essentially banking your career on the fact that they won't ever cure cancer.  Nice.  And you have the audacity to call bankers evil?"

I finished with, "So both of you have no qualms in taking money from charities each month and secretly hoping that you never solve the issue that you receive funding for.  Sick."

Some days I think I'm wasted in Learning and Development.  I should have been a lawyer.

* He didn't actually say this.  His vocabulary isn't that big.

Kindling desire

As a proud Kindle owner for over a year now, I'll admit it's a full twelve months since I've picked up a paper copy of a book.

"Oh," but I hear you say, "I like having a physical book."  I thought I would too, until I realised I can read the Kindle one-handed, hanging off a rail on the tube.  "Oh," you might continue, "but I like to keep all my books.  I have them arranged in alphabetical / chronological / colour of the cover* order."

Well bully for you.  You either have a much bigger house than I do, or you're a much slower reader.  With two hours spent per day on London's Sewage System (London Underground), I average 2.5 novels per week.  If I kept every book I'd read, I'd need to live in an aircraft hanger.  I did consider this for a while, but I'm always cold, so it turned out the energy bills would probably be prohibitive.

"I like to lend my books to people when I've read them," you might finish with,as your final Kindle argument.  And you've got me there, because that is the one down-side of a Kindle.  You can't zip your book across to someone when you've finished it.  Nor can you take it to the charity shop or sell it on eBay.  But for me, at least, these are minor niggles in the overall awesomeness of the Kindle.

As TheBloke (TM) has a Kindle too, we're going to clear out our bookshelf soon and be honest with ourselves about which paperbacks we're actually going to read again in non-digital form.  I suspect most of them may go bye-byes.  Even those books we love, and we may read again one day (in which I include in my favourites: The God of Small Things, Lolita, Rebecca, and in which no doubt TheBloke (TM) will include The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy plus anything with tits, dragons or lesbians), honestly, I don't need it to be the exact same copy I was holding in my hands in 1998, 2002 or 2005 respectively.

Honestly, as a grown-up, I very, very rarely re-read anything anyway.  Which is odd, because as a child, I think I re-read old favourites more than I read new books.  I remember reading Enid Blyton's Malory Towers series literally dozens of times.  Not to mention her Naughtiest Girl series (lovingly collected from various jumble sales, several pages missing with "10p" invariably written in pencil on the inside cover).  Even as a teenager, Judy Blume books would be read and re-read (I never said I was precocious in my literary tastes!).

As an adult - I have probably only re-read maybe six or seven books.  The three already mentioned, probably Pride and Prejudice, and then a handful of stuff that my book club wanted to read and I'd already read - but not recently enough for me to be able to recall it with enough clarity for book club.  Hence the fact I had to read sodding Wuthering Heights twice.  I'm still angry about that.

My parents' house was always stuffed to the rafters (literally) with books.  I'm wondering - despite being an incessant reader, will one day our house be entirely bereft of physical, paper books?  Does it matter?  Will books - ironically - become kindling?

Anyway, from re-reading, back to re-watching; the 1990s Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice.  Nostalgia at its best.

*I know someone who does this.  Everybody wave to Nice Kate.