I noticed last Friday that my outlook email appeared to be going into a spasm. It kept telling me that it couldn’t send or reply to anything as my settings had changed. I wouldn’t mind if I had spent the previous ten minutes attacking my settings with a blunt spanner, but since I hadn’t, then just exactly what was wrong?
I still can access the Internet, so I peered around Three’s website for some help. They do live web chat help for mobile problems, but anyone with broadband problems can bog off, apparently. Well, it doesn’t say that of course, but for broadband you have to fill in a form and hope that it doesn’t ping off into a vortex. I waited ten minutes for a response, which is very patient for me, if a tad unrealistic on my behalf, and then I called them.
I got through to a very helpful young man who may or may not have been sitting in a call centre across the world. He wanted to help me. He asked lots of questions, and then asked me to check my SMTP. He wanted me to type in exactly the same SMTP as I already have – this stumped him. He said he had to elevate my problem (I picture some cranky lift, filled with cranky folk). He said they would call me back.
They called me as I was in a silent art gallery on Saturday. Luckily my mobile is always on vibrate just in case these embarrassing moments crop up unannounced, and so I could answer and hiss that this was a bit inconvenient without annoying everyone else. I took it outside and then repeated everything that I had already said to bloke number one. Bloke number two said a lot of customers were reporting this strange phenomenon that I was going through. He said they would get back to me.
And since then nothing. Surely the answer is obvious, somewhere someone has spilt a cup of coffee on an important server, and the result is sending everyone’s emails into outer space. I am probably waiting on a cleaner, working for the equivalent of fifty pence, in a tiny country with no heating, to come along and wipe an oily rag across the server that holds my email connection.
I really need to be able to send emails. I need to apply for jobs! I need to pitch for jobs! Don’t Three know its hard enough getting a signal with their dongle of doom, let alone trying to conduct a life through its wavering blue light? I get the feeling I will have to call them again tomorrow, explain again my problem, and then be told again that they are working on it and will call me back. It was my fault for hissing on Saturday, I knew at the time that was a bad move, like complaining about food in restaurants, especially when you are still going to eat there. I’ll call it the dongle of delight if only my email works tomorrow!
Monday, 9 February 2009
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Thought process of a Chocolate Addict
I try and resist the Twirl bar. There is really no need to launch headfirst into chocolate at this early stage of the day. But I start editing and five pages in I have a chocolate headache that will only be satisfied when I feed it Cadbury’s. I am addicted.
I check the size of the belly and evaluate. The belly does not need the calories. I want to be a slim thing, not a tubster. I definitely cannot get away with being chubby; I won’t go all lovely and curvy like some girls do. I’ll morph into the blob. I should not eat the Twirl. The Twirl is the way to blobdom.
But I can hear it calling to me. I know exactly where it sits downstairs in the kitchen. I know exactly how good it will taste and that for a minute or two the world will be right, happy, and swinging gently in a hammock in the sun by the sea. This will all come to pass if I eat the Twirl. For the good of the world I really should just eat the darn thing and be done with it.
But I could hang on to eat lunch. If I eat lunch then I won’t need the Twirl, at least not yet, not straight away. Its song will go silent for an hour at least, and leave me in peace. It will mean more if I eat it in the afternoon. It will taste better. Anticipation adds a certain tinge to appetite. Yes, I should really hang on.
Bloody chocolate. Who needs its endorphins anyway? I should quickly do some press ups, run around the block, or play loud music and dance. That will get them all pumping, and I won’t need chocolate. Effort though, isn’t it? All that effort, and I get the same effect from one gooey bite. But that is where head is seriously muddled, as the first way gets you feeling and looking good, the second gets feeling good, looking ultimately like crap. I know this. Yet still I want the chocolate.
If chocolate had health warnings on it, like cigarettes do, I’d still buy it. I’d ignore the warnings and tear the wrapper off quickly so I wouldn’t have to think about it. It’s not like I don’t know what junk food and no exercise will do to my body. It’s more that I prefer not to think about it, and then when the fat creeps on I can turn around in shock and say how did that happen?
I don’t want to get to that stage. I don’t want to be that person. I shall eat more fruit and salads. I shall exercise again. I shall do all these things and then I can treat myself without the guilt. Yes, that’s the plan for tomorrow. Too late for today though. *scoff*
I check the size of the belly and evaluate. The belly does not need the calories. I want to be a slim thing, not a tubster. I definitely cannot get away with being chubby; I won’t go all lovely and curvy like some girls do. I’ll morph into the blob. I should not eat the Twirl. The Twirl is the way to blobdom.
But I can hear it calling to me. I know exactly where it sits downstairs in the kitchen. I know exactly how good it will taste and that for a minute or two the world will be right, happy, and swinging gently in a hammock in the sun by the sea. This will all come to pass if I eat the Twirl. For the good of the world I really should just eat the darn thing and be done with it.
But I could hang on to eat lunch. If I eat lunch then I won’t need the Twirl, at least not yet, not straight away. Its song will go silent for an hour at least, and leave me in peace. It will mean more if I eat it in the afternoon. It will taste better. Anticipation adds a certain tinge to appetite. Yes, I should really hang on.
Bloody chocolate. Who needs its endorphins anyway? I should quickly do some press ups, run around the block, or play loud music and dance. That will get them all pumping, and I won’t need chocolate. Effort though, isn’t it? All that effort, and I get the same effect from one gooey bite. But that is where head is seriously muddled, as the first way gets you feeling and looking good, the second gets feeling good, looking ultimately like crap. I know this. Yet still I want the chocolate.
If chocolate had health warnings on it, like cigarettes do, I’d still buy it. I’d ignore the warnings and tear the wrapper off quickly so I wouldn’t have to think about it. It’s not like I don’t know what junk food and no exercise will do to my body. It’s more that I prefer not to think about it, and then when the fat creeps on I can turn around in shock and say how did that happen?
I don’t want to get to that stage. I don’t want to be that person. I shall eat more fruit and salads. I shall exercise again. I shall do all these things and then I can treat myself without the guilt. Yes, that’s the plan for tomorrow. Too late for today though. *scoff*
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Tuesday job scowl
I am not a digital guru. I refuse to apply for jobs that specifically ask for a guru of any sort. Do they even know what guru means? Would they ask for a digital spiritual leader? I don’t care if they think it is a short cut to asking for help with new media – it just means they are the sort of company that rely on buzz words and business speak to cover up ineptitude. Confucius says no.
I’ve noticed there is a worrying trend to obviously save money in my profession by way of lumping together very different roles. See – it’s all New Mee-dee-arr and therefore designers should be developers and do marketing and editing and content creating and picture researching as it’s all on the web, innit? And the folk they find should be happy to work for a minimal salary and a biscuit, in fact they should be darn well ecstatic to have landed a job at all. Sneaky little employers… I think I might stick with freelancing. Not that those jobs are thick on the ground, but at least there are interesting opportunities…Like my last assignment was writing about puppets on television (Basil Brush, Thunderbirds, the terrifying Emu). Bliss!
Another annoying thing is that you’ll see a job that sounds interesting listed through an agency, but on applying the agency will announce in funeral tones that the job in question has since departed, and then try and get you on their books. (And once you agree they try and send you to Slough. I have had two agencies so far try to tempt me to Slough – I keep telling them the round four hour or more commute would kill me, but so far they are ignoring this small trifle. I feel the need to go around to their office and mark out on a map exactly where I live.).
The job scowl this week has turned up a few possibilities, although I’m not totally convinced in them. Let’s see, what sort of things we have here…
Work with ill folk! Ill folk are really ill, but they love using the web anyway! This is an opportunity to make illness fun for ill folk!
This is a grand opportunity to be the assistant of an assistant to an assistant of a really busy person! You’ll be the dogsbody, but it will be artistic, it’s a gallery! Apply now!
We’re dynamic! We’re so dynamic we had to tell you twice in twenty words! Work for us and be dynamic too!
Even if they are not written with exclamation marks everywhere, I tend to read all job adverts as if they are being recited by a breathy over-excited twenty year old. I really have to stop being so cynical.
I’ve noticed there is a worrying trend to obviously save money in my profession by way of lumping together very different roles. See – it’s all New Mee-dee-arr and therefore designers should be developers and do marketing and editing and content creating and picture researching as it’s all on the web, innit? And the folk they find should be happy to work for a minimal salary and a biscuit, in fact they should be darn well ecstatic to have landed a job at all. Sneaky little employers… I think I might stick with freelancing. Not that those jobs are thick on the ground, but at least there are interesting opportunities…Like my last assignment was writing about puppets on television (Basil Brush, Thunderbirds, the terrifying Emu). Bliss!
Another annoying thing is that you’ll see a job that sounds interesting listed through an agency, but on applying the agency will announce in funeral tones that the job in question has since departed, and then try and get you on their books. (And once you agree they try and send you to Slough. I have had two agencies so far try to tempt me to Slough – I keep telling them the round four hour or more commute would kill me, but so far they are ignoring this small trifle. I feel the need to go around to their office and mark out on a map exactly where I live.).
The job scowl this week has turned up a few possibilities, although I’m not totally convinced in them. Let’s see, what sort of things we have here…
Work with ill folk! Ill folk are really ill, but they love using the web anyway! This is an opportunity to make illness fun for ill folk!
o0o
This is a grand opportunity to be the assistant of an assistant to an assistant of a really busy person! You’ll be the dogsbody, but it will be artistic, it’s a gallery! Apply now!
o0o
We’re dynamic! We’re so dynamic we had to tell you twice in twenty words! Work for us and be dynamic too!
o0o
Even if they are not written with exclamation marks everywhere, I tend to read all job adverts as if they are being recited by a breathy over-excited twenty year old. I really have to stop being so cynical.
Monday, 2 February 2009
Snoooooooooooow!
Too excited to post more at present. I have just offered my services as a walking escort to my mum so she can get to work, since all transport as we know it has picked up its skirts and shrieked at the prospect of moving through snow. I will return with photographs! Or I’ll be out playing working somewhere. Ahem.
Update...
I don't think I will seek full-time employment as a walking snow-cab. According to AA Route Planner, I have managed 9.6 miles today, trudging there and back twice through snow. The first time I did it in my trainers, the second time I togged myself up as if I was on the Alps. Out came my snowboarding boots, jacket, fleece, and a little snoody thing pulled up over my ears bought from Sunshine Valley in Banff (oh Canada, how I miss thee in this weather). I looked like a serious snow walker. Either that, or I looked like I was insane.
I love that quiet that descends during a snow-fall. No traffic, no birds, no people passing by - just a soft whomp every so often as snow falls from a tree bough. Children delighted with a day off school coax parents out into the front garden to make fat snowmen. Elderly men grimly shovel the snow off their path, trousers tucked into socks. Teenagers forget the studied attitude they drag around with them and revert to children, giggling and flinging snowballs at each other. The television and radio revert back to old-style importance, family gathering to watch reports of people snowboarding in Brighton, ski-ing down Primrose Hill in London, sledging in York. Cupboards are checked as if preparing for seige conditions, bread and milk are rationed. People acknowledge each other more than usual, and nod as they walk past. I like that most of all.
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