Stayin' out of circulation till the dogs get tired

Remember that phrase -- "stay out of circulation til the dogs get tired"? The theme to my travel writings, and probably what should really be the title of my blog. I've never known that it came from. Googling that exact phrase never brought back any results, now it only brings you to this blog -- and if anyone is already here, reading this, it's probably only by accident.

Tonight I had the gee-nee-us idea of googling the phrase without quote marks. It turns out that the line "is stayin' out of circulation till the dogs get tired" is from a Tom Waits song, "Gun Street Girl". I must have played the song about 5 times in a row since I discovered, it's amazing. I love it. I wish I could sing and play the guitar just so that I could play this song.

So that's it. Enough from me, more from Tom Waits whose voice sounds like a 40-a-day smoker who gave up the cancer sticks so he could spend more time gargling gravel.

Strike me

Image source: http://76.12.250.57/

In a weird sort of way, I kind of enjoy the Tube strikes in London.

I'm a big fan of changing my routine. Every day, I take the Docklands Light Railway to Bank underground station, and then change to the Northern Line. But every once in a while -- maybe once a week, sometimes not even that -- I will get off the DLR a stop earlier, and instead change trains to go in to Tower Gateway.

Tower Gateway DLR station is separate to Tower Hill Underground station, so there is a short walk involved in the interchange -- but what all this changing of trains business means is that every once in a while I get to walk past the Tower of London. It's humbling to look at this building that has stood for hundreds of years and seen prisoners, kings, queens, plotters, guards and tourists all walk over the same ground.

I read somewhere that only something like 10% of what we see each day is actually being physically "seen", the other 90% our brains just makes up from memory. When you visit somewhere new, there is almost a feeling of exhaustion -- as everything has to be seen afresh and processed.

A change to my journey's routine encourages me to notice and appreciate the things around me.

This morning, with various Tube services suspended and disrupted, I decided not to take a chance on being able to complete my journey in the normal way. Even if the required stations were open, there was a chance of being stuck on an over-crowded platform somewhere, unable to move among a mass of hot and bothered commuters.

Instead, I went overground to Shoreditch. I have nothing but affection for Shoreditch, and it is slightly better first thing in the morning than in the evenings. On a cold November morning, it was still waking up -- it felt like the streets were stretching themselves like a sleepy animal, and that at any moment a door would burst open and a band would stumble out from an all-night recording session, blinking in the light.

I took a turn down a street I'd never been down before, just because it was heading in the right direction and I'd seen other people going the same way. Before too long, I found a brightly painted wall with the word "Scary" and nothing more on it -- professionally, too, not in the style of a grafitti tag. This is something I'd never have found on any normal day.

I could go this way every day, if I was so inclined. But then it would become "normal", and I'd stop really seeing anything.

The nights draw in

In the end, The Screw Work, Let's Play eSchool and/or Programme that I wrote about last time didn't happen for me. We could probably see that was how it would be at the end of the post -- I wasn't suitable for the eSchool, and couldn't afford the bigger Programme.

I can't deny I'm disappointed, but the guys involved were -- and are -- so incredibly nice and helpful. It wasn't their fault I don't have a clear enough idea of what I want to do to join in the SWLP eSchool, and I felt they were genuinely sorry they couldn't help to make the programme more attainable for me. I wonder if I'm even the target market -- perhaps it is aimed more at older, successful people who have had enough of the corporate life and want to be their own boss. Rather than myself, while not exactly counting as a "young person" any more, but far from successful in any of my chosen careers to date. And still searching.

Speaking of searching, my recent meeting with the boss was surprisingly productive, and I think I may have previously underestimated her. It's silly, because obviously she has been running and growing a business for the last however-many years, even if the company does sometimes seem to be balancing on a knife edge.

Completely aside from anything to do with the business itself, I get the impression that she has actually listened to my thoughts and feelings in previous meetings, as well as things I have said unofficially -- and combined this with her own perceptions of me, and my preferred methods of work. The outcome is that I appear to be offered a job that has been almost tailored to me -- sure, it's not my dream job, but nothing is going to be until I work out what that is. Just the same, if I have to stay in the company, then it's not a bad start to be in a job with more of a focus on social media, that takes me out of telemarketing, and gives me the time to be creative.

I was asked if it was a job I would apply for if I saw it advertised elsewhere. That's a difficult question, because I have seen recently quite how negative things can turn if an employer finds out you are looking elsewhere -- and the jobs I do apply for elsewhere never lead to anything. As I say, it's a start -- but it's getting to that start right now that seems a struggle, since first we have to recruit more members for the sales team, then have them all settled and trained and performing, before I can leave.

Outside of work and wondering what the hell I'm doing generally... there's not a whole heap to report. I've been meaning to get back into the rock climbing -- I even found out when the next course was starting, how much it was, and convinced a colleague to join in. Then plans collapsed when we ended up with more work and no chance to take part.

I remembered recently that I said before I turn 30 I would write letters to Alexei Sayle, Carol Ann Duffy, and Simon Armitage and ask them if I can have tea with them. Since the big 3-0 is rapdily approaching in the new year, there's no time to waste -- but the letters haven't yet been written. Or started.

The clock's went back to GMT in England this morning, so winter is on its way and the nights aren't so much drawing in, as they are drawn. It's that time of year where it gets dark, wet, and cold -- we should probably invest in one of those light boxes to keep the 'natural' light levels up.

Lots of people online are talking once more about NaNoWriMo -- I've never joined in before. And won't be this time, even though there's that rumoured zombie novel I'm never actually writing. I skipped last month's "Kid, I Wrote Back" open mike poetry -- partly due to only the day before returned from warmer climes, but partly because I'd felt the session we had in the park in the summer had gone horribly for me. That's no excuse, since I'd performed at an open mike since then in London at The Poetry Cafe, and been received warmly and appreciatively for my humour, talk of space and wonders of the solar system, as well as my actual poetry. Just the same, I have nothing written for the next session and no real ideas.

I keep thinking I want to write something about Jupiter's volcanic moon Io, because I think it's fascinating...but that's quite a big call for someone of very limited talent.

Left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day

Something is wrong with me.
Every day, people go to work.
Plumbers, police officers, and postal workers.
Dustmen, doctors, and dot net developers.
Museum curators, masseurs, and Michael Jackson impersonators.

and me.

I feel sure that of all the people I see each day, everyone else is quietly going about their days, doing their jobs, and not thinking at least once a day " I need to get out of the place, but I have no idea what I could do any more".
What is wrong with me that I am not happy just having a job?  And not just any old job, but one that rewards me handsomely if I meet targets each month and each quarter. A job so simple that all I have to do is sell stuff, and if I want to earn more, I just have to work harder.


I should be thrilled that nobody's life hangs in the balance with what I do.  I should be grateful that I have a job almost guaranteed for as long as I can live up to my key performance indicators.  I should be kissing someone's feet in thanks for never having to worry about my safety beyond if the water in the cooler is looking a little green.

But we all know the drill by now: I'm not.

Thankfully, last week I read about the "Paid to Play eSchool", from John Williams and Marianne Cantwell, and it sounded like just what I needed.  I'm a reader and Twitter follower of both Williams and Cantwell (as regular readers will have noticed in recent posts), and was convinced from just reading about the eSchool that the cost would be a good investment for me.  It might not get me out of this job right now, but in time it would pay off when I was getting paid to do what I love.  I signed up, I was excited and I was nervous.

I wouldn't say I was now happy to go to work, but I could stand it better knowing that it could pay for something like this -- something that would help me work out how to use my talents and passions to make my way in the world, rather than just working for the man every night and day.

The trouble came a few days later, when I started to doubt my own suitability for the sessions. I read and re-read the synopsis, and started to wonder if it wasn't perhaps more pitched at people who knew what they wanted to do, but needed some help to do it, rather than fuck ups like me who are still kicking ideas about in their head like half-deflated footballs.  While I know that surely whatever I do must involve writing, I get a bit lost beyond that.  Sure, I could go in to the eSchool and say "I want to run an adventure sports company where the profits all go into helping the local communities where the activities are run".  But when I think about it, what about that would I actually enjoy?  What do I know about running any kind of a business, anyway, and is that the part I would actually enjoy -- or would it just be the adventure sports?  That's hardly a way forward.

I fired off an email, mentioning my thoughts and concerns -- and I hoped they'd say "Don't be silly!  That's normal -- everyone will be in the same boat as you!".  But instead, they agreed with me -- it wasn't right for me.  Now I feel like I can't even do this right.  I'm immensely grateful the organisers don't just take the money and run, they care about actually helping people (this is their own "paid to play" careers, I guess), and so it's important to get me in at the level that's appropriate.  Unfortunately, the appropriate level for me is going to be a lot more money than I have spare -- it's a work in progress, I'm waiting to hear back if there is anything I can do to make up the shortfall in cost between one programme and the other.

In the meantime, the boss has asked me for a meeting this week to discuss the job that we previously started talking about, and which I believe they moved the goalposts on and probably will do again.  What's supposed to get me out of sales and into social media and copywriting of email newsletters could just turn out to be a carrot on a stick, luring me ever forwards to keep me there.

I walk past people every day getting off the train and going to work on a building site neighbouring my flat, and I wonder if they ever think about their jobs -- or if they just get on with it, and accept it as normal.

Invisible

Image source: http://bit.ly/cVKVKt

Sometimes, I feel invisible.

I stand on the tube or the train, and I stand and stare into space, and I hang on to the overhead bar like a Rhesus monkey.  and I'm just like everybody else.

There's always people I notice.  They might be well-dressed, or just have such a presence and sense of personal style that they don't just stand out, they seem to be the only real person there.  I might pass them in the street or see them on the train and they are going about their own business, oblivious to most of the world around them, but they seem to exist more fully than other people.

I'm not alone in how I look or how I feel, and it is the very fact that I feel invisible that shows how unique and unremarkable I am -- I am the same in this feeling as almost everybody else I will meet.

How we dress communicates messages to the people around us.  It tells them how we feel, it tells them what we think of ourselves -- it can even tell people what we think of them, and of their opinions.  You can dress like a hipster or you can dress like a Goth.  You could be immensely well dressed and as confident as Gala Darling.  You could dress like Lady Gaga (if some of you guys are very confident), or you could leave the house dressed in a Star Trek uniform.  Most of us strive for some semblance of an individual style, without wanting to stand out too much and draw too much attention to ourselves. 

Most days I look at myself, and then I look at the people around me, and I wonder how anyone would ever notice or remember me.  It's probably exactly that sort of mindset that ensures that nobody does.

This goes much beyond how I look, It applies to my life.  I think about what I do -- not just work, but all of my interests -- and I think about who I am.  And I feel like an unnoticed face in a crowd, a name on a list that is quickly passed over.  A dust mite of history.

I know, essentially, we all are -- a pauper or a king, we are all part of the same compost heap. 

But I want to live the kind of life that is worth being remembered.  I want to be noticed.  Maybe if I start acting like the kind of person who would be, the rest would follow -- that's what contemporary psychologists and behavioural therapists tell us.

Warmer climes: part one

It's been a week since the girl an I returned from our jaunt round the Southern hemisphere -- in this case, a 2-week whirlwind trip of Western Australia and Bali.  I've been back a week and I haven't even started blogging about it until now, what kind of an animal does that?

My paper journal -- Stay Out of Circulation 'Til the Dogs Get Tired -- went woefully neglected, mostly because it wasn't really a journal kind of trip.  However, I did make some notes on my arrival in Australia, which will serve as a good intro to this post.  I'll write about Bali in a seperate entry, just to try and keep the visitor numbers above 1.

Monday 19, October

We arrived in Perth close to 1am.  Customs cleared, baggage reclaimed, we drive South.

Austrlian Highways don't seem to resemble the English idea of a motorway -- instead of there being six lanes of traffic, you just have one, long, straight road.  Driving at night, you stick to the middle to try and avoid any unwelcome surprises jumping into the road.  On either side of the road, dark trees and bush form a barrier before the black hills stretch to the starry night sky.

At one point, we stop to change drivers.  I kick my feet in the dust of the petrol station forecourt and am suddenly startled by the unexpected laughing of a bird.

By the time we reach Albany, dawn is breaking on Sunday and all around there are sounds of life.

 The first week of our holiday was spent in Albany, WA, visiting the girl's family.  We were blessed by unusually warm Spring weather, a kind of climate that suited me just fine -- and the residents of Albany all seemed happy with the result.

Albany is a city famous for its whales -- and specific times of year you can see either Humpback whales or Southern Right whales, and there are a number of tour companies running whale watching excursions.  Last year's visit fell right in the middle of the migrating periods of the two species -- one had left Albany's waters, and the other hadn't yet returned.  What this meant for me was there were no whales to be seen out there -- two trips on whale boats rewarded us with dolphins and seals, but not a whale.

I wondered if this visit would be the same.  I am pleased to report back that, instead, there were whales this time -- whales splashing in the water, just a short way off the beach, whales with calves, whales jumping out the water, whales splashing their tales.  Doing almost every damn thing except balancing beach balls on their noses, which everyone knows whales are supposed to do.

Overall, we didn't do a whole lot in Albany.  One day we drove out to the Stirling mountain ranges -- mainly so that the girl's Mum and Nanna could look at wild flowers, but I appreciated the opportunity to be out in the wilderness.  In an incredibly nerdy way, it made me a little bit exciting to be out in the mountains again, it reminded me of being in Peru last year.  Except this time, I wasn't nearly prepared for it -- while to make a round trip to the summit and back of several of the mountains we visited would only have taken about 4 hours or so, it needed to be planned for.  I had no water, no suitable clothing, and my trainers were falling apart on my feet.  Quite literally, I think you could see my sock through the gaping hole in one of them.  Just the same, I wandered up a mountain trail for almost an hour, before turning around and coming back.

Next time, I am determined I will go equipped -- with a day pack, my platypus water bottle, some real hiking trousers, and maybe a pair of boots.  About all I did have was a hat.

Other days we took walks along the boardwalk or the beach with the dog, or visited the forts and saw where the Anzac boats sailed from.

People in Australia -- mainly people outside of Albany -- have asked me since if, when we move to Australia, I could see myself living in Albany.  I don't know if they wonder what I think of it compared to London.  The truth is, the city of Albany has roughly the same population as the town I grew up in, out in Essex, where my parents still live.  The difference is Albany is spread of a much wider area, so there seems to be a lot more there.  Some people in Albany -- the girl's younger bro included -- have no intention of ever leaving, and particularly can't see why anyone would want to live overseas in somewhere like England.

One afternoon, the girl and I stood on the beach in the late afternoon sun.  It was about 4pm, so the kids were getting out of school and it was warm enough that many were coming down to the beach and to swim in the ocean.  As we stood there, the air was warm, kids were playing on the beach, and there was a whale to be seen only a little way off the coast, just splashing gently in the water...

When people ask me if I could live in Albany I tell them honestly that I could -- it was moments like that which made living in London seem much greyer.  But we could only live in Albany if there was anything to do.  If there was enough there that the girl and I could both find work, earn a decent wage, and be able to do other things we loved -- in that case, sure, it was a nice place.  It wasn't paradise, but where is?  It wasn't a bad place to be, if you still kept a healthy sense of adventure and love of travel.  But there are plenty of other nice places we can also be -- personally, when we are in Australia I have said I want to live in Fremantle, but it remains to be seen.

Heading to warmer climes

Fremantle, Western Australia -- 2009.

On Friday, the girl and I will be cutting out of work early and heading for the airport.

While the English summer is drawing to a close and the nights are creeping in, we are taking a last-gasp attempt to drag it out a little more -- escaping to the warmer climes of Western Australia, before heading to a friend's wedding in Bali.

First when we were invited informally to the wedding we commented to each other how nice it would be to go, but that it would just cost far too much.  We didn't think much more about it, other than the occasional wistful sigh.  Then we got the beautiful and elaborate invitation in the post, and we said to each other "Let's just look into it... we'll just have a look and maybe it can be done".

And so it was, after a visit to a travel agent, some head-scratching and some number-crunching, we decided that opportunities like this don't come up very often -- so while we are both employed (which can never be taken for granted these days) and not tied down by kids or mortgages, we'd throw caution to the wind and just go.  Some great friends are going to be there, and we think it will also mean a lot to the bride and groom who took the time to invite us in the first place.

It's only a few days away now -- and final preparations are being made.  Tourist visas sorted, passports dug out, travel items bought, clothes sorted and counted and packed (even though they will end up being re-packed several times).  The girl has recently splashed out on a new DSLR which will be put to good use during the trip, while I'll be trying my best to avoid appearing in her photos.

With Australia heading into Spring as England heads into Autumn, it will be interesting to see the effect it has on people's attitudes -- if people are more cheerful and optimistic in London, or if that just describes Australians generally.

It strikes me that there is room to make this holiday into a kind of journey I can learn from -- what I will learn, I don't yet know, but with plans to hike up a volcano at dawn among the activities planned, there's got to be room for something life-changing out there.

Untitled piece about rain

Image source

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night.  I lie still and quietly, not knowing what woke me, but listening to the sound of the girl breathing quietly beside me, in her sleep.

As I lie there, between being asleep and being awake, the rain starts.  A few drops first, then suddenly I can hear it pouring down.  In my mind's eye, I can see the rain as a sheet of water, barely able to see across the courtyard to the flats opposite.

Then almost as suddenly as it started, the rain stops again.  It feels like everything is holding its breath, as the only sounds from outside are now the slow, soft dripping.

The girl continues her soft breathing, and I fall back asleep, not knowing what time it is or how long the rain lasted.

The king is gone but he's not forgotten

"The king is gone but he's not forgotten
This is the story of a Johnny Rotten" Neil Young, "Hey Hey, My My"

 It's not uncommon for me to wake up on the morning with a snatch of a song stuck in my head.  Sometimes it's a song I've not heard in years, most of the time I have no idea why that particular song or song lyric should be all I remember from a dream.

One day this week, I woke up with a line from Neil Young's "Hey Hey, My My" -- a song which apparently debates whether it is better to burn out or to fade away.  One thing has always bothered me about the song, and that's the line's quoted above -- "the king is gone, but he's not forgotten/this is the story of a Johnny Rotten".  I haven't ever read an analysis of the song, so I can't be sure of all the references in it -- but it's always bothered me, because Johnny Rotten isn't dead.  Not literally, anyway.  Sid Vicious is dead, and it's Sid Vicious who is considered by many (many who aren't really that familiar with punk) to represent the movement -- I have always felt a nagging that Neil Young was confusing Johnny Rotten with Sid Vicious.

I said that Johnny Rotten wasn't "literally" dead.  What I mean is that John Lydon is alive and well, and appearing on our television screens advertising Country Life butter -- but at the same time, because of this and the passing of the years, his persona as Johnny Rotten is dead.

In the Sex Pistols, back in the 1970s, he was a crazy eyed kid who couldn't sing in tune and had more in common with Shakespeare's Richard III as played by Laurence Olivier than he did with any king of rock and roll.

Punk was a revolution.  It was the downtrodden and the pissed off giving the ruling classes, the middle classes, two fingers up.  It was about taking back control -- music no longer had to be prog-rock opuses, instead punk told people that anyone could have a go. And they did.  Those who didn't form bands made fanzines with sticky tape and paper, that was as rough-and-ready as the music it presented.

Punk as a movement caused more moral outrage and paranoia than any music before or since -- it was considered a bigger threat to our way of life than Russian Communism.

 The Sex Pistols made only one album.  Is that what Neil Young meant when he said it's better to burn out than to fade away?  Glen Matlock was replaced by Sid Vicious, just for the image, and Sid was in his own way responsible for making the safety pins and torn clothing of the impoverished working classes a punk "uniform".  Sid never "burned out" because he was never burning in the first place.

So what of Johnny Rotten?  He formed "Public Image Limited", who weren't punk at all, and dropped the Rotten moniker.

These days, John Lydon is a property millionaire, milking Sex Pistls and PIL reuinions for all they're worth.  He lives in a mansion in Los Angeles.  And while it seems he still has all the anger and bitterness of his youth, speaking out against the middle classes ands private schools and international politics, it's hard to take "Johnny Rotten" seriously these days -- he's long gone.  His opinions on the Royal Family matter less to me than someone who actually still lives here.

What really burns is that Johnny Rotten didn't even burn out -- he wasn't a candle that burned twice as brightly for half as long.  While it could be said that he should be respected for forming PIL, something completely different to the Sex Pistols and respecting his artistic integrity instead of playing up to the punk rock cliche, he has lost any kind of credibility in the years that followed.

That is the story of a Johnny Rotten, gone but not forgotten.

Motivation follows action

Image source

Today was out not-so-monthly meeting at work.  They're meant to be monthly, but for some reason we'll have two or so in a row and then none for months.  If you ask me, once a month is too frequent for this kind of thing -- but nobody is asking me.  The only upside of these meetings is the company activity we get afterwards.

A few months back we went bowling at one of London's more original locations -- All Star Lanes.  I suck at bowling, and get even worse if I drink alcohol while bowling, so I think I came in last place out of the whole company.  All 12 of us, or however-many there were.  And to make matters worse at the time, nobody understood my references to The Big Lebowski -- even though the place was filled with posters for Lebowskifest.  Just the same it was fun.

Today's meeting was the usual.  But the activity afterwards was what I had been looking forward to all week: indoor climbing.  It was chosen randomly by the boss, who didn't think anyone had any experience -- but I completed a beginner's course earlier this year, and one of my colleagues used to run a kid's summer camp.

The climbing itself was good, if a little short -- and because it was pitched at total beginners, I could have done with it being a little more challenging.  I also wanted to be refreshed on tying the ropes, since that's the part I can't remember and the most important part I need for if I am to take my test to climb without supervision.  The good news is that belaying someone who is climbing is an automatic thing, like riding a bike, so that after a minute to find yourself again, you can just do it, without needing to think.

Any way you look at it, an afternoon climbing is better than an afternoon in the office, on the phone, trying to make sales.  I'm sure a lot of people get a buzz out of sales and would never want to do something like rock climbing, but that's just not me.  Today I am tired and aching, but happy -- I was left with the tired/happy feeling I used to get in Utah after a few hours snowboarding in the afternoon.

A friend told me recently that motivation follows action -- you have to force yourself to do something at first, before you will feel motivated to keep doing it.  Needing more exercise and to get out more and meet people is what I need to do, but can lack the motivation at times -- now I need to act first, take the time out to go climbing and do the things to improve myself.

I still think the idea of using adventure sports to help improve lives and communities is something that has merit -- it would tick the boxes for me, of helping people and being active -- and I guess the beginning of everything is that I have to be doing these sports first of all.  John Williams suggests Wednesdays as a day to "Play", to give yourself a taste of what you would like to be doing instead of work -- this seems like as good an idea as any.

Innernetz, I need your help!

It's Thursday, and by all rights I should today return to the much-neglected and Gala Darling-inspired Things I Love Thursday posts.  Except it's hard for me today to list the things I love -- or at least make it interesting.

The last couple of days in London, it's seemed like it has barely got light -- the rain has been torrential, and almost constant.  We can't complain too much though -- it's a subtle reminder of how bad things are in other parts of the world, like Africa and Asia -- Pakistan in particular.

The cloud and the rain is also a useful metaphor for how I've felt this week, and increasingly over the last couple of weeks.  I've been saying it almost from the day I started in this job, but I really have to get out of here -- it has been particularly painful this week.  Naturally, there's been no more talk of the marketing position I was offered a few weeks back -- so there's no way of knowing if or when that will happen, or if it will even be a job worth taking.  Right now I am just feeling stranded in a job I hate, with no way of knowing what to do to get out or to change it.

So, innernetz, I am asking for your help.  I am sincerely hoping there are more people reading this than I think, otherwise it's to an audience of one.  If you're pushed for time, just scroll down to the parts in bold for the action items -- then come back for the rest later.  You know you'll want to.

I was struck yesterday by something someone said on Twitter.  Inspired Entrepreneur Nick Williams had a short, simple message that said "Your creative and spiritual gifts are a perfect match for someone else’s needs and wants".  While I have some doubts about any "spiritual" gifts I have to offer (due to my skepticism about the existence of any kind of "spirit"), I do truly believe that my creative gifts -- my skills -- would be a perfect match for someone.  I'm a talented guy.  I write well, I'm creative and imaginative, I am easy to get along with and undemanding.  I am also very passionate when something engages my interest.

And this is why I need your help, Innernetz.  Being good just isn't good enough today, especially not when there are far more people than there are jobs.  Ultimately, I want to come to the point where I can turn my unique ideas into something that will earn me a living -- but before I can get to that point, I need to keep working -- and I need to be working in a job that I don't feel is crushing me.

Traditional job hunting is getting me nowhere.  Applying for jobs advertised on the internet places me as one among hundreds of applicants, and I am lucky to get so much as a polite refusal.  Recruitment consultants are unwilling to return my phone calls.  One trusted recruiter, whom I have dealt with over several years, describes my experience to date as "choppy" -- which she feels combines with a lack of recent experience in a creative or media role to give me this current situation: languishing in sales.

We need to a different approach, and something needs to change.  We've heard about the guy who is advertising a promise of 10% of his first month's wages to someone who can get him a job.  We've heard of people walking the streets with a sandwich board requesting a job.  I even heard of one guy, who after being rejected from the same PR agency several times, resorted to erecting a billboard on their front lawn.  It had a childhood picture of himself, and the caption "When I grow up, I want to work for...".  Funny how I can't remember the agency's name any more.

I need a unique angle to demonstrate the skills I have that make me such an amazing employee.  The second prong of the attack is that I also need anyone who reads this to drop me a line with a suggestion of someone I can contract -- a friend, an ex-employer, even a current employer -- who would be able to help me with this job hunt.

I am reading a lot of career change/life coach information at the moment -- including John Williams' "Screw Work, Let's Play", Marianne Cantwell's "Free Range Humans", and Mark McGuinness' "Lateral Action".  The trouble is -- and maybe it's the job (what Mr McGuinness calls "the sensible job that pays the bills but corrodes your soul") -- but I come home every night feeling frustrated, resentful and depressed.  This doesn't fill me with energy and optimism for striking out on my own, if I even knew what I wanted to do or how I could do it.

To recap -- what do I need?  Firstly and obviously, the main thing is I need a new job.  In the absolute short term, I need a job where I can be useful and creative and use my talents.  It doesn't have to be what I am going to do with the rest of my life, but I can't get anywhere when I feel the way I currently do each day.

Secondly, I need your thoughts and your ideas and your help on what I can do to.  Traditional job hunting methods are dead -- I need something that's going to set me apart.

Thirdly, and this can tie in with the second, I need referrals and contacts.  People who will listen to what you say when you tell mention my name.

For the rest of it, I'm on my own.  It's going to be up to me to figure out how to eventually turn "work" into "play", to break free of my rusty cage, and to strike out on my own.  But before I can do any of that, someone get me out of this sales role.

It's all academic

Picture source: Google images

It's a strange feeling this week, with all the news coverage of the A-Level results, to know that it's been 11 years since I got my own. I'll always remember the day: jumping out of bed and running to the front door so excitedly when the postman rang the doorbell.

He wasn't bringing my A-Level results, of course I had to go the school like everyone else to collect those, instead he was bringing me my Ramones Anthology boxset. "I Wanna Be Sedated" has never seemed a more fitting theme tune than it did that day.

My own results were very mediocre, I was a little disappointed but at the same time also relieved as I knew I'd be accepted by at least one of my two universities of choice. I was never going to be an Oxford student.

It seems those golden days are long behind us now, as the news fills with tales of students getting straight A grades, but being denied university places. To my mind, it's a product of schools putting too much pressure and focus on the grades and not enough attention on the rest -- extra-curricular activities, what you actually do with your time. You can get straight A grades, but if you want to go to the top universities in the country you are competing with everyone else who has the same grades.

It's been widely noted on the internet this week that if you read almost any of the major newspapers, you might be misled into believing that only pretty, skinny, white girls got their A-Level results. News coverage all features the same pictures of these photogenic girls "jumping for joy" or hugging each other. Nobody else matters, they seem to say. The question is, with all the attention this disparency is attracting online, will next year's coverage be any different?

Opinions are also divided over the creation this year of the A* grade at A-Level. Personally, I think it's extra pressure that you don't need at that age. I remember on GCSE results day, seeing a girl crying her heart out at being a failure because of her 10 GCSEs, only 9 had returned an A* Grade -- she was crushed to have got one grade A, as if she had failed everything. One could argue that this pressure came from parents or teachers or the girl herself, and had nothing to do with the A* grade being available -- but to my mind, it devalues grade A. Why don't we introduce a double-A* grade for those who do even better?

It was reported that because of the shortage of university places, versus the demand for them, some universities are encouraging students to look overseas. I don't know if such a system exists, but wouldn't it be something if students were able to put their grades -- actual or predicted -- into some kind of international database, to see all the universities and colleges around the world that would be thrilled to have them?

I'm certain there are hundreds, if not thousands, of universities in English-speaking countries or where the courses are taught in English -- and that with straight As or A* grades these universities would be falling over themselves to welcome British students. Perhaps this competition would mean that British universities would have to do more than just exist to attract students to them? I know when I was going to university, it was important to me to be able to have time abroad -- if I could have had the chance to spend the whole time in another country, I probably would have taken it.

But it all comes down to what everyone else thinks. What do you, the two readers of this blog think? Does the A* grade devalue the A? Should students have more access to universities outside the UK? And should schools place more value on things other than straight acadmeic scores?

Got the funk

I can't deny it, I am in a funk right now.  The trouble is, I don't know what to do to change it.

I take the right pills every day.  I also take multivitamins, cod liver oil and vitamin C supplements.  I make a conscious effort to take the stairs rather than use the lift nine times out of 10, and walk up escalators rather than ride to the top.

I can't say I don't have enough social interaction, either.  I am forced in my job to be calling people almost all day, every day, and went out to lunch with delegates twice in the same week.  I also went out and performed some of my poetry at the Poetry Cafe's "unplugged" night on Tuesday night, to a warm response.  One of the people there mentioned recognising me from Kid, I Wrote Back in Shoreditch and my recent performance at the festival in Shoreditch park.  Interestingly, after my performance in the park I have been considering giving up on writing and performing poetry since I am really just not that good.

So, then -- what's wrong?  Work continues to get me down, as ever.  Last week, apropos of nothing one day the MD asked me for 15 - 20 minutes.  We had a meeting, and she offered me the opportunity to take up a different role within the company -- to move out of sales and into marketing, because she thought I would be good at it and might enjoy it more.  I was pleased, I thought I would enjoy it more, and would be good at it -- putting the "social" into social media marketing, writing the email newsletters that go out to our community, and hopefully getting some specific time set aside to write the blog I set up for the company but never have the time or motivation to do anything with.

We said I'd take the week to think it over.  And the first thing I had to think about was, what was the salary going to be like in this position?  You would expect that this would be given with any kind of information about a role being offered, after all it would dramatically affect any decision you were to make.  But all this week the most I was able to establish was that it would be "very similar" to my current salary, which given it would be marketing instead of sales, didn't seem to make a whole heap of sense -- how similar could it be if there were no commissions from sales?

I got to have a meeting today, to discuss my thoughts.  And in this meeting today it seemed like in seven days the goalposts had been moved -- where last week I was told I would be starting this role in 2 - 3 months, if I took it, since they'd need to hire and train someone new for sales, today I was told it would be more like 4 - 6 months.  They want to bring in at least 3 new sales team members to ensure there is no dip in revenue.  I also found out that my salary will indeed be very similar in this new role, because I will be expected to be directly generating sales still!  Not through telemarketing, thankfully, but I will still be expected to work on commission and meet sales targets.

This time last week I was happy and excited about the possibility.  Today I feel a bit ripped off.  I have provisionally accepted the position for now, but can change my mind at any time, so will have to keep looking for something else.  And will have to magically find some motivation to look for jobs and apply for jobs and not get disheartened when nothing comes of it.

In her email newsletter today, Marianne Cantwell of Free Range Humans, explores how these days being employed -- rather than self-employed -- is the riskier option.  Her argument makes a lot of sense "With job security out the window for most people, employment is the equivalent to being self employed with only one client (your employer)".  I'd not thought of it like that before, but it makes a lot of sense.

What I disliked about being a freelance PR was the worry of not knowing when I would be working next, or how long I would be between positions.  I didn't enjoy the free time between roles or go anywhere like I planned to because I didn't know how long I had to last for.  Maybe I just wasn't a very good freelancer, one recruiter once told me that if I was any good I would have been offered a permanent role -- and I felt the same way, I longed for a secure, permanent position, somewhere I could stay and grow.  The world doesn't feel that way any more -- the threat of redundancy feels like it is going to be there, and you can expect to change careers, not just jobs, several times in your working lifetime.

With a little thanks due to Gala Darling, in a recent burst of inspiration my girl has started to put into practice her plans for world domination.  Determined not to spend the next 30 years working in an office for someone else, the girl is putting into action plans for her own business -- go to her blog and check it out, because not only is she someone special, but she has some excellent ideas and is really showing the rest of us how it's done when it comes to making plans to break free and go into business being yourself.  Embodying the ideas of Screw Work, Let's Play -- and now borrowing my copy of John Williams book -- the girl will soon be getting paid to play, or in her case be getting paid to be crafty.

It's far too simplistic to blame all my unhappiness right now on a job I can't stand most of the time.  But when you are there and feeling that way 9 hours a day, 7 days a week, I guess it has an effect.  Obviously, I have deeper seated issues I also need to address -- if I was a happier person, maybe I wouldn't let a job get me down.  But I'm just in a funk right now.

The Depression Cure

There has been a lot of media chatter recently around The Depression Cure by Stephen Ilardi -- outside of the health press it has also been featured in the Guardian, attracting the kind of social media attention most authors dream about.

It seems quite a simple premise, instead of prescription (and presumable, non-prescription) drugs and apparently consists of six steps:

• Take 1,500mg of omega-3 daily (in the form of fish oil capsules), with a multivitamin and 500mg vitamin C.
• Don't dwell on negative thoughts – instead of ruminating start an activity; even conversation counts.
•  Exercise for 90 minutes a week.
• Get 15-30 minutes of sunlight each morning in the summer. In the winter, consider using a lightbox.
• Be sociable.
• Get eight hours of sleep

The advice is I have no problem with.  So far, it all sounds like most traditional common-sense approaches.  But I am wondering is what content the rest of the book has to warrant buying it, since you can get the six steps for nothing.  Is there a wealth of case studies, testing these methods on people for whom drugs haven't worked?  As Steve Ilardi is a clinical psychologist, one would hope so.

The author also apprently blames the 21st century lifestyle for an increase in depression.  Conversely, he also encourages people to be more sociable.  I would argue that social media makes us more social, not less.  Social media connects us -- you can share with friends events you are attending, invite a wide and varied list of people to events you are organising yourself, keep up to date with bands you like.  Your circle of friends can now be truly international. 

When I was growing up, if your best friend moved to another school it may as well have been to another country.  If they moved to another country, odds were good you would never seem them again.  Not only has modern technology helped us to make friendships with people physically removed from ourselves, but it helps us to maintain friendships with people we can't necessarily see.

How's that for social interactiveness?  Sure, emails or Facebook messages or Twitter conversations might not be as good as actually seeing someone, but I would argue that they should not be discounted.  To my mind, social media can tick off at least two points on Ilardi's list -- it can give you an activity, and it is social.  Plus if you have a laptop, iPad or smart phone you can tick a third off -- and go outside with it.

Just because I am a social media junkie, and because the subject interests me, I am going to give it a go myself.  And if Vermilion would like to give me a copy of the book I will even review that -- because I'm a generous kind of guy.

The Inspired Entrepreneur Club

"The problem with the French is that they have no word for entrepreneur."

As invented quotes attributed to George "Dubya" Bush goes, that is particularly unconvincing -- not least because I wouldn't have expected Bush Jnr. to be familiar with the word "entrepreneur".

A group of people who are familiar with it, however, are Nick Williams' Inspired Entrepreneur Club.  I had the great pleasure of attending a meeting of the club on Wednesday night, though I think of myself less in terms of entrepreneur and more in terms of artist. Or dreamer.

This is the kind of event you hope to find in London, a diverse collection of individuals meeting at the International Students House in Great Portland St -- which to my mind is a pretty inspired choice of location.  Perhaps it was entirely coincidental, but as you walk in to the building you pass groups of young people from all over the world, all speaking different languages, all living in this big crazy city, so far from home.  That is inspiration right there -- leaving behind the comfortable and the familiar to live in another country.

The meeting itself started with a few moments of quiet reflection.  That scores points in my book right away, a few minutes of quiet with just my thoughts is rare for me -- time before sleep doesn't really count, since it rapidly descends into the nonsensical and from there dreams.

Working in sales as I do, so much of my day has to be spent on the phone.  If I take too long to write notes between dialling numbers I am immediately picked up on, so the short times scheduled for admin in the day when I don't have to be actively calling don't give me time for my own thoughts.  Every phone call I make during the day is monitored for length, I consider myself fortunate they aren't "recorded for training purposes".

You don't expect time for quiet reflection at an "entrepreneur" evening, but it was a far cry from the familiar networking events of people awkwardly mingling and swapping business cards and looking for who can bring them business.

The meeting itself commenced after the time of reflection, but even the networking wasn't "Hello, what do you do?" but instead was focused on sharing something -- or things -- that had inspired us.  It can be a little alarming when your first thought is that you can't think of a single inspiring thing.  I used to write "Things I Love Thursday" posts, which strangely enough stopped almost entirely when I got a new job last year -- I'm thinking now I might perhaps write regular posts on things that inspire me.  Like the BBC TV programme "Wonders of the Solar System", mentioned in previous posts.  What inspired me this week was seeing the girl in her show choir perform last weekend -- it took tremendous courage and dedication for everyone involved.  Search on YouTube for Starling Arts "Summer in the City" event if you want to see videos from the performances.

It inspired me to want to sing.  I already love music and part of me likes being the centre of attention -- which is part of the motivation behind my poetry and spoken word performances.  I enjoy karaoke and a few months ago I was indulged shamelessly at a karaoke event with a real band, where I acted like a rock star and belted out versions of "Teenage Kicks" and "Are You Gonna Be My Girl".  The benefit of singing with a real band like that was that I couldn't hear what I sounded like, but I cringe a little with shame when I think how terrible it must have been for the audience, since I am incapable of singing in tune.  So the concert on Saturday has inspired me to make contact with the organisers and ask if singing lessons are possible and if it can be possible to be without help.

Naturally, with any entrepreneur evening there was also discussion of what we do for a living as well as our dreams and ambitions.  I spoke to someone and told them of my passion for writing, how I write almost compulsively (it's not like I write this blog for the acclaim or wide readership).  They asked me what made me want to start writing -- and the funny thing is I realised it's just something I have always done, always wanted to do, and always been quite good at.  At school -- not unlike now -- I was never happier than when I was allowed to just write, to just be creative.  I wasn't a very good journalist -- though I read professionals in newspapers who are far worse than I ever was -- but part of that was no doubt a certain lack of confidence and shyness about talking to people.  Not great quality in a news reporter.

Late in the evening, one lady spoke of her ambition to be able to help people with cancer -- by way of an alternative to chemotherapy.  There was some brief discussion of marketing, and it was suggested to her about setting up a blog.  Being of a different generation, she seemed a little intimidated by the idea of having to learn new computer skills despite how simple she was told it would be.  And I had a thought, there is another way.

I write here on occasion of a desire to work in web content, to combine my existing writing skills with web design skills.  I would have liked to have been able to say to this lady, "Don't worry, I can help, just tell me what you want to say".  Web designers come a dime by the dozen, and I am struggling to get started with learning design (Javascript may have been a dead end or a false start), but part of me thinks I could be happy doing something like that -- I can take what you want to say and make it more readable, I can take what you have and give you a way to present it.  It's a thought anyway.

Kid, I wrote back

At the start of each month, I can be found in a bar in Shoreditch.

What coincidentally is my favourite bar in London -- and possibly in the whole world -- also hosts a monthly open mike night of spoken word.  And I live for this kind of thing.

Back in my Derby days as a student, I joined a poetry group and we'd meet once a week in a pub to share our poetry and give feedback and drink a lot.  Then once a month we'd all perform at an open mike night, called Raised Voices.

Raised Voices was held in the back room of a pub, which was freezing cold with no power other than a generator.  It seemed to fit the mood.  The students made only a small percentage of the people there, and I got a taste for spoken word -- despite needing a drink or two to have the courage to perform.

Raised Voices lost its edge for me when it moved out of the pub's back room and into a plush, carpeted conference space.  The florescent lighting had to be on, because it was either on or off -- no dimmed -- and the bar tender always had a slightly sarcastic smirk on his face.  The whole thing just felt wrong.

Then I moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, and met up with an old poetry friend who had been there for a year already, where he introduced me again to something new.  To two new things, really -- performing sober, and to performing in coffee shops.  It was often disconcerting being an Englishman abroad, when it wasn't just a short holiday but where people would stare at you in class, or be shocked to hear your accent when you stood up to perform in Cup o' Joes.

I think after I left Utah and until moved to London I had only performed twice -- once in Derby, when Raised Voices again had a new home (but none of the old faces, all my old poetry friends had scattered), and once when I was doing my Journalism post-grad in Leicester.  An amusing sidenote to that is that when I was interviewed for the journalism course, I spoke with great passion about how I loved to just write.  I was asked if I wasn't just a frustrated novelist -- I told them no.  I was a frustrated poet.  Why they still took me on is beyind me, I guess it was despite this they knew I could write, and saw potential.

So years and years later, we're living in London and I'm not giving much thought to poetry, let alone spoken word.  I have a dedicated bookshelf for poetry -- mainly consisting of Carol Ann Duffy, Simon Armitage, Pablo Neruda, John Hegley and Beat writers, along with a huge anthology that I dip into from time to time.  It's years later, I don't think of poetry until we're in my favourite bar for my birthday celebration and I see a poster for Kid, I Wrote Back -- a new spoken word and poetry night, being held there.

It's hosted and organised by the extremely talented Chimène Suleyman and Dylan Sage who are well known in similar circles in the city.   Kid is worth checking out for their performances alone -- but there are so many great and varied poets and writers appearing there each month, I feel almost proud to be able to appear alongside them.  My own work varies so much in quality and theme, I don't feel I hold a candle to a lot of people there, but it's so great just to perform -- and gives me a reason to wirte each month.

The perspective from a cosmic coincidence

In a spirit -- an ongoing trend -- of sharing too much, I've not been taking my medication lately like I should.

For the first few days, I'd barely notice. So I'd forget further. Then I'd notice that things seem, frankly, a bit shit. It brought a sacrastic philosopher in me -- were things shit because I perceived them that way, or was I perceiving them that way because it was true, and I was no longer placated.

Strangely, I've found that doctors have little time for philosophical discussion, or contemplating how it's no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.

I discovered a detached almost amusement at myself. When I lost my appetite, and really couldn't cope, part of me wondered "just how far can I push this?".

In the end, I found inspiration in a late-night BBC TV programme about space -- with sign language. I was interested to see if there was a sign for "trans-kuiper belt object".

But I discovered that the earth is the only place in the solar system to see a total eclipse of the sun. The sun is exactly 400 times larger than the moon, but by an amazing cosmic coincidence the moon just happens to be exactly 400 times farther away from the sun.

How can you stay depressed knowing something amazing like that?

I'm gonna break my rusty cage... and run

 

My moods are lately cycling between depression/despair, and a kind of almost euphoric optimism.  It's fun for the whole family, I can tell you.  I saw an ad in the morning paper to take part in a clinical trial looking at depression -- "Great," I thought "This is one clinical trial where they won't exclude you for having a history of depression."

As a sidenote, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a bit of a screw-up and didn't exactly ace the first interview, I am reasonably sure that I would have been turned away from joining the RAF because of a history of depression.

Anyway, I was rejected for the study after all -- because I had psychotherapy last year when I was out of work and depressed.  It was early and I was tired and I should have called it by its proper name of Cognitive-Behavioural Therapy, and it wasn't even what they were asking me about -- which was if I'd ever had Electro-Convulsive Therapy or the like.

But I was talking about moods.  The other morning, as I was walking to the station, I was thinking about the song Given To Fly, which ranks up there as one of my favourite songs ever.  I love the message of an ordinary person discovering unexpectedly an exraordinary ability, and as a child growing up I used to wish every birthday that I could fly.  Sometimes now when I am unable to sleep or just want a distracting daydream, I'll imagine being able to fly and sit up on quiet rooftops in the dark, unnoticed.  I was thinking about that song and how I want to be "given to fly" myself.  Not just literally, but metaphorically -- I want that brilliance, I want to feel that inspired.  I guess I have to be the change I want to see.  Wasn't that something Buddha said?  Either that or it was Henry Ford, and I get the impression those two gents were quite different people.

Where the video comes into all of this is that it's another message that I love and is becoming a mantra of mine -- I'm going to break my rusty cage, and run.  It says I am not going to be confined, I am not going to be caged, I am not going to be limited.  I am bigger than all of this.  I am going to break my rusty cage, and I am going to be free.

Also, for such an inspiring song the video is hilariously 90s.  I love that Absolute Radio have recently lauched their Absolute 90s station (and only wished it played more 90s alt rock), so it's very fitting -- but as I say, the whole thing is hilarious, with the crazy camera work and jumping all over with the guitars.  Thankfully Chris Cornell has got more quietly intense over the years.

Breaking out of my rusty cage at the moment means I have to do something.  Sure, my job sucks and I don't know what else to do -- but in the meantime, what I can do is write more, and if I want to one day do stuff with adventure sports then I need to put down the remote and actually get out there.  We'll see how I get on with it all.

Musings on space

Do you suppose Astronauts get depressed?

I guess they must do, really. Away for so long from the people they love. Away from the earth. The cold emptiness of space. It must do things to you.

But do you suppose the shuttle arrives at the moon on a Monday morning and the other Astronauts are all like "Neil! Neil! We're at the moon, Neil! Get your space-boots on!"
"I don't feel like it. Leave me alone."
"But it's the moon! We've been in the spacecraft for months! You've waited your whole life for today!"
"I don't care, leave me alone. I want to stay in bed."
"But Neil..."
"I want to be a builder, I've decided."

Do anything you wanna do

"Tired of doing day jobs
With no thanks for what I do
I'm sure I must be someone
Now I'm gonna find out who"
Eddie & The Hot Rods "Do Anything You Wanna Do" (1977)

I've been here before, you know.  Wanting change, but not really knowing how to effect it -- dissatisfied with where I am, but not making any progress.  Except now, I am beginning to feel like I have some tools to work with.

In my last post, I mentioned John Williams' book Screw Work, Let's Play, and listed all the things I'd do if I could whatever I liked for a whole year.   The only trouble is, there's so many ideas and it's not necessarily possible to do all of them if you only have one year -- so instead you get to imagine that you have infinite opportunities, or for the sake of brevity in this case, seven.

 

This is my list of what careers I would follow over my now-various years of play.  There isn't actually seven of them in my case, but it might expand later -- I figure it can only help to add more as I think of them.

Year One: Adventure

Pro-surfer, snowboarder, rock climber -- you name the adventure, I'm on it.  As a side-note, my interest in adventure sports is pretty funny -- at school, I sucked at PE, and was the despair of many teachers who found that I didn't measure up to my athlete older brother.  It turns out since then that I don't hate sports at all, I just have to discover them in my own time -- and if lessons at school had involved more adventure and less ball games, perhaps things would have been different...

Year Two: Super Hero.

Save the animals. Help the people. Save the world.  I'd rescue sea turtles of central America and the beautiful Bongo Antelope in the mountains of Kenya.  I'd do aid work in disaster zones, build schools in developing countries.  I'd spend a season as a fire-lookout in a national forest, helping spot forest fires before they start.  I probably wouldn't actually have any super-powers though.

Year Three: Artist.

Poet, writer, sculptor, painter.  My days would be spent learning, doing, and expressing.

Year Four: Traveller.

Seeing the world, taking pictures, taking notes, dreaming. Always moving on.

Year Five: Buddhist.

Spend a year in a monastery -- studying zen, eating rice.

I feel like I am making just the tiniest, little bit of progress here.  It might not seem like it to an outsider -- it could seem I have a lot of dreams but no practical ideas on making any of them into how to get paid to do what I love.  But the first step is I have to work out what I enjoy, and what I would want to do.

In my current sales role, despite doing well against my own targets -- for the moment, at least --  there's not a moment's doubt that this isn't what I want to be doing, especially not here, and especially when they start kicking us for not meeting the weekly sales targets.  The sooner I figure out where to be, the better.