Those of you who have followed my blog will know of my long running analogy, comparing our situation with the game, Slender. I do honestly believe that this is quite a fair comparison. For those of you unfamiliar with the game, please at least, check it out. A first person, free, and scary, download, Slender involves a quest for clues, when at the same time, being chased through dark woods by a disturbing, lanky, pale and disturbing figure. Just when you think it is safe, the screen clouds and The Slenderman stands before you. That is our, my family's, situation.
I have been slavishly toiling, as a bitch for Arqiva, for a month now and, to be quite honest, I am struggling to maintain my sanity. I suspect that Chris is in the same boat, but needs must! I did, however, expect to begin to claw my way, week by week, to a state that can be considered by some to reflect financial stability. Fat chance. Idiots and buffoons have ensured that the coffers remain dry, or at least partially. In Slenderman terms, I am standing at the tree-line with The Slenderman directly behind me, arse!
Quick wins for Cerberus have queued up and so we have to prioritise, I just hope we choose wisely.
Monday, 23 September 2013
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
I've stayed in some shitholes in my time, but...
Where to start?
High Wycombe, that's where I start. The travelling to the job mooching about in the Chalfonts takes its toll, especially after a busy weekend in Amsterdam at IBC. An important demo tomorrow drove me to make a very bad decision, to stay overnight nearby, somewhere I could get to work without a two hour drive. Last week it was at a rather peculiar, but clean, comfortable and classy establishment where I was well looked after by an eccentric lady in Amersham. I walked into town and had a great curry before grabbing a great nights sleep.
This week I opted to look for a cheaper establishment in High Wycombe. As it transpired the price turned out to be the same, but the place...
After driving along the A40 on the way out of town I began to despair at the decrepit, drooping and dreary facades of the roadside houses. It seemed the further I travelled towards my destination the worse the frontage became. Eventually I gave up and pulled over; I had obviously overshot the mark. A quick google check on the phone gave me an address, excellent, two minutes later I pulled into the car park at a shiny hotel. I checked in and was told that my room was in the annexe. The annexe turned out to be a manky semi half a mile down the road.
From here on I swear never to stay in a 'hotel' without tarmac on the drive nor one where the 'car-park' is piled high with empty bottle of white lightning. Still I have been wrong before so I entered the building.
Nope, I was right. My room was at the top of the house. A small room with a cupboard for a bathroom and the same price as the palatial triple room in Amersham, arse.
Right, I thought, man up Gledson and get your arse down to the pub. Cash first. Thankfully, the bright lights of a BP garage guided me towards an ATM. As I withdrew cash from an account I could hardly afford to attack I saw a handwritten sign stuck to the Budgens shop window which bore the legend, 'We serve alcohol till 1AM', badly spelt and written but setting the scene.
I took the cash, which contained five pound notes, never a good sign, and marched off to the nearest pub. The White Horse boasted, Sky Sports, free food and exotic dancing; I kept walking.
The next pub, The Bird in Hand, seemed a little better so I took the plunge. I ordered a pint of Strongbow as I perused the menu; beef madras and chips, fried chicken burger etc etc. I found a table in a corner and sat down. Within seconds a scrawny scouser with yellow and brown nicotine stained teeth asked me if he could join me beneath the large TV. 'Shit', I thought, 'fooking football.' I feigned interest in my phone, sunk my pint and left.
With little option left to me I returned to the bright lights of Budgens and the BP garage. It was still a long way off 1AM, barely 7PM, but I was after a menu of kings. As I approached the checkout an old man in his pyjamas with his left leg in a plaster cast hobbled behind me and nodded a greeting. He held a single can of lager and a packet of Haribo. Normally I would have sneered openly but with my basket of onion rings (a tasty corn snack) a bottle of wine and a star bar, I felt I could not judge.
Thankfully I had my primula and ham sandwiches left from lunch. So, I returned to the room opened the wine and resolved to write emails, eat my meal and fall asleep to the sound of sirens.
Amersham next week.
High Wycombe, that's where I start. The travelling to the job mooching about in the Chalfonts takes its toll, especially after a busy weekend in Amsterdam at IBC. An important demo tomorrow drove me to make a very bad decision, to stay overnight nearby, somewhere I could get to work without a two hour drive. Last week it was at a rather peculiar, but clean, comfortable and classy establishment where I was well looked after by an eccentric lady in Amersham. I walked into town and had a great curry before grabbing a great nights sleep.
This week I opted to look for a cheaper establishment in High Wycombe. As it transpired the price turned out to be the same, but the place...
After driving along the A40 on the way out of town I began to despair at the decrepit, drooping and dreary facades of the roadside houses. It seemed the further I travelled towards my destination the worse the frontage became. Eventually I gave up and pulled over; I had obviously overshot the mark. A quick google check on the phone gave me an address, excellent, two minutes later I pulled into the car park at a shiny hotel. I checked in and was told that my room was in the annexe. The annexe turned out to be a manky semi half a mile down the road.
From here on I swear never to stay in a 'hotel' without tarmac on the drive nor one where the 'car-park' is piled high with empty bottle of white lightning. Still I have been wrong before so I entered the building.
Nope, I was right. My room was at the top of the house. A small room with a cupboard for a bathroom and the same price as the palatial triple room in Amersham, arse.
Right, I thought, man up Gledson and get your arse down to the pub. Cash first. Thankfully, the bright lights of a BP garage guided me towards an ATM. As I withdrew cash from an account I could hardly afford to attack I saw a handwritten sign stuck to the Budgens shop window which bore the legend, 'We serve alcohol till 1AM', badly spelt and written but setting the scene.
I took the cash, which contained five pound notes, never a good sign, and marched off to the nearest pub. The White Horse boasted, Sky Sports, free food and exotic dancing; I kept walking.
The next pub, The Bird in Hand, seemed a little better so I took the plunge. I ordered a pint of Strongbow as I perused the menu; beef madras and chips, fried chicken burger etc etc. I found a table in a corner and sat down. Within seconds a scrawny scouser with yellow and brown nicotine stained teeth asked me if he could join me beneath the large TV. 'Shit', I thought, 'fooking football.' I feigned interest in my phone, sunk my pint and left.
With little option left to me I returned to the bright lights of Budgens and the BP garage. It was still a long way off 1AM, barely 7PM, but I was after a menu of kings. As I approached the checkout an old man in his pyjamas with his left leg in a plaster cast hobbled behind me and nodded a greeting. He held a single can of lager and a packet of Haribo. Normally I would have sneered openly but with my basket of onion rings (a tasty corn snack) a bottle of wine and a star bar, I felt I could not judge.
Thankfully I had my primula and ham sandwiches left from lunch. So, I returned to the room opened the wine and resolved to write emails, eat my meal and fall asleep to the sound of sirens.
Amersham next week.
My dinner!
Tuesday, 20 August 2013
Fag kiosk bingo and Wonga.com
Before I start my usual nonsense on the usual whinging about how I have to eat value mince and scrape up road-kill cats for the kids breakfast I will relate a shining light of rare genius. Also, I do realise that the title is better placed for a 0930 weekday advert for an ITV show but, let's see where it leads us.
After spending the allocated £20 at Asda, smugly coming in well under budget (56 pence), I joined the queue at the kiosk on the route back to the car. As I viewed those standing before me, a flash of snobbery and superiority overwhelmed me for more than a few seconds. This was when the idea of fag kiosk bingo was born.
A full house is when the Jez Kezesque loser in front on the queue buys: fags, a lottery ticket (or scratch card) and pays a utility bill with a plastic stick. The bonus ball, thunder ball, whatever, is if they are eating something, preferably a pasty, bought in the store. I was somewhat unfortunate as I saw all of the above but in different customers which meant no full house. The fat little girl stuffing her face with a steak slice while she stood beside her nan, probably, as she bought fags and a lottery ticket, was the closest to a full house but no cigar
Yesterday was the lowest day we have had as a family for some time; the cupboards were bare, honestly, and we returned to the days of Portland; tinned food and toast. Then, this morning, it turned around; I am getting paid this week, Will received his inheritance, Sam sold the remaining Cub and Emma has another editing assignment. We may get through this...whinge over ;-)
We had considered the position as desperate and all of us, adults that is, applied for a Wonga loan. Ironically, I was the only one who was refused. Emma, Sam and Will were all accepted but turned it down as a matter of smugness and principle.
Todays photo, a masked Mexican wrestler;
After spending the allocated £20 at Asda, smugly coming in well under budget (56 pence), I joined the queue at the kiosk on the route back to the car. As I viewed those standing before me, a flash of snobbery and superiority overwhelmed me for more than a few seconds. This was when the idea of fag kiosk bingo was born.
A full house is when the Jez Kezesque loser in front on the queue buys: fags, a lottery ticket (or scratch card) and pays a utility bill with a plastic stick. The bonus ball, thunder ball, whatever, is if they are eating something, preferably a pasty, bought in the store. I was somewhat unfortunate as I saw all of the above but in different customers which meant no full house. The fat little girl stuffing her face with a steak slice while she stood beside her nan, probably, as she bought fags and a lottery ticket, was the closest to a full house but no cigar
Yesterday was the lowest day we have had as a family for some time; the cupboards were bare, honestly, and we returned to the days of Portland; tinned food and toast. Then, this morning, it turned around; I am getting paid this week, Will received his inheritance, Sam sold the remaining Cub and Emma has another editing assignment. We may get through this...whinge over ;-)
We had considered the position as desperate and all of us, adults that is, applied for a Wonga loan. Ironically, I was the only one who was refused. Emma, Sam and Will were all accepted but turned it down as a matter of smugness and principle.
Todays photo, a masked Mexican wrestler;
Sunday, 18 August 2013
The final five days...probably
Who would have thought that things would have been so close, that we are, literally, calculating everything down to the final pound and and to the final hour. At the moment I may just have enough money to ensure that I can get to work and back every day next week, fingers crossed.
Many, many balls in the air and it looks as though the next five days will be the time to not only attempt to catch most of them but also a few more will be launched also. If nothing else the past couple or three months have forced me to focus on getting all of my affairs in order, this includes sorting out my old company, and sadly the car. As mentioned on Friday I was to take the car to market to swap for some magic beans. After the usual appraisal nonsense the ridiculously emotionless sales-person confidently informed me that they were prepared to take the car off my hands provided I settle the negative equity on the vehicle, over £3000. When I queried the wisdom of this, I was asked in a thoroughly condescending fashion, whether I understood the offer or not. To which I replied that if I had that sort of money then I could easily afford the finance and would not need to sell the vehicle, she seemed very confused and soon left, OK I may have said something else but can't remember. Not happy, but they have since come up with an alternative approach, this is however, to be confirmed so I am no more enlightened nor hopeful.
Todays photo, a leprechaun elephant:
Many, many balls in the air and it looks as though the next five days will be the time to not only attempt to catch most of them but also a few more will be launched also. If nothing else the past couple or three months have forced me to focus on getting all of my affairs in order, this includes sorting out my old company, and sadly the car. As mentioned on Friday I was to take the car to market to swap for some magic beans. After the usual appraisal nonsense the ridiculously emotionless sales-person confidently informed me that they were prepared to take the car off my hands provided I settle the negative equity on the vehicle, over £3000. When I queried the wisdom of this, I was asked in a thoroughly condescending fashion, whether I understood the offer or not. To which I replied that if I had that sort of money then I could easily afford the finance and would not need to sell the vehicle, she seemed very confused and soon left, OK I may have said something else but can't remember. Not happy, but they have since come up with an alternative approach, this is however, to be confirmed so I am no more enlightened nor hopeful.
Todays photo, a leprechaun elephant:
Friday, 16 August 2013
Once upon a time...
a boy named Jacked lived with his mother in a small shack. One day Jack's mother told Jack to take their cow, the only thing they owned in the world, to sell at market because they were so poor and needed money for food.
OK, not an exact match, but for Jack read John and for market read Snow's Toyota in Southampton, OK it's still a cow but I do hope I get some magic beans tomorrow. In this story though the beans won't yield a life altering beanstalk and through that a metaphorical opportunity to change my life through hard work, courage and determination merely a bag of gold to give the finance company to make them go away for a little while which in turn will give me, hang on, a real opportunity to change my life through hard work, courage has emerged.
It's been two days back at work and I'm knackered, 0500 start through to 2030 when I finally arrived back, at the caravan for the time being. If I've jumped through the correct hoops I may just get paid next Friday. Work as a Project Manager is exactly as I remember, the only stress is that you bring yourself, if you can take the whole PM world seriously that is. The guys (and girls) in the office are all great and the working environment is brilliant, just a bit far away for my liking.
IBC looms close with many launches for Cerberus, the webcasting world is beginning to wake up to our services, we're nearly there folks.
Today's photo, of course it is:
OK, not an exact match, but for Jack read John and for market read Snow's Toyota in Southampton, OK it's still a cow but I do hope I get some magic beans tomorrow. In this story though the beans won't yield a life altering beanstalk and through that a metaphorical opportunity to change my life through hard work, courage and determination merely a bag of gold to give the finance company to make them go away for a little while which in turn will give me, hang on, a real opportunity to change my life through hard work, courage has emerged.
It's been two days back at work and I'm knackered, 0500 start through to 2030 when I finally arrived back, at the caravan for the time being. If I've jumped through the correct hoops I may just get paid next Friday. Work as a Project Manager is exactly as I remember, the only stress is that you bring yourself, if you can take the whole PM world seriously that is. The guys (and girls) in the office are all great and the working environment is brilliant, just a bit far away for my liking.
IBC looms close with many launches for Cerberus, the webcasting world is beginning to wake up to our services, we're nearly there folks.
Today's photo, of course it is:
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
Packed lunch
I've just finished a marathon two day stint chasing those I owe money to, rearranging direct debits and generally convincing all of the authors of letters received recently not to initiate court proceedings and bring in the bailiffs (Oh God, I'd forgotten the bailiffs). Most of that has now been done and a rather frugal way forward is now evident. The downside of this is that my packed lunch ingredients for the next month at least consist of the fruits of dumpster diving, cupboard rummaging or the leavings at my favourite 'Whoops!' shelf at Chavsda. Tomorrow, something resembling ham and cheese from a tube on budget, on the turn, bread, Nice! Oh and two bananas.
I can't complain, at least I am at work tomorrow, I have transport, and there is light at the end of the tunnel. Saying that, it looks as though my prediction of all of our best prospects coming together at the same time appears to be wholly accurate, will say more as this bears fruit.
On a completely different note, I attempted to generate some interest in the football international tonight. A friendly match between England and Scotland. What does that term mean? There's not real outcome nor reason to play the bloody match other than to annoy, irritate and injure. As a result, 90 minutes of anything but friendly play. This coupled with decades of ignorance, arrogance and violence means that the resultant event is nothing more than a concentrated, distilled version of a Jeremy Kyle omnibus. I managed to endure the first half but decided that my time would be better placed cleaning the rim of the toilet bowl with Beth's toothbrush, just finished actually.
Going to try and force a decent night's sleep before a half-five start tomorrow morning. I must admit I do feel quite excited, it'll be the first real day's work in nearly seven years, Skynet of course does not count.
Todays photo, predictably, Wayne Rooney:
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
Another day without work...arse!
Today has been a rather desperate day, both from a personal view and a corporate one. The focus is still very much on financial disaster recovery and from that averting disaster on both fronts.
After our meeting with the marvellous Angela at the bank the way was clear, Emma and I hit it with fervour. All is proceeding to plan with the exception of the new Nawest ‘One View’ approach to accounts. To explain; my business accounts are now linked to my personal accounts, which means that anybody else linked to me will suffer as I have to recover my personal situation. Another cunch of bunts, spreading their misery to justify a reduction of services.
I was supposed to start a new contract tomorrow but a hiccup with a laptop has pushed me back to Thursday, arse. In fact, whinge, whinge, whinge. I am such a twat sometimes.
On another note, the type 22 reunion taking place next year has left me feeling a bit annoyed and cold. Working with the likes of Paradigm and Astrium on Skynet 5, I see the plethora of ex-servicemen unable to change or release their lifestyle. As certain individuals develop beyond their forces persona they want to prove the improvement, I will say no more. The upshot is, although the idea and organisation is excellent, that of thousands of potential ex serving type 22 ratings and officers, there are only 250 tickets available. I would love to offer a field with marquees etc. Never mind.
Todays photo, Dave Hill from Slade:
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