Ticket Fiasco

If you haven't read the last couple of posts, please do.

That's not because I want more hits/followers/readers/whatever. I just want everyone to follow, understand and perhaps even smile or laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation.

We all need to bear in mind the context of course. A planet under threat from climate change, whose citizens are being urged to do all in their power to save energy, reduce their carbon footprint and green up. Who cling to their four wheeled carriages of independence with pride, looking down upon those who believe public transport, those slightly grubby looking vehicles that turn up late, in threes or not at all, are the key to our future and the sustainability of the planet.

I do of course digress.

I make it to Platform 11, throw myself on the Abbey Flyer, get out my yoghurt and banana (this is a train right - surely it is okay to eat here...?) I open up the Metro - how I have missed you - and prepare to enjoy my ten minute journey to Bricket Wood.

A ticket inspector asks to see my ticket. He has a ticket machine - clearly designed for the sale of tickets - around his neck. Oh joy! Hallelujah! Amazing - it is possible to buy your ticket on the train. By my calculation this allows me several minutes of grace at Watford Junction should the 320 arrive slightly later than expected, should there be a queue at the ticket machine, should I find myself unable to rival Usain Bolt's personal best whilst sprinting to Platform 11.

I engage him in conversation. Something he appears not to be comfortable with, his body language suggests he would prefer to be moving on through the train, scanning the tickets of others flying towards the Abbey. I express my delight and appreciation that it is possible to buy a ticket on the train, dreaming of the time saving possibilities this offers.

He crushes my carbon saving dream in an instant. No, madam, you cannot buy a ticket from me.

Unless.

Unless you are boarding at North Watford. Or Garston. And why might that be? Because they do not have ticket barriers.

I explain in a very nice, pleasant, amenable and co-operative sort of way that getting to the Junction for 08.04 is a challenge, and ask him, as if I didn't know, when the next train might be. As expected, because I already know the answer, he tells me it is at 09.01. So if I miss this train, unable to board it because of a bus delay, a queue at the ticket machine, or an inability to run fast enough, I am delayed an hour. Even though I have got up at six am, done half a days work, walked to a bus stop and paid a stupid amount of money to share the bus with others who have chosen, or have no choice and are therefore taking the green route.

I'm not sure I need to say any more. You can probably guess what he said. There is no option, I have to queue and buy a ticket at the junction.

As it happens when I get to Bricket Wood I still have to walk down the road, over a bridge, across the common, along a country lane with no footpath, back into the flooded entrance to the business park.

"How was your journey?"

"Much better. Thank you."

Public Transport Discussion - Part Two

After last week's two and a half hour round trip to Bricket Wood an alternative had to be found. The Abbey Flyer - pictured on the last blog entry - seemed to be a viable alternative. Stopping as it does at Bricket Wood, on the side that isn't by The Black Boy, closer to the business park, I decided this was the way to go...

The Abbey Flyer leaves Watford Junction at 08.04. Arriving at Watford Junction in time to buy a ticket and make your way to Platform 11 - which happens to be a pretty long schlep from the ticket barrier - is another PTC (Public Transport Challenge) to be negotiated. After fruitless searches on my friend Google, calls to Traveline, and a walk to the bus stop to look at the timetables printed in black and white on the inside of the bus shelter, I decide the only viable option is the 320. It doesn't stop at my local stop but that's not an insurmountable problem - it's only a ten to fifteen minute walk away and leaves at 07.27.

So I set the alarm for 06.00. I get up, I shower, wash my hair, put on some make up (would not want to scare the bus passengers...) eat something (remembering yoghurt and bananas are not particularly welcome on Arriva services...) empty and reload the dishwasher, put on a load of washing (all the usual morning stuff) and make a sandwich.

I grab a cereal bar, more yoghurt and fruit, my anorak and a brolly. The walk takes less time than expected and I have ten minutes at the bus stop to check emails and tweet. Cannot resist channelling Sting. "Wet Bus Stop, she's waiting...."

Bus is late. This sentence does not require explanation or expansion, it is a fact and not to be questioned or commented upon. Bus goes round and round the houses, the ring roads, housing estates and the highlands and Loch Lomond - or perhaps I imagined the last bit. At 07.5something I arrive at Watford Junction, leg it to the ticket machine, stress and fuss while someone very slow - probably inexperienced when it comes to these things - negotiates the buttons that lead to the delivery of a ticket to somewhere they will have to take  a replacement bus service to - and finally, eventually, I get my debit card into the machine, key in Bricket Wood, break out in a cold sweat over the cost ( the first half hour's work today will fund my travel ...) and obtain a ticket.

I run to Platform 11 - which seems to be located in Berkhamstead - and throw myself onto the train...

To be continued.....

Public Transport - Discuss

The photo shows the Abbey Flyer. Confessions and apologies - I did not take it, do not own the copyright and should probably take it down if anyone objects...

I've chosen this photo because I have an anecdote to share. It's not particularly exciting or entertaining but it did amuse me - with hindsight. And it has also challenged me to take action to change things so that this ludicrously ridiculous situation no longer exists.

As some of you know I have been doing some freelance writing for our local news magazine. As a youngster (yes - we used that word back in the day...) I longed to be a journalist. I craved a byline the way my peers craved chocolate, chips, or a snog with David Cassidy. Somehow life didn't quite deliver my wishlist and after a spell at Marks and Spencer and the birth of three children I found myself officially too old to train. Since when did thirty become old? I know some (almost) thirty year olds I gave birth to - they are, to coin an old phrase, mere youngsters...

The editor suggested going into the office once a week for a few weeks, to see how I got on. I jumped at this opportunity - believing the magazine office to be at the Croxley Business Park. As I put the phone down I realised the words "Bricket Wood" had come into the conversation. What? How?

Needs must and all of that. After an hour or so in the company of my friend Google I phoned Traveline who assured me Bricketwood is a mere bus ride away from Croxley. The 724 to be precise. I dutifully waited for it, boarded it (ten minutes later than expected) and journeyed to "The Black Boy". The journey itself was a revelation. Heads turned when I brought out my yoghurt and banana - apparently breakfasting on the bus is not as acceptable as it is on the Met Line. (thank goodness I had already applied a full face of make up).

And then - horror of horrors - people started to speak. As in talk to each other. Oh my goodness, no, please no. Not at this time in the morning. Don't they have ipods? Probably not - most of them are over seventy...

The twenty five minute estimated journey time was quite frankly a joke. After an hour or two - after we'd been hit by a lorry and delayed by around 350 sets of traffic lights - I was finally deposited at the Black Boy an hour or so after leaving home.

Now the fun was to begin. Bricketwood is not a small place. The Business Park is not on the same side of it as the Black Boy. Not to worry - I have boots and an anorak, a printout of Googlemaps and a newly acquired Android phone. I begin to walk. Twenty five minutes later after uphill and downhill walks and a particularly hairy stretch along a country lane with no footpath I arrive at the Business Park. I have only to negotiate the short stretch of flooded road, splashed only lightly by those drivers with the luxury of a four wheeled vehicle to themselves, and I am there.

Good morning, and welcome - how was your journey?

to be continued........

Saying Goodbye

Funerals aren't something we look forward to or particularly enjoy. When we describe what a funeral was like don't we often say that it was a lovely service, a fitting tribute, a good way to say goodbye, what they would have wanted? I think most of us would agree they are necessary as without them it is difficult to find that over-used word "closure".

I'd like to put forward the hypothesis that when someone is made redundant a similar rite of passage is necessary. With hindsight it is since the leaving drinks I "enjoyed" with my friends two weeks ago that I have been able to move on from the situation I was in after losing my job.

"Enjoyed" sits within inverted commas since it is hard to use that as the word to describe that evening. It was lovely to see friends old and new, colleagues past and present. (Well as present as they can be when you no longer work with them...) I admit to being tearful, feeling fragile, drinking large amounts of tonic water, wanting the night to end and considering doing a runner.

I stuck it out however and the conversations I had were precious. Some of them will stay with me for a very long time. Above all else they helped me to move on, to let go, to look to the future. The week prior to "the drinks" had been one of angst and anguish, tears and tantrums. I had almost cancelled it, and considered simply not turning up. But you can't have a funeral without a body...

Since that night - and I'd like to reassure everyone I did at the end of it enjoy a glass or two of red with especially close friends who had travelled a very long way to share the evening - things have been "on the up".

After a particularly stressful and soggy session at the Jobcentre I was redirected to a warm and sympathetic advisor who understands and "gets" me. It looks like the government (God bless'em) will pay for me to get the Prince2 Project Management certification, and can also offer me some advice on setting up a small (cupcake?) business.

This week I have worked 16 hours - declared on a Form B7 so I lose my JSA - at a rate I would have laughed at six months ago. Somehow that doesn't matter, just being in work does so much for your self esteem and bolsters your confidence. Once upon a long time ago I desperately wanted to be a journalist but was told I was too old to train. Here I am working as a reporter! This week I have written about a swimathon, a marathon, a skydive, a litter pick, a football team, someone living below the line, a flower festival, an x factor contestant and - favourite story of all - three hives of honey bees buzzing away on the local business park.

I've baked for kids with chickenpox, incredibly brave women who're battling cancer, people celebrating birthdays and anniversaries, and for my family. I've walked miles, gained a better understanding of the bus timetables in South West Hertfordshire, spoken to any number of random people and feel fitter and slimmer than I have for ten years!

I've allowed my body clock to have its way - enjoying the peace and quiet in the house late at night and waking naturally at 7.30am rather than with the shriek of the alarm an hour beforehand. I haven't missed the Jubilee Line even one teensy little bit.

But - can you feel the but? I miss my friends and colleagues, the work that I used to do. The pride in working for an agency that does such amazingly good work, the buzz of being in the greatest city on earth on a daily basis.

Maybe one day I'll be back. For now I'm grateful that saying goodbye was such a positive experience. Thanks for reading this far - here's a cupcake treat for you...

Linda xxx

One month on

It's exactly one month today since I lost my job. Those of you who need to know will already understand what happened. The rest of  you probably only need to know that my contract ended at the same time as a big restructure and somehow I found myself "let go" (to use the technical term...)

Life since that time has been a roller coaster. Not a day has gone past when I haven't thought of blogging, when I haven't thought that writing it all down might really help. I've hesitated for the reasons given on the last post - in spite of all that has happened I believe passionately in the organisation I used to work for, they do a fantastic job and I will always support them. For these reasons and more I am nervous about baring more than my friends need to see, that might damage our friendship or their view of me.

Moving swiftly to today I can see how far I've come. There's not a lot I don't know about cupcakes and even looking back at photos from the beginning of this year I am impressed with those I made earlier today (see image).

I had thought of doing some kind of college course, of upskilling ready for the next step up the career ladder. I checked out courses in cake decoration and decided that being the sort of person I am I could spend the £300 or so it would cost me on equipment instead and teach myself by watching videos on YouTube while messing about in my kitchen - proving very successful so far!

Making cupcakes yourself from home is unlikely ever to make you a huge fortune. However I'm sure it's possible to expand and make some money if you have an astute business brain. Maybe that is something for my wish list.

Linda xxx

Why haven't I blogged for a while?

Oh heck, not blogged for a while, decided I really need to get back into it and ... look what has happened. Well actually you probably can't see what I can see, as I am in what I believe is known as the back end of blogger. The place with the WYSIWIG editor where you - or I - type your rambling thoughts before hitting the button that sends them into cyberspace.

Not blogging doesn't mean I don't want to blog or don't think about it every day - so what is it that stops me, that accounts for the long silence?

Maybe there is nothing other than laziness? The inability to focus and write rather than faff on facebook or mess around on twitter? Possibly, but I'm not sure that is it as there seems to be a bigger reason...

... from my very first post I've hinted that I struggle with the soul baring aspect of a blog. At the same time I find it hard to see any real purpose in a personal diary or journal - though I appreciate others do. So if I am going to  chronicle life as I see it here is the place.

The real reason why I blog less often is, I believe, because of the likely subject matter these days. During my scoliosis surgery it was pretty straightforward - if almost impossible - to enter something every day relating to the operating room, intensive care, recovery, drugs, pain, physio etc etc etc...

The redundancy issue makes scoliosis surgery look like a walk in the park. Ironic really since someone said to me that scoliosis surgery made open heart surgery look like that very same walk. I'm not saying it is harder to deal with redundancy than scoliosis surgery of course. But I am saying it is harder to write about it. For starters you don't want to be bad mouthing the organisation you used to love and love working for.

More than that however - the soul searching process you go through is so painful and personal that a blog somehow doesn't feel like quite the right place for it. Give it a few weeks - or in my case one month today - and you gain a sense of perspective which helps you express what needs to be said in a way that is fair and helpful.

I'll unpack this more in another post, thanks for reading this far x

A really positive day

Days like today are rare, special, and to be savoured. They can occur out of the blue, or they can be the culmination of days, weeks, months even, of hope, prayer, anticipation and bl**dy hard work...

The key to what makes them so special has to be, in my humble opinion, the degree of encouragement they bring to our life. Which has made me consider again what it is that we need for life to be happy, enjoyable, positive, fulfilling. Encouragement has to be up there with love as one of the key things we as human beings need to survive and thrive. For without it, if we feel that our contribution to life and the world is insignificant, unwanted or unacceptable, we can so easily believe the lie that our existence is futile and of no worth. But just think for a moment of the difference it makes to receive a "well done", a "congratulations", a pat on the back or a job offer - and you will perhaps understand what it is I am trying to say.

Redundancy - for whatever reason - is a massive kick in the teeth/wherever. Even if it's to be explained away by the end of a contract a little bit of you will always think "if they really wanted me they could have...." It's so easy to waste time going over conversations, projects, meetings and emails - trying to work out what went wrong or why you were "let go". How do you hang on to any semblance of self confidence when the stark message you've been given is "we don't need you"?

Subsequent job applications, interviews, callbacks and rejections can sap your confidence even further. The "ideal" looking job that a dozen friends send to you - only for you to have to reply that yes, you have seen it and yes, you applied, only for you to have been told that they will not be taking your application any further. The hours spent on competency based applications, hopes raised as you realise how well suited you are, before the email to tell you that others matched the criteria better than you did. the numerous CVs sent off to be surveyed by panels who don't know you as a person, the sum total of their knowledge of you being a series of bullet points listing your key achievements.

And then today - you get a call. Out of the blue, unexpected. In fact you suspect it is to tell you to stop hassling them as there are no openings. But instead it's to say they they would like to offer you an opportunity. One day a week, and just for a month. But finally a chance to prove yourself and show what you can do.

And all of this has happened on the day when you decide that maybe you need to go it alone and start building a website, a business, a way of earning some cash doing what you do best. And in the same week as another two or three conversations have led you to think that there might possibly be openings out there...

Ups and downs, a rollercoaster ride, onwards and upwards. I read recently that cures for stress are a waste of time - life is stressful (and perhaps we should get over it!) Maybe the key is to relax into it all, trust that what will be - will. And enjoy every moment, as life's too short and would we really want it any other way?