Exam Results
Bad news. The Grey Squirrel Gods have frowned on me.
Four exams.
One pass, one near-miss, two clear fails.
One out of four is the result. I'm still not a fully qualified accountant, I still have a future of taking the damn exams (retakes ahoy), and I'm gutted.
I feel hollow and flat.
Four passes would have been a passport out of my sh*t job, but with so little return for 3 months hard work, I just don't know what I'm going to do.
Vicster -- with her emotional state working its magic -- was tearful when I opened the envelope*, and I feel terrible for letting us, as a family unit, down.
With three retakes in November an unlikely proposition considering the September arrival of our new-born, the earliest I'm going to complete this final stage of exams is next May, with results in June 2004.
So on top of all the work I'm going to have to redo -- when I would rather be enjoying the company of my new baby and lifestyle -- my career and earnings are effectively put back 12 months.
I am so looking forward to taking all those calls from family and friends later today and this evening. They'll be phoning in the expectation of hearing some good news, and I'm going to have to gloomily repeat the above thoughts to them over and over again.
"Bad luck" and "Don't worry, atleast you got one of them" don't cut the mustard in making me feel any better.
F*ck I feel low.
* I knew it was bad news ahead of opening the results: If you've passed them all the envelope you receive is a big fat one, packed with additional information about what to do next. If you've failed one or more, you just get the single-sheet results in a thin, standard-letter envelope. And that's what the postman pushed through our letter-box...
Friday, July 25, 2003
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Lean Mean Igniting Machine
We saw Larry at the weekend. He's half the man he used to be: Carole has put him on a diet and he's lost two stone since we saw him last. Beefy and buff, the diet has made him look years younger.
Larry's weight-loss should act as an inspiration for me. I've been on a casual diet now for about 6 weeks, and so far have lost a grand total of 3 pounds. The second phase has begun: I've done a few sit ups and Vic has decided to suppress my sugar cravings with a supply of dried fruits.
I'm really not used to prunes.
They are especially unkind when you're "looking forward" to your life-changing exam results...
15 hours to go.
We saw Larry at the weekend. He's half the man he used to be: Carole has put him on a diet and he's lost two stone since we saw him last. Beefy and buff, the diet has made him look years younger.
Larry's weight-loss should act as an inspiration for me. I've been on a casual diet now for about 6 weeks, and so far have lost a grand total of 3 pounds. The second phase has begun: I've done a few sit ups and Vic has decided to suppress my sugar cravings with a supply of dried fruits.
I'm really not used to prunes.
They are especially unkind when you're "looking forward" to your life-changing exam results...
15 hours to go.
Road Kill Tally
+1 Hedgehog
+1 Grey Squirrel
Frankly every extra grey squirrel run over is a bonus for me.
[Random Blog Reader]: "WTF?! You're an evil person Nobby if you're happy to see one of my cute furry little friends squashed flat on the tarmac, with their innards gushing out like candy floss. You're animal-hating scum!"
Woah there! Let me explain!
Grey squirrels are vermin. They're tree rats. Their introduction to these shores has decimated Britain's native Red Squirrel population. If it was a rat squashed on the road you'd not get upset at it, and neither would I.
Dead hedgehogs on the other hand are a far more prickly subject.
Punch the Fist
James Gibson won our first men's swimming gold medal at the World Championships for 28 years. Quite an achievement. I listened to it live on the radio and punched the fist when he touched home in the lead. I've got no interest in swimming, but always at emotional when one of Great Britain's atheletes performs to their peak and brings home the bacon. I always think of the years of training and emotional investment they make in their chosen sport and being able to say "I'm the best in the World" is fab.
The 50m sprint race sounded great on the radio. Unlike track and field sprints -- like the 100m -- where the race is over before the commentator has chance to even say all of the competitors names, the 50m swim sprint was just long enough for the guy to convey the speed, drama and excitement of the whole thing. He had a nice steady tempo curve building up to the climax of the last few meters. I the listener was able to visualize James Gibson's slow start, steady claw back, and dramatic finger-tip win. Great radio.
Well done the commentator and well done James!
+1 Hedgehog
+1 Grey Squirrel
Frankly every extra grey squirrel run over is a bonus for me.
[Random Blog Reader]: "WTF?! You're an evil person Nobby if you're happy to see one of my cute furry little friends squashed flat on the tarmac, with their innards gushing out like candy floss. You're animal-hating scum!"
Woah there! Let me explain!
Grey squirrels are vermin. They're tree rats. Their introduction to these shores has decimated Britain's native Red Squirrel population. If it was a rat squashed on the road you'd not get upset at it, and neither would I.
Dead hedgehogs on the other hand are a far more prickly subject.
Punch the Fist
James Gibson won our first men's swimming gold medal at the World Championships for 28 years. Quite an achievement. I listened to it live on the radio and punched the fist when he touched home in the lead. I've got no interest in swimming, but always at emotional when one of Great Britain's atheletes performs to their peak and brings home the bacon. I always think of the years of training and emotional investment they make in their chosen sport and being able to say "I'm the best in the World" is fab.
The 50m sprint race sounded great on the radio. Unlike track and field sprints -- like the 100m -- where the race is over before the commentator has chance to even say all of the competitors names, the 50m swim sprint was just long enough for the guy to convey the speed, drama and excitement of the whole thing. He had a nice steady tempo curve building up to the climax of the last few meters. I the listener was able to visualize James Gibson's slow start, steady claw back, and dramatic finger-tip win. Great radio.
Well done the commentator and well done James!
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Road Kill Rewards
On the way into work this morning I had the pleasure of seeing three baby ferretts cross the road in front of me. They glided their way across like a silk ribbon, snaking in formation, red fur glimmering in the sun.
They were lucky I didn't run them over.
The road from Thame to Postcombe is currently a prime road kill hot spot. A Death Valley for critters. Today's tally was:
1 Badger
1 Fox
3 Rabbits
1 Hedgehog
When I see a large animal -- such as the badger or fox -- dead at the roadside, I always feel ashamed that it was one of Man's machines that caused it.
The only winners of the carnage are the Red Kites that flock down to Death Valley to pick up the carrion. These magnificent giant birds have been accused of decimating the local wildlife populations, but in fact just eat carrion, rather than hunt and kill fresh meat.
I suppose that in the end we're swapping the beauty of the fox for the beauty of the red kites.
I must get some black rabbit-silhouette kill transfers for my car.
Big Brother
I've got £2 on Cameron at 6-1. Sweet, considering he's now odds-on favourite to win it. At the time I put my prudent little bet on, Lynn at work followed my lead putting on a massive £10, despite the fact she "never gambles".
Yesterday she revealed it wasn't £10 she'd staked, but actually a whopping £50! So if Cameron wins, that's a rather nice return of £350, or a profit of £300.
That's six pairs of shoes ladies.
On the way into work this morning I had the pleasure of seeing three baby ferretts cross the road in front of me. They glided their way across like a silk ribbon, snaking in formation, red fur glimmering in the sun.
They were lucky I didn't run them over.
The road from Thame to Postcombe is currently a prime road kill hot spot. A Death Valley for critters. Today's tally was:
1 Badger
1 Fox
3 Rabbits
1 Hedgehog
When I see a large animal -- such as the badger or fox -- dead at the roadside, I always feel ashamed that it was one of Man's machines that caused it.
The only winners of the carnage are the Red Kites that flock down to Death Valley to pick up the carrion. These magnificent giant birds have been accused of decimating the local wildlife populations, but in fact just eat carrion, rather than hunt and kill fresh meat.
I suppose that in the end we're swapping the beauty of the fox for the beauty of the red kites.
I must get some black rabbit-silhouette kill transfers for my car.
Big Brother
I've got £2 on Cameron at 6-1. Sweet, considering he's now odds-on favourite to win it. At the time I put my prudent little bet on, Lynn at work followed my lead putting on a massive £10, despite the fact she "never gambles".
Yesterday she revealed it wasn't £10 she'd staked, but actually a whopping £50! So if Cameron wins, that's a rather nice return of £350, or a profit of £300.
That's six pairs of shoes ladies.
Monday, July 21, 2003
It's Been A Bad Fortnight
My grandad is currently in the local cottage hospital, having come through his prostate operation poorly, not eating for 5 days and falling over 4 times in 24 hours. I was extremely concerned about him last week, but things have improved over the weekend: he his eating small meals and is less confused and tired. He needs another week or two in hospital and the quality care the nurses there can give him.
I got my pay review at work. It was exactly half of the minimum I'd set for them to meet. 50 percent short of the line in the sand. I was angry enough to tell my boss that it basically forces me to look for another job. I get my exams results this Friday and they will determine what I look for...
Unless my boss comes up with some new goods, I'm outta here: I can't work for a sh*t company, with sh*t people, for sh*t money, any more.
My grandad is currently in the local cottage hospital, having come through his prostate operation poorly, not eating for 5 days and falling over 4 times in 24 hours. I was extremely concerned about him last week, but things have improved over the weekend: he his eating small meals and is less confused and tired. He needs another week or two in hospital and the quality care the nurses there can give him.
I got my pay review at work. It was exactly half of the minimum I'd set for them to meet. 50 percent short of the line in the sand. I was angry enough to tell my boss that it basically forces me to look for another job. I get my exams results this Friday and they will determine what I look for...
Unless my boss comes up with some new goods, I'm outta here: I can't work for a sh*t company, with sh*t people, for sh*t money, any more.
Ear We Go, Ear We Go, Ear We Go!
No scalpel and no Van Gogh profile. The strains of Little Green Bag are not playing. It's something to do with the cartilage, rather than a cyst, or cancer, or cauliflower ears. The Doc said to leave it -- the growth will either disappear or grow to the size of a pea. If it gets pea-sized, they'll whip it off, anything smaller isn't worth the mess and risk of infection.
I look like a freak.
The School Play Review
I didn't get round to blogging up my review of the WWII epic put on by Emma's school. I was truly amazed by their talents. We had laughed beforehand about what I would have written for them to act -- a full blown reconstruction of the whole war -- but I've got to say that they could have coped with anything.
As it was, the play was the usual "what was it like for the children of London during the Blitz?!" affair. We got excited at the scene listing in the programme -- "The D-Day Landings" & "Pearl Harbour" -- which seemed to promise papermache arms and legs being blown-off Saving Private Ryan style, but unfortunately Emma's glue budget must have dried up so the Special FX were restricted to radio announcements and sounds of The Mysterons / Cybermen attacking.
Best line (apart from the one below) was:
"Frank, meet Hank... Hank, meet Frank..."
Here's the PC email I sent to Emma the next day (for reading out to the kids). Typically she has failed to respond.
"Hello Emma / Miss C
Just a quick note to tell you how much I enjoyed last night's school play.
I thought the acting, dancing and singing was of an excellent standard. So too, the costumes and set design.
The rousing finale was particularly passionate and moving. Gareth and I sang along with the chorus of "There will always be an England". Cracking, patriotic, stuff.
My favourite line of the play was:
"Let's 'ava cuppa tea!" -- it summed up all that is great about Britain and captured the spirit of the East End of London during the Blitz. People supporting each other in the country's darkest hour.
The hall looked great too: I loved the painted aeroplanes -- they gave the hall the right atmosphere.
Two slight disappointments for me:
1) The homemade lemonade ran out before I got a glass.
2) You didn't sing the "Spam, spam, spam, spam!" song.
Never mind...
I'm really looking forward to the next play. Well done everyone!
All the best
Nobby
(Not Scott)"
No scalpel and no Van Gogh profile. The strains of Little Green Bag are not playing. It's something to do with the cartilage, rather than a cyst, or cancer, or cauliflower ears. The Doc said to leave it -- the growth will either disappear or grow to the size of a pea. If it gets pea-sized, they'll whip it off, anything smaller isn't worth the mess and risk of infection.
I look like a freak.
The School Play Review
I didn't get round to blogging up my review of the WWII epic put on by Emma's school. I was truly amazed by their talents. We had laughed beforehand about what I would have written for them to act -- a full blown reconstruction of the whole war -- but I've got to say that they could have coped with anything.
As it was, the play was the usual "what was it like for the children of London during the Blitz?!" affair. We got excited at the scene listing in the programme -- "The D-Day Landings" & "Pearl Harbour" -- which seemed to promise papermache arms and legs being blown-off Saving Private Ryan style, but unfortunately Emma's glue budget must have dried up so the Special FX were restricted to radio announcements and sounds of The Mysterons / Cybermen attacking.
Best line (apart from the one below) was:
"Frank, meet Hank... Hank, meet Frank..."
Here's the PC email I sent to Emma the next day (for reading out to the kids). Typically she has failed to respond.
"Hello Emma / Miss C
Just a quick note to tell you how much I enjoyed last night's school play.
I thought the acting, dancing and singing was of an excellent standard. So too, the costumes and set design.
The rousing finale was particularly passionate and moving. Gareth and I sang along with the chorus of "There will always be an England". Cracking, patriotic, stuff.
My favourite line of the play was:
"Let's 'ava cuppa tea!" -- it summed up all that is great about Britain and captured the spirit of the East End of London during the Blitz. People supporting each other in the country's darkest hour.
The hall looked great too: I loved the painted aeroplanes -- they gave the hall the right atmosphere.
Two slight disappointments for me:
1) The homemade lemonade ran out before I got a glass.
2) You didn't sing the "Spam, spam, spam, spam!" song.
Never mind...
I'm really looking forward to the next play. Well done everyone!
All the best
Nobby
(Not Scott)"
Ear Today, Gone Tomorrow
On Friday I noticed that I've got a growth on the top of my ear. It looks like a blister but is hard and making the rest of the ear red. It's probably just a cyst, but it's freaking me out -- I'm obviously thinking the worse. I've booked an appointment at the doctors for an hour's time. Hopefully they will take a scalpel and whip it off.
The cyst, not the ear.
I'm hoping the disfigurement will not be as great as Evander Holyfield's.
On Friday I noticed that I've got a growth on the top of my ear. It looks like a blister but is hard and making the rest of the ear red. It's probably just a cyst, but it's freaking me out -- I'm obviously thinking the worse. I've booked an appointment at the doctors for an hour's time. Hopefully they will take a scalpel and whip it off.
The cyst, not the ear.
I'm hoping the disfigurement will not be as great as Evander Holyfield's.
