Bristol Bus saga - Part deux

Following on from my last rant, I must say, things have quietened down on the old bus front - well fractionally.
For example, this week has been relatively hitch-free - by that I still mean that the buses were late/over crowded/stuck in horrendous traffic - but at least they weren't quite as bad as last week.
Apart from today....(there had to be a but!)
So, this morning. I was up bright and early and even missed breakie to make sure I got down to the bus on time. Made it there for 7.50. There were only a scattering of queuers waiting which was a relief as sometimes you can be a bit apprehensive about getting on the bus if there are too many folks waiting. All seemed A-OK. Along tootles the bus - thankfully, it's the one I want (41) and take my place in the queue behind the people who were there first (apart from a couple of loiterers who could just be there by default.) Being the sweetheart I am, I let this beefy lady on before me. The queue goes down painfully slowly as people faff about for change. Finally, just as I am about to step on the bus (the step of safety I call it cuz once you are on there, you are guaranteed to be able to stay on!) divine intervention as usual prohibits me from alighting the bus. Of course, God wouldn't want me to actually be ON TIME for work now would he?
"Sorry. Full up" grunts the driver and with the flick of his sausage finger, the door 'Schhoooops' in my face and the bus scoots off. I was the only person left in the queue (apart from the aforementioned loiterers ). I am left smarting and feeling personally insulted.
Fortunately, another bus is soon along and I finally get underway.

But my luck doesn't last for long. For some unfathomable reason, the bus corporation is loathed to put on a extra bus and as a result the number 8 to Clifton is so jam-packed that I fear we may be breaching some kind of human rights standard. With the elbows of the perfectly coiffured beauty therapist students who each have to lug the equivalent of a small elephant of kit with them, firmly jabbed in my ribs , we chug off. The bends and hills of the terrain, coupled with the driver's propensity for driving like he's at SilverStone, helps the bruises on my ribs to form nicely. Finally the door wheezes open (or is is the cumulative exhalation of the entire busload of sardined passengers?) and I am spat out into the daylight like some unholy creature of the night. Aching and sore, I stumble off to work. It is now 9am.
We'll see what the journey home has in store for me...
More later...

Buses in Bristol - don't get me started!!!

Right, I have decided to take action about the dire state of the buses in Bristol. I'm so affronted by the sheer crass awfulness of the First Bus Group that I have decided to make a stand. Am I not a journalist? Can I not make a difference through words? Well, I'm certainly going to have a good crack at it. I will be kicking myself if I don't.
So why the harsh thoughts directed at the pitiful bus service in Bristol?
Well my story starts last week (it goes back further than that but my brain is a bit fuzzy today and besides I'm riled from a week of tormented commutes to work so that is when my evidence was collated).
Let's start on Monday. OK, not the best day in the week as we all know, still, I wasn't dreading work, just a bit indifferent to it. All the same, I was tired and breakfast was a rushed affair. Off I trot to the bus stop. Bus is meant to arrive at 8.10. At 8.30 still no buses had passed only a little tootler of a bus that is sooo slow that you would probably be quicker travelling by pogo stick in stilettos. Still, I digress. There is a fair crowd gathering by this time which adds to the pressure 'will i get on? Will they push in and I'll be left looking like a mug? Will it even stop if the driver spots our bus conga?' Well, it was the latter. Old drive takes one look at us, and whizzes past, all the passengers cloudy-looking and packed in like sardines. Another bus whizzes past. And a third. I think sod this, and start walking towards the centre. The bus I was going to get stops just before I get to the next stop, its little indicator eye winks at me teasingly as it pulls out, me breathless and unkempt behind, running as fast as my little legs can carry me. I draw pitiful looks off my ex bus queue associates who are now warm on the bus, flicking open their copies of the Metro. Dammit. No 7 comes past thankfully and I manage to get on. So the rest of the journey is OK and when it gets to the time to swap buses, luck is on my side as the 8 is waiting patiently for me. However, something doesn't feel right. The driver looks perturbed. Scratching his head. Passengers start to exchange worried glances. Bus conks out. We are chivvied onto another bus which thankfully gets me to work nearly an hour late.
Tuesday. Similar to above except we wait at the traffic lights for 25 minutes. Word is there's been an accident. I later learn that there was roadworks. At rushour. Roadworks? Rushour? Who okayed that one? Anyway. Late again, but only by 20 mins.
Wednesday - get lift off the boyfriend and I get to work early!!
Thursday. Now this was the worst. Two buses neglect to stop. Third does and breaks down. Bus number two breaks down too. Then I go and get on the wrong bus (I blame the stress of the journey) and end up on White Ladies Rd, about half hour's walk from work. I'm late again.
Now the return journey on Thursday was a j-o-k-e. For some reason they stop running my bus at around 7pm so after a trip to the gym for a swim, I miss my allotted bus-catching time by about a minute. I walk to the centre where several buses should be. I'm wrong. Silly me! Thinking that the bus will turn up on time. Finally the 45 swings around. We all look hopefully at the driver. He, however, is in no rush and makes us wait half an hour before he drags his sorry ass onto the bus and begrudgingly drives us home. The journey was extra jerky and I spilled the contents of my bag everywhere. I think he did it on purpose.
Friday. Accident. Stress. Traffic jam. Frantic texts to work to pave the way for my tardy entrance. I don't recall much about the journey other than I remember watching the traffic lights turn from red to green 12 times without the bus going anywhere. Now it's the weekend and I'll be damned if I'm getting on one of those godforsaken buses. I'm gathering my evidence. I might get a petition together. I mean this isn't normal is it? I am paying for my ticket right? I do deserve so level of service? Well, I have plenty more to say on the subject and I have yet to tell you about the train. That's something to look forward to now, isn't it.

Inspiration comes....finally!

Wow, they say a holiday is as good as a change, or a haircut or something. Whatever the adage is, I have just got back from two glorious weeks in Cyprus and boy do I feel better for it! I was actually excited about coming home as I had so many ideas for things I want to do when I got back.
OK, so you expect that first flush of inspiration to wane slightly when the reality hits home that the UK has not had a summer, is not hot and lovely like Cyprus, is not full of friendly faces and is not, I repeat not somewhere that I can kick back, laze on the beach or by the pool and sip mojitos. In short, it is back to reality and reality bites!
Having said that, for some unknown reason, I am still on the holiday high. I have been swimming at the gym, I have been helping out with the local community (yes indeed!) and I have made sure that every night, me and the old fella sit down at the table to eat (a la Cyprus and most Euro families - it really is just us coach potato Brits who lounge in front of Eastenders gawping while our pie and chips grown cold) and amazingly, we have also managed to squeeze in a salad with every meal. Not bad.
I was wondering what was the source of my inspiration? What kicked my hiney into action? Then I realised. I had spend a good deal of my hol with my nose in a raft of women's mags. I now know the best 10 ways to keep my man from straying, how to perfect Cat Deely's skincare routine and get that LA glow. Bah!
It's all lies...How can I maintain this perfection? How can one as flustery and spontaneous as me - someone who cannot decide on anything and when I do, I instantly regret said decision - ever keep up such a facade?
So now, as I talk myself out of my inspired mood, and the lettuce grows floppy in the fridge, I realise, in that moment. I'm British, not Cypriot. Not a Euro lovely. Sod it, I'm off to put my pie in the oven.

Back to the grind

I think that must be the most ungrateful person in the world. No sooner do I have a job (after all that IS what I wanted) then I start to feel trapped into the working world again. I mean, come on! Fickle doesn't even cover it. A bit of time off really gives you space to reflect and I realise the life of a freelancer - while it has its stresses and strains - does give you the 'down time' so painfully lacking the the realms of the nine to fiver. Not able to go for a lovely swim at 11am, not able to meet friends for coffee and cakes in the hazy afternoon sun. Not able to make doctor's appointments, not able to shop, not able to do anything other than work.
OK, there are positives: earning a wage for a start. And meeting new people. And working in a nice location. That would normally be great except, almost instinctively, the flying ants knew that I was flagging in my struggle to remain upbeat and have come out in force to chase me back inside to the confines of the office. Like a bird with its wings clipped. Ah well, at least I can pay the mortgage. But is it worth my sanity?

There is a Job-God

Well, well, well. And me the consummate non-believer. I should have had more faith in myself for exactly one month since losing my job, I have been blessed with another one.
My prayers have been answered! I have to say though, this has been the most stressful month in living memory. I suppose we can all learn things from such experiences and I for one realise one thing - I need to work. I was totally sick of cleaning, sick of playing with the cat because I had nothing better to do, sick of applying for jobs and sick, sick, sick of feeling miserable. Finally, the house can go back to being comfortably messy, the washing can pile up again and I can rejoin the rat race!
Here's to employment. Ah, I couldn't exist without you!

A glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel

So, the situation continues: jobless, frustrated and sick to the back teeth of job hunting on the Internet, grumpy ill boyfriend to content with and to top it all off, I have a sudden flare-up of eczema - on my eyelids for God's sake.
You know people always say those little adages: keep your chin up, things will get better etc.,etc,. but here's news for you - they might not.
Despite all of this going down, I am marginally perkier. I have got a job interview (hurrah!) but as luck would have it, I'll be aiming to get back from a visit to London at breakneck speed to ensure I make the interview - can I really rely on the trains to whisk me home safely and on time? Hmm?
So now it's research time, gotta get my head down, really suss out this company. I'm actually going for a role that I'm over qualified for - I pray it doesn't backfire on me. "Sorry Miss Gough, we feel you are just too great for the role, we gave it to someone more more insignificant and far less talented than you. Good luck in your search though!" Yeah, good luck? Thanks. I wouldn't need it if you had given me the damn job!
Anyway, joking aside, I am really pleased and pray that they think I'm THE ONE!
I have a few other things on the back burner so I'll just have to 'keep my chin up' ,'things will get better...' maybe those adages aren't so far off the mark after all?

Desperately Seeking Something

Ever get the feeling that you are at the mercy of others? That whatever you do, however much of an effort you make, it can all be undone in the blink of an eye. That we are powerless to change the direction of our own lives? Well, not me. I'm a firm believer in creating your own fate. If we want something enough, it will happen. Never mind all the cosmic ordering rubbish, it's down to us to create our own luck. That said, however, the problem I'm having is actually knowing what it is I want.
Since my untimely abandonment into the world of the job seeker, I have begun to question myself. Do I really want this? Is this actually an opportunity to do other things? Then the nasty topic of money, mortgage payments, direct debits and standing orders start to reverberate around my head and an overwhelming feeling of panic ensues.
It's a vicious circle. Maybe it's just me. Do others intrinsically know what they want to do? I mean I am a journalist. That's just what I do. But I have been many other things besides: a make-up artist, market researcher, chef, nanny, support worker, bar manager, chambermaid...the list, goes on. But I always returned to my writing. It is the one thing that I don't even have to think about. It is my big sigh of relief, my lazy love. Now is this in danger? If so, what does that spell for my future?
I need something to happen and fast...

Sick as a parrot

It's funny how you never appreciate being well until you are poorly. I have spent the past few days with a tissue shoved up my nostrils as my head creates more mucus that you could shake a stick at. My delirium of last night culminated in a sketchy sleep where I managed to create a fantasy world where I was, in effect, Kevin McCloud from Grand Designs. What a great dream that was! I helped three couples create some amazing homes. It's all a bit foggy now.
I was meant to be getting the old hair dyed today but as soon as I move about too much, my brow starts to sweat and I get all dizzy. May have to venture to the shop at some point today.
Another source of worry is the fact that I should be hearing back about a job today and I'm getting nervous. I need to be working - it's all very well having time off but I NEED to work.
We'll see what happens.

The lengths some people will go to...

This is day one of my blog. I have decided to create this for one reason only - I have been usurped by a couple of evil people and am now effectively unemployed and this blog is going to diarize my climb back up the slippery pole of professionalism to the dizzy heights of success!
To put things into perspective: I am a journalist, an editor, a wordsmith, and feel I do a good job ( if I don't blow me own trumpet, who will eh?). The events over the past few days have really made me think about how others perceive me, how it is permitted to cause grievous 'emotional' harm to others but the minute your fists come into it, you are going DOWN!
The bare bones of the situation are this: when was it ever alright to screw over your colleagues? Back in the 80s? Back even before that, before we actually had some rights?
The sad fact is, people get away with all sorts of things on a daily basis: some relatively minor, others commit atrocities that I cannot even imagine. But the thing is, they all stem from an inherent feeling by the perpetrator of inadequacy, in whatever form. The reality is the victim isn't really the victim; they are the innocent person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I have also been subjected to what I can only really construe as bullying in the workplace and, even greater than the shock at what the person has done to me, is that feeling of confusion as to why I was in the firing line in the first place! How can you ever know what people have in store for you, and I think the conclusion I have drawn from all of this is that being nice doesn't count for anything.
The cynicism and bitterness that has sneaked up on me leaves quite an unpleasant taste; 'oh it doesn't matter anyway, screw them, kill or be killed,' these are not sentiments I would ever really have thought about...until now.
So where does all this speculation and posturing leave me? Unemployed, smarting from the humiliation of being dispelled , powerless to prove it wasn't even my fault. Poor old me.
I've read enough self help books to know that self-pity doesn't get you anywhere. So it's chin up charlie time, square those shoulders, pull in that paunch, and get back out there fighting!