wiped out

I've arrived in Eastbourne for Christmas but am still suffering from the tail end of flu which has managed to knock me out for almost a week now. Unfortunately, this coincided with my social calendar uncharacteristically having events pencilled in (rather than the usual blank space) but illness put paid to everything. It meant I missed an invitation to S+H's for dinner on Tuesday, Tokyo D's evening get-together in The George on Wednesday (back in town for one night only) and beers with A+E on Thursday. A total wipeout. Finally, M and my pre-Christmas celebration in Bournemouth this weekend had to be put back a week as I still wasn't fit to travel after days of chugging painkillers and downing gallons of lemon and honey in hot water. But the worst thing of all? When I'm ill, I go right off coffee...

middle of nowhere

The train dropped me on a platform in the middle of nowhere on a gloomy afternoon in November. I made my way over the footbridge where a representative of the centre was waiting. She drove us the short distance through the Surrey countryside to my home for the next eight months. I was given my keys to the staff hostel, shown to my room and left to place the collection of books and cassettes I'd brought with me on a small shelf and hang my clothes in the tiny wardrobe. Then I sat on my bed thinking about what I'd done.

The following afternoon I was taken to the hall where the students gathered at breaktime to hang around and consume large quantities of sugary drinks and snacks. Within five minutes the teacher I'd be working with on the farm, M, had been punched in the eye by a student. Later on we were introduced up on the farm. "Are you any good at painting?" he asked. "Not bad," I replied, "I've got an A-level in Art." "Uh, that's not the kind of painting I had in mind," he said and pointed to a shed at the back of a faraway field. Terrific!

I'm somebody who hates getting his hands dirty, so working on a farm didn't really feature on the list of things I imagined I'd ever do. But early each morning I would trudge bleary-eyed across the campus to feed the pigs and donkeys and open up the hen houses. Then I'd head back to the staff hostel, shower and go for breakfast in the dining hall. The college day began at 9 with the first group of around eight students coming up to get cracking on all the different jobs required to keep the farm running smoothly. So they'd feed the rabbits and guinea pigs, clean out the cages, brush the donkeys, wash down the pig stys and sweep out the hen houses. At the end of each lesson everybody would retire to the small classroom and write about what they'd achieved over the past couple of hours. Rain or sunshine, all the jobs had to be done and the students threw themselves into it which, in turn, encouraged me. Some had very severe learning disabilities and required a lot of support to carry out basic tasks but others were very able and could be relied upon to conduct tasks independently. Several had behavioural problems. One morning I looked round to see M, ever the target, being chased by an angry student wielding a shovel above his head. I made a mental note not to upset that particular student in future...

annual graphic design exercise

Each year around early December I put any thoughts of Christmas shopping, mince pies and imminent time-off work on hold and concentrate on producing my mum's annual dog Christmas card. I've been doing it every year for goodness-knows how long now. Sometimes having a rudimentary knowledge of Photoshop can get you in a whole lot of trouble - on occasion in the past it has created some serious grief. But this year it was straight forward in an almost paint-by-numbers way.

So at the end of November I get provided with a photo of my mum's dogs, scan it into Photoshop, delete the background, slap it against a wintry scene, stick the words Merry Christmas above it, add a few snowy flourishes and bingo! All done for another year. It's not particularly to my own taste but my mum's happy. And that's what counts.
2007's card, left, and 2006, right.

old is the new new

Faced with some serious iPod space shortage I've been going through it to see what can go and, more importantly, what's actually stored on it. That's the thing with my iPod: it's full of stuff of which I have no idea how it got there, when it got there and, perhaps more importantly, why it got there. A click-wheel spin through my iPod can be a bit like discovering a pornographic image among a slideshow of your holiday snaps: "How the hell did that get there???!". I seem to collect music. And no wonder: it's too easy. I rip free Wire CDs onto it and download tracks from the magazine's website; I borrow friends' CDs and bulk-dump collections of mp3's onto it; I download podcasts and videocasts that remain unwatched for months.

Today was crunch time. I examined the 29.5 gigabytes of 0's and 1's to see just what was on there. I discovered plenty of tracks labelled 'Track 1', 'Track 2' etc. and, frustratingly, a raft of those with no artist or album name. I deleted a bunch of tracks and albums, including some awful 80s techno I'd never listen to, freeing up some much-needed space. But I also uncovered some interesting music and a few gems: Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra's Fairy Tales and Fantasies, some Sun Ra, psychedelia by Josephine Foster and a beautiful 1971 folk album called Armchair Boogie by Michael Hurley. Music I've been carrying with me for months on end... but just waiting to be discovered...

backpack pr0n

Waiting on the platform at Bournemouth today I spotted a guy with the coolest backpack ever. Not only was it enormous with all kinds of compartments going on but it had two detachable speakers on each side! My train-wait suddenly became bearable. Despite the guy moving around he eventually stayed still long enough for me to squint at the label, get out my mobile and tap in a note of the manufacturer (skate shoe company Osiris) to google at the earliest opportunity. Turns out it's called the G-Bag but it's pretty expensive. I couldn't afford it. Well, I could. But then, M would say I've got waaaay too many bags as it is. And she's right I guess...

moving on

In a month's time I begin a new job as a Teaching Assistant in a college for young people with learning disabilities. It marks a return to the work I have enjoyed most over the years and, let's face it, should be a lot more interesting than working in a library as I am now.

It was way back in 1993 that I gave up my uninspiring supermarket job and filled out an application form for the Community Service Volunteers (CSV) scheme. They promised to take me far away from the boredom of 9-5 shelf stacking, the beep of barcode-scanning and packets of nuke+serve dinners and provide me with the adventure of a lifetime, new friends, valuable life experience, some hard work... and £21.50 pocket money per week (with food and accomodation thrown in).

Soon after sending the form off in the post I was called to an interview in Brighton. The people at CSV were friendly. They asked me whether there was anything I wouldn't like to do and I replied yes, I wouldn't like to work in an old people's home. They asked why. I said my mum works in one and she hates it. They said they'd see what they could do.

On the train home I wondered where they'd place me. A central London homeless shelter? A school in the midlands? A supported housing project in the north east? At least I knew it wouldn't be in Sussex where I lived.

A few weeks later I received a letter in the post with the CSV logo stamped on the envelope. Nervously I opened it up and was rather disappointed to discover that they were sending me about two miles across the border into the neighbouring county of Surrey. Typical. More importantly, it told me I'd be working on a farm unit at a centre for young people with epilepsy, physical and learning disabilities and challenging behaviour.

It sounded scary. They were sending me to Surrey...

Bill's

Yesterday evening I caught up with S + H in Bill's cafe and produce store.

As ever on a visit to Bill's we enjoyed some amazing food (that's my homemade lasagne in the photo). After a couple of hours of eating and chatting we decided to finish off with hot drinks to see us through the blustery journey home, so I ordered a hot chocolate which came with whipped cream, a flake on top and a dusting of more chocolate. Fantastic!