Wednesday, June 23
And Then There Was Tuesday
Yes, I have actually caught up. Well done me.Another busy day today, capped off with getting royally fucked around with. But we'll get to that.
Once more, for what seems like the umpteenth time in the last few weeks, I struggled to see any time before midday. This is going to sound terrible, and very sad, but I looked over at my clock when I woke up, saw the time being 11.49am, and actually felt a small tinge of pride at waking up before midday with no artificial aid.
You know you're a lazy-assed cunt when...
I started working my way through my epic "things to do" list, including filling out the confusingly German forms to apply to Heidelberg University. Stupid being-in-German forms, why can't they be in, erm, English? I can cope with English language forms, just about.
I then had to go down to the bank to transfer payment to the university for the German language course that I'm going to take there before term starts properly. €230, thank you very much. Thankfully my parents covered that cost for me. Love you!
Oh, and how fucking difficult is it to transfer money internationally? I had to fill in (another!) form, this one of A4 length, and for the pleasure of it I was charged £27. Mmmm, banking. I've got to send this receipt off to Germany with my application form, which is one of the things I've got to do tomorrow. I swear every time I cross something off my list, I have to add another 2 things... Stupid bloody list.
I then watched a bit of the tennis (mmmm, Danniella Hantchucova) and some of the news before having to get changed and head back into Central London for the trial-shift at the pub. And damn I looked good, dressed all in black from head to toe. And no, not in a goth way.
Well, I looked good except for the enormous, throbbing spot on my nose. Why is it when something important like a job interview happens, or when you're going to meet a load of new people, your face conspires against you? I haven't had a spot like this in months and months, but it chooses today of all days to launch itself into the spotlight. "Look at me!" it screams, attracting attention like a Michael Jackson lawsuit. The fucker (the spot, not MJ. The court has yet to prove he did anything other than "love" those kids. Ahem).
This is the stage where I got royally fucked around with. I was at the pub a few minutes early, asked the bargirl to tell the manager I was here, and stood around to wait.
And wait, and wait, and wait. At 7.20 she managed to drag herself away from the phone for enough time to see me. She told me about the other pub, and that I would be on their payroll, since I would be on their staff rota properly, and then filling in at the first pub whenever I had gaps. Are you following?
Let's call one pub The Explorer (X), and the other the Duke of York (Y) (wow, that worked out so very conveniently. Honestly, that wasn't planned!). X is the pub that rang me in the first place, and where I was supposed to do the trial shift. The manager at X (mX) then told me that I would be on Y's payroll, and would work there on their rota. I could then fill in at X in order to make up my hours. Easy!
It thus, according to mX, made no sense for me to do my trial shift at X, since I would be spending more time at Y, under the supervision of the manager there (mY). She gave me the address of Y, as well as my directions, and told me that mY was expecting me, and that I should do my trial there that night.
Fair enough, I thought, not wanting to rock the boat. Never mind that it was drizzling, and that I had no jacket with me (it wasn't raining or even cloudy at my house when I left), I was quite happy to wander down Oxford St to Y. I got a little lost due to mX's inept directions, but I eventually found my way to Y.
Y is a great little pub, and I mean little. It's tucked away on a back street in Fitzrovia, and is only open Mon-Fri, catering mainly for the media types round there. It doesn't serve food, only drink, which to my mind makes it a fantastic pub. Going by a review on Beer In The Evening they actually allow / encourage customers to bring in their own food, especially on quiz nights, etc. Oh, and "quiz nights"? Excellent news!
I introduced myself to mY, a very nice lady who seemed very eager to have me on board at the pub. Wait, that came out wrong. She seemed very eager to have me as part of the team at the pub.
However, she had got the wrong end of the stick, to some extent, because she thought that I'd done a trial shift at X that evening. When I told her that I hadn't I was hoping that I would be able to do it there straight away, to save me having made a wasted journey.
Of course, this wasn't going to happen. We arranged for me to come back on Friday lunchtime for a few hours, since it would be relatively busy, and I would be able to see how the bar is run at these times. I didn't mind this too much, since I knew that I'd now guaranteed myself this job, but I was still quite peeved that I'd wasted not only 2-3 hours of my time tonight, but also £5 of my money travelling in. £5 is too much at this point, in my precarious financial position.
He says, having spent £5 on beer at Sainsbury's yesterday. Meh, beer doesn't count.
I got back in time to watch the second half of the Italy-Bulgaria game, which contained the very amusing scene of the rapturous Italian team running over to their bench after Cassano scored an injury-time winner, only to be told that it was all in vain, as the Denmark-Sweden score was 2-2, sending the Italians crashing out. It was very funny to see their faces turn from unbridled joy to utter despair in the course of a couple of steps.
Sorry, am I gloating because England got through? So be it! We got through!!!
Shit, I forgot one very important thing: our TV has no sound at the moment. This is absolutely dire news, especially so since we don't know how to remedy the situation. It happened earlier today, when I was watching a bit of Wimbledon. The volume was at a normal level, and nothing out of the ordinary was happening on-screen.
There was this small cracking noise, and then no sound. The picture didn't flicker once, and is still perfect, but we have no sound whatsoever. We've tried turning the TV off and back on, changing channels, fiddling with the tuning, everything we can think of, but still nothing. We therefore found ourselves watching the Italy game on ITV whilst listening to the commentary on the radio, which is a little disconcerting, as the radio is about a second behind the action on-screen.
We also couldn't watch any TV after the football, because those programmes, strangely enough, don't come with radio commentary. We can't even watch with subtitles, because the TV doesn't have teletext! Basically, we're screwed.
Screwed, that is, except for watching a DVD, since we route the sound from the PS2 (our substitute DVD player) into the stereo, via a complicated operation involving a portable Minidisc player and a myriad of cables. Saved!
I'd received Event Horizon through the post today, only 7 weeks after winning the auction for it on eBay (I guess it got here, which is the main thing), and after much discussion and debate, we plumped for that as our entertainment for a couple of hours.
I'd forgotten just how fucking scary that film can be. Do yourself a favour and don't freeze-frame the "hell" scenes, because there's some fucked-up shit that flashes up on screen. The same is true when they manage to play the last logs of the ship's previous crew. That's nasty too.
And now I find myself at my computer, completely up to date with the events in my exciting (ahem) and busy life. I feel fulfilled, but also hungry.
