And thngs are getting good - London 2012 opening ceremony is absolutely brilliant

You may or may not have noticed but I have been marginally introspective and down in my last couple of posts.

It happens.

When my road encounters a major fork and I have to decide which direction to take; knowing that there is no return once I pass the junction, I do get a bit fragile.

I can’t help it.

Waiting on major decisions from others, while trying to work out if your own choice is the right one, weighs heavily in my heart. When my future is flapping in the wind directionless my emotions get caught up in the hurricane.

It’s just the way I am.

However.

Happily.

I can report that honesty does indeed do you credit in a job interview and, now that I have finally accepted their offer, my route is once again set.

Right or wrong. Good or bad.

The decisions were made and I can now push forward to make something of them.

I know where I am going; the coordinates are set into the satnav.

All I have to do now.

Is drive.

Oh and also show you these pics….

When things go right for me – they really do go right.

Rock on Britain.  The London 2012 Opening Ceremony is unbelievably good. I went to he dress rehearsal on Wednesday night and it took my breath way. It truly was about an hour before I could close my mouth - it is unbelievably good - utterly stunning.

This is Britain doing what it absolutely does best,

GO TEAM GB – What a country.

I am Glen

I am up.

I am down.

I am shallow.

I am deep.

I am silly.

I am serious.

I am calm.

I am angry.

I am right.

I am wrong.

I come.

I go.

I am happy.

I am sad.

I am something.

I am nothing.

I am all of these things.

And I am none of these things.

Who is in the mirror?

Tick.

The mirror stands tall. The cold eyes staring back at me are ones I don’t even recognise. Where has the joy gone from them? The hope? The optimism?

Tock.

Time has ravaged the eyes and made them cold and passionless; cynicism and resigned platitude have scraped away the glint and left a dull hue in their wake. These eyes are not mine. They can’t be.

Tick.

The mirror reflects a lie. A man stands there with no direction, no voice, no opinion. He’s just a duplicate of a man. A fake. Standing there before me is a man pretending to be something that he is not.

Tock.

This man has no soul. This man has no decision to make, no consciousness to make it with. No ideas of his own to add to the discussion or self-belief to be confident with. Once again the reflection will let things happen. Yet again he will fall into line. The reflection holds still, daring me to move as I foolishly look for help in its two dimensional depth.

Tick.

A decision needs to be made and it needs making fast. A choice where neither option will bring back that glint, return the joy or the hope. Neither option can do that but the image before me has no idea what will. All those eyes know is that something is missing, something is lost. If they knew what it was they could shine again, they could light the way.

But they don’t.

And time keeps on moving forward.

Ever forward.

Running out.

Tock.

Cat in a shoebox

Cat in a shoebox

Jenga - proving that no box is too small when it comes to cat comfort.

Why can't I ever be serious about myself ?

It’s a funny thing but I can bang on about the things around me all day. I can confidently write them here or tell people in person. I can joke about myself 24/7. I love being the centre of attention – I absolutely do.

When it comes to work I know what I am doing and when I don’t I can usually figure out who to ask. I know I’m pretty good at what I do and can happily demonstrate while I am doing it and prove it to my peers.

But.

As soon as I have to talk specifically about myself in a serious way and promote myself to people above – I 

just crumble.

I’ve tried writing bios about me and hate it. I tried writing a CV and really struggled. If writing positively about myself is bad then boasting about myself seriously in person is even worse.

Take job interviews, for example.

No matter how confident I may be about my ability to fit a role, as soon as someone sits there looking at me and says “Tell me about you” I just fall apart.

The problem is that I can’t joke about me. I can’t hide my self-doubt and fears behind a wall of defensive one-liners. I have to be serious.

I really struggle to do that.

I also struggle with the whole waffling thing. Saying the right buzz words or lines that make out you are something better than you are.

Take my most recent interview, for example – just the other day.

I am a telecoms engineer and without boring you with detail I have specialised in three areas during my time in the industry, these specialisms we call voice, transmission and data (trust me when I say you don’t want me to explain that any further).

Now, this is pretty good. Often people will only work in one of those fields but I’ve managed to get to a fairly acceptable level in all three. Out of those fields I have spent most of my time and generally prefer transmission but mixed heavily with voice. And I have to say I am more than happy working in those two areas especially.

Fair enough – you might think.

So my most recent interview was for a job that is specifically voice related rather than the other two and I was asked “So what do you think you are strongest at – voice, data or transmission?” I immediately answered transmission, because it’s true, and then just as immediately kicked myself.

I was there for a voice job.

It’s not bloody rocket science! The answer was VOICE!!

But I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t say the thing they wanted to hear because it just isn’t true.

I’m pretty useless.

And now I wait. Wait to see if honesty stands for anything in the world of job hunting, or if it’s all about the waffle. I do know one thing – I’d be bloody good in that role. Shame I couldn’t say that at the time.

Not only Wombles go to Wimbledon

Not saying I’m rubbish or anything but it’s taken me so long to write this post that the Wimbledon tournament has now finished!!  Never mind…

Andy Murray working his way towards being the first Brit in
 the Men's Singles final in 74 years

Last weekend saw my first ever visit to Wimbledon. (Actually that will be the weekend before last now)…

I don’t just mean the train station, or scouring the Common for Wombles either. I mean the All England Tennis Club, hosts of the Grand Slam tennis tournament.

At the ripe old age of 41 I had never once been to see this world famous event and so I suppose I thought it was time.

Hence I found myself sat in the Centre Court on Saturday, watching Serena Williams, David Ferrer and Andy Murray bat a ball about for victory.

Serena Williams - she wore the same pants throughout the tournament!

I’m no tennis expert or even what you might consider a huge fan, but I certainly recognise that what I was watching was of a considerably higher class than anything I’d ever seen before.

These people showed exactly how the game should be played.

We were completely blown away by the skill shown.

Also, we were blown away by the Pimms.

Jo decided that the fruit in the bottom counted towards her ‘5 a day’ and so proceeded to have as many as she could – all in the interests of her health, you understand. I attempted to keep up as best that I could.

But that woman really loves fruit!

Free Strawberries and Cheesecake - fantastic

So we enjoyed the action and because I am not entirely without contacts, we also enjoyed some free sandwiches. And cake. And strawberries. And more Pimms. I do have some very good contacts.

All in all we had a really nice day.

The best thing about it?

We didn’t take the kids with us.

Am I evil?

Am I the worst parent ever?

Possibly.

But we really did have a nice day. One thing is still very much clear and that is that I really do enjoy hanging out with my wife.

She really is very lovely.

Especially after seven glasses of Pimms….

Fruit is good for you, hic

Mob rule is just plain stupid

Can somebody please explain to me why a person can be very intelligent but people are bloody stupid?

Why is it that individually we can be highly evolved intellectuals yet be an ignorant mob when put together?

I have two specific examples to give you of this phenomenon.

Take my wife.

Please.

Badum-tsh, I’m here all week folks…

Anyway…

Take my wife.

Educated far higher than I ever will be with an actual degree and everything, she has many years’ experience in teaching on top of her academic credential. In short, she is a clever woman.

And yet she can be swept into the crapiest, tackiest shops in the world on the crest of the latest “woman fad” and come out clapping her hands and tingling with desire for some overpriced piece of utter useless shit with the name Cath Kidston stamped on it.

This stuff is absolutely awful and yet shop after shop is opening. The country is covered in tacky looking tea towels covered in roses or mugs with strawberries on. Expensive crap that kitchen after kitchen is getting filled up with. Hoards of women are lapping it up. Clever, sophisticated women who can hold their own in any high-powered business meeting, go loopy spending £20 on a tin far too small to be any use just because it has Cath’s name on it. Kidston is raking in the cash after quickly reacting to the tide washing the mob in her direction. I suspect, if she isn’t already, she will very soon be selling Cath Kidston £5 notes with a flower drawn on them in red ink for only £15, but be quick because each of the 20 billion stores will only have three million of them to sell.

A galaxy of women, swept along by a gravity they cannot possibly escape. Shocking.

And then there are ‘Vintage’ shops.

Vintage.

Really?

How can people who are clearly capable of holding down jobs and paying mortgages or rent, find themselves thinking that paying three times more for a second hand chair, than it cost when it was new, is a good idea?

It’s not just that simple either. These businesses scour the charity shops and junk yards for things that people have thrown away, on account of them being knackered, pay pretty much nothing for them and quickly paint them in a pastel colour or add a Union Flag and bosh – on goes a hundred pounds. People in a mob lap it up. They would never ever consider buying their furniture from OXFAM or SCOPE, where their money could actually be used to benefit someone needy, because that’s just 2^nd hand charity crap – it isn’t Vintage! However if some Del-Boy goes into those same shops, buys a chair and then places it in his Vintage shop across the road then suddenly it’s ok. As long as the money is going to a good old fashioned commercial chancer then fine – let’s buy it!

The mob has spoken – Vintage is in.

What a load of crap.

But the crowds say it’s cool so…

What do I know?