Not What I Wanted To Happen (Part Two)

Rather than just waiting around for something to happen while I was signed off work, the following day, I decided to visit a physiotherapist. A quick internet search showed me there was somebody nearby who offered a free consultation for new patients. This sounded perfect.

It took me ages to find the place. I was walking, (hobbling), up and down the street for what felt like ages. In the end, it turned out to be in somebody’s front room, rather than a clinic as I was expecting. There was a sign on the door, saying ‘no need to knock, just come inside and take a seat’ so I did as I was instructed.

I was met by a huge barking dog. Perhaps this is why knocking on the door is discouraged, nobody would hear over the noise. The physio, turned up in paint-stained clothes and appeared to be surprised to see me. She asked my name and then told me she expected to have an online consultation with me over the internet. This was probably something I should have been told before I arrived. Anyway, she was very accommodating and took me into the makeshift clinic, followed by the large dog who was now carrying a child’s shoe in its mouth.

For the second time in two days, my knee was poked and prodded. The physio told me she thought I had a meniscus tear, something the GP also suspected. This means the cartilage has ripped and is apparently very common in sports people, which is funny as I don’t even watch sports on TV, let alone take part in any. She gave me some exercises and sent me on my way, while the dog gave me another noisy farewell.

After my two weeks of medical leave, I went back to see the manager at the hotel. They were great about it, I was moved to a ‘lower impact role’, assigned to carry trays of food in the restaurant and generally potter about, polishing glasses and putting cutlery away. I actually don’t mind that change; it was nice to do something different.

Then came the hospital appointment for the MRI scan. The GP who made the referral told me to expect a delay of up to ten weeks, it was less than five weeks and what really shocked me was the timing of the scan – Sunday 6pm, during Christmas week. I phoned up to make sure that was correct. The receptionist said it was right, and I wasn’t the first to call asking that kind of question. Even more amazing was that the busses would still be running.

The big day arrived, I booked it off work and arrived at the hospital without incident (something unusual for me).

To be continued…

Not What I Wanted To Happen (Part One)

In the middle of September, I started to notice a twinge in my left knee. The side of the knee was sore and the back was stiff. Of course, I ignored it.

As time passed, I started to struggle on the stairs and it was hard to make it comfortable. A trip to the chemist on the high street was needed. I like pharmacists, they always have constructive suggestions and you don’t need to sit in a waiting room full of people coughing. A knee support was recommended along with anti-inflammatory tablets. This would be perfect, I thought.

The knee support helped with the soreness, but it did make me even worse on the stairs. I decided to compromise and only wear it at work and just carry on regardless. People kept asking how it happened. I said various things ‘I was rushing for a bus’, ‘I was standing on a train when it juddered’, ‘I got out of bed awkwardly’, it could have been any of those, the truth is I have no idea but nobody seemed satisfied with that answer.

Then in November, my manager started asking questions. ‘How long have you had that knee problem?’ A couple of months I replied. ‘What have you done about it?’ I got some tablets and a knee support from the chemists. ‘Do you think that is working?’ The obvious answer is no. It was suggested that I should go and see a GP. The problem was that I wasn’t actually registered.

I imagined this would be a very difficult process, involving ID and proof of address documents, but in a rare moment of things in modern life being easier than expected, I could do it all online. It only took a few minutes, and no paperwork was needed at all. I was then able to book an appointment on the website too.

It was a large modern surgery, a maze of consulting rooms, an art display done by local school children and a surprizing lack of people coughing. The doctor came to the waiting room to find me. He wore tiny circular glasses, a sensible jumper and seemed long past retirement age. Perhaps he had a long day, but I found myself asking him to repeat almost everything he said as he kept mumbling.

He asked me to lie on the bed while he poked and prodded the knee. Perhaps he noticed me grimacing or the results were obvious, but I was back off the bed in about thirty seconds. It was decided that I would need to be sent to the local hospital for an MRI scan (at least that is what I thought he said) and this will happen within ten weeks. In the meantime, I would be signed off work for a fortnight to rest it and stop the injury from getting any worse. It never occurred to be that I would be away from work. It also meant that my return to the semi-finished hotel would be the week before Christmas which was far from ideal.

To be continued…

Mini Bond

“Whoever gets the best school report chooses the holiday”. That was the challenge my parents set my brother and I in the spring of 1995.

He is two years younger than me and at the time was football crazy. He had seen a football camp advertised in the newspaper which included a ticket to see his team, Manchester United play. I could not think of anything worse. I had no interest in PE during term time and having to do sports during the summer holidays as well was a nightmare.

I wanted to go to Butlin’s. They had a funfair, a massive swimming pool and was my favourite place on earth. I had to win.

History, English & Geography would be fine but maths and science were a problem, while French and German were a total disaster. The French teacher had already moved me to the bottom set, and I was convinced she hated me. In retrospect this was probably because I could not be bothered learning the lists of words that she gave us and would rather just stare out of the window until the bell rang.

So, a plan was hatched in my head. Why don’t I just write my own report? We had to take the reports home ourselves (thus avoiding intercepting the postman), it would be easy enough to open the envelope and give my parents a fake set of scores, throw the other away and nobody would ever know.

The problem was, how to get a blank report card. This took some planning. I needed to pay attention whenever a teacher went into their storeroom, I had to look over their shoulders into the doorways at all the books and supplies until I found what I wanted. For the first time in months, I even paid attention in French. After days of looking, it happened, I found the magic cards. The RE teacher had a pile of them and they were just inside the doorway of his cupboard but how to get in there unnoticed?

Like a future James Bond in training, I spent the whole day making plans, finding ways to ‘accidentally’ drop my work under the door, thinking up an elaborate story about how I needed extra supplies or cause a distraction like setting off a fire alarm but it was much easier than that. I went past at lunchtime and he had left the door wide open. So, I simply strode in and took them. In fact, I stole two blank reports (in case I made a mistake). If this was a Bond film, the teacher would have found me in the cupboard and there would have been a major confrontation ending in me jumping from a window but nothing of the sort. I put them in my rucksack and carried on with my day.

I gathered a collection of pens from around the house to make the forgery realistic. I copied the subjects I did well at and changed the others (except French & PE, nobody would believe I did well in those). Amazingly it worked, my parents were impressed. There would be no football camp for me instead a summer of fun by the seaside lay ahead.

That was until parent’s evening…

Christmas Day 2024

I don’t have a positive relationship with Christmas Day. Along with New Year’s Eve, it is a day I wish to completely ignore. This year, I was lucky and got the opportunity to do just that, as for the first time in years, I was scheduled to have a day off on December 25^th.

Christmas Eve had proved difficult as there was a two-hour power failure across the whole area. The computers, telephones and wi-fi all went down along with the boilers. Sadly, the fan heaters all were electric too. The biggest casualty was the festive lunch which also had to be cancelled. Although as the phones were not working we couldn’t tell the guests they were not getting lunch and the reception team had a fun afternoon dealing with unhappy customers. We did offer a free glass of champagne, but the fridges were not working either, so it was warm and they had to sit in the dark. I was so pleased not to be involved and busied myself at the other end of the hotel.

I went home that night and fell asleep before 9pm still dressed, only to wake up at 5am with the TV still on. The effect of this was that I was wide awake and after an hour of lying in bed, I decided to get up. Upon checking my emails, I discovered an automated message from work telling me that my computerised manual handling training had expired so I spent the early hours of Christmas Day on that exciting task. Luckily, due to a system glitch my answers from last time had been saved so I just copied them – I passed!

During Christmas morning, I was highly motivated. I cleaned my bedroom windows, gathered three bin bags worth of things to be put in the skip and changed the bedding. I had the radio on all day and then settled back into bed for an afternoon nap. One of the best things about being single is nobody moaning about the number or length of the naps I take.

The semi-finished hotel put on a special dinner for the staff although forgot to actually tell anyone what time it was going to be served so when the call came, I rushed off to find that it was served almost half an hour ago. Still, it was kept warm and there was enough food to feed the entire town. Also, as a special treat, we were allowed to turn off the Christmas music. We were all sick of hearing it by now.

I spent Christmas night in front of the TV. The external aerial fell down during the storm a couple of weeks ago, so I treated myself to an internal aerial which I am currently balancing on top of my wardrobe door. It doesn’t seem to like wind or rain and so need retuning about every twenty minutes if there is any kind of weather happening. Because of this, I gave up with watching the TV and had another nap instead.

Back to work on Boxing Day, the highlight was when I managed to drop an entire tray of small jars containing yogurt which sprayed up a wall, across the carpet and on a customer’s foot. It took nearly an hour to clean it all up. My colleagues found the whole thing hysterically funny.

Next, we will have all the excitement of new year’s eve. Apparently, a band is playing. I (however) have managed to get an early finish that night so at the stroke of midnight, I fully intend on being asleep. Sounds like bliss.

A Few Days Away

Earlier this week, I decided to treat myself to a couple of nights in a hotel. I had to go to a nearby town two days in a row so rather than come home I stayed overnight. I really enjoy a night away, there is something lovely about the bedding, not cooking and somebody else doing the cleaning.

I arrived at the hotel, and it looked totally deserted. I was slightly worried that it was closed but the door opened, and I waited in reception for ages. Eventually I was met by somebody carrying a mop who I assume had just come out of the toilets. She informed me that I couldn’t check in as the receptionist had gone shopping. I took a seat and waited. Eventually the cleaner came back and informed me that the receptionist had told her to just give me a key and she will sort the rest out later. The cleaner didn’t check my name or look anything up on the computer. She then asked me what room I wanted. It’s a good job I wasn’t a secret shopper.

Eventually the receptionist came back from the shops and gave me a call in the room. I was informed that they only had people in four of their 51 rooms that evening. The other three had already arrived and she assumed I would be later. Quite why that was, remained a mystery.

I had decided to go to a carol concert that night in aid of a local charity. I managed to get a free ticket from the radio station, and it was held in the local parish church. Even though I was 15 minutes early, the church was completely packed. I struggled to find a seat and a jolly man wearing a Christmas flashing jumper and reindeer antlers directed me to a place in the back corner that was completely blocked by a Christmas tree decorated with crafts made by students from a local primary school. I noted how the less impressive ones were facing the wall.

The concert was great. There was a community singing group with over 60 members, a brass band and a school choir. Plus, there was the added bonus of no long speeches from local dignitaries. One thing I never understand is that every time there is a song they want everyone to join in with (this also happens at weddings and funerals) they always request for all the people to stand up. I am convinced that it is perfectly possible to sing sitting down. I couldn’t be bothered with all that getting up and down so just stayed seated. Fortunately, I was stuck in a back corner behind a Christmas tree, so nobody knew anyway.

While I was in the Church it seemed like there was a severe rainstorm as the river was substantially higher than when I went in. Then I got lost and spent ages wandering around a town I have been to several dozen times. When I eventually got back to the hotel the receptionist was tucking into a four pack of sausage rolls, presumably a result of the earlier shopping trip.

The next day I had an appointment at the bank. Due to my lack of technical expertise, I am one of those people that wants to go and talk to a human. Miraculously, this town has a branch that is still open and hasn’t been converted into an upmarket bakery. I had an email reminding me to bring some photo ID (in fact, two emails). Of course, I forgot. When I explained that, the man just sighed and said, “oh never mind”. I think he must have had a long week. I opened a new account painlessly and then when we finished, I said how surprised I was at how quickly the process took. He said forgetting ID speeds up the process. I’ll remember that for next time.

That evening, I decided to watch a film and see Wicked at the local arts centre. It was a very odd film. The first hour was the two main characters bickering, then I fell asleep. Then when I woke up, they were doing some kind of road trip together (like something on Channel 5), then I fell asleep again. When I woke up this time, the leading character was tearing pages out of a book and a monkey fell over. Verdict – too long, confusing, two stars.

When I got back, I was informed that I would need to preorder breakfast so the chef could prepare. With less than ten people staying, you would think that the chef would be able to manage but clearly not. The ordering process was so specific I was also asked to preorder tea or coffee and if these were to include milk. I did wonder if this was work creation for the bored receptionist. The breakfast was fine and included a rare sighting of another guest. Having two tables at the same time must have sent the chef into a panic, breathing deeply into a paper bag.

When I got home, I received an email from the hotel asking my thoughts on the stay. I deleted it. I don’t think they need my feedback. I had a lovely few days away and plan on doing it again soon, although possibly at a different hotel.

Up, Up and No Way

Let’s face it, flying is awful. Even before Covid-19, the only good thing was leaving the airport at the other end with at least some of the luggage you checked in.

Firstly, the rules at security change by the hour. Are belts going to be allowed? What about shoes? Perhaps electronics can stay in the bag today, or maybe not. I think the supervisors have a big spinning disc (like Wheel of Fortune) and whoever was employee of the month gets to give it a pull to decide what us passengers will be put through that day.

Obviously there will be a delay with boarding and a whole series of names are called out (to which nobody ever seems to respond) and then the people with triple the amount of hand luggage allowed will leap forward and fill every space in the overhead bins before anyone else can blink. You might have thought that if it takes three people to lift it, then it isn’t really hand luggage but apparently that is not a problem.

Fast forward a couple of hours. The only film worth watching has been interrupted by approximately 17 announcements in 20 minutes, the babies of the plane have sorted out their rota of who is going to cry and in what order to ensure there is not a moment of silence and then the dinner trolley comes round. Having already decided from the provided menu seems very organised but ultimately pointless. Whatever you want, will have already run out. Instead, inevitably, it is pasta in a watery tomato sauce or chicken so dry it could have been left over from a space mission.

Every part of the meal comes in a separate container and is either a) hotter than the earth’s magma or b) frozen in the middle. Luckily, due to the sheer amount of time it takes to open all the packaging the temperatures will have evened up. There is nowhere to put all this packaging on the tiny tables, so it all has to go on the floor. If David Attenborough did a documentary about the vast amount of plastic on an aircraft floor, I am sure he would win awards for it.

The next challenge is to actually finish eating it before they turn the lights off for the compulsory nap, as if we are a class of nursery school children. As the seats are very narrow, the only way to eat without elbowing the next person is through an improvised version of the robot dance. As if like clockwork, the turbulence begins just as the cabin stewards begin the tea and coffee service. I wonder if the pilots time this deliberately for their own entertainment as beverages are launched about the cabin. The seat belt signs come on, but the hot drink service continues until every person onboard is covered in it. At that point the turbulence ends, and we are now all so exhausted we are ready for the compulsory nap time.

It seems to me that the Wright Brothers have a lot to answer for.

Celebrity Summer

We have had many celebrity guests staying at the semi-finished hotel over the summer.

The 90s Rock Star

The 90s rock star was playing at a music festival nearby. His management booked (and paid for) the entire top floor of the hotel so he wouldn’t be disturbed by other guests. We were instructed that he wanted to look at all the rooms before deciding which one he would be staying in. This process was to be done without a staff member being present. These instructions were given to us at least half a dozen times in the run up to his stay. There was much excitement in the run up to his visit, the car pulled up, the very large amount of luggage was unloaded. He looked at every room on the top floor, decided he didn’t want to stay in any of them, the luggage was loaded back into the car, and he departed. Luckily, the rooms were pre-paid, so the hotel kept the money and we resold the rooms to other people.

The Football Manager

The football manager’s wife was taken ill overnight with an episode of vomiting. We suspected it was due to large amount of wine she had consumed that evening, but the football manager was adamant that she needed to go to hospital. However, not a NHS one (“I’ll just get hassle”, he informed me) so instead we had to research what private hospitals in the area would be open at that time of night. We eventually managed to find something and called with the good news. Then he wanted a taxi, but only one with blacked out windows (“I’d prefer a limousine”). The only one we could find was currently at the airport which was over an hour away. This was fine, he said, they would wait. By the time it arrived, the football manager’s wife had fallen asleep and he decided not to go to the hospital after all.

The Reality TV Star

The reality TV star filmed her arrival to the hotel. She didn’t like the footage so she it again, this also wasn’t good enough, so a third attempt was made. By now there were a long line of people waiting to use the main entrance. She filmed everything, her credit card had a photo of her on it. Then at dinner, she brought a collection of marker pens and photos so people could get her autograph. However, nobody did. This seemed to make her fly into a rage, and she left a terrible review on her social media page about the lack of attention she received before leaving the restaurant.

We have two more bookings next week that have been made under false names, let’s see what happens!

Working With The Public

During my time working on the cruise ships, there was a story I heard many times that involved somebody asking a crew member ‘do the crew stay on board or go home at night?’. Obviously not a well thought out question considering we are usually thousands of miles from land. Anyway, the story goes that the crew member answered that ‘we get a helicopter home every evening’. Then the next day the passenger complained that the noise of the helicopters kept them awake all night.

I am not sure if this story is true or just cruise ship folklore (along with ‘how do I know which photo is mine’ ‘it’s the one with you in it’), but it is true that we had some extraordinary guest interactions. Deaths onboard are incredibly rare, as people need travel insurance to sail so anyone ‘uninsurable’ doesn’t travel but every single cruise there is a rumour that 12 or 15 people have died. When it is pointed out that is untrue, we are always met with ‘well, you would say that wouldn’t you?’ which then fuels the gossip of a cover up further.

A particularly fraught time is embarkation day. People have travelled since early morning and are highly stressed and exhausted. This combination led to complaints of seasickness before the ship had sailed and somebody screaming that they booked a sea view room and all they could see was the car park. Then there was a man who couldn’t work the balcony door mechanism and got stuck outside. Rather than shouting or knocking, he phoned the coastguard leading to a 90 minute delay of departure.

One of our more useless tasks was manning the library. We had a barcode reader that was used to scan the books into a computer database. We then asked for names and cabin numbers. Trouble was, that vast numbers of the books were not in the database and the database was not linked to anything (it wasn’t even on the network) so there would have been no way to check if books were returned or stolen. It was a total charade. Anyway while playing along, we had a lot of time to fill so in 2008, my colleagues started a list of the odder guest interactions they had.

There were a surprizing number of people who wanted a specific book but didn’t know what the book was. ‘I think it might have a red cover, or maybe blue’, ‘the one that woman was talking about on TV last week’ or ‘my husband thought it was about a family a bit like ours, do you know what he meant’. There were also very specific requests ‘I heard a story on the news about the foot sizes of the ancient Egyptians, where is your section about this’? I bet even Amazon doesn’t even have a whole section on this obscure topic.

I am glad my colleagues kept the list, I would have forgotten these gems:

“Can I ask why the number 13 has only been called in bingo three times this cruise?”
“So you are from England, My sister in law went there once, is it possible you have met her?”
“Does a banana skin count as paper or plastic?”
“Why is it Sunday when we arrive in Victoria?”
“Do you have a dictionary? I don’t want to use it, just wanted to see if you have one”
“Will the port side and the starboard side both go under the bridge?”
“Why didn’t this book mention Sarah Palin?”

Of course, the vast majority of people are lovely, funny and polite but it is the others that we remember.

I Hate Driving In My Car

This week I travelled somewhere by car. This for most people would be a normal daily occurrence but a car journey for me is so rare I remember when they happen, the previous time was months ago and I haven’t been anywhere in a car since.

Now, this isn’t because I have some moral objection to cars but simply because I have no need to use them. I love busses, tolerate trains and am quite happy walking and this has always been the case. In fact, I am now officially middle aged and still have never had a driving lesson.

A lot of people find it unusual to find a person of my age who doesn’t drive and often assume it is because I have been banned following a terrible incident. Actually, it is because I find the idea of driving terrifying.

Firstly, there seems to be a lot of admin involved. Licences, registration details, tax, insurance. Plus, the commotion of actually buying the car in the first place. All this seems overwhelmingly complicated and I would rather not bother.

Secondly, the process of learning to drive is (I am led to understand) expensive, lengthy and difficult. Multiple lessons followed by exams. I haven’t taken an exam in twenty years and the idea of failing multiple times and retaking over and over again in a spiral of humiliation is horrible.

Then there is the actual driving bit. Being a pedestrian can be unpredictable. Other people, weather, birds and dogs all present hazards while walking around but it is unlikely any of these will result in hospitalisation.

That is not true in a car, so many drivers are crazy. Having vehicles flying around corners, from every direction, at any moment together with all the pedestrians, weather, birds and dogs make the idea of being in charge of a potentially deadly heavy object unbearable. Plus, if anything did happen there would be yet more admin.

I think I will stick to walking, it’s just easier.

A Testing Time (Part Two)

Lunch at the training course was provided in the onsite restaurant. However, it seemed like nobody had told the chef we were coming. This seemed like an oversight for the organisers of the course considering the theme was how to improve communication. After some flapping from the waiters, some toasted sandwiches and a large bowl of chips emerged. Due to the delay, the course organiser was given a complimentary bottle of wine which she entirely consumed during the lunchbreak. Clearly, she didn’t want to be there either.

Once lunch was over we were all summoned back to the training room. At this point I discovered that this wasn’t actually a training session, it was a conference. The difference means that people should be able to communicate as equals. Great news for the two or three people that talk at length. Bad news for those of us who want to be home before it gets dark.

The results of our online surveys were distributed. It came in the form of a 23-page book which had been personalised for each of us. On getting his book, the maintenance manager announced that he was leaving as he had a train to catch. It wasn’t exactly clear where he was going or why, but I admired his bravery.

Even though this was weeks ago, I have still only read the first two pages of my personality analysis. The rest of it will have to wait until I get a severe case of insomnia. The highlight of page one was the revelation that I “tend to be disinterested in subjects which have no practical application” such as this course, I presume.

The rest of the day was spent reviewing the morning session. We spent four hours looking over something that we did earlier that same day. All the training course cliches arrived, outdated videos, splitting into groups, writing on flipcharts, cheap sweets to ‘lighten the mood’. They were all there. Then we had to rearrange our personality Duplo blocks to the order A.I. said rather than what we believed was actually true. I asked how accurately the A.I. actually worked and was informed in a scathing tone that the computers were correct.

Despite the course/conference starting an hour early, it still overran by another hour. This was mainly because the same two or three people as always, had thought of many points they wanted to discuss in vast detail. One of these points was that somebody dialled a wrong number nearly eight months ago. Eventually even the course leader had enough and told them all to stop talking which was nice as the rest of us had stopped listening hours before.

Once the course leader had enough, the materials were all packed away and the obligatory photos were taken of everyone pretending to have had a lovely day, it was announced we were all being treated to a special dinner. This ‘nice surprise’ was the last thing I needed as it would give the same two or three people even more time to argue about things the rest of us had forgotten about.

It turned out that the special dinner was kebabs. This was the final straw. I followed the example of the maintenance manager and told the group firmly that I also had a train to catch (hoping nobody was too familiar with the train timetables). It worked and I felt amazing. I ran to the train station hoping there would be a train. there wasn’t, it was a replacement bus service but by this point I didn’t care.

There is another training session at the start of next month but sadly I am on holiday. Shame.