The Brittany Ferries chainsaw massacre......

BF have offered some pretty good deals this year and with finances looking less sick we took advantage in full. Came a quiet weekday and, delightfully  organised we set off bright and early. The exchange rate is now everything a brexit voter deserves so as confirmed remainers  we were fairly unhappy with how few euros our pounds had bought us.

It's not just the Euro of course, with fuel prices on the up our usual pace had been reined in and the VW was travelling at  relative snails  speed to eke out the litres or diesel.

Arborism was the name of the weekend so the van had been packed with shovels  strimmers , my big felling axe, not to mention my stihl  chainsaw which was earmarked to do a bit of tree felling.

With all these goodies on board we arrived in time for a meal before rocking into the ferry terminal with time a plenty to spare. Things soured from the word go, into the check in and the lady was not smiling. The vehicle was not accurately described on the ticket she said. This was the same category I had used since 2011 I replied, multi purpose vehicle - which it is. The category was for MPV's and 4x4, this was a VW transporter and therefore a camper van, she said.  The most popular 4x4 is a Discovery and that is both longer and higher than a T4, I countered. No, she replied,the T4 had to go in the van and camper category, (which are classed as higher and longer and thus cost more). During the summer, I countered, the T4 had actually been parked on the elevated car deck, as it is pretty much the same size as a large car. This debate was going no where so, accepting that fact and the information that the van was now "on the system" and any further attempts to cheat would be severely dealt with, on we went.

Into security, there was obviously some form of heightened expectation.  A far larger security squad than normal, milling round as vehicles came into the security hall. Extra numbers did not mean extra checks and soon it was our  turn. Up strode the team. Was this our vehicle? Asked the head honcho. Resisting temptation, I confessed it was. Had we packed it ourselves? Of course. Was everything in it ours? Yes. Were were carrying any weapons? Before I could say a word, the management mentioned we had a chain saw. There was a collective gasp, the whole crowd tensed up and moved  back a pace. I'll show you, said I, hopping out of the cab, opening the side door and emerging with the saw. This was not the right move, this lot were getting seriously alarmed,  thank goodness management mentioned the saw, had I  turned round holding the big felling axe we were also carrying there might well have been a laundry bill....

So like international terrorists we were duly  escorted out of the security shed   and plonked in a corner well away from the public. There was some debate about whether we should be allowed to board at all, us being international terrorists and all. The head honcho came over, demanding to see our ticket. Didn't have one, said I, boarding card, but no ticket.  handed her the boarding card,  this wasn't a ticket, quite right says I, there had to  be a ticket said she, don't have one, said I, again. Urgent radio messages to the terminal produced a relaxed looking member of BF staff. She rolled up, explained that the security leader needed our reservation number and didn't know where to find it on a boarding card. Shame she hadn't asked me, said I, I could have showed her how to read a boarding pass myself, in retrospect this was not the right thing to say to head honcho in front of BF staff.

Soon after this we were released to wait to board, with heavy duty anti terrorist protection attached to the  vehicle    (red sticker on the windscreen) and assigned a lane dedicated to international terrorists, well OK,us and  the other guy (they caught him  with a hedge trimmer).

 The police were called over to guard us and at least had the good grace to look  slightly  bemused by the whole  affair. Eventually, we were loaded, and again it was a special area of the car deck under the beady eye of the security cameras.

There was some significant relief involved in getting off the ferry next day, obviously we got stopped the instant we were off the ferry. You are carrying weapons, said the controller, no we have a chainsaw, said I. He laughed, stepped forward and removed our international terrorist sticker before any Gendarmes or  Customs spotted it and we were subject to another carnival. Out of the terminal and away we went.

The rest of our day passed without drama well, not quite. I was relaxing by planning how to rewire the house when the levels of swearing outside started to increase exponentially. The management was having a moment. The object of her wrath was the strimmer. Now, this is a bit of a controversial item as, a little while back, our strimmer declined to function. This was a big deal as gardening contracts meant the need was immediate. Having been dispatched with   old strimmer which needed overhaul, but with instructions to bring back another as the need for strimmers for gardening projects was as I said, immediate. At the machinery place I  had two options, buy a new replacement (as instructed) or a more powerful model, second hand.  Using my judgement (not recommended)   I overruled instructions (aka as "death wish") and bought second hand. This strimmer has always therefore been "controversial". Now miles from any support it was declining to function, this was a major issue and undoubtedly down to my poor decision making skills. A significant rant was well in progress, never worked right, always been temperamental, should never have bought it etc. In retrospect asking the management whether she thought it might run better with the ignition switch  in the "on" position was not as quite tactful a question as it might have been.  Soon the sound of furious strimming was heard around the house.

Lunchtime arrived all too soon, time to nip into town. Our chosen Restaurant, trois marchands does 4 courses for € 11.50,  a  bargain! The menu was set and today's main was beef tongue in Madeira sauce, maybe try somewhere else then. Out of town for the next place and no menu at all!! So upstairs we trooped and sat down. The main was, err beef tongue in Madeira sauce, but  the fish starter was superb and a cheese she had never encountered before gave her something to add to the take home shopping list. Also of course is the featured little old lady. Now she is a bit of a fixture and with a couple vin rouges inside her she launched a voluble assault on the character of  "les  anglais" against whom she obviously has quite a grudge. Le Patron, who knows we are pretty fluent rushed over to appologise and say she was harmless. No problems, said I loudly, I wasn't English, I was Welsh and here views on Les Anglais as neighbours  were pretty moderate compared to mine. Went down well that did...

On with the excitement and back to the garden. Our little house is in a minor hamlet and two of the immediate properties are derelict, with a hint of dodgy dealing it seems both have now been sold onwithout ever coming on to the market. I suspect the old lady who owned them has died  with no  immediate family and someone had bought them as a job  lot on the quiet, through the Mairie. A local arborist had been contracted to clear the back garden of the house next door which he had done by dumping a most of the cuttings in our back garden! In actuality, he was good as gold even having the good grace not to laugh openly when I felled a 30 foot Oak - the whole point of bringing the chainsaw!

With much clearing and chopping and stacking complete, it was time to head for home.  The van at this stage being pretty well loaded and pretty soon it was clear all was not well. Something in the transmission was making a serious noise, a terminal noise  in fact. The very last thing we needed, a breakdown. So on we limped nursing the van up to the coast. I was pretty convinced we would not make it but, no, somehow we got into Morlaix then Roscoff. Bonus; driving like a hearse, the fully laden VW recorded a very frugal 40 mpg.

So there we were,eyes down, look in, into the ferry terminal, I don't think anything could have prepared us for what came next.  The terminal was on a heightened alert state on the look out for dangerous international terrorists, just like us. First cordon was the gendarmes, they had obviously been briefed, as we clanked to a halt three of them approached the van: black uniforms, shades, flack jackets and pistols. One was different, he had a proper  assault rifle and he was obviously quite prepared to use it. I instructed the management to move very slowly and put both her hands on the dash board. This was a proper bathrooms moment. You have a gun, barked the first one, in French. No, I  have a chainsaw, I squeaked. Show us, he commanded, very slowly I got out and moved round to the side of  the van, opened the door and pointed to the chain saw. Relax all round, close door  back into van.

Into the reservation booth, hand over the old booking card. Some clicking on the computer, a frown. You have a gun, said the  concerned looking lady, no, I have a chain saw, said I. She didn't want to see the chainsaw but she popped out of her booth and we soon had some more international terrorist stickers on the windscreen.

Inside the cordon, in  the terrorist lane and over came the internal security, no guns and far less scarey. You have a gun, no I have a chainsaw, show me. Out came the device again. Once again the chainsaw was looked at, yet, nothing else in the van got serious scrutiny.

Eventually, into customs, up went the warning hand. You have a gun, no, I have a chainsaw, let me see.... Stihl 261 - good chain saw, said the customs guy.

Finally on to the ship in a clatter of dying drive shaft, into  the segregated bit of car deck reserved for international terrorists like us. Rest, relax, Plymouth would without doubt be something special.

When we got off the ferry there was the usual line for immigration, but no Apache helicopter clattered overhead, no battalion of marines stood by  in battle order, it must have been the SBS weekend off and the tactical weapons team must been away dealing with a serious case of  bad  parking. The international terrorists  clattered through immigration in bemused amusement and headed for home.

Well we tried to,  20 miles up the road the VW was sounding like it was about to destroy itself , something mechanical was about to get out and walk, I pulled into a garage forecourt and phoned the RAC, it was now just short of 21.00. By midnight a recovery truck had arrived to collect us at a garage 30 miles away.  A surreal phone call ensued where the recovery driver was asking us why we were broken down where we were rather than where he was, with a strong implication that  this was our fault somehow. He then threw his rattle out of his pram and said he not driving any further and  was going home and leaving us there. This sent me scuttling to phone the RAC who said they would phone me back and didn't. But, shortly after, another recovery firm called, to say, they were on their way and indeed they were soon on the scene and recovery commenced, or rather didn't as by now all their drivers were out of hours so we were recovered to their garage,given a car and told to drive home. By 05.45  bed was a very welcome place and a lovely nights sleep was what I needed, gave myself and extra hour before waking up at 08.30 to find the devastation that had gone on at home while we were away.

That will wait for another day.....  

R

   



 

 






  

After the sun has gone in

If I were frank i would admit this has been a tough old year. A year meaning 12 months not the time since January. The last couple of years has seen fostering peter out as herself and myself being a bit assertive and a long way from daycastle has been enough to stop us getting used (and abused) by the fostering service.

About March we put in our application to work in a totally different field which would of course leave us potless till the money came in. After the most long drawn out process ever, our application goes to panel next week. We might even be earning money by the end of the month.

This has not been a matter of small  consequence we have survived pretty much a year on next to nothing. I've been off doing festival work (and much fun was had if truth was known), local security work has happened and lots of training has been done.

All in all a jolly old time but one where money was outrageously tight. he freezer has been run to within and inch of empty and some quite intriguing food combinations have been poured out on plates.

Everyone has been feeling the pinch meaning those food combinations have to exclude anything on Tallies can't possibly eat list and take account of Bruce the Vegan.

Bruce  reduced the issue somewhat by clearing off to El Salvador to build something which had bought us 12 weeks grace. She is however back Wednesday and we will be back to normal on that front.

I have been pretty amazed with our resilience really and we just need a couple more weeks to allow finances to normalise. Normalise meaning we can pay our bills. Eat, maybe even vanish across the sea and forget things for a few days.    

twas the night before Xmas.......

Twas the night before Xmas and all through the house it was bloody Bedlam!!!

Out this morning filed with dread and into town. Surprisingly light traffic, into the cash and carry hoover up some things on short date. on to Aldi where all the fresh meat was reduced by 50 percent. Tesco turkey crown 12 pounds Aldi 4 pounds - sorted: big lump of turkey, a free range stuffed chicken and change out of 7 quid. 

Then it was on to Tesco, my had things woken up since we arrived in town, Mad Max in the car park, Close Quarter Combat in the aisles.

Glad to get home but no peace even here, full on Xmas cooking with Rayburn running flat out. Red Hot Chilli Peppers on the Stereo.

Funny though as I sat here, I started to look back,  last year i was working, bringing up someone Else's children. As I was every Xmas as far back as 1998. That year I was a hotelier, and I had worked every Xmas day since 1992. That year I was a residential social worker and I had worked every Xmas day since 1986.

Going to be a strange feeling, not working Xmas day. Won't be quiet though, I think we have a total of 17 people here. Starting to wish I had taken that security work. Wonder if i still have that blokes phone number....

R  
 

Twas the night before Xmas eve

So the dread  eve approaches full of menace, we are under imminent threat of an outbreak of Xmas.

This is supposed to be a time for families which is why so much family time is devoted to arguing I guess.  This year is quite odd for us, normally we would be splurging money of everyone but this year we are broke. Now when I say broke I don't mean eviction is imminent or that the power is about to be turned off but it has been a tough few months.

Our last placement G moved out in about August, big D moved into his new flat in July. Now, when I say moved, he has been back pretty regularly and is here for the Xmas celebrations.

Except celebration will be a bit thin this year, we have survived on wheeler dealing and festivals  virtually since July. I have worked 5 or six festivals over the summer, we are doing security for 7 festivals either as main contractor or sub contractor next year. That though is next year, somehow we have to get to then.

We have applied to replace the fostering with working in adult services, one thing we forgot is the total inertia in social services. From applying in about May they have now indicated they will have completed the assessment by March. There is a strange thing in there, imagine if this was going to be your main source of income and from applying for the job to starting work took that amount of time.

Oh hang on, it's going to be exactly that.

So this year Xmas here will be a muted little affair, well maybe not I think there are 16 of us on Xmas day. Please note also, for those planning a budget of hundreds for a gatheirng of 4, we reckon on having change from 50 quid to feed everyone, as I said we did dealing, so it's not going to be fish finger and chip.  

Actually, for me, a security job has come up  for Xmas day, a venue with a reputation for being a tough call, boozing and brawling, easier than being here then, and they pay 50 pounds an hour over Xmas, ideal. Thing is, one day on 50pounds an hour is no recompense for being homeless afterwards, and if I took that job she would definitely chuck me out!! .        
 

Screwing the world down

It's safe to say this because only me and MI5 will ever read it but this world has gone beyond.

The bankers screwed up so the poor must pay for their mistakes.

Greece got itself into a corner with the total collusion of a bunch of private banks, who have now had their debt taken into public ownership so tax payers everywhere will have to fund the cock up while the banks carry on and pay next to no tax.

I am sure there is a logic in this.

The logic was Iceland, the banks screwed up so they were allowed to fail, people who did criminal things went to jail.

Thats what happened in the states in 1926.

Am i just being a bit simplistic?

R 
     
 

the ghosts come back to haunt you...

I suppose it started when I was in my late 30's. My children  were under 3 and having a great time in the garden playing in the summer sun. Suddenly I was hit by a huge wave of jealousy, I was jealous of my own children, envying them their childhood.

My childhood was very different to theirs, we were materially far better off, money was not really ever an issue and we would regularly go on very expensive holidays.

But there was another side, I regularly stand in front of rooms of people, calm, confident, erudite. 6 foot tall and quite solid build. Does anyone think they are looking at a survivor, someone who was  constantly criticised, sometimes beaten, I think not .

There is a hidden corner in my memory, a place I keep the really dark stuff, a place i don't go too often, a bit like that stuffy old box room where all the junk you don't use but can't throw away goes.   

I got into door work for reasons i don't think i really understood at the time. People who employed me saw someone who would rather talk than fight. Someone also who did not panic if it went pear shaped but  worked well under fire after all I was quite used to violence.

So anyway this weekend I went on a personal safety trainers course, with  my eldest daughter.

It was a striking course, astonishing how skills were layered, one on one.

Then came the cathartic moment. I was paired with a guy who really was  man mountain, ex competitor in Britain's strongest man, about 5 inches taller and at least a foot wider than me. This counted for nothing, suddenly I was not 56 I was 6. In the presence of someone far bigger and stronger, this was the mother of all flash backs.  But I wasn''t that 6 year old kid, or 7 or 8 or all the other years I got beaten, I was strong I had the tools to protect myself.

A lot of things slotted into place, why I became a bouncer; I had things to prove to myself, I didn't want anyone else to be where I had been, so I became the strange sort of bouncer who would step in to help people but really tried every way to avoid a fight. Something about myself became crystallised in those moments. 

Next came an item that really crowned things for me, someone was talking about resilience. Those who have been reading this from the start will know I really go for Resilience theory. I thought whether this Functional Edge system could be used to promote resilience in young people. The answer was a very guarded yes. Yes so long as you had trained the young people out of using conflict, teaching this to kids who are being bullied would be great, teaching it to young people who routinely use violence to achieve their aims would be the daftest idea ever.    

The next speaker was an inspiration, a woman who had lived through some horror. She was testimony to the poverty of therapeutic systems which pretend to be more expert than the individual who has lived their life. You are the expert on you, said Milt Erickson and as usual he was right. When people have been in situations where they have been totally powerless the first thing to give them  back is control. Functional Edge was a key part in her solution to her problems something in which she was  really the expert. The person most impressed by all this was Bethan, my daughter, she was so inspired that she talked about nothing else nearly all the way home. 

Things often happen for a purpose. this whole train of events started when, in a moment of daftness I applied to good 4 shit to become a security worker at the big sports day. That's how I met the instructor who lives just down the road. We stayed in touch Bethan and Branwen both did their door supervisor course. I looked at the FES trainers course and nearly applied last year. That little bit of nagging doubt and uncertainty stopped me. But i got chatting to some of the people involved and thought a phrase that rhymes with bucket, the worst that could happen is that I could fail. I  recruited Bethan as back up, turned up and  entered the  training room with trepidation, within two seconds I discovered we had a bunch of great people together. We had a fantastic time, I feel good about myself even today the voice of criticism stops me doing that sometimes, not now though.   

being an academic for a day

Today has been a day for being a bit clever, not that I am but it's nice to pretend.


Off to uni and the place was in meltdown lots of people due to interview had not turned up and all the candidates were there.

So instead of 3 panels interviewing 3/4 each, we usually have some no shows, we had two with 6 each.

And our panel had some really good people who answered every question in full. In fact, they were such nice, good quality candidates you could not shut them down.

So, normally it  would be done and dusted and off to lunch by one, instead we were still locked in the room at three.

No breaks no coffee and by three I wanted to be at home, except tomorrow I am off to Brittany, but just for half a day and it's going to be full on.

But noticing the front tyres were a spot low on tread this morning meant a stop off on the way home to have them changed.
 
Just what I need after the day I had today.

Thankfully I wont have to drive tomorrow, Bruce is coming with me so she can drive while i snooze,

She will need the GPS though, was there any need to change the language to Korean, probably not....

R