The two hospital interviews have come and gone, and I can summarize them as shit (Brighton) and OK (West Middlesex). Then again, I haven't heard back from either of them yet, so maybe that's indicative of shit (Brighton) and shit (West Middlesex). Kings have spurned me without even an interview. Fuckers don't know what they're missing. I'm still waiting to hear from Central Middlesex, but I'm not holding out much hope.
On Friday, after humming and hawing, I decided that since I couldn't make the wedding in Ireland I was originally supposed to go to, I would go out somewhere else. I'd had my eye on a bear night in Vauxhall, in the Area club, as a certain DJ called Kevin Rolfe was playing, and his boyfriend was with him. Their stage name as a couple is The Beards.
I first happened across the online profiles of these two a while back, here and here, and was intrigued by the list of bands they listed on their web pages. I've always felt a bit put off by the music that gets played in standard gay clubs - too much mainstream fluff - and hadn't at that time met any other blokes, gay or straight, that had the same musical leanings as mine in quite some time. So I went digging around a bit.
These two organise a club night called homoelectric (be sure to click the link 'Why we bother' for a good read), and seem to be two pretty talented artists. This is another one of their sites, which features a rather funky electronic tune which has got very firmly stuck in my head (and in the head of the people I work with in college, as I keep playing it on my computer at work ha ha). On another of their sites, is a poem written by one about the other called 'You saved me'. To find it, click on the 'Word' button and then select the poem from the left-hand pane. It's worth the effort. There's also another piece 'Neil's Perspective' which features a turn of phrase that resonates with me, 'We are on loan to each other', which kind of describes the last guy I was with, as he had a boyfriend, and sums up how meaningless that kind of encounter can sometimes be, but that's for another time.
Anyway, the bear night was based around the launch of a book Bearflavoured, which as far as I could tell, was a collection of various artistic pieces seemingly - for the most part - by bears for bears. I found out afterwards that the aforementioned poem was included in the book as well.
So on Friday morning I rang Sarah Al, my drinking partner in crime, to find that she had just arrived back from a holiday in Egypt, and a rendez-vous was organised. After a few drinks we agreed that Sarah would come to the club with me (anytime the poor girl has been out with me lately, I've always dragged her to cruisy gay bars in the name of getting pissed, but she didn't seem to mind this time).
By the time we got out of the cab at the club, we were already pissed, but never ones to be bothered by a trifling detail like that, we went straight to the bar and continued on our bender. We eventually met The Beards (nice chaps) and chatted a while, and after that I checked out some men (the eye candy at London bear events always beats the Brighton ones hands down). Then I got talking to this guy, who is much wider in life than he looks in his photos. I've become acquainted with the american term 'fireplug', used to describe broad guys, and I like 'em.
After that, insanity flowered. Sarah and I danced on the stage, and when I went to dive off, I landed on a wet patch of floor and my legs went out from under me. I didn't so much land on my arse as bounced on it. Of course, in my drunkeness I felt nothing, and he who dances and jumps away, comes back to dance another day.
What is it about alcohol that makes you think you're a scolarship-winning candidate for a performing arts school?
After a while, the lack of sleep got to Sarah, and she decided to nod off in the club, for an hour or so, amidst all the noise. At least she was in a place where she probably couldn't be safer.
At the end of the night we got a taxi home, driven by this slightly..erm...politically opinionated guy, who ranted about The System all the way home. Thankfully the drive only took us about 10-15 minutes.
This morning I rose, cringed as the flashbacks of the night before hit me, and went home. Halfway back to Brighton, a family of screaming children settled in my carriage. I wanted to produce a machine gun and kill them all.
Now I sit here with a delayed-onset headache. Staying in tonight, methinks. 'Creep' on Channel 4 tonight, House of Flying Daggers tomorrow night...
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
BOLLOCKS!
The long weekend I was looking forward to next week in Galway and Dublin is not happening!
As mentioned previously, I was supposed to fly to Dublin next week, meet a few friends, and then head out to Galway for J's sister's wedding. One thing I was afraid of was that the hospitals I had applied to for my pre-reg would get back to me requesting my attendance for interview during the time I was supposed to be in Ireland.
They have done exactly that.
(What the hell is going on here? I'm sitting here waiting for the progression lists to go up on university website, and they keep putting up the ones for the first and second year classes first)
The first e-mail came through last Saturday (I hope these people don't make a habit of working at weekends, or expecting me to), calling me for an interview with the Brighton Sussex group of hospitals, for Wednesday 26th of September. On Monday, another e-mail came through, requesting my attendance for another interview on Thursday 27th of September...
(THANK GOD! The progression lists have just gone up for the third years and I've passed. But anyway, where was I...)
I contacted the hospitals and requested a reschedule. They politely refused. So now everything has gone pear tarte-tatin. Instead of going to Ireland for a good aul' knees-up and meeting up with my friends, I'm staying here and doing job interviews. I've done well to get to the interview stage, but getting into hospital pharmacy is a competitive business and for the interview I have on Wednesday, there are 21 applicants (whittled down from 50-odd) competing for 7 places. No pressure. None whatsoever.
Some people on the course have taken the time to fill out their preferences for their four hospitals on the online application site, only to have been turned down for all four without an interview (not to mention any notification, save for a small note on their online application). I can see how my application got me an interview, but I don't really see how I can make an interview get me a job. Fingers crossed it works out. I'll DIE if I have to spend a year in a community pharmacy.
So there goes my long weekend, and I'm back in College on the first of October. Oh the joys...
As mentioned previously, I was supposed to fly to Dublin next week, meet a few friends, and then head out to Galway for J's sister's wedding. One thing I was afraid of was that the hospitals I had applied to for my pre-reg would get back to me requesting my attendance for interview during the time I was supposed to be in Ireland.
They have done exactly that.
(What the hell is going on here? I'm sitting here waiting for the progression lists to go up on university website, and they keep putting up the ones for the first and second year classes first)
The first e-mail came through last Saturday (I hope these people don't make a habit of working at weekends, or expecting me to), calling me for an interview with the Brighton Sussex group of hospitals, for Wednesday 26th of September. On Monday, another e-mail came through, requesting my attendance for another interview on Thursday 27th of September...
(THANK GOD! The progression lists have just gone up for the third years and I've passed. But anyway, where was I...)
I contacted the hospitals and requested a reschedule. They politely refused. So now everything has gone pear tarte-tatin. Instead of going to Ireland for a good aul' knees-up and meeting up with my friends, I'm staying here and doing job interviews. I've done well to get to the interview stage, but getting into hospital pharmacy is a competitive business and for the interview I have on Wednesday, there are 21 applicants (whittled down from 50-odd) competing for 7 places. No pressure. None whatsoever.
Some people on the course have taken the time to fill out their preferences for their four hospitals on the online application site, only to have been turned down for all four without an interview (not to mention any notification, save for a small note on their online application). I can see how my application got me an interview, but I don't really see how I can make an interview get me a job. Fingers crossed it works out. I'll DIE if I have to spend a year in a community pharmacy.
So there goes my long weekend, and I'm back in College on the first of October. Oh the joys...
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Joop Wopereis. 1952-2007
It has been a mental two weeks. The stress started to pile on the weekend before my pharmacy repeat exam. By the morning of Monday the 3rd, as I was walking down towards the college to sit the actual paper in college, my stomach was tying itself up in knots.
Luckily it seemed to go well, though I won't find out for sure until this coming Wednesday.
Monday night, I moved house, which was the usual nightmare. The longer I stay in Brighton, the more superfluous clutter I seem to accumulate, and now it's got to the point where relocation of any kind is fast becoming a monumental pain in the arse. I managed it, and so far the new place is going well, though I'm still not completely unpacked and organised yet, at the time of writing this.
On Tuesday morning, I got up to go to work, as I still had a couple of days to work to make up the time for my pharmacy placement. I left my new house roundabout the same time as I normally leave the old one, except my new house is much closer to town, so when I found I was running about 15 minutes early, I decided to pop into Costa for a quick cappucino and bask in my newfound proximity to Brighton's city centre. It was then my phone went off, telling me I had a text message from my mother, at that time visiting her family in Holland. It related to my uncle:
'Joop very sick. Pray for him. Mam.'
Joop was married to my mother's sister, which technically made him my uncle-in-law. A funnier nuttier man you could not hope to meet. My memories of him consist mainly of him having a beer in one hand and a rolled up cigarette in another. When my brother and I first hit adolescence and started getting into things that would have made our parents frown, we were in awe of his ability to casually hold a converstation while rolling a cigarette with one hand. In about one minute. He probably could have done it blindfolded.
When I went over to Holland to celebrate a different aunt's 25th wedding anniversary, a group of us went on an ill-decided excursion to the pub the night before. I woke up with a day of celebrations ahead of me, not feeling the Mae West, and as soon as Joop ascertained what was wrong with me, he had the solution. "Denis, you must have more beer, it will make you feel better. Is good, Ja?" I eventually relented, and of course his suggestion of the hair of the dog turned out to be just what I needed that day.
When my brother and his wife got married at the start of this year, Joop and his wife dithered over whether to come over for the wedding. Money had always been a bit tight for them, and Joop operated on a contract that was renewed on a yearly basis. They had no guarantee that he would be working in the new year on their return home. They went anyway, as was always the case, and the day was made all the better by them being there. I didn't see much of him that day, as I was running around like a blithering idiot, drunk as a lord. If I'd known what was to come, I would have made more time for him. I replied by text to my mother, and then headed into work. I left my phone in the cloakroom and did my usual thing in the dispensary. At lunchtime, I checked my phone again.
'Joop dying. Matter of hours. Mam.'
I got lunch and then started to text everyone I knew connected with him, to find out more, but nobody really knew anything. Like me, they were just flabbergasted.
I went back to work and kept my phone with me. Towards the end of my time at work, I got the text I was dreading:
'Joop RIP. 4:45. Mam'
It was then that the phone calls began. My sister told me that it was suspected that he had cancer of the throat, as for the last while he could hardly eat, and had lost loads of weight. The real problem lay in the fact that he had a bowel obstruction and died most likely from the resulting perforations. The obstruction itself most likely was caused at least in part by the opiates he was continuously prescribed. An official report on the whole thing is expected in due course.
In conversation with my sister, I tried to point out that at least his life, while he enjoyed it, was lived to the full. She replied with the fact that with three children, he still had a lot of living to do.
I dithered over going - I was hardly flush with money - but then came to the decision that I had to be there. I booked my flights and headed over on Saturday. I stayed with Mark and Marjon, the cousins I had stayed with before. It was nice to see everyone, but to do it under the current circumstances took some of the joy out of it. The widow and her children were remarkably brave about it though.
Monday was the cremation, and while it was heartbreaking, I was struck by how great a send-off he got. He was presented in the coffin in his normal clothes, how we always remembered him, instead of in some stuffy suit which he would never wear except under extreme duress anyway. In the background was a choir, singing adaptations of some of his favourite songs, including Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven. Different people got up and read out little pieces about him they had prepared, which was much nicer than hearing the standard religious readings that mean nothing to anyone about anything, least of all the person whose death they are mourning.
In the crematorium, there were more readings, the main one drawing a few laughs, which made me regret not having learned dutch years ago, as I couldn't understand much of it. Then there was more music, and from now until the day I die, I will always be reminded of Joop when I hear U2's You don't have to make it on your own. One thing that struck me, and nearly made me cry, was how one of Joop's brothers tapped on the coffin as he walked past it, in the same way that a lot of Irish people knock on the roof of a carful of friends when they are seeing them off into the night, after getting together. It was brought home to me how tragic this death was, as the previous passing of other relatives was different. They were reaching the end of their life anyway, and I didn't really know them that well. This was different on both counts.
On the way out, little cards were given out summarizing Joop's life. When he was born, his marriage, when he died, how everything was done to try and save him, and how he had been a loving father and husband. It was signed by his widow, and his three children.
Now his family have to look to the future, and I don't envy them. Joop was the main breadwinner in the family, and his wife Ineke only did occasional work as a home help to supplement the family income. Now she has to try and manage the family on her own, with a fifteen year old son and two ten year old twins. Matters are complicated even more by the fact that one of the ten year olds has a rare heart condition, where she has to constantly take antibiotics and must make regular visits to the doctor. She already has some lasting heart damage, and will most likely need to have surgery in the next year. Now Ineke has to face into all this on her own. My heart goes out to her.
I arrived back here on Wednesday evening, and since then things have been pretty sedate. I (hopefully!) start back in college at the start of October. In two weeks time I head over to the wedding of the sister of J, and to see a few friends in Dublin. I'm looking forward to it.
So. Farewell Joop. Like many people who lose someone they like, I wish I had known you better, or seen more of you. Good luck to you and yours. I thought you'd be around for a lot longer. It is not a mistake I will make with my relatives again.
Luckily it seemed to go well, though I won't find out for sure until this coming Wednesday.
Monday night, I moved house, which was the usual nightmare. The longer I stay in Brighton, the more superfluous clutter I seem to accumulate, and now it's got to the point where relocation of any kind is fast becoming a monumental pain in the arse. I managed it, and so far the new place is going well, though I'm still not completely unpacked and organised yet, at the time of writing this.
On Tuesday morning, I got up to go to work, as I still had a couple of days to work to make up the time for my pharmacy placement. I left my new house roundabout the same time as I normally leave the old one, except my new house is much closer to town, so when I found I was running about 15 minutes early, I decided to pop into Costa for a quick cappucino and bask in my newfound proximity to Brighton's city centre. It was then my phone went off, telling me I had a text message from my mother, at that time visiting her family in Holland. It related to my uncle:
'Joop very sick. Pray for him. Mam.'
Joop was married to my mother's sister, which technically made him my uncle-in-law. A funnier nuttier man you could not hope to meet. My memories of him consist mainly of him having a beer in one hand and a rolled up cigarette in another. When my brother and I first hit adolescence and started getting into things that would have made our parents frown, we were in awe of his ability to casually hold a converstation while rolling a cigarette with one hand. In about one minute. He probably could have done it blindfolded.
When I went over to Holland to celebrate a different aunt's 25th wedding anniversary, a group of us went on an ill-decided excursion to the pub the night before. I woke up with a day of celebrations ahead of me, not feeling the Mae West, and as soon as Joop ascertained what was wrong with me, he had the solution. "Denis, you must have more beer, it will make you feel better. Is good, Ja?" I eventually relented, and of course his suggestion of the hair of the dog turned out to be just what I needed that day.
When my brother and his wife got married at the start of this year, Joop and his wife dithered over whether to come over for the wedding. Money had always been a bit tight for them, and Joop operated on a contract that was renewed on a yearly basis. They had no guarantee that he would be working in the new year on their return home. They went anyway, as was always the case, and the day was made all the better by them being there. I didn't see much of him that day, as I was running around like a blithering idiot, drunk as a lord. If I'd known what was to come, I would have made more time for him. I replied by text to my mother, and then headed into work. I left my phone in the cloakroom and did my usual thing in the dispensary. At lunchtime, I checked my phone again.
'Joop dying. Matter of hours. Mam.'
I got lunch and then started to text everyone I knew connected with him, to find out more, but nobody really knew anything. Like me, they were just flabbergasted.
I went back to work and kept my phone with me. Towards the end of my time at work, I got the text I was dreading:
'Joop RIP. 4:45. Mam'
It was then that the phone calls began. My sister told me that it was suspected that he had cancer of the throat, as for the last while he could hardly eat, and had lost loads of weight. The real problem lay in the fact that he had a bowel obstruction and died most likely from the resulting perforations. The obstruction itself most likely was caused at least in part by the opiates he was continuously prescribed. An official report on the whole thing is expected in due course.
In conversation with my sister, I tried to point out that at least his life, while he enjoyed it, was lived to the full. She replied with the fact that with three children, he still had a lot of living to do.
I dithered over going - I was hardly flush with money - but then came to the decision that I had to be there. I booked my flights and headed over on Saturday. I stayed with Mark and Marjon, the cousins I had stayed with before. It was nice to see everyone, but to do it under the current circumstances took some of the joy out of it. The widow and her children were remarkably brave about it though.
Monday was the cremation, and while it was heartbreaking, I was struck by how great a send-off he got. He was presented in the coffin in his normal clothes, how we always remembered him, instead of in some stuffy suit which he would never wear except under extreme duress anyway. In the background was a choir, singing adaptations of some of his favourite songs, including Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven. Different people got up and read out little pieces about him they had prepared, which was much nicer than hearing the standard religious readings that mean nothing to anyone about anything, least of all the person whose death they are mourning.
In the crematorium, there were more readings, the main one drawing a few laughs, which made me regret not having learned dutch years ago, as I couldn't understand much of it. Then there was more music, and from now until the day I die, I will always be reminded of Joop when I hear U2's You don't have to make it on your own. One thing that struck me, and nearly made me cry, was how one of Joop's brothers tapped on the coffin as he walked past it, in the same way that a lot of Irish people knock on the roof of a carful of friends when they are seeing them off into the night, after getting together. It was brought home to me how tragic this death was, as the previous passing of other relatives was different. They were reaching the end of their life anyway, and I didn't really know them that well. This was different on both counts.
On the way out, little cards were given out summarizing Joop's life. When he was born, his marriage, when he died, how everything was done to try and save him, and how he had been a loving father and husband. It was signed by his widow, and his three children.
Now his family have to look to the future, and I don't envy them. Joop was the main breadwinner in the family, and his wife Ineke only did occasional work as a home help to supplement the family income. Now she has to try and manage the family on her own, with a fifteen year old son and two ten year old twins. Matters are complicated even more by the fact that one of the ten year olds has a rare heart condition, where she has to constantly take antibiotics and must make regular visits to the doctor. She already has some lasting heart damage, and will most likely need to have surgery in the next year. Now Ineke has to face into all this on her own. My heart goes out to her.
I arrived back here on Wednesday evening, and since then things have been pretty sedate. I (hopefully!) start back in college at the start of October. In two weeks time I head over to the wedding of the sister of J, and to see a few friends in Dublin. I'm looking forward to it.
So. Farewell Joop. Like many people who lose someone they like, I wish I had known you better, or seen more of you. Good luck to you and yours. I thought you'd be around for a lot longer. It is not a mistake I will make with my relatives again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
