29 September 2011

Neither here nor there

So I’ve caught yet another famous British cold. This cold has been running through our little nuclear family like wildfire. The Henbot caught it first on Monday, from where I have no idea. I got it a day later and now finally Andy is showing signs. Murphy’s Law (Sod’s Law if your British) is that it’s been warmer this past week then it has been all summer. Nothing like receiving the gift of a lovely week of sun before the cold sets in and all you want to do is curl under a cool sheet to sleep. I won’t even go into the hell that is trying to take care of a sick baby when you barely have the strength to hold up your own head. I will say though that British cold medicine is absolute shit. On Tuesday I took two ‘nighttime’ cold capsules and went to bed at 8 PM. 3 hours later I’m stomping down the stairs, still wide awake, announcing to Andy that his crappy British medicine doesn’t work on my American body. I miss thee dear Nyquil.

On the plus side, this warm weather and no desire to shower much less leave the house is that I’ve gotten a shit load of laundry done. When it’s cold (and usually rainy), I can only get one load of laundry done a day. There’s only room on the line outside for one load if it’s going to take all day to dry and in the house, there’s only enough radiator space throughout for a single load. I miss thee dear dryer.

Actual picture of my clothes line.  Yes, at some point I took a picture of my clothes line.  I am THAT person.

In other news, Andy, Henry and I took Nana Pam (Andy’s mum) out to Southport last Sunday. Southport is a great little tourist town on the coast. The beach there goes on and on forever before you finally get to the sea. The very best thing about Southport if you happen to be there with your mother-in-law and therefore can’t spend most of your afternoon blissfully in a Southport pub is that on the pier they have an old timey penny arcade. For a pound you get 10 large old timey pennies to use on the arcade machines. These are the types of machines with pulls and levels and mechanical do-dads – think the ‘Zoltar’ fortune telling machine in the movie ‘Big’.

Lovely Southport and that one kid riding a bike.

Hall of Mirrors - this was a regular mirror, we really are that short.

Donkey rides for only 3 quid!

Our new family photo.

In yet another set of news, I’ve been looking for work. I’ve actually been looking for work for about two months now but my level of frustration about it has finally made me decide to mention it. Truth be told, I got to a point where I was getting comfortable being a stay-at-home mom. It’s hard work and there are definitely days when my brain feels like mush playing with blocks and singing songs about bears rather than solving complex software problems to someone who has clearly fucked something up but refuses to admit it. But I’ve gotten used to it and I don’t mind it so much. However, it’s gotten to a point where it really me working or not working isn’t a choice anymore – I have to work if we are going to make ends meet - “End’s Meet” in the sense that we can continue to be flush with vodka and can support my charity shop and Henry’s toy habit. So I’ve been looking for work and it hasn’t gone so well. Two things have kind of hampered me from the get-go. One is that I can only work nights part-time (having to pay for daycare for Henry defeats me working in the first place). Secondly is that my career is in computer software – help desk type stuff really – and Liverpool isn’t exactly known for their technology sector. A distant third issue to my plight is that I don’t drive, but that’s neither here nor there.

I’m not afraid of minimum wage jobs lest you think that I’ve gotten on some Technology High Horse somewhere. I’ve applied for cashier jobs at the grocery stores, incoming sales jobs at the banks, housekeeping, book keeping, and general admin work. Unlike in the States, if you apply for a job here and the company decides they don’t want you, they will send you a rejection letter. A rejection letter! I much prefer the American way of “silence until so much time has passed that you are sure you haven’t got the job”. I could wallpaper a room with my rejection letters so far. It’s depressing. I guess in the grand scheme of things, I shouldn’t take it personal (or should I?). The economy here is shit, unemployment everywhere…if you were a hiring manager I’m sure you’d be more likely to hire a natural citizen then a dumb Yank with a visa who can barely understand the accent. Or maybe I should stop using my Iamadumbamerican@gmail.com account on my resume.

So that’s all I got for you – a bunch of whining from a cold infested head. I will leave you with this random photo taken from my phone because, you know, who doesn’t love a wooden cowboy?


  1. I have a supply of Nyquil. Happy to share - just say the word.

  2. The job market in this country blows. And wait until you see what passes for a salary! Also, along with meds, deodorant is worth importing. I swear British deodorant is no match for my burly, American sweat glands

  3. Anon: Yes, I saw how little the salary is here. It's very sad.

    I still have a supply of Secret solid from the States. I'll be begging the family for more when it runs out I'm sure!