Mission 032: Where Susan stops larking about

Aha. I knew these months of wandering the world and filling my brain with all kinds of curious cultural facts was bound to come to an end sometime. The money had to run out, and did. The line of travel had to finish somewhere, and has.
Now I am in Auckland, it is raining, and all around me the city is working, eating and...windsurfing, it would appear. Although I'm not really into windsurfing, I would like to be eating, and for that, I need to start... working. My mission is simple: to become gainfully employed.
I checked the paper on the weekend for jobs: nothing doing there in the advertising, media or publishing world. But the field of adult entertainment had lots of openings. (No pun intended!) I also found plenty of other unappealing jobs: cafe staff (no thanks), taxi driving (no chance) and childminding (no patience).
So tomorrow I will start looking seriously - with recruitment agents, friends of friends, job sites and, then, cold-contacting design and advertising agencies. Susan M Wills, copywriter and editor, words in waiting. Here I go, on the other side of the world, off to work.
Wish me luck. And some fine weather.

Mission 025 - Where Susan tries to save the world

First off, I’d like to declare that I am a greenie. Have been for years. Hell, I even had my own tree from when I was six. I used to hug it and everything. I am also a militant recycler and, until recently, was a co-leader of the voluntary Green Team at my workplace. And I was using carbon-neutral transport to get to work long before it was fashionable.

Right. Now that I’ve established my credentials, there’s something I want to get off my chest. (It’s been festering away a good while.) Is it just me, or is all this green business (and I don’t use the ‘b’ word lightly) becoming a bit too much like a religion? Suddenly, everywhere I look, there are avid greenies milling about high streets and websites everywhere. In droves, they are buying jute bags, devouring organic broccoli and converting their cars to bio-diesel.

It’s as if they’ve been born again – and they want the world to know. Like all new converts to a religion they are overzealous; they want everyone to join them in the Church of Green; to save the world from itself.

Yet what they don’t realise is that the Church of Green has been taken over by the Church of Commerce. And membership to that is not about how green your behaviour is - it’s about who buys the most green stuff. Ironic, really, as the key principle of sustainable living is REDUCE. Then comes REUSE. Then comes RECYCLE.

Now I didn’t see CONSUME MORE STUFF in there. Did you?

It’s all very well to be devouring eco-friendly options, but only if they replace less eco-friendly ones. For example, I have no truck with people who drive 5km to their ‘local’ farmers market in their SUVs. Or people who buy designer jute bags to do their shopping in, then continue to put all their vegetables in single plastic bags to be weighed. Adopt a wider view, people.

Green is becoming the status quo – its commercialisation grows every day. It’s been scooped up into the brand lifecycle and is feverishly working its way to cash cowdom as I write. We should all know the end result of commercialisation. Commodity. Then ennui. Which will mean the death of green. Although Commerce will go on.

So to save Green, better lose the preachiness, especially if you’re not the perfect apple-hued tone (and few of us are, surprise, surprise). Stop adopting the first, new, ‘cool’ green thing that comes along. Make being green an integral part of your life, not a clip on fashion accessory. I hate to take a line from one of the bishops in the Church of Commerce here, but it works: Just Do It. Or most of it. But whatever you do, please shut up and do it quietly. You’re boring me to death.


Psssst (whispered): My latest mission is to take the stairs instead of the lift for the next week, thus conserving precious planetary energy. And firming my flubbery, blubbery thighs.

And another thing

Oh dear.

Now I remember one of the reasons why I am going to miss England. The English sense of humour.

On my internet meanderings, I came across this blog written by one of the writers for The Observer newspaper (incidentally, one of the few newspapers I buy).

It made me smile at work. And for that I thank him.

Mission 024 - Where Susan says no to queues

Well, once again it's a gloriously grey day here in Crawley, which has kept my mind well and truly focused on my work. No reason to gaze absent-mindedly across the carpark to the trees when I can't even see as far as the nearest car...
Once again I am reminded why it is time to leave England. I've never been anywhere where grey skies feel so oppressive. 7 years of it is enough.
In a couple of months, the Buckwell and I will depart England and go travelling. And for that, we'll need some rather impressive and possibly obscure visas (although I only have 10 spare pages in my current passport). I'm already mentally preparing for the embassy queues, another feature of English life that I'm not going to miss. Not everyone's dismayed by queues, mind you. I like how this blogger has embraced queues, turning them into a pastime.
However, I'm going to go to the other extreme. This week's mini-mission (it lasts until Friday afternoon, because then I am off to the airport, when I KNOW FOR A FACT it would be impossible) is to avoid all queues.

I foresee several challenging situations over the next few days.

Entering and exiting the train station
Getting on the train
Buying my lunch
Filling up my water bottle at the water cooler
Making tea
Buying drinks at the pub tonight
Buying food for dinner, washing detergent and toilet paper
Buying hair dye at the chemist
Telephoning the bank (yes, phone queues count too)

I will, of course, let you know how I get on.

Mission 023: Where Susan gets all independently-minded

I think I must've been living in a hole in the ground over the past year.

I have just discovered the Wedge Card, a cool card that gives you discounts for local, independent shops around London. The Wedge Card costs a mere tenner (with £5 of that going to a worthy charity - local, of course). and it was launched in December 2006. The people behind the card say: "Wedge is the little man. The local independent shopkeeper and all the locals who love the fact that their High Street hasn't fallen prey to the large multinational large chain, turning it well into well, a faceless, desensitized "brand only" environment."

Even though little men don't really do it for me, personally (sorry, bad joke, couldn't help it - low on blood sugar), I'm really turned on by the Wedge Card right now. I've gone and signed up for one, and I wish more Londoners knew about it.

A quick flick through the discounts on offer turned up:
The Design Museum
Nina and Lola (hip online fashion store)
Crockatt and Powell (yay for my fave independent bookshop)

And there are lots more. So if you're a Londoner, please sign up for a Wedge Card now, here . You won't regret it, especially once you've made a couple of small purchases, because it will pay for itself. (You'll probably also feel quite smug and pleased with yourself for supporting local shops too.) It's just a pity that I won't be around in London much longer to use it.

So that defines my new mission: to shop more at independent shops this year. I already do try to shop locally, but sometimes I get lazy. Now I have a new excuse to avoid the Tescos and the Asdas and the Selfridges of this world. It's my new mission, dammit. Make it yours too.

Mission 022 - Money, happiness and con-men

The Buckwell and I have just sold our flat. We made a reasonable sum of money on it. This got me thinking about whether money really can buy happiness. Certainly for me, the moment I saw the bank account balloon was a source of great excitement. But that excitement fizzled out about as quickly as a cheap Catherine Wheel.

The letter from the property lawyers turned up, giving the breakdown of the whole transaction. So in my practical, skeptical way I went through it, item by item. And one item I didn't like the look of. For some reason, we have been charged rent payable of £230.49. Quoi? We've had a lot of trouble with our solicitors; they've been generally hopeless. But I will refrain from mentioning the name of the firm thus far, until the Buckwell chases the discrepancy up tomorrow.

In the meantime, I have been stewing over it in my head, mentally scripting the complaint letter and scheming to garner as much negative publicity for them as I can. After all, nobody rips me off and gets away with it. Well, that is unless you are a papyrus seller in Cairo, a camel driver hawking rides around the Pyramids, a carpet seller in Aleppo, a spice seller in Marrakech, a jewellery merchant in Sousse, or a furniture transport company in Denmark. (But I'll get them back too, eventually.)

My, I do sound like a vengeful sort.

Money doesn't buy happiness, but losing it can mean unhappiness. Particularly when you lose it through property lawyers with no concept of customer service. Hmmm, perhaps service is the real issue here? After all, with the benefit of distance, I actually have rather fond memories of some of the other cons.
But I have decided that it's time to put a stop to it. My mission is to not fall for any more cons in 2008.

Have a happy new year.

Mission Update - Starting the year on a low note

Well here I stand before you, just over a week into 2008, with hanging head and shamefaced expression. I have failed two missions.
I had been going strong, staunchly resisting the chips from the canteen downstairs at work, but yesterday something inside me broke. I ordered some and ate them. They were actually pretty good. But I didn't feel so well afterwards. So there, my first confession is out. Now for number two.
I got also Jerome's flu - my excessive garlic and chilli concoction came to naught. The morning we got up to depart for Japan, I was tired and listless. My nose was hot, my throat felt like a piece of sisal was hitching a ride in it, and my eyes were watery. Halfway to the airport, the sneezes were coming thick and fast, along with lots of mucus. "I feel hot," I said to the Buckwell. "Feel my forehead."
He did. "No fever," he replied.
So I popped a couple of cold and flu tablets and tried to ride it out.
The flu tablets must've worked a bit, because British Airways upgraded us to Club class on the way over to Tokyo. However, it was obvious that I was really sick; I declined the Champagne on boarding, and went for an orange juice instead. Then, despite the fully-flat bed, movies on demand, and food on proper china plates, things went rapidly downhill. It all reached a head about 30,000 feet up, somewhere north of Ulan Batur, when I woke up after a short sleep, with a piercing earache, the shivers and a large trail of mucus winding its way from my nose to my mouth. I winced, and said plaintively to the Buckwell, "I think I have a fever".
Dutifully, he reached across and felt my forehead. "Nope."
So I curled myself up in the foetal position (what a waste of a flat bed), and shivered for an hour.
"What about now?"
"Sorry. You still don't have a fever."
"Oh".
Eventually, we got to Tokyo, and I soldiered on for a couple of days until my cold/flu faded away. By about the fifth day, I was back to my normal self. But on our penultimate morning, I woke up with a sore throat and ballooning neck glands. By the evening, I was exhausted and in bed by 9pm. "Damn," I moaned. "I think I'm getting another cold." The Buckwell reached over and felt my forehead. "Oh no," he said. "Now you really do have a fever."

Mission 021 - Cough cough, sniff sniff

Wow. A month's silence. Sorry for being so inexcusably slack. I've actually had more time than usual for blogging, given that the last 2 weeks have been spent on jury service. That means a little bit of sleeping in (love those 10:15am starts), a little bit more exercise (walking to court), cultural lunchtimes (Tate Modern), and plenty of opportunities to read books while waiting to be herded into the court for a cattle, sorry, jury call. The first week I managed three books, the second week was a little less literary owing to actually being in court for most of it.
I found it a welcome change from the tedium of my everyday life. But I feel dreadfully sorry for the people on the jury for the Diana inquest. There's only so much monotony I can take.
So this Christmas, the Buckwell and I have decided to go all out with a bit of culture shock. We're off to Japan.
However, there is a nasty threat looming over the trip. The Buckwell has been suffering a nasty bout of MAN FLU this week, which had him bedridden, feverish and coughing. So my mission is rather obvious - to avoid his flu at all costs. As I am a woman, it should not be too hard. However, just to be on the safe side, I am planning to liberally lace onight's dinner with garlic and chilli....

Mission 020 - To bye or not to bye

First up, sorry for the really bad pun. It's somewhat indicative of my desperate state of mind as this week, as I wrestle with my latest mission - to resist the temptation to resign. It could be quite a good idea for you to adopt this mission too, to avoid you joining dole queues and getting far too familiar with daytime telly.
Here are a few reasons why you should resist the urge to resign:
- At your latest dinner party, someone tells you that you're an excellent cook and should open a cafe. Although this may sound like a valid reason, remind yourself that although your duck and couscous was undoubtedly extremely tasty, you can't guarantee that every patron at your cafe will be just as drunk and rambling.
- You have a mortgage/rent that needs to be paid regularly. And you are not talented at busking.
- Your husband likes to spend money on bike parts, and you like to spend money on shoes. And the money has to come from somewhere. Especially for the shoes. (I know it's a cliche, but that's the way it is.)
- The grass is not always greener on the other side. in fact, sometimes it's astroturf.
- The current job is building character. (I just don't know what kind.)

Hmm. I'm not doing a very good job of convincing myself. I'm going to watch some telly.