Four things

(or, Another of these meme thingies ..., courtesy of Richard)

Four jobs I've had (how appropriate!)
- house staff on a children's orchestra course
- English language assistant (in Austria)
- waiter, inevitably
- customer services assistant (to end in two weeks' time)

Four films I can watch over and over again
- Shooting fish
- Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain, to give it its proper title
- Sleepy Hollow
- A.I. - Artificial Intelligence

Four places I have lived
- Aix-les-Bains (France)
- Vienna (du Stadt meiner Träume ...)
- Neuchâtel (Switzerland)
- four places in Scotland, but I'll go with Paisley for its abbey

Four TV programmes I enjoy watching
- Frasier
- Shameless
- Buffy the vampire slayer (yes, I have my geeky moments!)
- not so much "enjoy watching" but "feel a social obligation to watch": Crimewatch UK

Four foods I like
- cranberry and pine nut bread (God bless bread makers)
- really good scrambled eggs
- tomato and mint salad with a baguette to mop up the juice
- Sachertorte or some other disgustingly rich chocolate cake

Four websites I visit daily
see the links to the right

Four things I want to do before I die
- adopt a child
- get some of my choral music published
- learn to ride a horse (something I should have done as a child)
- get ballroom dancing lessons

Four places I'd rather be right now
Usually I'd say Vienna, but today? Even I can have enough of Mozart, so it's back to the drawing board.
- on holiday in Thailand, doing something cultural with the prospect of lying on the beach come the evening to look forward to
- with my mother, walking the dog in the snow (can my brother be there too?)
- at a performance of Così fan tutte; I can always close my eyes if the production isn't to my tastes
- just for a split second (and to bring this full circle), in the boss' office at one of those moments when he's panicking about finding someone to take over my job

Four people I'm tagging
- Andy
- Spencer
- Chris and Martyn
- completely at random (hitting the "next blog" button and waiting for one in a language I understand): Whit at Observanda

Too little, too late?

The boss finally spoke to me today, ten days after my resignation, to ask if there was anything he could do to convince me to stay.

I was seriously tempted to point out he was a bit late in asking, all the more so as it was back in August I'd first had thoughts of leaving. He's suggested they can be more flexible with giving me occasional Saturdays off (for concerts and the like), but as I pointed out, as long as the shop is too short-staffed to allow me the time off, it's still likely to prove too restrictive.

He obviously wants me to stay - not least because I suspect they're having some difficulty finding someone to take over the department - and while I have doubts about the wisdom of leaving without another job to go to, I'm still inclined to make a clean break. Withdrawing my notice is backing down, making my resignation an empty threat, a trump card which loses its effectiveness every time it's produced.

As I'm already mentally prepared for leaving, I suspect it's best I stick to my guns. Not that I care much about the company besmirching its reputation with its employees, but I'd sooner be left with some semblance of an honourable character.

Another breed

Strange people, bosses. My previous one took my resignation so personally it was a week before he spoke to me (having avoided me in the interim), and even then wasn't keen to let me help check my prospective replacements' knowledge of classical music on the ground that I was going to work for the competition. He also came out with some ridiculous line about employees having been sacked on the spot and escorted from the premises the moment they'd accepted a position with the competition. At head office, maybe, but what sort of sensitive information is the lowest of the low going to pass on?

My current boss has yet to speak a word to me since I gave him notice. He's still coming through the department as usual, though in a way that makes his attitude ruder. Considering my floor manager came to speak to me immediately he heard the news and the regional manager made a point of having a chat with me today - both of them wanting to know more about the reasons for my departure - the store manager's behaviour is really a bit pathetic ...

Please tell me bosses outside retail are more mature.

Overheard at work

An old lady came in this morning, came out with the by-now standard remark about being unable to hear yourself think downstairs and asked me if we had a recording of Mozart's 20th piano concerto which she was getting for a friend. I got her a couple of recordings and she decided to ring her friend to check which one she'd rather.

So she dials the number on her mobile and, while waiting for the friend to pick up the phone, makes the following alarming announcement:

"... and if she tells me she wants to think about this I'll kill her!"

Wedding music

Not my own - Alison and Jim were round this afternoon to discuss what I'll be playing at their wedding (in three weeks and 6 days, not that they're keeping count!). Ten minutes' worth of music before the ceremony, starting off with the sarabande from Grieg's Holberg suite, followed by a Scarlatti sonata. Depending on time, I'll then play an Aria and variations in E flat by Haydn, as many as are necessary before striking up Wichtige Begebenheit from Schumann's Kinderszenen, which marks the beginning of the ceremony.

At some stage during the ceremony itself, I'll be accompanying another friend of theirs in Bright is the ring of words (from Vaughan Williams' Songs of travel) and As time goes by. Then, come the end, they're keen to get everyone to the party upstairs so we're going with a short, upbeat number: Children's games, from a set of (supposedly) "easy pieces" by Prokofiev.

The moment they left I ran out to find a tall vase. Alison had given me the most gorgeous bouquet of lilies and there was no way I wasn't going to display them to best advantage. They're now adorning the chest below the living room window. Utterly, utterly gorgeous.

GO!

I am.

Four years' employment in retail come to an end on Friday, 10th February.

On your marks, get set ...

My resignation letter is printed, signed and sealed, ready for the morning.

You'll have gathered I'm not very optimistic about this.

About this close to resigning

In July, the boss wouldn't let me go to rehearsals for a concert I was very keen to participate in. Last month I ended up working a 16 hour shift, overnight, just before flying out to Switzerland for our first family Christmas without my father.

Now it's very likely my plants for early February will be shot to smithereens. It was my intention to travel to London for the weekend of the 4th to celebrate Luke's 30th, after which I'd accompany my mother to Norfolk to see my uncle, aunt and cousins, returning in time to play at Alison and Jim's wedding on the 11th.

So I asked the boss this afternoon, with a month's notice, if my holiday plans could be rearranged. He took one look at the calendar on the wall and said no - which I didn't mind so much as his attitude. No apology, no asking why I was requesting that week, in short no interest whatsoever.

Now I can always arrange to see my relations at some other time, and while it'd be a great pity to miss Luke's birthday celebrations and the opportunity to see my mother (I'm now looking into the possibility of going to London for the day on Sunday the 5th), the wedding ... If I were singing as part of a choir, I'd be expendable, but I'm to play the piano, solo, at the bride's request.

I've asked my floor manager to look seriously into the matter. If, when I go back to work on Saturday, I don't have the day of the wedding off, I'm handing in my notice. I've had enough.

Spot the mistake

The following comes from my employer's website, describing a forthcoming CD:

The ultimate Mozart album to celebrate Mozart's 250th Birthday - A celebration of the world's most popular composer with recordings from Katherine Jenkins, Bryn Terfel, Emma Johnson, Renee Fleming and many more.
The German composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) was not only a musical genius, but was also one of the pre-eminent geniuses of the Western world.
He defined in his music a system of musical thought and an entire state of mind that were unlike any previously experienced. A true child prodigy, he began composing at age 5 and rapidly developed his unmistakable style; by 18 he was composing works capable of altering the mind-states of entire civilizations.

Anyone else want a sick bucket?

Racism vs. homophobia

Andy's comments on my last post, in which he expresses a sincere hope that same-sex couples may one day be as easily accepted in film as mixed-race ones, got me thinking.

Much as I hate to say it, I have a suspicion it is a lot easier for society to come to terms with what is it forced to see every day than anything intangible. To my mind, the days of segregated buses and congregations (one skin colour per side) were never made to last as the peaceful elements of both sides of the divide were bound, one day, to join forces in an effort to fight the prevailing prejudices. Being repeatedly confronted by something visible to the naked eye is sure to make one gradually used to its presence.

What lies beneath is, I fear, another matter altogether. True, society at large has made much headway in its attitudes towards homosexuality, but the fact remains that a person's sexuality is not always immediately obvious, so any progress is necessarily slower. We are at a stage when, in the West at least (I cannot speak for other parts of the world), the existence of other sexualities is more-or-less acknowledged across the board, but this should not be mistaken for acceptance. (As for celebrating such diversity ... The wider gay community holds Pride marches to this end, but we can't very well expect the rest of the world to jump on the bandwagon just like that.)

That said, the idealist in me believes there is some common ground: after all, if apartheid was finally overcome by (largely) peaceful means, why should homophobia be any different?

The next big thing in themed parties

I held a gin and muffins party last night.

Okay, it wasn't just on a whim: when I got back from Switzerland after Christmas, it was with a new bottle of gin (Hendricks) to join the Bombay Sapphire and two bottles of Tanqueray (Export Strength and T10) I already had on the shelves. When a number of my friends were unable to make my New Year's Day party, the opportunity to have a gin party was too good to pass up.

I'd also just got the oven repaired, so after celebrating with a tartiflette* (a traditional dish from the Savoy region of France) on New Year's Day, I thought muffins would be a suitable way of soaking up all that alcohol. I therefore produced a dozen each of date and walnut, carrot and a disappointing cranberry (I realised belatedly I should have added some dried fruit to the sauce).

*I've looked around for a tartiflette recipe on the internet and failed to find one meeting my exacting standards, so here's the one my parents passed me in time for last year's New Year's Day party.

Ingredients for 6 people: 2lbs (1kg) potatoes, 2 large onions, a large knob of butter, 1 reblochon cheese, ½ pt single cream, seasoning.
Peel the potatoes if desired, then cube and boil under tender. Preheat the oven at 200°C/400°F (gas mark 6). Melt the butter in a large pan and fry the onions, then add the potatoes and cream. Season and mix well, then place in an oven dish and cover with the sliced reblochon (do not remove the rind). Bake for 30 minutes and serve piping hot.
Depending on personal taste, any one of the following may be added to the mixture before baking: slivers of fried bacon. finely sliced smoked salmon, wholegrain mustard, roast cumin.

If you're not familiar with reblochon, read this if you understand French, or this if you'd rather an introduction in English.

A period of transition

I met my friend Morag for lunch today, at which she mentioned her concerns for her father's health. Tonight I was out with other friends, including Rob, who has also started keeping a closer eye on his father after the latter had a major operation. I need hardly say I'm making every effort to be sure my mother is well ...

All three of us are in our early thirties, at a stage when it appears the parent/child relationship begins to change. While our parents remain perfectly capable of looking after themselves, they are reaching late middle age and the possibility of their mental or physical faculties letting them down is beginning to register with those they had brought up. The balance is starting to shift.

From the parent's perspective, it must be phenominally difficult to reliquish this sort of control. For the child, there's the fear of not being up to the task. Thoughts which lead me to conclude this prayer, usually associated with the elderly, to be equally valid for younger generations:

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.

Another gem from the big boss

In a communication dated 19th December, the weekly message from head office included the following:

Two weeks from now, you [i.e. the store managers] can legitimately say "I have relentlessly driven my multi-million pound business, by leading a high perfoming team, who were proud of over-achieving their goals!" Could any of us ask for anything more than this from a job?

On the one hand, it's interesting to see head office refering to jobs rather than careers. On the other, does anyone really talk like that?

A new word for the New Year

Rutterisation, Rutterization (US), noun. A process of rendering something (esp. a piece of music) trite and sentimental, frequently inducing vomiting and nausea. Named after the British composer and arranger John Rutter, b. 1945.

(There was much discussion at last night's party - I say party, but this was a small-scale affair, only four of us - about the lack of any official definition of Rutterisation, so I suggested I'd do something about it in my blog. È fatto.)