interviews

Tuesday Tiny Tale – My Best Friend

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Who would have imagined meeting Francis would change my life?

I was walking to work along my usual route when I saw Pat coming towards me, in my direction, not turning down the next corner, not crossing over. Coming towards me on the narrowest stretch of pavement. What should I say? Hello, talk about the weather? Don’t look at the pavement, look at her.

‘Hello Kimberly, on the way to work?’

‘Yes.’

She’s stopping, not passing, think of conversation.

‘Is it going okay?’

‘Yes.’

No, I mean I don’t actually get paid and I’m not using my brain… but what shall I say…

‘Em, okay, but I have applied for a better job.’

‘Excellent, I’m sure you are wasted where you are with your brains. Anyway, say hello to your mother, bye.’

‘Bye.’

Should I have said ‘Have a nice day?’ but I don’t know where she is going or what she is planning to do and it might not be nice…

Why did I say that. I haven’t applied for a new job, despite hints from Mum. I was just searching for something to say. Now I can just see her chatting to Mum ‘Oh I hear Kimberly has applied for a new job.’ Now I’ll have to apply for one.

When I arrived at The Centre Jo greeted me with great excitement.

‘I want you to come and meet Francis, you two are going to get along, I just know it.’

That seemed unlikely as I did not get along with many people. I followed silently as Jo chattered on, at least her incessant talking meant I did not need to fill in the gaps.

‘Did you have a good weekend, we went to see that new film, the relaxed showing. Your mother would love it as well as you. Come along, Francis is looking forward to meeting you, ah here he is. Francis, meet Kimberly.’

I looked straight into his eyes and held his gaze. I did not look down at the ground. Instantly I knew I would be comfortable in his company. By the end of the day we were good friends, as if we had known each other for ever. At last they had found me the right support worker.

Frankie was a good companion in every way, from carrying heavy shopping for me to enjoying country walks, we both liked to get away to peace and quiet. He never criticised, only encouraged and so I found the courage to apply for a challenging mainstream job.

I completed the thorough on line application, lots of hard technical questions, but at least I did not have to talk to anyone. I was delighted to soon get an email saying I had been shortlisted, having passed the technical assessment with flying colours.

Now I had to face the interview. The formal letter assured me that the company was inclusive and supportive and had a policy of nurturing young talent. Mum was over the moon. I tried to keep everything low key. I had no idea how many others were going to be interviewed.

On the day, Frankie accompanied me to the impressive riverside building. Mum insisted on coming too and said she and Frankie would wait in the riverside gardens till I texted to say the interview was over.

The three people behind the long desk were almost smiling, but the big  desk made it hard to understand their expressions. I tried to sit up straight and look at whoever was talking to me.

‘These results in the tech tests are excellent and you are au fait with the new XYZ system?’

‘Yes… I was lucky to get on the training course at the centre.’

‘Not lucky, according to your references your aptitude secured you a place.’

He then put on what I called a cosy voice.

‘Now tell us a bit about yourself.’

The part I dreaded.

‘We want our staff to feel comfortable working here, with all the help they might need.’

My mouth went dry, I looked down at the desk. Without Frankie at my side I had lost my voice.

‘Perhaps you could start with any questions you have about the job.’

‘Can my support worker come to work with me?’

‘Yes, yes of course, several of our staff have extra support.’

I was glad to get back out in the sunshine and walked briskly down to the river.

‘Good news Frankie, you can come with me.’

Melody, Kimberly’s new team leader, was waiting in the foyer to greet her and organise two ID cards. She glanced at the clock, expecting Kimberly to come through the revolving door at any moment, but there seemed to be a bit of a commotion out on the pavement. The security man spun through the door and addressed Melody.

‘Your new staff member, has she got clearance… er, um approval to bring her support donkey to work?

Monday Musing – Fifteen Seconds of Fame

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Would you like fifteen seconds of fame, or would you avoid it? Perhaps fifteen minutes or even one of those weeks that is a long time in politics. There are many ways to achieve brief fame; it could be accidental or you could plan your life to achieve it.

You could pop in to Pret a Manger if you hear a prince happens to be visiting, like Karl Burns our regular Bournemouth Big Issue seller, who subsequently appeared on the television news… repeatedly.

But perhaps you will be unlucky and your stomach will be filmed walking by for one of those obesity items on the news. Just unfortunate that everyone you know recognises the hand knitted jumper your wife made you.

Your brief moment of fame could be multiplied many times over if it appears on every news bulletin. You didn’t even know your town was having an important by election and are totally unprepared to intelligently express your views as you only popped out in your old DIY clothes to buy another tin of paint.

‘Do you think Tom Wilko stands a chance of getting in?’

‘Not if he closes all his stores, where am going to get paint in future?’

‘Well, it seems locals have more pressing concerns than what happens in Westminster.’

How Do they pick people to interview in the street and more curiously, who are those people who get interviewed in their own homes? Do they knock on doors to surprise you or give you three hours to give the house a thorough clean and mow the lawn. No one has ever asked to interview me or anyone I know. The ‘family interview’ asking how they will cope with mortgage rises, hospital / school / shop closures has the puppy and sweet toddlers playing in the foreground. It would be far more interesting if the dog bit the presenter, the little child’s only words were poo poo and the smoke alarm went off because something was burning on the stove.

And what about the viewers? Does the husband who abandoned his wife and children last year feel guilty when he sees her describing their visits to food banks and being thrown out by the landlord as they couldn’t pay the rent?

Have you ever had a brief moment of fame or seen your neighbours on television?

Five Seconds of Fame

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I keep listening out for the doorbell, I keep looking out of the window, but the street is empty. The postman, greengrocer, Amazon delivery and Co Op groceries have all been, but They never come. Another day when a long pole, with a microphone on one end and a television interviewer at the other end, has not appeared at my front door.

How do they choose all these citizens who keep showing up on the news and breakfast television? I am not talking about science experts, political commentators, journalists and doctors, but ordinary people who sit in their living rooms unashamed of their ghastly wallpaper and awful fashion sense. Out of millions and millions of us how do they get chosen to be interviewed for several minutes in a segment that will be repeated endlessly on the main news and on News 24.

If they happen to have recovered from Covid they obviously have a head start over the rest of us, but it’s not just people pondering on pandemics, I have always been ignored. Every general election, the long years of Brexit, no one knocks on my door or stops me while I’m out shopping for my opinion. Though I would flee in the opposite direction if I did see cameras; too windswept, wrong clothes for television…

But if a reporter did call on me at home they might not get away; all those years of stored up opinions.

 ‘Yes we need more lockdown not less, gatherings of more than two people forbidden, identity cards, everyone to stay inside their own postcodes, disposable BBQs should be banned, litter bugs should be tasered on the spot, private motor vehicles confiscated, air travel banned… it was so nice during the first few weeks of lockdown…. Perhaps you and the cameraman would like to buy one of my books, I just happen to have a box full… or buy all my books…

Maybe a little bribery would secure their release…

Everyone is filmed at home now so if you haven’t had the chance to appear on television you can always pretend. Facetime with your boring family could become one of Alan Bennet’s brilliant Talking Heads – which are perfect for isolated actors and have just been remade.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p08ftkkx

Or dust off your bookshelves and pontificate late at night on tomorrow’s newspaper headlines.

In the kitchen you can have your own masterchef celebrity banquet bake off.

‘What are you making?’

‘Bangers and Mash, it could all go horribly wrong… I’m just going to test the potatoes, okay, this is the moment when it could really go wrong, I could end up with third degree burns, I need to strain the potatoes now… make sure the camera lens doesn’t steam up…  yes the sausages all free range, they were running  around in a Hampshire field yesterday… oh oh is that the smoke alarm, I forgot to check the sausages…

Perhaps it would be better to stay in the garden. Gardening programmes are so popular now for peaceful healthy escapism and you can even send in videos of yourself and your delightful children giving a guided tour of your fantastic / unusual / beautiful / bountiful garden. Gardener’s World receives thousands of them, so you might not get chosen unless you have turned your bathroom into a tropical paradise, installed a waterfall in your living room, or turned a six foot sunless concrete square by your back door into the Garden of Eden.

Perhaps it’s best if I don’t film my garden; putting carefully cropped selected flowers on Instagram is my limit. Though if the people with poles do turn up tomorrow I could give them my views on new major projects injecting money into the economy; have all the motorways turned into cycle routes and gardens…

Have you ever invited television cameras into your home?

Silly Saturday – Baz the Bad Blogger

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In the first and last of my series of author interviews my guest is Baz the Bad Blogger who was happy to answer my questions as nobody else wanted him on their blog.

Welcome Baz, thanks for coming along.

It was a hell of a journey, I hope I’m going to get lots of book sales out of this.

Er, well it’s more a case of meeting lots of other interesting readers and writers. How did you come to start blogging?

THEY said it was a good way to sell my book.

What do you like to write about in your blogs?

ME.

Tell us about your new novel.

It is a dystopian fantasy set in an unnamed capital city. The government has been taken over by zombies and androids, but no one can tell the difference as none of them have any personality.

That must have made character development rather difficult.

I decided not to bother with character development.

So do you consider the plot line to be important?

I guess so, I just go for dead straight…

Moving on, what advice would you give to other bloggers?

When I started I wrote very long blogs so everyone would think I was highly intelligent.

And did they?

I don’t know, I never had any comments, so I decided to make my posts brief. I recommend two sentences at most, as no one reads past the first two lines anyway…

My second piece of advice is to have lots of pictures of fluffy kittens or cute puppies. I haven’t got any pets, but I found a dead rat in the back yard one rainy morning and he looked quite photogenic once he had been blow dried.

Your blog certainly has a unique style.  How many followers do you have now?

Umm… one, Tidetables something or other.

We had to cut the interview short as Baz had somewhere more interesting to be, but you can find out more about him and his novel ‘I Zomboid’ at his author page.

Baz has changed his cover photo…

Friday Flash Fiction – Rambling Radio

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‘…and when the light turns green Marcia, that’s your signal to speak, here’s your script.’

‘Script? I don’t need a script, surely the idea is to chat.’

‘Yes, but you do need to know what items you are linking. While the music is playing you can muse on what you might say next, but when a report is being read you need to concentrate so you can comment.’

‘Multi tasking, I know all about that…’

Theme music fades

‘Yes, yes I’m ready…

Good afternoon, it’s Marcia Graham taking you up to Drivetime with news and views and the sort of music you like … and my first guest is a man who plans to unicycle around the world. Join us after the break.’

Marcia clasped the headphones with a pained expression on her face. ‘Why do we need a break already, it’s only a few minutes since the last advertisements. Oh not this excruciating one, I can’t stand it when I’m in the kitchen, let alone having it blasted into my ears… Are you the unicycle man, not quite what I’d imagined, still, I suppose you will lose plenty of weight on your travels, whoops, amber light, get ready…

and this afternoon I’m talking to…

can’t read this small writing

…Free Wheeler?’

‘Freddie, my mother was a Queen fan, quite funny really, you know, I Like To Ride My Bicycle…’

‘But you’re riding a UNIcycle… what did give you the idea to unicycle around the world?’

‘I was bullied at school, Freddie No Wheels, my parents wouldn’t buy me a bike…’

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Half an hour later

‘Thank goodness we’ve got rid of him; this show needs intelligent guests, I see myself as a cross between Joan Bakewell and Melvyn Bragg. No, I’m the same age as her actually. Who chooses this music, I can’t stand flutes, we don’t want to send the listeners off to sleep… ooh amber light…

and here is the news read by Peter Grimes…

unfortunate name, who decides the order of the news items, are we really interested, would we care if the operation wasn’t a success?’

The producer sighed and wondered how his radio station came to be involved in DRIP, Deferred Retirement In-house retraining Programme.