224 – A CV of Sorts

A few nights ago I started thinking about all the jobs I’ve ever done. I got so obsessed with it, that I dived out of bed, poured myself a carafe of wine and wrote them all down.

They say that a league table at the end of a football season doesn’t lie. The best team won and all of that. Ditto my CV. It wasn’t lying either. Sitting on my coffee table at three in the morning staring back at me like a piece of code. An ancient scroll in an unknown language waiting for me to decipher.

‘What does it all mean?’ I shouted. ‘Where is it all leading me?’ Glug glug.

The first thing I thought was, is there a pattern? Not really. The only thing being that I quit teaching English in 2003 and then took it up again in 2011. Most of the other jobs in between have been a mix of menial indoor and outdoor jobs that I’ve either resigned from, got fired from, or left at the end of contracts. Most I’ve hated. The rest I’ve tolerated.

The only ones I’ve vaguely enjoyed were the ones with free alcohol, or where I’ve been left – totally and utterly – to do the job without some dick breathing down my neck. A rarity.

My job history is chequered that’s for sure. But what does that mean? That I haven’t done the same job for a long period. Or that I’m incapable of holding one down. Or that I’m lazy. A loose cannon. Or perhaps it’s just that I enjoy doing lots of things for short periods in different places because it’s the only life I have?

It doesn’t really matter does it? It’s just a CV. It means nothing. Nobody nails it to your coffin at your funeral with a ‘See Me’ written on it, ‘Could have done better’, just as you’re about to be shunted into the fires of eternity.

I’m not worried about my CV in the slightest. In fact I’m quite proud of it. It’s rich and varied. It illuminates my personality, shows off my character, demonstrates my abilities as a human being, not a machine. Whether a prospective employer would think the same is totally and utterly irrelevant. Because the question I’m asking myself is this:

Would Philip Ogley employ Philip Ogley? And as I’m the boss now. The answer would be a definite and conclusive yes.

The CV of Philip Ogley (now aged 41)

 July – Aug 1990 – John Smedley Ltd – Labourer

July – Aug 1991 – John Smedley Ltd – Warehouseman

July – Aug 1992 – Chesterfield Council – Dustbin man

April – Aug 1993 – MAFF, Mansfield – Field researcher (potatoes)

April – Aug 1994 – INRA, Cavaillon, France – Field researcher (peppers)

April – Aug 1995 – Zeneca, Bracknell – Field researcher (barley)

Sept 1996 – March 1997 – Students Union, Nottingham – Barman

July 1997 – Aug 1998 – Boulevard Sound Systems, Nottingham – Sound engineer

Nov 1998 – Mission beach hostel, Australia – Hostel hand

Nov – Dec 1999 – Hockley Organic Restaurant, Nottingham – Commis chef

Aug 2000 – Nottingham Language Centre – EFL teacher

September 2000 – Papa Language school, Trikala, Greece – EFL teacher

Oct 2000 – June 2001 – Cambridge School of English, Warsaw, Poland – EFL teacher

July 2001 – Nottingham Language Centre, Nottingham – EFL teacher

Sept 2001 – Jan 2002 – Centro de Lenguas y Estudios, Granada, Spain – EFL teacher

Feb – May 2002 – BRNC, Dartmouth, Devon – EFL Teacher

May – July 2002 – Southgate Hotel, Exeter – Barman

Aug 2002 – Aug 2003 – Globe English School, Exeter – EFL Teacher

Feb – April 2004 – Devon County Council, Exeter – Data Entry Clerk

April – Sept 2004 – Pavani’s Italian, Exeter – Sous chef

Sept – Nov 2004 – La Finca , La Vega, Venezuela – Field Researcher (watermelons)

Dec 2004 – May 2005 – Cafe Rouge, Exeter – Waiter

Aug 2005 – Pizza Express, Exeter – Waiter

Aug 2006 – Bristol City Council – Telephone Clerk

Oct – Nov 2006 – Bristol Novelty, Bristol – Warehouse picker

Jan – May 2007 – The Bristol Advertiser, Bristol – Editor

Aug 2007 – Aug 2008 – The Royal Mail, Bristol – Postman

Oct 2008 – Sept 2009 – The Bristol Flyer, Bristol – Barman

Nov 2009 – Feb 2010 – The Mighty Miniature, Bristol – Bookseller

May – Sept 2010 – Gibbs Catering, Bristol – Driver and caterer

Nov – Dec 2010 – Haines Xmas Trees, Bristol – Christmas tree seller

March – July 2011 – Communicaid, Bristol – EFL Teacher

Sept 2011 – June 2012 – Linguarama, Lyon, France – EFL Teacher

July 2012 – August 2012 – IFIS, Bristol – EFL Teacher

Sept 2012 – July 2013 – Linguarama, Lyon – EFL Teacher

Sept 2013 – Oct 2014 – La Jouachere, Queaux, France – House sitter

March 2015 – Cetradel, Bordeaux – EFL Teacher

Jan – May 2015 – Villa Tosca, Taussat, France – Pool boy

June 2015…?

223 – Mosquitoes and Lemons

I’ve been fighting a war here recently. Each morning waking up a puckered corpse. Ravaged in the night by an elite squadron of mosquitoes whose only objective is to bleed me dry. So much so that I’ve been thinking of sleeping in a bath of bleach with a snorkel to breathe through simply to get a good night’s sleep.

The towns and villages on the Arcachon Basin are built on tidal swamps. A giant game reserve in which pink faced Homo sapiens are the prey and the red-necked harpoon toting mosquitoes, the hunters.

Luckily, help is at hand.

The old Algerian cleaning lady who I work with – and who I incidentally found four crates of out-of-date Heineken in the cellar with yesterday (coincidence? I think not) – told me to cut a lemon in half and rub it on my body as a repellent.

I did and it worked. Not a bite all day. Until I dived in the pool for my evening swim and got ravaged the minute I stepped out. In agony, screaming and stinging like a freshly pickled cat, I ran into my apartment, downed a can of the out of date Heineken and then pelted it to the shop to buy a crate’s worth of lemons. Plus a bottle of gin to make my blood too toxic for the mosquitoes to drink. A trick my father taught me on a camping trip to South Africa in the 1980s. Gin being cheaper than insect repellent. Or so he said.

I’m normally quite resistant to bites – even in the proper tropical countries I’ve visited. This year though in boring temperate France, I’ve been slaughtered by them. Their persistence astonishing. As is their powers of stealth. Appearing from behind cupboards, curtains and cabinets the minute I step in the shower. A blood bath!

I’m a hot and humid weather kind of guy. A result of someone in my ancestral line picking up some tropical blood from somewhere at some point in the dark distant past. I can sit in humid 35 degree heat all day. Doesn’t bother me in the slightest. But of course with hot humid weather in swamp land, you get mosquitoes. Millions of them.

I now have a solution though. Lemons. Now I can sit outside all day long and not worry. And there’s even the added bonus that I’ll never run out of lemons again for my gin and tonics. Which is proof – if ever I needed it – that there’s always a satisfactory solution to everything if you put your mind to it.

lemons3

222 – A Bottle of Wine, a Piece of Meat, a Knife, and a Stove.

My contract as Pool Boy terminates in 15 days time. My services are redundant and I’m moving on again. Jobless and homeless in two weeks. But not concerned.

It’s my long held belief that there’s always work and a bed to sleep in if you put your mind to it. Ask around, see what’s going on. Chances are there’s always someone who needs something doing that they can’t be bothered doing themselves. That’s how economies work. And if there’s no work, you move on. That’s called migration. And if you can’t find work, you sleep on it and see what comes up the next day. That’s called life.

Elizabeth said to me yesterday, ‘You don’t need much do you, Oggers? A bottle of wine, a piece of meat, a knife, and a stove.’

I’m not very good at being in the same place. Too many reasons to get bored. Looking at the walls for instance, wondering what colour to paint them. Eggshell, Sunflower Yellow, Lilac, Emerald. So many options. So many possibilities.

People say that’s why you go on holiday. To have a break. But surely the walls will still be there when you return. Unless someone’s knocked them down, rebuilt new ones, moved your furniture around and hidden your possessions. All in a charitable attempt to make the next year a little bit different from the last.

I always enjoy reading Bruce Chatwin at times like this.

“Man’s real home is not a house, but the Road, and that life itself is a journey to be walked on foot.”

I’ve moved around a lot in my life. I’m not a Nomad in the traditional sense – I don’t have animals for one.  But I do understand the pull of the road and being on the move.

I was born in Durham in the north of England almost 41 years ago (my birthday is in two days) and even though it’s only 1430kms from where I am now, it feels like a million. I only stayed there until I was two, before moving to Leeds. Now 41 (almost), I’m still moving, and as normal, even with fifteen days to go, my plans are vague. Fifteen days though, in anybody’s life, not just mine, is a long time. Anything could happen.

As long as I have a stove, a good Bordeaux, some sausage and a knife, nothing can go wrong.

220 – Blogley Takes a Break

Today is the last Blogley for a while. No reason. Just fancy a break from the ramblings. Things to do. People to see. Places to go.

I’ve been writing a lot in longhand recently on old fashioned paper and need some time to read what nonsense I’ve written and whether any of it is usable for some project.

I’ve therefore decided that it’s time to let the blog go for a while and concentrate on other things. I don’t spend a great deal of time on the blog, but it’s enough to distract me. And I don’t like distractions.

Blogley will return soon. In the meantime, here’s a video of a trip to the shop I did today with Elizabeth. Call it an intermission: pop corn, ice creams, sodas.