I currently have 2 blog posts sitting in my drafts folder that I have I undertaken to write since the end of summer. (Actually, make it 3, given I never got round to telling you my thoughts on our northern lands holiday.)
However, they seem so so sadly pointless and lacking in guts and momentum, that I just couldn’t finish them off.
Here I am now, on a bus, on a Wednesday evening (and I cannot begin to tell you how much it feels like a Friday) on my way to my new job.
Shamefully, I have left the girls at home watching television alone for 45 minutes, before Anton arrives home after his work day. That is entirely a different conversation so I’m not going further with it.
Officially, after much to-ing and fro-ing, The Connemara shut its doors and declared (what I can only assume) liquidation. The Irishman disappeared in the summer, not to be heard of; the Frenchman was left with loan debt and prospective buyers pulling out, and me without a job.
While I do feel for the owners and the unsuccess of the place, I have a variety of mixed feelings towards the situation.
Essentially I wasn’t overly stressed at not having a job. I was fortunate enough to have had a permanent contract with social security benefits which basically meant that for 6 months following the closure of the pub, I would receive a state income in the form of UIF/dole/not sure what other terms you may recognise, but there it was- a little bit of financial security while I looked for a new job.
However, prior to his rapid departure, the Irishman had occasionally mentioned that I contact another Irishman peer of his who also owns an Irish pub in town, and AM had basically offered up a reference to the new Irishman (PK)
So I did just that. I phoned him. And coincidentally, he had a chef leaving, and would be needing someone else.
So here I am, a new month, officially not employed by The Connemara any longer, but now by Kelly’s Síbín.
The process of getting this job has left me with mixed thoughts, also which I won’t get into now, because by and large, my life is essentially being turned upside down by my new working hours.
Going forward, the very cosy 20 hours I used to work over lunch are but a grey spot in my old rose tinted sunglasses. For now, I will be pushing 40 hour working weeks, which will include evenings and weekends, late nights and being away from my family.
Obviously, all I can really think is that this is the sort of lifestyle I ditched when I got married and had children. It seems perfectly daft to ‘revert or regress’ I would say.
However, there is very little point lamenting my old lifestyle is there? The upside to this new job is the following:
- More income due to more working hours.
- Less time spent at home eating my way through the fridge contents (contrary to what I admitted to my cousin this last week)
- More time in theory doing some form of exercise *
- An opportunity to absorb and speak more French as I will be surrounded by it.
- Maybe my children will achieve greater appreciation of me if they’re forced to fend for themselves a little more.
I am very reassured that Anton has is standing by my side with this move.
So why am I on the bus you ask? Well… that’s the infuriating part of this piece. In theory it makes sense for me to cycle to work in the evenings, as public transport after hours is non existant out to the ‘burbs. (The pub is 8kms from home). And on Friday and Saturday evenings, and special occasions like last nights Halloween, the kitchen closes at 23:00. Hence my my little asterisk * in point 3 above, in getting more exercise.
Except I was the unfortunate victim once again of bicycle theft last night. Can you imagine my frustration and anger and sheer disappointment in this first world country that feels the need to steal bloody bicycles? I mean really?
Added to this feeling of treachery, I am actually more disappointed in the loss of the carefully sought after accessories I had added to my bike. The expensive (clearly not expensive enough) lock, the special lights that we all have to fit our bike with, the rack on the back so that I can attach bags, as well as the bungee cables, my rain coat, the helmet that my girls bought for me for Mother’s Day, my beautiful red bell that dinged so beautifully when I had to alert old people in my cycle path, and then of course, my lovely saddle bags. My pimped out bike has been stripped into several other parts and has been sold off on some underground bike black market.
It’s not so much fun having to phone your hubby at 23:30 asking him if he would kindly leave the house and sleeping babes to come collect me. But he did. I was so grateful, mostly because the walk home in 2 degree weather conditions in such a mood, on Halloween, was not boxing well with me.
As you can imagine, this job is leaving me with a somewhat bitter taste in my mouth. And even in these early days, I suspect that I will do my utmost to look for and apply for jobs more suited to my skill set.
Aside from that, I had an awesome memory filled 40th birthday month with my sister coming to Europe and I was able to have an adult trip that was just lovely! I also had my girl cousins who live in England to come visit me over the weekend of my birthday party, and then of course the party where I managed to prove to myself that I’m not as young as I used to be because going to bed at 7:30 am having just opened the 8th bottle of bubbles and sipping crémant for breakfast was not actually a good idea. However, birthday month will definitely not be one to be forgotten this year.
An early morning read through of this has left a few gaping holes in my dialogue- I will attempt to address them at a later stage.
However, I’m going to sign off for now, given that my carpal-tunnel filled thumbs are still too fast for my iPhone processor and the length of this entry- auto correct takes time to catch up so editing has to be done twice over 😉
I am going to say cheers for now, and send lots of love to you all. Lots of love, hugs and kisses,
Me
Xxx
Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals 