Gandalf the Grey

“I’m telling you, this bloody card doesn’t work! I’ve tried it sideways, upside-down and diagonally. I‘ve tapped it fast and I’ve tapped it slow. Will it work?“

So said our chum “Bomber” (so called because he plays golf in the style of a WWII Japanese Zero pilot), looking indignantly at the receptionist of the Premier Inn, where we had chosen to base ourselves for a few rounds of “hit ball, swear, follow ball into bushes”.

“His card works!” he said, looking mortally offended that an inferior door opening device had been handed to him rather than me.

”I’m sure we can sort it for you sir, let me have your card and I’ll re-cut it for you”.

Without further ado, Bomber slammed his card onto the reception desk, eyeballing the receptionist.

”This card sir”?

”Yes, that‘s the one, the little purple bastard!”

”That, sir, is a Nectar card. The only thing that will unlock is a few discounts at Sainsburys”.

Did we laugh? Did we merciless take the Micky for the rest of the weekend? You betcha.

Talking of unlocking things, BT (Boy Teenager) appears to be a master locksmith. The lad has been on fire, unlocking his future, the doors to his new car, and the hearts of a whole bunch of gorgeous ladies (OK BT, in case you are reading this, I know they are just friends!).

Let’s start with work. His paid Internship came through as promised, and much as happened on his previous stint at my old place, he won everyone over within minutes of meeting them. I’d be sitting in front of my laptop with messages pinging in telling me now well he was doing. He was paired up with a fantastic mentor, whose own story is unbelievable (from abandoned 16 year old, stranded in a foreign country (UK) with no recognised qualifications, to a man with a Law degree and a great job) who was determined to help BT. This man is a magician. Derren Brown couldn’t have worked his magic any better. Very soon BT was owning his previous mental health challenges, and not only talking about them, but planning a presentation to 50 people. Bloody hell! And more, ”Derren” got BT to look at the internal job board in case there was something that he liked the look of.

Which is how BT and I came to be down on the South coast on a warm August morning. BT had an interview for a permanent job, and I’d taken the day off to get him there and back. He left me in a cafe to nurse my nerves, whilst he went off for the interview, cool as a cucumber. 45 minutes later it was done and we set off home. He thought it had gone OK and could expect to hear within the week.

Which is why, 2 & 1/2 weeks later and there had been no news, all of us were sleep deprived and tetchy. Gin, so called because of a certain level of imbibement, became known as “Gin-wine-vodka” and I, “Captain Grumpy”. After some nagging, BT sent the interviewing manager a message.

”What?“ he said, “HR were supposed to contact you a week ago! I’ll get on to them straight away to tell them to offer the bloody thing to you!”

“Offer? You mean I got it?”

”Obviously I’m not allowed to tell you this, but yes!”

And that was that. 5 years of worry stopped in one, short exchange. Who would have dreamt when he first dropped out of school and couldn‘t face leaving the house that this would happen? Who would have expected him to land an Underwriting Assistant job as he wrestled with trying to do GCSEs, but finding it impossible because of the anxiety? It is literally more than we could possibly have hoped for, let alone foresee.

Of course, this being us, the God of Chaos likes to keep his hand in, and he played an absolute blinder. Out of the blue, BT received a call from HR saying “there had been a mistake”. The permanent job contract he had signed the week before was being withdrawn. Worse, his internship wasn’t being extended. Why? Because he was 17. Just as he had been when his Internship started, Just as he was when he went for the permanent job interview. And just as he had been when his manager-to-be had checked with them that he could employ a 17 year old.

Dumbfounded. Gutted. Talk about offer a kid a place in a toy shop, then burning the whole precinct down.

My immediate reaction, as indeed was BT’s boss-to-be and his existing Internship boss, was ”this is utter bollocks“. And then the fight started, starting with me looking at the Government rules on employment (because how could BT’s mates be employed at B&Q and the Garden Centre?) and ending with a referral to Group Legal. A week and a half later the news came through: the law does allow 17 year-olds to be employed (subject to said 17 year old doing 5 hours a week study a week). A few more hoops, and BT got the call telling him that everything was back on as originally planned. Phew and Hoorah!

As I type, he is in the 3rd week of the new job, on one of his working-in-the-office days down on the coast. He tells me he is putting the finishing touches to that presentation on his story and mental health. Lump in the throat stuff, innit.

But Al, you mentioned a new car? Well yes, BT is also learning to drive and thanks to some wonderful help from a Aunty G, he has himself a run-around. Except this is BT, so the 16 year old Toyota Yaris that was lined up for him somehow turned into a 17 year old Hyundai 1.6 Coupe. In a dashing grey. Man has an image to protect after all. The car is now named “Gandalf”. Wizards seem to have been A Thing recently.

There’s so much more to mention and not enough time or words …. as his world expands, BT has been to festivals (and probably was spiked at the last one, but got home OK before it really kicked in), on holiday to Turkey with Rhino (burst his eardrum in the pool half way through), stayed away over night on a work event (threw ping-pong balls at me whilst I was presenting) and been for umpteen meet ups with friends who, frankly, exist in circles that we can only dream of (”If I miss the train home, I’ll stay over at Emrintrude’s tonight in Kensington. I can sleep in the Cinema Room”). I’d say it‘s all normal stuff for a young fella, but it isn’t ordinary really is it. But then he isn’t either.

What of GT, Al? Well there’s just the matter of getting a 2:1 in her first year at Cambridge. Bloody hell! Her light reading for fun is a translation of Winnie the Pooh into Latin. As you do. Well, no as we don’t. I can barely remember how to speak English, and yet there’s GT mastering Latin and Ancient Greek. Amazing!

Winnie Il Puh (that’s Latin that is) was a gift from GT’s fabulous not-so-new fella, who we shall call Tobestool. Tobestool is a dashing, 6‘ lad who looks and dresses like Robert Plant (lead singer of Led Zepplin) and loves all the music from that era. Excellent taste! He also has a planet-sized brain and marginally less common-sense than his girlfriend. Who has marginally less common sense than Milo the Spaniel (Milo‘s idea of sensible is chewing rocks). Honestly, I don’t know how they navigate life, but somehow they do and they are doing it very successfully indeed!

Good news! GT’s period as a stand-in for Jiminy Ricketts appears to be drawing to a close. She’s taken All of the vitamin D and the symptoms have gradually faded. Remember kids, get out into the sun and take vitamin supplements.

And then there is Milo. When I last left you, he was annoying his existing Doggy-Day-Carer by being the Most Disobedient Dog on the Planet. Significant investment was made in getting one-to-one training for the errant hound, which we enthusiastically embraced. Put it this way, you don’t part with £500 on bloody dog training and ignore it. Except our then Dog-Day-Carer told us that she wouldn’t do the things the trainer suggested as she believes “dogs should be dogs“ (except when they are being a disobedient, which is the owner’s problem to resolve. Apparently). This sparked a search for a new Doggy-Day-Carer, and luckily fortune was smiling on us. After some false starts, we landed on Sean. Sean offered us a discount on day-care if we took 3 training sessions with him, so we agreed.

For the first session, Sean wanted to meet us at home and get to see Milo in a familiar environment. The hound turned on the charm, doing what he was asked and even quickly learning some new stuff.

“Oh he is sooo bright and Very trainable“ said Sean, “shall we let him in the garden?”

”Umm, you sure? He is a bloody nuisance out there. And I’m telling you now, he will not come in”

”Yes, yes, I reckon I can sort that”.

And so Milo was released out the back and proceeded to run around like his arse had a Falcon 9 rocket strapped to it.

Sean swaggered into the garden, called Milo and started throwing his “kibble“ food about “to get him interested”. Milo ran behind the shed, reappeared, ran around in circles, barked and went back behind the shed again.

”Can you get me a toy for him?”

”Yeah but it won’t work”

Said toy was deployed. Milo nicked it and buggered-off up the garden.

”I know “, said Sean, “we will go stand in the hall. He will get interested in where we‘ve gone come in to see what we are doing”.

30 minutes later, we had aching feet from standing about and Milo was still in the garden.

”He is the most stubborn dog I’ve ever met!” declared Sean. And with that, training session 1 was done.

To be fair, Sean has Milo 4 days a week and has now got him sussed. Slowly but surely the Errant Hound is becoming an Obedient Hound. But not completely. And you know, that‘s kinda good because there is something really funny about him nicking socks and shoes to get attention.

Me? Oh the job is going fine, which is just as well because the Mortgage has gone bananas. Eye-watering to the extent that we’ve had to do things with it to make it half-manageable. A common problem in a post-Trussonomics world. If only she had the capability to listen to the Economic Advisors who knew what they were talking about, rather than sacking them for knowing what they were talking about.

And there we are. Half a year in a few hundred words. And what a half year it has been!

Until next time,

Love and elbow-grease*

Mr H

PS *this still applies. After 4 sets of cleaners proved unable to either clean or turn-up at the agreed time, I am (along with Gin and BT) back to cleaning the house. Turns out finding anyone remotely reliable post the loss of most of the workers that came from the EU is like trying to get Milo in from the garden ….