Wednesday 24 April 2013

Fractional Posts - When The Barriers Are Down


WHEN THE BARRIERS ARE DOWN


It is essential - at all times - for the Fractionalist to be canny of the boundaries that separate him from the full-time employee. 

Essential to respect both barrier and bollard, before getting ambushed: inextricably collared.  To veer away from the perimeter or railing, and so avoid the appearance of failing (at time-management).

A metal post, if inadequately fixed, can do a lot of damaged when hit by a small, French car - to use a motor-vehicle as a meaningful metaphor. 

It can snap the axle, damage the steering. Before you know it, you'll be stuck fielding 'clearing' (during your summer vacation). 

The damage, most often, is uneconomical to repair. Before you know it, you'll be tearing out your hair.

You've got career ambitions? Get a car. But my advice to the fractionalist is, you're never going far.  

Get a bike, instead.

Lean your cycle against a fractional post, and stare at your self-made glass-ceiling. But don't feel sore (get some chamois-lined shorts) 'cos nothing quite beats free-wheeling.




Monday 22 April 2013

Fractional Posts - When The Chips Are Down


WHEN THE CHIPS ARE DOWN



The fractional can't live by bread alone;

His wage barely pays the baker.

He requires another income in order

To remain the provider of his comely home-maker.

When dough is scarce and the chips are down. 

You'll see him out late, in the centre of town.

When the chips are down and he's 

Down on his heels, look out

For fast-food: cheap meals on wheels.

When you're out on the town

Carbohydrates are necessary.

Think Friterie Wilson:

Epicurean speciality.





Sunday 21 April 2013

Fractional Posts - The Team


THE TEAM


A fractional post is exactly what it says - you work a fraction of the week.

But, the fractional team comprises two kinds of people: those who covet a full-time post and those who have given one up.

(The former are yet to be fully-institutionalised: brow-beaten, broken and compromised. The latter exalt in their liberty; fully appreciate what it means to be free.)


Monday 15 April 2013

Fractional Posts - Open Day


OPEN DAY

The email had been received with cynicism. Reading between the lines, as all well-established and would-be academics are compelled to do (as proof of their intellectual status), the warning that we should think carefully about rejecting any students at interview had been revised and endlessly rehearsed - muttered in the toilets, corridors and designated smoking areas.  Like Chinese whispers: we have to take anyone and everybody now

(A pragmatic, if brutal, reality underpinned the message from middle-management: no students, no course, no jobs. Bound to result in redundancies. Shape up or ship out or watch your back. I get lost in their metaphors.)

This was not, however, the line our Line-Manager chose to take. Refusing to read between the lines, he doggedly, obstinately and with terrier-like tenacity, took the email at face-value.

'We will, indeed, think carefully,' he said, 'before rejecting anybody'.

We thought a bit, and we rejected a lot.

Our jobs are now in jeopardy.



So, when it came to the Open Day, I aimed to be charming and persuasive. To endear myself to would-be recruits.

I was slightly stymied by the corporate powerpoint I'd been given to present to visitors. While the strap-line was the personal touch the presentation struck me as somewhat generic. But, I tried to be nice, all the same. OK, so I failed to identify what an Incubation Unit might be. I can only say, it's a ridiculous name. I certainly don't consider myself to blame.

Three students attended the morning session. By the time I was finished, they all had one confession. They'd prefer to study something else.

One of the few who attended my course review had, actually already, been offered an interview. 

I was suprised when she failed to show on the day. I thought I'd excelled at the Open Day. But, perhaps my approach is not the right way?

I guess she has gone somewhere else.

(I only wish we hadn't given her a free lolli-pop.)

Sunday 14 April 2013

The Sub-Editor - The End


THE END

'Well, I gave it go; to stay home alone. But I just couldn't last the year.

'Last Friday, I travelled to Devon; say goodbye to somebody dear.

'And while I was there, the sun finally shone. The sea was a beautiful hue. The peebles were as I remembered them. The sky: revelationary blue. (The teacake was doughy, the latte luke-warm. The terrace non-smoking; I came to no harm.)


'The sight of the sea affected me. Its sound just filled me with nothing. No voices no memories no idiot-thoughts. The sound of the sea reduced me to nought.

'And, in that void, I realised something: significant and beyond words.'


Wednesday 10 April 2013

The Sub-Editor - Junking The Journal


JUNKING THE JOURNAL



She rolled onto her side and turned her head to mine. She kissed me, then whispered in my ear.

'I'm so pleased with myself', she said.

'I've given up authorship and erased my past. Bought a shredder from Tesco; it was shredded so fast. Carthartic and satisfying, if slightly embarrassing. I've saved all the paper I didn't write on. The paper that's left will last a life-time.

'My journals, you see, I try to describe me; but, the minute I don't like me, I buy a new diary. . .

'It's resulted in a lot of wasted paper and time.'

Sunday 7 April 2013

The Sub-Editor - If You Turn You May Lose The World, Orpheus


IF YOU TURN YOU MAY LOSE THE WORLD, ORPHEUS


He said:

'I found her there.
Her cold, still stare.
Dead by a vipers' nest.

'Consumed with grief,
In disbelief I cursed 
The fates.
I grew to hate.

'But I played to the gods.
Enchanted tune.
Seduced and reduced;
sentimental swoon.

'Sentimental, they were; 
no heart-felt there.
My heart was broken
They did not care.

'Sentimental, they wept:
"Let the woman live free".
A caveat, of course:
The onus on me.

'The pressure on me
Not to turn back and see.
Yield to my joy
My anxiety.

'I was given a chance
To recoup what I'd lost;
To retrieve the woman
I'd lost at my cost.
To retrieve the woman
I loved to death

'Should have checked
My excitement.
Held my breath.'

Tuesday 2 April 2013

The Sub-Editor - Pomegranate Seeds And A Blow Torch

POMEGRANATE SEEDS AND A BLOW TORCH


Her sadness didn't last long.

She said: 

'Spring returned, and with it her sanity
The girl who'd mistaken herself for Persephone.

'The girl who'd mistaken herself for Penelope
Managed, at last, to conquer her melancholy.'

I had just returned, once again, from my wanderings. 

As we sat, late at night, at the kitchen table I said: 'something is different. I think you're more stable. You are more like your old self - if I may dare.  Or have you, perhaps, just altered your hair?'

She said:

'It all began with a bang to the head. 
She decided to top-out, but just missed the ledge.

'As she hit the ground, she thought "what the hell?"
She'd failed to live this life very well.

'She'd been sick as a dog and too full of sadness;
At times, it has felt like a terrible madness.

'As she hit the ground she thought "what will it be?
I'm so tired of all this anxiety".

She paused, then said:

'And, the joke is on me.
From the day I was born I abhorred conventionality.'

Apparently, at that point the pomegranate seed that had been lodged in her throat, dislodged itself (and stuck to her coat).

And, my advice:

Use a blow torch to eliminate any seeping.  If you dry the wall you probably won't fall. And, then, you can stop all that weeping.

Monday 1 April 2013

The Sub-Editor - Paradise Place


PARADISE PLACE


She said:

'You saw me as I walked towards you; you, standing there on the bridge.  I saw you, too, and I envied you. You stood so tall and you had it all. You lived your life to the full.'

She said:

'And me, I have the summer and spring. Autumn and winter are cold. I'm told I, too, should live to the full. But, just give me the underworld.'