Success

'Just to let you know, your interview was successful'. That's the kind of thing I like to hear. The punchline of this entry is up-front, subject to the usual CRB, references and medical, I'm going to be a student again. If I still want to be, come September.



As usual, I got to sleep at around the time of that the first of the morning traffic circuits the ring-road. That's around 3.45. Adrenalin woke me up at 7, that, Nick's calling me and the smell of bacon under the grill. I was uncharacteristically prepared with all of the paperwork packed, trousers ironed, and clean pants at the ready. I think I may have been too tired to be nervous. Nick had taken the day off, and walked me into town early. We sat in Browns restaurant which is a regular bar/coffee shop/eatery for council workers, Nick included. It was quiet enough in the morning for me to swap my trainers for dolly pumps and pop socks. It was then I realised I was serious about this interview. The pop socks and the tightness of my face, coated as it was with makeup, the foundation drying. It's very rare that my grooming reaches those sartorial planes.



I was one of a group of 'matures', no sixth-formers were invited. There was a presentation, the collection of certificates, and a written test. I wasn't brim full of confidence, but I was in the zone where I was able to making a convincing stab at seeming so. The written task was to summarise a short paper and say what it contributed to mental health nursing. Aside from not having worn a watch and so being unable to tine the half hour, I found myself enjoying it. This may have been relief brought on by the realisation that there was to be no maths test.

I got chatting to some other people while we waited for the interviews. They were all working in the field, I tried not to feel intimidated. Then came the interview. It was in the panel of three, six question style. I talked too much, much too fast, with some inappropriate emphasis on learning disabilities. I was told off for this. After that, I kept my answers short. The panel nodded and continued to move me on. I came out horribly disappointed, angry that I had let myself down in what should have been an easy interview. I had been able to predict all but one of the questions (but not 'What are your strengths and weaknesses?' which I consider a question unworthy of an interview and always want to answer with 'stem stitch and ballroom dancing, respectively' because how can the response ever be objectively measured?). I had the impression that they had liked the application, my writing, and the reference, but that they hadn't liked me because I had inadequately conveyed my motivation. I've interviewed enough people to know this is always a fail.

I went marching around town with no coat, waiting for Nick to meet me. I had that sickly, punched in the side of the head feeling, and was reflecting that I had let everyone down again. Nick turned up and took me to lunch, where I had a little cry over, but not into, the Chinese buffet. Then, he took me home, to wait for the outcome. The call came. They're letting me in. I'm not sure what that says about them. I will be taking up the place. I think I'll be quite good at it and will be interested for the most part. It's time I got myself out there. I need to have a job that comes with a pension by the end of the decade, and that's no joke, that's motivation.

Now the interview is done, this blog is going public again. Regular readers may be interested, or appalled to know what I will be studying: Mental Health Nursing.