Some Days Are Poo

Today is one of those days that people call depressing, and yet have nothing to do with depression. We’ve had some sunny days lately, and the crocus plants are beginning to show so it had been feeling like spring. Today has been dark so that opening the curtains makes little difference, and damp so that it’s impossible to get warm. I woke up from uneasy dreams and the day has felt like a continuation of them.

I wore my trainers into town. They have always been passable but rubbed my feet sore within minutes giving no indication of why they needed my little toe to make a mini blood sacrifice. On the way to uni, I passed a demonstration against the local government cuts. Dave Nellist, much respected local socialist was speaking to a small crowd on the steps of the Council House. I thought of Nick, at that moment going for the first of two redeployment interviews to see if he can stay employed by Coventry City Council or if he really will be made redundant with 500 others. Nellist is a seasoned speaker, but his words seemed to be coming from a former time when such things could inspire people out of acquiescence. Even this partisan crowd – the sellers of left-wing papers outnumbering the bystanders- failed to be moved to more than a smattering of applause.

Last night, Nick told me of a story passed on by a former colleague about one of the Council managers. During a break in a meeting with third party representatives, the man had flamboyantly declared that he was getting rid of two hundred people and only regretted the loss of a couple of them. Nick was hurt as the two hundred included him, and he was aware he was not one of the favoured two. Years of service to the people of Coventry, commitment to helping the most deprived, to quality, team work, and hard work have come to this. There seems to be an Alan Sugar-ing of leadership style in recent times, arrogant, short-term, and thoughtless. No wonder women are retreating behind a wall of cupcakes and polkadots. What’s a middle aged man to do but buy a new white shirt and get on his bike?

I picked up my essay. Miserably disappointed with the lacklustre 2:1 result, especially since I think the mark is reasonably fair. There were weaknesses I failed to spot at the time that could have taken 5 minutes to resolve but that probably cost 10%. I have an equal sense of disappointment that I have yet to get my placement grid signed off, in spite of the effort I’ve made. I ate fried food to console myself, and bit the inside of my mouth. A front tooth is beginning to be sensitive from too many years of nipping through threads and nibbling at my nails. Now is not the time for expensive dental treatment (although as though to demonstrate my skewed priorities, I have taken my laptop to be repaired).

Going home, I noticed that the Tin Angel, one of my favourite places in Coventry has been closed down by bailiffs. There was a fluttering of cards tied to the mesh shutters expressing support for the place. It was as though there had been a terrible accident, and perhaps there had been. Let’s call it an accident of Economy. 

Anyway, I'm thinking of Ewan MacColl thinking of his Dad who never worked for the Council. Still though.