Ever since Big Doggie tried to jump into the bath, missed, and left a huge crack in the front bath panel, I have wanted a new bathroom. Much as I live my Dear Husband, he is not sufficiently DIY-oriented to re-do the bathroom completely, so professional help was required.
Little did I realise the minefield that is Buying A Bathroom.
Stage 1: Measure the existing bathroom. After all, there is no point in having wonderful ideas if they are not going to fit. Bathroom is duly measured, and a scale drawing produced, because we have the little problem of a rather prominent soil pipe that needs to be hidden.
Stage 2: Venture into B&Q, lured by the fact that they have a sale on at the moment. Yep, looks very pretty. Even looks like their stuff will fit in my relatively small bathroom. So far so good.
Stage 3: Arrange for Mr Bathroom Designer, David, to come round to measure up the bathroom (properly) and discuss options.
Now, knowing that I was working in London on the proposed date, with an appointment at Great Ormond Street at 2.00pm, I made the appointment for an appropriate time that allowed for my having left my car at Stevenage Station.
Imagine my surprise, when I receive a phone call from Mr B&Q, wanting to confirm my appointment at 3.30pm. Whoa Nelly! Not having mastered the art of teleportation, there was no way that I was going to go from Great Ormond Street Hospital, to Stevenage, to home near Cambridge in an hour. But I thought, maybe I had made a mistake in booking the time, or it had been miscommunicated to the salesman by the store, so I outlined to him what I wanted, knowing that my Dear Son was at home, with it being half term week.
Concluding my business in London, I made my way home as quickly as I could, including running for the train at Kings Cross, which given the state of my knees, is not generally advisable.
By 4.15pm, I made it home. I expected to find Mr B&Q still there, as I had given him an ETA between 4.15pm and 4.30pm (the original appointment time). Instead, my Dear Son informs me that Mr B&Q has been and gone, having been in the house for may be 15 minutes maximum.
Fair enough, I thought. I had given him a reasonably detailed spec, including which styles I had identified from his brochure as suitable for my needs. So I waited for him to e-mail the quote, as he had suggested that he would.
Monday arrives. No quote. Tuesday arrives. I phone B&Q in Cambridge, and express my surprise that Mr B&Q had tried to convince me that my appointment time was an hour earlier than it actually was, as by then, I had checked the appointment form. I am promised that the supervisor will call me back. No call by Wednesday, so I phone again, this time expressing my concern that Mr B&Q seemed more interested in knocking off early on a Friday than in providing me with a quote. Was this indicative of them not wanting my business?
Quote arrives late on Thursday by e-mail. All fourteen pages of it.
Dear Husband and I have a quick scan through. We realise that Mr B&Q really should have spent a little bit more time with us working out what we wanted in the new bathroom, but equally importantly he should have opened his eyes in our existing bathroom. Errors in the B&Q quote included:
1. "Remove radiator and cap pipe" when there is no radiator in the bathroom
2. "Fit Mira Sport Max shower" when our household fuse box would be incapable of coping with this model
3. Bath Suite selected was not the one I had suggested.
4. Quote did not include tiling the bathroom, despite this being part of the original spec, including my having told him which tiles we wanted.
5. Installation costs, including the above issues, of £7.5K
So, clearly B&Q were not the best choice to make. No problem, there are other options out there, we thought: Homebase, if you want to stick with a chain, or The Bathstore. An acquaintance of mine suggested a builder friend of his, who had done some good work. And there is a new design place which has just opened up near to us, which bears investigation.
Next stop, The Bathstore in Cambridge. Young Clinton there trys to wow me with his computer skills on the design software, working from the measurements on my scale drawing. His incompetence with what should be a key piece of equipment for a bathroom designer is really quite amusing. Or it would have been, if it had not been a long week for me. I suppose some women might choose a bathroom on aesthetics alone, but I am a little bit more practical. Poor Clinton didn't realise that he had taken the wrong tack with me because yes, my wrists (which are attached to fists quite capable of hitting you, dear boy) are strong enough to hold the big, heavy taps. Oh gosh! I never realised just how thick your shower screens are (the same thickness as everyone else, actually!). He promises to post the quote out to me, and then has to phone me to ask me for my address. Quote arrives, and is even more expensive that B&Q on materials. They don't do installation, but I was provided with a list of local contractors. Tiles were also not included, but apparently they have an arrangement with the tile superstore next-door.
Nul points to The Bathstore, then.
This leaves the new guys and the builder. Let's see what happens with them.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Cakes for the cadets
Had a bit of a bake-fest yesterday. The occasion: my dear son informs me on Friday evening that it is the Air Training Corps Wing Cross-Country competition at Bassingbourn Barracks, and would I, pleeease, make the infamous chocolate flapjacks for the team.
OK, I am not trying to fatten them up or anything. The flapjacks do serve a quasi-healthy purpose for the cadets.
The majority are not runners, or in the remotest sense athletic, a factor I blame more on the lack of PE at school than the Squadron. However, even so, after a 3.5 miles run, they will be hungry and they will be somewhat lacking in energy.
The flapjacks are basically a standard flapjack, but with a bar of chocolate melted in before cooking. The result is quite sweet, a bit sticky, but it goes down a treat with the cadets. As I also use chunky oats, they are also packed with a slower burning carbohydrate, to counter all the quick-burning golden syrup. It also goes down rather well with the cheese scones that I made for them also.
Net result, empty flapjack box. In three years, it has never come back with anything more than crumbs. So I think that means the cadets like them.
And just to make sure that my Dear Husband doesn't feel too left out, I made him a fresh batch of banana bread.
OK, I am not trying to fatten them up or anything. The flapjacks do serve a quasi-healthy purpose for the cadets.
The majority are not runners, or in the remotest sense athletic, a factor I blame more on the lack of PE at school than the Squadron. However, even so, after a 3.5 miles run, they will be hungry and they will be somewhat lacking in energy.
The flapjacks are basically a standard flapjack, but with a bar of chocolate melted in before cooking. The result is quite sweet, a bit sticky, but it goes down a treat with the cadets. As I also use chunky oats, they are also packed with a slower burning carbohydrate, to counter all the quick-burning golden syrup. It also goes down rather well with the cheese scones that I made for them also.
Net result, empty flapjack box. In three years, it has never come back with anything more than crumbs. So I think that means the cadets like them.
And just to make sure that my Dear Husband doesn't feel too left out, I made him a fresh batch of banana bread.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Doggie driven to distraction
The Further Adventures of Little Doggie:
I have two lovely Staffordshire Bull Terriers, both of whom are full of character. The older dog, aka Big Doggie, now a venerable 12.5 years old, is very emphatic about what she likes and doesn't like. The likes include oranges, peanut butter and fish. Dislikes include walking in the rain, wind or both. Little Doggie is, to put it bluntly, a bit of an idiot.
Little Doggie's problem is that she has never had to grow up. In her mind, she left her mother and litter-mates, and then Big Doggie was there to care for her. So, why grow up, and act responsibly? However, she is totally a Mummy's Girl, such that when I go away on business, she is distraught. Daddy will do as a substitute, but she would prefer Mummy. You can almost see her wondering if she did something wrong that I have left her.
So, does this explain the 'Bourbon Biscuit Incident'? My son came home from college on Tuesday. Little Doggie is acting guilty. This normally means she has eaten the TV remote control or shredded a packet of tissues or torn a paperback or eaten a CD ... You get the drift. So, off he goes to find the remains her latest misdemeanor. Nothing. Nada. So, he shrugs, and carrys on with his homework. My husband came home. Both dogs greet him with their usual exuberance. After all, he has been gone for a WHOLE DAY. Work that out in doggie years and it is, like, forever. Doggie dinner is prepared of smoked kippers and dog biscuit. Off they go for a walk. They return.
"Does Little Doggie seem OK to you?" he asks me. "She didn't want to walk much tonight."
This is unusual indeed. Little Doggie is a real follow her nose type of walker. This usually entails following her nose across several fields, as she chases after tantalising scents of pheasant and rabbit.
So, we watch her. She is quiet, but this could also just be because she is tired. The clock rolls round to bedtime. I happen to notice that my pile of wheatgerm bags by the bed has been disturbed. As I bend down to tidy them up, I notice the remains of a packet of BOURBON BISCUITS.
These biscuits had, until that point, been sitting on my bedside table, which whilst reachable by the dogs, is normally considered out of bounds.
I pick up the wrapper. Little Doggie is lying on the bed, watching me. The big brown eyes become even bigger. The tail starts to flap. She realises that she has been rumbled.
Since then, she has been wrapping herself around me, desperate to make amends for her latest transgression. Of course, she has been forgiven. She always is.
I have two lovely Staffordshire Bull Terriers, both of whom are full of character. The older dog, aka Big Doggie, now a venerable 12.5 years old, is very emphatic about what she likes and doesn't like. The likes include oranges, peanut butter and fish. Dislikes include walking in the rain, wind or both. Little Doggie is, to put it bluntly, a bit of an idiot.
Little Doggie's problem is that she has never had to grow up. In her mind, she left her mother and litter-mates, and then Big Doggie was there to care for her. So, why grow up, and act responsibly? However, she is totally a Mummy's Girl, such that when I go away on business, she is distraught. Daddy will do as a substitute, but she would prefer Mummy. You can almost see her wondering if she did something wrong that I have left her.
So, does this explain the 'Bourbon Biscuit Incident'? My son came home from college on Tuesday. Little Doggie is acting guilty. This normally means she has eaten the TV remote control or shredded a packet of tissues or torn a paperback or eaten a CD ... You get the drift. So, off he goes to find the remains her latest misdemeanor. Nothing. Nada. So, he shrugs, and carrys on with his homework. My husband came home. Both dogs greet him with their usual exuberance. After all, he has been gone for a WHOLE DAY. Work that out in doggie years and it is, like, forever. Doggie dinner is prepared of smoked kippers and dog biscuit. Off they go for a walk. They return.
"Does Little Doggie seem OK to you?" he asks me. "She didn't want to walk much tonight."
This is unusual indeed. Little Doggie is a real follow her nose type of walker. This usually entails following her nose across several fields, as she chases after tantalising scents of pheasant and rabbit.
So, we watch her. She is quiet, but this could also just be because she is tired. The clock rolls round to bedtime. I happen to notice that my pile of wheatgerm bags by the bed has been disturbed. As I bend down to tidy them up, I notice the remains of a packet of BOURBON BISCUITS.
These biscuits had, until that point, been sitting on my bedside table, which whilst reachable by the dogs, is normally considered out of bounds.
I pick up the wrapper. Little Doggie is lying on the bed, watching me. The big brown eyes become even bigger. The tail starts to flap. She realises that she has been rumbled.
Since then, she has been wrapping herself around me, desperate to make amends for her latest transgression. Of course, she has been forgiven. She always is.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Being proud of my son: an ATC cadet
OK, so my son is probably going to hate me for this post, but today, he was part of something that actually showed kids in a good light.
Today was ATC Sunday: a day to celebrate the 70th Anniversary since the founding of the Air Training Corps. Now, I realise that some people disagree with the whole concept of uniformed youth groups, like the cadets, seeing them only as a recruitment ground for impressionable teenagers. Particularly at the moment, with the conflict in Afghanistan, it is a very touchy subject.
However, it is worth bearing in mind that the kids in the Air Training Corps learn some of those old-fashioned qualities which people say are missing from the modern society. They learn about loyalty, about courtesy, about team-work. They are generally well-mannered, yet they are not stuck up. They are still human. Equally importantly, they are able to demonstrate the ability to make choices for themselves. This is clear by the fact that a relatively small proportion will actually go on to choose a career in the military.
My son wants to go for a career in the military. His drive to make the grade has given him the will to do well in his high school years, when he attended a school with teachers who didn't want to push their pupils. He takes pride in having a well-pressed uniform.
How many kids these days know how to use an iron, let alone are willing to spend 20 minutes ironing a pair of trousers?
Today, along with the rest of his ATC Squadron: 104 (City of Cambridge), and other squadrons, he paraded at Duxford Air Museum. The parade was led out by the prize-winning band from 104 (City of Cambridge) Squadron. Each of the kids present had taken care with their uniform (or their parents did). Each of them took pride in marching in sync with their fellow cadets.
All of them sang the National Anthem.
I am proud of my son. I am proud to see him as part of the Air Training Corps.
Today was ATC Sunday: a day to celebrate the 70th Anniversary since the founding of the Air Training Corps. Now, I realise that some people disagree with the whole concept of uniformed youth groups, like the cadets, seeing them only as a recruitment ground for impressionable teenagers. Particularly at the moment, with the conflict in Afghanistan, it is a very touchy subject.
However, it is worth bearing in mind that the kids in the Air Training Corps learn some of those old-fashioned qualities which people say are missing from the modern society. They learn about loyalty, about courtesy, about team-work. They are generally well-mannered, yet they are not stuck up. They are still human. Equally importantly, they are able to demonstrate the ability to make choices for themselves. This is clear by the fact that a relatively small proportion will actually go on to choose a career in the military.
My son wants to go for a career in the military. His drive to make the grade has given him the will to do well in his high school years, when he attended a school with teachers who didn't want to push their pupils. He takes pride in having a well-pressed uniform.
How many kids these days know how to use an iron, let alone are willing to spend 20 minutes ironing a pair of trousers?
Today, along with the rest of his ATC Squadron: 104 (City of Cambridge), and other squadrons, he paraded at Duxford Air Museum. The parade was led out by the prize-winning band from 104 (City of Cambridge) Squadron. Each of the kids present had taken care with their uniform (or their parents did). Each of them took pride in marching in sync with their fellow cadets.
All of them sang the National Anthem.
I am proud of my son. I am proud to see him as part of the Air Training Corps.
Friday, 4 February 2011
Do you enjoy your job?
I can't believe that I have now been in my new job for a month, which has involved six nights away from home, albeit not all in the same week.
This was a huge difference indeed to my former employer, where the 'initial training programme' lasted a painful six weeks. Why painful? Quite simply, when one is employed to sell to hospital customers and hospital customers only, with a drug that can only be used in hospitals, and specifically in two very specialised areas of a hospital, it was pretty pointless to not only have a week on GP commissioning and then to have an exam on the same topic, regardless of its lack of relevance. Then, considering by then I had been in pharmaceutical sales for ten years, I had to sit through a week of THEIR way of making a sales call, using their catchy little acronym. It was a model that didn't allow for a changing NHS and a changing environment, but it was their model and we had bl**dy well better learn it, because there would a full day of Call Quality Challenge with real doctors to make sure that we knew it.
Contrast that with three days of the core induction, which covered topics relevant to my role, such that there was a tacit assumption that I knew how to interact with my customers and to sell. After all, that was what they hired: a salesperson with thirteen years of medical sales experience. Product training was accomplished in a matter of days, the idea being that I ask questions (lots of them), which I did. No final exam, no 'Call Quality Challenge'. And, I think, knowing that they expected me to prove that they had made a good choice acted as more of an incentive to do my job well than any final exam. Rather the final exam will be when I bring in the business that they believe to be within my capabilities.
But it did make me think: what makes a job enjoyable? Do we only stay in a job because, well, it is a job, and it pays the mortgage/rent. Is enjoyment in one's job something we now class as a luxury?
I was made redundant from my job with the Ginormous Pharma Company. In three and a half years, it was the second time I faced redundancy, albeit that this one was more of a certainty. It didn't stop me from wanting to do my job to the best of my ability, because what mattered to me was my customers.
Yes, I am a salesperson. My job is to sell. My ethics mean that I aim to ensure that I am always acting in an ethical manner. I can recall a couple of year's ago, when one of the Sales Trainers told me he had just been on a training course about 'giving the balanced picture' in a sell. I remember being puzzled. Surely that was what we were supposed to do?? Apparently not. Or at least, not everyone that that way. I do it from an ethical standpoint, but also because I value the relationship that I have with my customers, and honesty is important for me, so that my customers can believe that they can trust me. If my customers believe they can trust me, it adds to the enjoyment of my day-to-day job. The relationship with my customers is one of the things that make my job enjoyable.
What else? Are you able to switch off from your job when you are at home? This is more difficult if you are a salesperson, where usually one room of your home acts as your office. Someone working in an office-based job can switch off when they step out of the building. But it is difficult when, having been driving between customers all day, one comes home and there are things needing your attention: e-mails, reports, planning and research. But, I would say to any salesperson, having the ability to mentally separate those two parts of your life will make the job more enjoyable.
The upshot is that, if your job is to be less of a burden, then it is important to find something that makes it all feel worthwhile. I have given two examples here that work for me. They might not work for everyone, but it will take things beyond a drudge.
And to close, I was talking to a former colleague yesterday. She was saying how other former members of our team were on their training course, and had come out of the day looking shattered. OK, they looked a bit happier the next day. But it does seem to be that, even as the NHS changes, the Ginormous Pharma Company is not willing to follow suit. I just hope it means that my former colleagues can continue to find enjoynent.
I am glad to say that I firmly believe that I won't be struggling to enjoy my job, because I think, a month into my new job, that I made a choice that will prove to be a very good one.
This was a huge difference indeed to my former employer, where the 'initial training programme' lasted a painful six weeks. Why painful? Quite simply, when one is employed to sell to hospital customers and hospital customers only, with a drug that can only be used in hospitals, and specifically in two very specialised areas of a hospital, it was pretty pointless to not only have a week on GP commissioning and then to have an exam on the same topic, regardless of its lack of relevance. Then, considering by then I had been in pharmaceutical sales for ten years, I had to sit through a week of THEIR way of making a sales call, using their catchy little acronym. It was a model that didn't allow for a changing NHS and a changing environment, but it was their model and we had bl**dy well better learn it, because there would a full day of Call Quality Challenge with real doctors to make sure that we knew it.
Contrast that with three days of the core induction, which covered topics relevant to my role, such that there was a tacit assumption that I knew how to interact with my customers and to sell. After all, that was what they hired: a salesperson with thirteen years of medical sales experience. Product training was accomplished in a matter of days, the idea being that I ask questions (lots of them), which I did. No final exam, no 'Call Quality Challenge'. And, I think, knowing that they expected me to prove that they had made a good choice acted as more of an incentive to do my job well than any final exam. Rather the final exam will be when I bring in the business that they believe to be within my capabilities.
But it did make me think: what makes a job enjoyable? Do we only stay in a job because, well, it is a job, and it pays the mortgage/rent. Is enjoyment in one's job something we now class as a luxury?
I was made redundant from my job with the Ginormous Pharma Company. In three and a half years, it was the second time I faced redundancy, albeit that this one was more of a certainty. It didn't stop me from wanting to do my job to the best of my ability, because what mattered to me was my customers.
Yes, I am a salesperson. My job is to sell. My ethics mean that I aim to ensure that I am always acting in an ethical manner. I can recall a couple of year's ago, when one of the Sales Trainers told me he had just been on a training course about 'giving the balanced picture' in a sell. I remember being puzzled. Surely that was what we were supposed to do?? Apparently not. Or at least, not everyone that that way. I do it from an ethical standpoint, but also because I value the relationship that I have with my customers, and honesty is important for me, so that my customers can believe that they can trust me. If my customers believe they can trust me, it adds to the enjoyment of my day-to-day job. The relationship with my customers is one of the things that make my job enjoyable.
What else? Are you able to switch off from your job when you are at home? This is more difficult if you are a salesperson, where usually one room of your home acts as your office. Someone working in an office-based job can switch off when they step out of the building. But it is difficult when, having been driving between customers all day, one comes home and there are things needing your attention: e-mails, reports, planning and research. But, I would say to any salesperson, having the ability to mentally separate those two parts of your life will make the job more enjoyable.
The upshot is that, if your job is to be less of a burden, then it is important to find something that makes it all feel worthwhile. I have given two examples here that work for me. They might not work for everyone, but it will take things beyond a drudge.
And to close, I was talking to a former colleague yesterday. She was saying how other former members of our team were on their training course, and had come out of the day looking shattered. OK, they looked a bit happier the next day. But it does seem to be that, even as the NHS changes, the Ginormous Pharma Company is not willing to follow suit. I just hope it means that my former colleagues can continue to find enjoynent.
I am glad to say that I firmly believe that I won't be struggling to enjoy my job, because I think, a month into my new job, that I made a choice that will prove to be a very good one.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
Will they or won't they?
So, at long last, I have received confirmation from the Ginormous Pharma Company that I won the "short term incentive" for the last tertial of 2010. Why does this matter? Two reasons:
For those of you not in the know, my previous employers would, by means of various arcane theorems and calculations, work out which sales territory had the highest level of growth from one tertial (four month period) to the next. According to these theorems, my territory had the second highest growth of the team by the end of November. However, I had my last working day with the Ginormous Pharma Company on 17th December, before the final figures were known, even though my final day of employment was 31st December. The joys of having bought extra holiday over 2010. When I had my last working day, I handed back my laptop, and thus had no way of knowing the final result.
No problem, I thought blithely. They have my home address, so I am sure someone will let me know.
Nah! After all, we are talking the second (I think) largest Pharma Company in the world. Why would they want to let someone know they had earned an additional several thousand pounds.
So, I contacted a former colleague and team member, and he informed me with some degree of glee, that my former territory had had the highest sales for the team in December. A further e-mail from another former colleague arrived, congratulating me on winning the league table. Colleague #1 sent a further e-mail confirming the size of the prize pot.
Still, there was no official confirmation from the Ginormous Pharma Company, and from any member of my former management team.
I sent an e-mail to my former manager, asking her if the results for the STI was known, pointing out that I would need to make provision on my tax records, given that any monies due would only be taxed at basic rate. She forwarded the message to my former Sales Director. A message came back to her, which she sent to me, confirming that I had indeed won the STI, with a very impressive growth figure.
Interestingly, his excuse for not communicating with me directly was that I did not leave him a forwarding e-mail address.
Let's get this straight, people. We are talking the Ginormous Pharma Company here. They have an HR Department. The HR Department is more than capable of finding my postal address. Yes, I appreciate that 'snail mail' is slower than e-mail, but it works, honest. So, yes, I think that the Sales Director's excuse had to be one of the lamest excuses going.
As it stands, I am still waiting for any notification of monies being paid to me. Payroll for the Ginormous Pharma Company is normally the 20th of the month, and nary a squeak has been heard.
And, back to my second reason for this being important to me. A former colleague, who has been with the Ginormous Pharma Company for over 20 years, made it clear that he thought I lacked the skills to be an excellent salesperson. Unfortunately for him, I won two out of three sales growth prizes in 2009 and two out of three growth prizes in 2010.The upshot is that I couldn't have done so if I did not build rapport with my customers.
And the moral of this tale:
Someone wanted to make me believe that I lacked the skills to do my job well. Fortunately for me, I had other colleagues who believed in my abilities, and encouraged me. I could have believed those who denigrated my abilities. But I didn't.
I learned a very valuable lesson, whilst working at the Ginormous Pharma Company: believe in yourself. Who knows what rewards might ensue.
- The prize pot was worth several thousand pounds before tax.
- There were some individuals who believed me incapable of doing my job effectively and this was proof positive that I did know what I was doing.
For those of you not in the know, my previous employers would, by means of various arcane theorems and calculations, work out which sales territory had the highest level of growth from one tertial (four month period) to the next. According to these theorems, my territory had the second highest growth of the team by the end of November. However, I had my last working day with the Ginormous Pharma Company on 17th December, before the final figures were known, even though my final day of employment was 31st December. The joys of having bought extra holiday over 2010. When I had my last working day, I handed back my laptop, and thus had no way of knowing the final result.
No problem, I thought blithely. They have my home address, so I am sure someone will let me know.
Nah! After all, we are talking the second (I think) largest Pharma Company in the world. Why would they want to let someone know they had earned an additional several thousand pounds.
So, I contacted a former colleague and team member, and he informed me with some degree of glee, that my former territory had had the highest sales for the team in December. A further e-mail from another former colleague arrived, congratulating me on winning the league table. Colleague #1 sent a further e-mail confirming the size of the prize pot.
Still, there was no official confirmation from the Ginormous Pharma Company, and from any member of my former management team.
I sent an e-mail to my former manager, asking her if the results for the STI was known, pointing out that I would need to make provision on my tax records, given that any monies due would only be taxed at basic rate. She forwarded the message to my former Sales Director. A message came back to her, which she sent to me, confirming that I had indeed won the STI, with a very impressive growth figure.
Interestingly, his excuse for not communicating with me directly was that I did not leave him a forwarding e-mail address.
Let's get this straight, people. We are talking the Ginormous Pharma Company here. They have an HR Department. The HR Department is more than capable of finding my postal address. Yes, I appreciate that 'snail mail' is slower than e-mail, but it works, honest. So, yes, I think that the Sales Director's excuse had to be one of the lamest excuses going.
As it stands, I am still waiting for any notification of monies being paid to me. Payroll for the Ginormous Pharma Company is normally the 20th of the month, and nary a squeak has been heard.
And, back to my second reason for this being important to me. A former colleague, who has been with the Ginormous Pharma Company for over 20 years, made it clear that he thought I lacked the skills to be an excellent salesperson. Unfortunately for him, I won two out of three sales growth prizes in 2009 and two out of three growth prizes in 2010.The upshot is that I couldn't have done so if I did not build rapport with my customers.
And the moral of this tale:
Someone wanted to make me believe that I lacked the skills to do my job well. Fortunately for me, I had other colleagues who believed in my abilities, and encouraged me. I could have believed those who denigrated my abilities. But I didn't.
I learned a very valuable lesson, whilst working at the Ginormous Pharma Company: believe in yourself. Who knows what rewards might ensue.
Saturday, 15 January 2011
The best laid plans ...
So, there I am on Thursday, planning to go training that evening, having taken the trouble to wash and iron my karate-gi. Thursday was always going to be a busy day, with appointments with customers in Cambridge, Basildon, Watford and Stevenage.
At the top of the slip road on the M11/A10 junction going into Cambridge, I am waiting for the traffic to clear so I can pull out, and BAM! my nice new Audi A4 is hit from behind. Okay, so the brakes on my car work, and the car doesn't move. Unfortunately, something has to give, and that something is my upper body. Look in the mirror, and there is a panicked looking woman sitting in the car behind me. Hazard lights on, and go to inspect that damage. There didn't appear to be anything there, but I took photos (company policy) and did the exchange of details thing, and carried on into Cambridge.
On the advice of the office, I took the car to the local Audi dealer. Just because I couldn't see any damage didn't mean there was none. And there was: a nice little imprint of her number plate on my rear bumper. Watch the salesman almost rub his hands with glee, as he informs me that it will cost around £700 for a new bumper. Whilst talking to him, I can feel my neck is a bit more stiff than it should be.
Now an advantage of being a black belt in karate is that I am reasonably supple, and somewhat used to muscle-related injuries. This was not a 'karate neck' injury. Damn, that meant it was potentially whiplash. Even more annoying was that it meant, after I had prepaid for my training sessions this month, I was not going to be able to train that night, just in case. Cue me stamping my foot in frustration.
Hence, best laid plans of mice and men ... no training on Thursday, and probably no training on Saturday either. Hopefully the symptoms will have subsided by Monday. I wonder if I can claim on the insurance for my prepaid training fee?
At the top of the slip road on the M11/A10 junction going into Cambridge, I am waiting for the traffic to clear so I can pull out, and BAM! my nice new Audi A4 is hit from behind. Okay, so the brakes on my car work, and the car doesn't move. Unfortunately, something has to give, and that something is my upper body. Look in the mirror, and there is a panicked looking woman sitting in the car behind me. Hazard lights on, and go to inspect that damage. There didn't appear to be anything there, but I took photos (company policy) and did the exchange of details thing, and carried on into Cambridge.
On the advice of the office, I took the car to the local Audi dealer. Just because I couldn't see any damage didn't mean there was none. And there was: a nice little imprint of her number plate on my rear bumper. Watch the salesman almost rub his hands with glee, as he informs me that it will cost around £700 for a new bumper. Whilst talking to him, I can feel my neck is a bit more stiff than it should be.
Now an advantage of being a black belt in karate is that I am reasonably supple, and somewhat used to muscle-related injuries. This was not a 'karate neck' injury. Damn, that meant it was potentially whiplash. Even more annoying was that it meant, after I had prepaid for my training sessions this month, I was not going to be able to train that night, just in case. Cue me stamping my foot in frustration.
Hence, best laid plans of mice and men ... no training on Thursday, and probably no training on Saturday either. Hopefully the symptoms will have subsided by Monday. I wonder if I can claim on the insurance for my prepaid training fee?
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
I'm not dead yet!
Week 2 into the new job, and I have also gone back to karate training, after a break of close to three months. And I am not dead yet! To make this week even more fun, I found out this evening that I won the bonus prize for the last trimester of 2010 when I was employed by the Ginormous Pharma Company.
So, Week 2: the rose tinted outlook that accompanies a new job has not yet faded. I had my first breakfast meeting in a long time this morning. 0700, and sitting outside a hospital Postgrad Education Centre, waiting for my contact to turn up, after discovering that the meeting room was on the first floor, and there were no stairs. As I commented to my mother some years ago, this was how I ended up with outsize bicep muscles. Still, the meeting went well, with some charming confusion from some of the attendees, who were used to seeing me with one company, and took a moment to realize that I had changed employer.
Returning to karate training after a break of nearly three months was always going to be tough. It could be argued that choosing to return on the day when senior grades have a special training session was likely to be a recipe for disaster, but I survived. Counting the bruises on my arms today, though! When I arrived at the club, one of the first things my Sensei (teacher) asked me was whether I was planning to try for my 2nd Dan grading in May this year.
Correct answer: "Of course, Sensei!"
Actual answer: "I would like to try, Sensei.", which was quickly amended to the 'correct answer' above.
Of course, the suggestion that I and a 3rd Dan candidate could have mock gradings that night should have been expected, but I was soooo not ready for that. My biggest problem is a lack of confidence. Unfortunately, the mock grading prospect does very little for my confidence, because I know that I don't know my syllabus well enough, and thus I panic. At that point, it all goes horribly wrong.
Still, my plan is that I will grade in May (even if I don't pass), and that I am aiming to train Mondays and Thursdays at my Honbu Dojo, with training sessions at two other clubs in the Association on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Might need to buy myself another karate gi, or I am going to spend all the time washing and ironing my present one.
To increase my sense of self-worth further (not!), I also trained at another club in our Association last night, given that I was going to be staying in near the bottom of the M1, and this club was en-route. Like I said, I know that I don't have my syllabus learned properly yet. However, in my defence, I would also point out that until recently, I had never been taught parts of my syllabus. This was one of the reasons for moving clubs, along with the change in my work pattern. I really want to do my grading, lack of confidence not withstanding, so not being taught new essential combinations or not practicing grade-specific syllabus is really unhelpful. At least DS and I are fortunate in that we were in a position to do something about it, and change clubs, but that is not an option open to everyone.
Oh, and for the record, I do not mix with my former teacher, speak with him or have any social interaction with him. So I don't know how he is, or why he didn't train this week. Rant over!
The week is only at the midway point, when I received an e-mail from a former colleague, who still works for the Ginormous Pharma Company. She informed me that I had won the short-term incentive for the last trimester of 2010. Yes, this does mean cash, but damn, I worked for it. It was always my intention that, even though I was not going to achieve my sales target, I would have a tangible way of demonstrating my dedication to my job. Considering I was being made redundant by the Ginormous Pharmaa Company, it would have been too easy to just sit back and not bother in the final month. But that is not the way that I work. So, it is good to know that such efforts are rewarded.
Of course, it would have been even better to have received that news from my former Sales Director, but, nooo, pigs don't fly.
Although I didn't know it at the time, I treated myself to a new set of arrows, which were cut to my size. I knew my arms were short, but not that short!!
Whiskey beckons, so g'night all!
So, Week 2: the rose tinted outlook that accompanies a new job has not yet faded. I had my first breakfast meeting in a long time this morning. 0700, and sitting outside a hospital Postgrad Education Centre, waiting for my contact to turn up, after discovering that the meeting room was on the first floor, and there were no stairs. As I commented to my mother some years ago, this was how I ended up with outsize bicep muscles. Still, the meeting went well, with some charming confusion from some of the attendees, who were used to seeing me with one company, and took a moment to realize that I had changed employer.
Returning to karate training after a break of nearly three months was always going to be tough. It could be argued that choosing to return on the day when senior grades have a special training session was likely to be a recipe for disaster, but I survived. Counting the bruises on my arms today, though! When I arrived at the club, one of the first things my Sensei (teacher) asked me was whether I was planning to try for my 2nd Dan grading in May this year.
Correct answer: "Of course, Sensei!"
Actual answer: "I would like to try, Sensei.", which was quickly amended to the 'correct answer' above.
Of course, the suggestion that I and a 3rd Dan candidate could have mock gradings that night should have been expected, but I was soooo not ready for that. My biggest problem is a lack of confidence. Unfortunately, the mock grading prospect does very little for my confidence, because I know that I don't know my syllabus well enough, and thus I panic. At that point, it all goes horribly wrong.
Still, my plan is that I will grade in May (even if I don't pass), and that I am aiming to train Mondays and Thursdays at my Honbu Dojo, with training sessions at two other clubs in the Association on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Might need to buy myself another karate gi, or I am going to spend all the time washing and ironing my present one.
To increase my sense of self-worth further (not!), I also trained at another club in our Association last night, given that I was going to be staying in near the bottom of the M1, and this club was en-route. Like I said, I know that I don't have my syllabus learned properly yet. However, in my defence, I would also point out that until recently, I had never been taught parts of my syllabus. This was one of the reasons for moving clubs, along with the change in my work pattern. I really want to do my grading, lack of confidence not withstanding, so not being taught new essential combinations or not practicing grade-specific syllabus is really unhelpful. At least DS and I are fortunate in that we were in a position to do something about it, and change clubs, but that is not an option open to everyone.
Oh, and for the record, I do not mix with my former teacher, speak with him or have any social interaction with him. So I don't know how he is, or why he didn't train this week. Rant over!
The week is only at the midway point, when I received an e-mail from a former colleague, who still works for the Ginormous Pharma Company. She informed me that I had won the short-term incentive for the last trimester of 2010. Yes, this does mean cash, but damn, I worked for it. It was always my intention that, even though I was not going to achieve my sales target, I would have a tangible way of demonstrating my dedication to my job. Considering I was being made redundant by the Ginormous Pharmaa Company, it would have been too easy to just sit back and not bother in the final month. But that is not the way that I work. So, it is good to know that such efforts are rewarded.
Of course, it would have been even better to have received that news from my former Sales Director, but, nooo, pigs don't fly.
Although I didn't know it at the time, I treated myself to a new set of arrows, which were cut to my size. I knew my arms were short, but not that short!!
Whiskey beckons, so g'night all!
Saturday, 8 January 2011
Working mothers and healthy hot lunches
Some months back, DH decided that he would buy himself some ready-meals from the Blue Supermarket, given that there was a microwave at work to nuke them. Quite clearly, he was finding sandwiches a bit boring. Actually, I think it was more than that; an intolerance to the improvers and other c**p that is put in even 'healthy' brands of bread.
Now, as a system, this worked quite well, but damn, it was expensive. There must be an easier way, I thought. Given that my mother ran a restaurant for a good few years, I was not unfamiliar with the concept of bulk cooking. Why not cook up batches of meals, and freeze them. Then DH could take a pack to work, and nuke it. Other advantage: I would be able to control all those other details such as salt intake, and hopefully, ensure that he had healthier lunches.
First lesson learned: fish curry does not a good lunch make, not if you are going to nuke it in a relatively small industrial building. I am a big one for aromatic cooking, but I think that one overdid it slightly.
Second lesson: portion control. This was LUNCH, and not his main meal. He was still expecting dinner, so go easy on the portion size.
Third lesson: some ingredients work better than others. Mooli, whilst a great addition to a curry, needs to cook for a while. I had been experimenting with slightly undercooking the food, so that when DH nuked his lunch, he didn't end up with babyfood. Mooli takes a loooong time to cook. Did I say that already? Get it wrong, and it is apparently like having chunks of wood in your lunch. Equally so, not all pasta is created equal. Blue Supermarket wholemeal pasta holds its shape much better than the Orange Supermarket wholemeal pasta. Rather critical if you want to avoid the babyfood scenario.
Fourth lesson: this is a fantastic way to try out new dishes. DH can't refuse to eat his lunch, or he will go hungry.
Still we do end up with some favourites:
The batch cooking means that I cook up around 50 packs each time, which is the equivalent of around 10 weeks of lunches. The cost is comparable with taking sandwiches, and the taste a lot more exciting. The only thing in which I had to invest was a pile of plastic 'Tubbits', but equally so, takeout boxes work also. As a working mother, it takes me a few hours every two months to put together a new batch of lunch packs, and then I don't have to worry about them. DH takes a frozen pack in the morning, and by lunchtime, it is sufficiently defrosted that he can heat it up without risking food poisoning.
So, if you or your significant other works somewhere with a microwave handy, why not give it a go? It saves money, if previous lunches are bought-in sandwiches. You can cater to specific tastes. If anyone wants any of my recipes, I am more than happy to supply them.
Goodnight, all!
Now, as a system, this worked quite well, but damn, it was expensive. There must be an easier way, I thought. Given that my mother ran a restaurant for a good few years, I was not unfamiliar with the concept of bulk cooking. Why not cook up batches of meals, and freeze them. Then DH could take a pack to work, and nuke it. Other advantage: I would be able to control all those other details such as salt intake, and hopefully, ensure that he had healthier lunches.
First lesson learned: fish curry does not a good lunch make, not if you are going to nuke it in a relatively small industrial building. I am a big one for aromatic cooking, but I think that one overdid it slightly.
Second lesson: portion control. This was LUNCH, and not his main meal. He was still expecting dinner, so go easy on the portion size.
Third lesson: some ingredients work better than others. Mooli, whilst a great addition to a curry, needs to cook for a while. I had been experimenting with slightly undercooking the food, so that when DH nuked his lunch, he didn't end up with babyfood. Mooli takes a loooong time to cook. Did I say that already? Get it wrong, and it is apparently like having chunks of wood in your lunch. Equally so, not all pasta is created equal. Blue Supermarket wholemeal pasta holds its shape much better than the Orange Supermarket wholemeal pasta. Rather critical if you want to avoid the babyfood scenario.
Fourth lesson: this is a fantastic way to try out new dishes. DH can't refuse to eat his lunch, or he will go hungry.
Still we do end up with some favourites:
- Chilli con carne: pretty much idiot proof.
- Something on a Chinese theme: a bit (well, a lot) of five spice seasoning, a bit of teriyaki and a helluva lot of vegetables.
- Something on an Italian theme (tomatoes, oregano and beef stock) with even more vegetables.
The batch cooking means that I cook up around 50 packs each time, which is the equivalent of around 10 weeks of lunches. The cost is comparable with taking sandwiches, and the taste a lot more exciting. The only thing in which I had to invest was a pile of plastic 'Tubbits', but equally so, takeout boxes work also. As a working mother, it takes me a few hours every two months to put together a new batch of lunch packs, and then I don't have to worry about them. DH takes a frozen pack in the morning, and by lunchtime, it is sufficiently defrosted that he can heat it up without risking food poisoning.
So, if you or your significant other works somewhere with a microwave handy, why not give it a go? It saves money, if previous lunches are bought-in sandwiches. You can cater to specific tastes. If anyone wants any of my recipes, I am more than happy to supply them.
Goodnight, all!
What a week! New job, cookery and Spamalot
No sooner had we returned from visiting my parents over the New Year, but I was off again, for the start of my new job. Poor doggies thought they were truly being abandoned, with Little Dog wrapping herself around DH just to be sure that he didn't disappear also, much to his frustration.
On the plus side, as far as the 'girls' were concerned, at long last, they managed to sleep during the day, once DH and DS went back to work and school respectively. Big Dog has a new lease of life, courtesy of the discovery that she absolutely loves clementines. All that Vitamin C seems to be doing her a world of good. Our 12.5 year old dog is running on her evening walk, being very vocal about Little Dog being silly, and generally not acting her age. Little Dog is, well, being Little Dog.
DS started using his moped this week, and had to work out the mysteries of putting petrol in, and how much it costs. Yes, he is paying for it on his card, but I am still supplying the funds. Still, it is good for him to grasp the basics of how much these things cost, now when it is not going to be critical.
I collected my new car, a very nice looking black Audi A4, which curiously does not have as many toys as my Honda Civic. Witness me nearly driving off without headlights, as I am so used to the automatic lights on the Honda. And, I am back to using CDs instead of my iPod, but I am sure I will cope. DH now has the Honda, so no more massive repair bills for his old Saxo. He is sure to be grumpy about it, just on principle. Then I had three days in Dublin, with transport provided by Ryanair. I must say that, despite what people seem to think of budget airlines, I have not yet had a problem with them, and I have been using them a fair bit recently. A nice bottle of whiskey from Stansted, and I was headed home,
Today was a cookery day. In a valiant attempt to force DH to lose some weight, I started making up freezer packs for his lunch, each meal being worked out on the basis of calories/carbohydrate content. As he is not cycling much at the moment, he doesn't need all the carbs. So, the offerings this time were:
1. Chilli con carne with a cajun twist, with basmati and wild rice
2. Lamb 'ras-el-hanout', with apricots and raisins, served with rice
3. Beef 'pot-au-feu' stuffed with vegetables, with just enough pasta so DH doesn't feel cheated
4. Teriyaki chicken with vegetables (lots of them) and egg noodles, again just enough for the look.
DS tried the lamb ras-el-hanout, and described it as really tasting of the fruit, but "It's OK" was the only feedback Gah! Sometimes finding out how these recipes taste can be so difficult.
So, I thought I would close off the week by buying some tickets for Spamalot, which I went to see for my 40th birthday when it was in London. However, finding out that 'front balcony' tickets were six rows from the back, and thus limited view, really put me off that plan. Time to kick back and relax and perhaps have a nice tot of Bowmore Enigma malt whiskey. Cheers, everyone!
On the plus side, as far as the 'girls' were concerned, at long last, they managed to sleep during the day, once DH and DS went back to work and school respectively. Big Dog has a new lease of life, courtesy of the discovery that she absolutely loves clementines. All that Vitamin C seems to be doing her a world of good. Our 12.5 year old dog is running on her evening walk, being very vocal about Little Dog being silly, and generally not acting her age. Little Dog is, well, being Little Dog.
DS started using his moped this week, and had to work out the mysteries of putting petrol in, and how much it costs. Yes, he is paying for it on his card, but I am still supplying the funds. Still, it is good for him to grasp the basics of how much these things cost, now when it is not going to be critical.
I collected my new car, a very nice looking black Audi A4, which curiously does not have as many toys as my Honda Civic. Witness me nearly driving off without headlights, as I am so used to the automatic lights on the Honda. And, I am back to using CDs instead of my iPod, but I am sure I will cope. DH now has the Honda, so no more massive repair bills for his old Saxo. He is sure to be grumpy about it, just on principle. Then I had three days in Dublin, with transport provided by Ryanair. I must say that, despite what people seem to think of budget airlines, I have not yet had a problem with them, and I have been using them a fair bit recently. A nice bottle of whiskey from Stansted, and I was headed home,
Today was a cookery day. In a valiant attempt to force DH to lose some weight, I started making up freezer packs for his lunch, each meal being worked out on the basis of calories/carbohydrate content. As he is not cycling much at the moment, he doesn't need all the carbs. So, the offerings this time were:
1. Chilli con carne with a cajun twist, with basmati and wild rice
2. Lamb 'ras-el-hanout', with apricots and raisins, served with rice
3. Beef 'pot-au-feu' stuffed with vegetables, with just enough pasta so DH doesn't feel cheated
4. Teriyaki chicken with vegetables (lots of them) and egg noodles, again just enough for the look.
DS tried the lamb ras-el-hanout, and described it as really tasting of the fruit, but "It's OK" was the only feedback Gah! Sometimes finding out how these recipes taste can be so difficult.
So, I thought I would close off the week by buying some tickets for Spamalot, which I went to see for my 40th birthday when it was in London. However, finding out that 'front balcony' tickets were six rows from the back, and thus limited view, really put me off that plan. Time to kick back and relax and perhaps have a nice tot of Bowmore Enigma malt whiskey. Cheers, everyone!
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