Squeezing life into days off

Is it a Gemini thing to just be distracted so easily that I don't have anything I've done all my life or is that just a me thing?

Schools are so career focused now that we may as well be asking pet humans (small, young people), as soon as they can hold a conversation, what uniform to order them for when they're job-hunting. I was never really that decisive about careers - or anything, for that matter - but explored many options. I only took Drama at University because higher education was the natural path for anyone clever and I was particularly good at Drama-related things. I still don't exactly know what I want to do for the rest of my life but I'd quite like to try many things. That's the problem: employers don't want you to be adventurous, they want you to stay in the company forever. To move half your possessions in, train like a Labrador at Crufts and sign your life on the dotted line.

It doesn't help that most jobs require experience. The catch-22. I'm an unlikely employee of Mitchell and Butlers because, I'm told, in this 'economic climate' to get a bar/waiter job one has to have bar/waiter experience. It's because I'm likeable that I'm still there, apparently, and haven't been shunted out by someone with a one-track CV. Is it any wonder there's an ethos of being miserable in a loathsome job? Not mine, I actually quite like mine. But in general, I'm saying.

Life is much more interesting than a job. Granted, there are brilliant jobs out there for people who have enough training. For PhD students/graduates, for example. Yes, well done, you've spent a bazillion hours at University. Here, have an excellently paid job that you enjoy and in which you are treated like a God. Also welcome to half-way-up-the-career-ladder.

For those of us who aren't sure yet, there's the beauty of unpaid experience to be had. And even then, you have to have experience to get that. The catch-22. Sure, if you show enough enthusiasm and knowledge you can get most entry-level jobs. But that's on the off chance that you're not in competition with someone who has had that same job already in a different company or city.

So many of my working friends look forward to days off or holidays and cheer when there's a bank holiday. That's because life starts then. Some find life in a lay-in, a huge breakfast and lazing about with a film or a book. Some go off and get exhausted up mountains or on squillion mile walks. Either way, life doesn't include work. I'm moving to Essex in the summer and I'm spending most of my time researching running clubs and scanning the map of the area to spot good lengthy runs to complement my upcoming training. The snow is finally gone which meant that last night/this morning after work I ran home just to enjoy the non-slippy ground again. And I bounded out of bed to stride over to the corner shop in record time to get the Sunday paper before breakfast, grinning that I could finally do that rather than timidly balancing on the ice. The snow/ice was work. Now it's gone, I'm full of life.

The point I'm trying to make, in a very me way, is that employers should really loosen up and see transferable skills as an actual thing. I was taught that they are fantastic and mean that you can sell yourself to any company. Apparently that was just because I was so excited by all of the careers that it was my only get-out-of-jail card. Invest in people, good companies. People are good. People are interesting, happy and have life in them. Career drones are robots, programmed to be so single-minded that there's no room for adaptation. People are so much more fun.

The beauty of the pun

A showcase of puns hits the social media platforms whenever a huge news story breaks out. Twitter explodes with an array of fantastic manipulations of language ranging from acceptable to Dad-jokes, all the way to stinkingly offensive. In the mane area of the horse-meat burger scandal, my favourite was a tweak of Shakespeare's most famous line from Hamlet: "In beef or not in beef, that is equestrian." Intelligent on so many levels. When I shared this pocket of pleasure with my boyfriend, he didn't quite enjoy it as much as I did.

But is this a normal pleasure or should I mark it in the guilty pile? Puns do appear to be more popular in the Dad-joke arena, sharing some air time with bad birthday cards, but that shouldn't make them any less indulgent. Another of my top five does happen to be one of the most uncool jokes in the world, possibly the universe: "You're so street, you're practically pavement." It made one of my colleagues laugh, anyway, so I'm taking that as a win. No one needs to know that she then remarked that the things that come out of my mouth are just plain weird.

Surely word play jokes are a way to show how well you know a language and should be honoured in the highest form of wit, should you be so clever as to be able to come out with them straight away. For example, at another workplace, my manager was telling us how she needed to take the afternoon off to fix a gate at home. After the long-winded story, I accepted her excuse and said "Well, as long as you're replacing a gate and not taking a fence." A groan and a giggle meant it was well received. Tag-team puns would happen in my student job whereby we would unknowingly set up a beautiful corker and congratulate or punish the joker where appropriate.

Long may we pun.

Siiimbaaa!

People aren't called Ophelia anymore. There were no Huckleberrys or Ebeneezers in my school. Names are just a bit common and dull now, really. But I would say that, I'm used to them.

Overhearing a conversation about what a friend should call her unborn child, I thought about influences from popular media and the rise in popularity of more unique names like Apple. According to the Office of National Statistics (ONS), Harry was most likely to be the name of your new male pet human in 2011 whilst Amelia was the wide-eyed angel of innocence leading the female race. It's logical that household names will be the first choice because they'll be in your head already. Harry known for, depending on your lifestyle, being a Prince, a boy wizard or being that one with the flippy hair from One Direction. Amelia: the Doctor's companion or the young and feisty comeback queen from Strictly Come X Factor On Ice. Popular culture inevitably dictates the names we're going to shout when something is broken or dinner's ready.

I won't be surprised if Bella (already at #69) and Edward (quietly confident at #40) top the charts when 2012's statistics are revealed. Perhaps Kate or Pippa will make their comeback post-Royal Wedding. Olympic winners are likely to also feature strongly, maybe in an effort to tempt fate and create our future athletes. In a decade or so when I'm (maybe) carting my child to and from school, I will likely find it normal to hear stories about how Katniss has the best pencil case and how Ron kept copying maths answers.

Apparently fans of vowel endings, most parents name their children after faux adjectives (Daisy, Ruby, Alfie) and the traditional long name that can be shortened to make a nickname is long-gone. This opens up the possibilities for fantastic nicknames. No more do we stop at simply being lazy with each others names - Alexander becoming Alex, Thomas becoming Tom. Now we can focus on beautiful nicknames that bring us closer together and relate to something relevant to individuality. You know what I'm talking about. Like in How I Met Your Mother when the barista mishears Barney's name as Swarley which earns him this nickname for several weeks. Or when I was young, my Mother refused to allow Vicky as an alternative so my best friend gave me a different nickname every few days. My favourite, and entirely unexplained even at the time, was Little House On The Prairie On Wheels. No? Okay, perhaps overactive childish imaginations won't produce something like that again in a few decades. We'll have to wait and see.

Explode ALL of the fireworks

Countdown to 2013, Big Ben chimes, suddenly the sky is on fire for over 10 minutes. Subtlety was absent from the planners' dictionaries, I reckon. Though this year it was set to music and a couple of clips of Cameron, Boris and the Royals commenting on the year, the Jubilee and the Olympics, there was a lack of shading.

I'm not sure why I expected something new as I've seen year upon year of midnight explosions, now, and the variation is minimal. Forgive me for comparing something as expensive as London's New Year fireworks to a meagre £6k Wythall display in November but cheaper is better. Wythall's display included deliberate pauses and crescendoes rather than a constant attack. The end was defined and noticeable. It lasted longer. It didn't try too hard. The fireworks were visible, rather than described as "oooh, pastel colours" in parts.

As for the choice of music, I'm equally disappointed. Akin to the big bangs, the sound engineers crammed in as many popular tracks as they could. I spotted Dizzee Rascal's Bonkers towards the end which, I might add, was not famed in 2012 at all. Did they cram so many songs in that they had to dip into previous years? Is my popular music rant deserving of perhaps suggesting that I'm getting old or was it really just a bit naff?

Admittedly, when I could see the fireworks through the smoke it did look impressive. Just not impressive enough. If the planners had reeled it in a bit and spread out the massive displays to weave with some smaller shows it would have held my concentration for longer and made me far more interested in what was going to come next.

When I saw the London fireworks for myself, squished at the banks of the Thames in 2010, one of the best moments was the very end when the sky slowly cleared and the twinkles from the last explosion faded. The crowd crescendoed to a deafening cheer and shouts of "Happy New Year!" in all different languages and accents were heard. The BBC always miss that bit and cut the edit immediately after the last firework has done its duty. Shame.

But what can one hope for after such an intense year focused on London's expertise? We've burnt out a bit with the Olympics, Paralympics and Jubilee. Maybe 2013's display will be longer, more subtle and with a bit more care.

99% less death but much more visibility: a moral dilemma

E-cigarettes confuse me. They don't smell, they don't threaten the unwilling with diseases and they're apparently cheaper in relative terms. I've recounted my qualms regarding the real deal before and it seems the new version of the death stick features 99% less death so I should be happy.

I grew up after the smoking ban so I have little memory of what it was like in pubs and restaurants under a cloud of cancer, though there are some recollections of being annoyed with poorly placed air conditioning units in non-smoking areas. On Sundays, during daylight, at my pub there's an average ratio of 1:5 children to adults. My gut reaction was tested when I saw a regular customer use a very real-looking e-cig when there were families around enjoying a quiet lunch. Initially I was used to seeing the thin vapour so thought nothing of it then it dawned on me that this occurence would not be the norm for inquisitive kids. Upon seeing a respectable-looking adult casually enjoying a cigarette, electronic or not, a young non-smoker will remember and either be intrigued or passive. The intrigue is worrying.

As far as I know, electronic cigarettes are initially more expensive and less accessible than the standard death stick. Logic states that an inquisitive onlooker may be inclined to buy fags after seeing them. Obviously I acknowledge that the majority of people will not be affected by seeing cigarettes more often so my concern is minor, not to pun.

Time will tell what the e-cig will do for social, family places like pubs, restaurants and cafes.

For now, I reserve the right to be concerned but further reserve understanding.

Head in the clouds

Climb Ben Nevis? Why would you want to put yourself through such a physical challenge and endure the aches for the following couple of days? Well, it is quite fun.

On New Year's Eve morning, my significant other wombled off to be the tallest man in Britain for a minute or three and left me to my own devices for the day. He expected me to sleep for a few hours then read and perhaps explore the centre or even a flat walk. However, when he called me to tell me he made it to the top, I was already 690m up Nevis myself. Seeing him all kitted up inspired me to scooch over to the nearest Highland Centre and buy some waterproofs, a hat and gloves and see how far I could make it. 

As far as I can remember, I'd never actually reached the summit of any mountain or substantial hill. Ever. I'd been dragged on plenty of walks in Derbyshire and the Peak District but the pinnacle, so to speak, had never befriended me. My boyfriend is a seasoned masochist for walking and hiking so he was in very good shape to mount Nevis (apologies for the awful pun). He was perfectly tolerant when I politely refused to join him and let me have a relaxing day in the Highlands, expecting the peak of my physical day to be chatting to a sheep in a very nearby field.

It isn't as if I do absolutely nothing physically demanding, though. I like to call myself a runner and try to keep up with training in that respect. Road running is fun, for me, and though I'm not as fit as I hoped I would be when I started running, I manage to keep at least some discipline. When I was younger, too, I'd hop on a train and go for a walk round the Peaks for funsies. They'd be flat walks but I'd enjoy it, longingly gazing at the surrounding hills and wanting to be able to clamber up to their clouds.

So on New Year's Eve morning, I set off towards the Nevis range, got my feet absolutely soaked within the first half an hour thanks to a mini-lake in my path and challenged myself to catch up to walkers ahead every so often. Rather than setting a goal of height or time or distance, I'd just reach checkpoints or embrace the relentless desire to 'see what's on that sign' or 'get to that waterfall'. I'm glad I stopped at 690m. To me, that's a bloody impressive height. According to walkjogrun.net, it was about a 4.5mile journey from the hotel. My watch told me it took just under 3 hours of climbing, which, if you notice I took several stops to take photos and weigh-up the obstacles, is pretty good for a first-time mountain-climber.

The reason I stopped where I did was because I was faced with a pretty strong waterfall to cross, followed by not a stone path but a snow-covered side of the mountain. There was no way my shoes would have protected my feet, there, or that my balance would have allowed me to stay upright. There was a small bit of traffic, too, as the snowy pass was only a one-person attempt. I waited on a rock just before the waterfall and got talking to a very friendly Barnsley walker who'd just been to the summit. He told me how high I was (without him I'd never know exactly - thank you so much!) and showed me a video of himself at the summit, surrounded by snow and thick cloud. His bag was frozen solid with no chance of opening the zips for a while and his pride was infectious. Having seen minor celebrities climb mountains on TV for charity, my perspective on mountain climbing was that it was a thing that only happened on the telly box. My brother does a fair bit of it himself but I'd never been there so it never occurred to me that these things actually happened. Odd logic, I realise. But Barnsley man showed me that video and I was so taken aback. This man was sitting next to me, had been at the summit only 2 hours ago and I was on Ben Bloody Nevis. We shared a bit of a moment when he looked out in front at the view and told me it was the first view he'd had all day because on his way up the fog was so thick he was only concentrating on marking out the path in front of him. Barnsley man, I salute you.

The first thing my boyfriend said when he finally appeared round the corner and reached me was, "You have waterproofs?". I think it took him a while to realise my personal achievement but it was lovely going back down the mountain with him. Even though I slowed him down massively. It means, also, that I actually have photos of me clambering over rocks and pathetically attempting to be somewhat adventurous.

So climbing Nevis was one of the best spontaneous trips I've made in my life so far. I reached incredible heights, saw amazing views, breathed very fresh Highland air, drank very cold Highland water, got a massive rush of adrenaline, met an inspirational bloke, inspired my boyfriend to take a photo of us both (this is a big deal - he doesn't do photos!) and got rewarded with the satisfying ache of muscles the day after. And infinitely saved a bit of a naff New Year's midnight.

Click to view the route I took.