A life less ordinary
So, I had the interview today. It didn't go very well - not because I didn't take opportunities to show my intellect, but more because there was no chemistry generated at all. I was really disappointed with the people interviewing me, a deputy director of the unit and a senior civil servant. There was no warmth or engagement, or even a proper grilling, and it felt... banal. The questions were unsettlingly mundane, and it felt as though they were both just trying to get to the end of a long, hard day.
I'd like to think that interviews are an opportunity to try and create a spark, to uncover a hidden gem, to reveal the flash of talent. If the job at the Institute comes off, I will be ensuring that I take ALL interviews and I'll look to give people as many chances as possible to shine.
On a more lyrical note... It has been a bizarre weekend and start to the week. I've been taking in the season. On my way to Admiralty Arch, I stopped at Trafalgar Square, and watched the peoples for a while. Taking a hiatus from it all opens up the mind's eye, something magnificent. This is never more so than at the festive season.
It's the xmas period, and all over London, people are waltzing to a tune of merry abandon. Workers scurry from office to party, from party to each other's beds, sighing and smiling. Misdemeanours, adultery, and in some cases the expression of true love - where for months interest has been rarified into angelic stand-off, the xmas (alcoholic) cheer presents opportunities for the lovelorn to declare newly unbridled passion with impunity.
The suicide rate rises at Christmas, according to figures by the Samaritans, on account of the accentuated effect on the lonely. Whilst the fortunate amongst us are guzzling warm cinnamon wine and egg nog (yuk!), or wallowing in the refuge of our families, the less fortunate are ruing their lack of such warmth, and terminally so. Ironic, therefore, that at a time of year when society should define itself in the enfranchisement of the isolated and marginalised, that festivity becomes lethal to the excluded.
Tonight, the air was crisp and smokey, the windchill numbing my fingers and watering my eyes on Waterloo Bridge as I trod to the south. In the underpass by the IMAX, a homeless guy with a paper cup was unwrapping a fresh pack of Camels, and lighting up with a fumble of grubby fingers.
I'd like to think that interviews are an opportunity to try and create a spark, to uncover a hidden gem, to reveal the flash of talent. If the job at the Institute comes off, I will be ensuring that I take ALL interviews and I'll look to give people as many chances as possible to shine.
On a more lyrical note... It has been a bizarre weekend and start to the week. I've been taking in the season. On my way to Admiralty Arch, I stopped at Trafalgar Square, and watched the peoples for a while. Taking a hiatus from it all opens up the mind's eye, something magnificent. This is never more so than at the festive season.
It's the xmas period, and all over London, people are waltzing to a tune of merry abandon. Workers scurry from office to party, from party to each other's beds, sighing and smiling. Misdemeanours, adultery, and in some cases the expression of true love - where for months interest has been rarified into angelic stand-off, the xmas (alcoholic) cheer presents opportunities for the lovelorn to declare newly unbridled passion with impunity.
The suicide rate rises at Christmas, according to figures by the Samaritans, on account of the accentuated effect on the lonely. Whilst the fortunate amongst us are guzzling warm cinnamon wine and egg nog (yuk!), or wallowing in the refuge of our families, the less fortunate are ruing their lack of such warmth, and terminally so. Ironic, therefore, that at a time of year when society should define itself in the enfranchisement of the isolated and marginalised, that festivity becomes lethal to the excluded.
Tonight, the air was crisp and smokey, the windchill numbing my fingers and watering my eyes on Waterloo Bridge as I trod to the south. In the underpass by the IMAX, a homeless guy with a paper cup was unwrapping a fresh pack of Camels, and lighting up with a fumble of grubby fingers.
posted by nickwong8 at 8:47 pm
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