This is the yard on the St Jude estate after the workmen have been playing in it today.

If you look closely do you see how the trench is beautifully aligned with the gate, the only gate to this part of the property! So I hope that no unsuspecting people happen to be lurking in the dark hours and stumble into it.

But worse still I have to carry the little white hairy monster in the forground over the hole to get to the garden you can see beyond. Even worse still is that I have to man handle big girl, the black dog at the back, over the hole. Guess who's going to have a sore back tommorow.

Of course after yesterdays debacle of the 5am waking and then at the vets... that hole does look very tempting.








Oh for heavens sake I wouldn't... I'm a saint ;0}

Karma??

Ah it's a hard life...

especially when you've had everyone in the house up since 5.00am.

Ssh.. don't tell him but he's heading for the vet's this evening for his annual booster. Bless!!!

Hmmph! The holiday is over and I'm back. An eight hour flight and a four hour car drive. There was no milk in the fridge so I couldn't have a cuppa, no food, (not that we need to eat again for a week), and I was ready to collapse into bed, unfortunately it was only 2.30pm so it might have been a tad early.

We swam in the Carribean Ocean everyday, went sailing most afternoons in a catamaran, snorkelling and got stung by a shoal of jelly fish, (not on my list of repeat activities), and drank champagne as we watched the sunset each evening.

We dined in fine restaurants enjoying the native Carribian cuisine, French haute cuisine and Japanese Tempanyaki, all whilst overlooking the beautiful bay and the surrounding countryside.

I am an early riser and so even when in paradise I like to rise and watch the dawn break, what a dawn, glowing and shimmering over the Piton mountains the sun would creep into the sky to herald the start of another beautiful day. I would sit on the wall by the sea just a few yards from our veranda with my early morning cup of tea and marvel at the spectacle. As I sat there the resort staff would amble by to start their day and each would give me a wave and a cheery good morning. Every morning I would reply to each of them and wish them a good day.

When the sun rose to it's full strength throughout the middle of the day his Lordship and I would retire to our blossom trimmed veranda to read and watch the lizards as they darted about on the look out for a tasty morsel of two, they would join us occasionally basking in the heat of the day on our walls watching as we sat reading.

Humming birds would beat the still air to a frenzy as they came to drink from the flowers and we would marvel at their beautiful jewelled colours. Later in the evening cane toads would appear on the lawn and croon to their mates as the bats whirled and swooped out over the sea catching insects on the wing.

Paradise indeed.

However I am always mindful that my experience of this 'paradise' is not always reality. Those same people who greeted me every morning with a cheery hello, who cleaned our rooms, who served our meals and our drinks, who made every effort to ensure that our holiday was outstanding live there year round. My paradise does not involve living in a 'shanty town', without sanitation or running water or electricity or working long hours on banana plantations for a few dollars a week. Does that put me off visiting again? No, because without the tourist industry there would be even fewer jobs, less wages, and fewer opportunities for those people living there to fulfil their ambitions. I met several of the resort staff who have taken opportunities to gain qualifications in various areas and they have used them to their benefit. I was pleased to note that the majority of the management staff were native islanders.

Some people may say that the tourism industry erodes the natural way of life and the customs and culture of the area, maybe they are right and that is a tragedy. Some also say that without tourism and outside influence those living in these places would not aspire to the trappings of that lifestyle. I honestly do not know the answers but I will ask the questions. And some unfortunately, like so many of the visitors I met during our holiday do not give any of it a second thought, they are oblivious, immune, or uninterested in the lives and fortunes of their gracious hosts.

Bon Voyage

Well my little treacle tarts, I am finally heading off for the sun and some well earned relaxation. No wild parties or raiding the fridge whilst I'm gone. Sorry all the chicken boobs were eaten last night by his Lordship.

Whilst I'm away I thought you might like to drop by some of these to say hello:

Shordan

Duta

Kevin

I'll be keeping up with you all whilst I'm away, oh and I haven't forgotten the Arctic posts or the new 'cultural experiment'. I'll be working on them whilst I am sipping cocktails by the pool. It's a dirty job... as they say.

Lazy Sunday

Well guess what I have been doing today? READING.. for pleasure in my lofty study. Hmm.

So as I am otherwise entertained I have posted the original 'Cultural Exercise' as some of you are new around here and have not had the pleasure. I am currently working on another which will be posted shortly.

This is a follow up to a comment I made on my friend Atilla's post 'What a Boob' .


A Little Cultural Exercise
In the interests of cultural science and as an experiment in political correctness I headed off to Sainsburys, my local supermarket, and marched up to the meat counter. The conversation went as follows:


"Hello there, I'd like a couple of those chicken boobs please?"

"Erm sorry Madam?" the young man behind the counter coughed nervously.

"A couple of those chicken boobs, please," I said pointing at the nice plump mound of chicken flesh.

He eyed me suspiciously before answering, "You'd like two chicken breasts madam?"


"Yes dear, that's what I said, a couple of chicken boobs," I winked.


The nice young man behind the counter stepped back a little as he reached for his tongs.


"Actually dear, could you make them large ones. I'm entertaining tonight."


"Er yes madam," he picked up a nice plump chicken 'boob' and put it into the bag. Then he started to pick up another, still watching me from the corner of his eye.


"Sorry to be a nuisance, but could you possibly make them the same size please, I prefer a good 'balance',"


Yes that was definitely the turning point. His hand slid under the counter and within a couple of minutes a rather large butcher, replete with bloodstained pinney and chopper appeared from the backroom door.


"Please step away from the counter Madam." I obeyed, of course. "Do we appear to be having a problem here?" he enquired nervously, chopper at the ready.


I suddenly felt a 'presence' at my side, "You're for it now... Chicken boobs!" someone whispered in my ear. I turned to find an elderly gentleman who had been behind me in the queue.


"Back off Grandad, this is a serious experiment in social etiquette."


"Yeh, that's what I used to tell the wife. I'd watch the big one, he asn't got a sense of humour missus."


extracting myself from the riveting conversation with the elderly chap, I returned my attention to the butcher. "No," I replied demurely, "I'm being served thank you."


"What was it you were after?" he asked huffily


" Chicken boobs, but it's quite all right your young man there has it all in hand thank you." I replied cheerily.


Well suffice to say the experiment had to be suspended at that point as a somewhat unamused butcher accompanied by a very nice young security guard escorted me to the door. My protests of a very serious miscarriage of judgment on their part and claims of saintly standing did not wash. Even when I explained that I was conducting a very serious experiment on behalf of the renowned Attila Institute in the Rockies, they were having none of it.


So there you have it, a cultural experiment in cross species political correctness. Just remember in future we are definitely not 'birds', it would appear there is slightly more political correctness surrounding their 'breasts'.

This is St Jude Mmr, Cjd, Nut, Dip Py, until my next assignment, signing off.

For more 'Cultural Exercises' follow the link below.

It's over. I'm freeeeeee, yes  I have just hit the send button and my assignment is winging it's way through the ether. No more studying, no more essays... school is finally out.

So I think it's time to PARTY!! Drink anyone?

Please Do Disturb!!

Well, I am on with it. Yes 5000 words and counting down my assignment as the deadline for submission is next Friday. My Sunday will be a mire of books, essays, journals and all manner of studious paraphernalia. Copious amounts of tea and perhaps some bickies. But there is a bolt of light at the end of this very long and dark tunnel. This will be the last Sunday that I spend behind my desk in my lofty study rumminating the workings of the criminal mind. I do indeed have a lofty study, I look out onto the tree tops and gardens surrounding the St Jude estate. When her Ladyship finally flew the nest I took over the largest of the attic rooms, her sitting room.  It is now my study, insulated from the outside world with a lining of books many yet to read. Waiting patiently over the past two years for me to finish my studies and once again revel in their words. Next Sunday I shall retire to this lofty paradise and peruse my bookshelves, I shall re-acquaint myself with old friends and reminisce over favourite stories. Then I shall select a new and exciting adventure in which to escape, slide onto the sofa and immerse myself into another's world. 


But that is next Sunday, today is another matter.

Wakey Wakey

It's 8.30am, I've been up since 6.00am, (a sleep in, wonderful), with my two youngest grandchildren. They have been fed and watered and now they are playing... up!

It was a late night and they are tired... they are not the only ones. Don't you just love late nights, early mornings and children, what a cocktail! Ooh that sounds sooo good not sure at this time on a morning though.

Have fun.

It doesn't matter how old your children are, there are still times when they want their mum and no one else will do.  Yes I can offer motherly advice down the phone, but I can't hug her when I can hear her trying to talk back to me through the sobs.  I can tell her that I love her, but I can't show her by kissing her tears away. I can hold her attention but not her hand.  I know that she will be alright, why, because I'm twice her age and I've seen it all before. Relationships, trust me your children's are always more difficult than your own. If you can't go over it, under it or around it you just have to go through it and hope that you come out the other side better for it!

Have a lovely weekend everyone... I can feel some retail therapy coming on ;0}

Ring Ring

This morning I got a phone call. "Hello"

"Who's that?" A woman enquired.

"Don't you know? You've just called me." I replied somewhat confused

"Where's Hilda?"

"I have no idea."

"What are you doing there?" She demanded

"Eating my breakfast,"

"At Hilda's?"

"I'm not at Hilda's, I'm at my house," I was a tad miffed

"Then why are you answering her phone?" She said with a note of triumph.

"Madam I believe you have dialled the wrong number"

"No I haven't, I have it here in front of me, I dialled 274958."

"Well yes you have me there, your dialling skills are impeccable, that is indeed the number you have dialled, my number." I informed her.

"No it isn't it's Hilda's number she wrote it down for me. What have you done with her? I want to speak to her immediately" The note of hysteria in her voice made me panic and I slammed the phone down.

I apologise Hilda, but I think perhaps you had better put the kettle on, I have a sneaking suspicion you are about to receive some visitors.

Another Medal in the bag.. part 2

Well the assignments came thick and fast and more to the point as this was my final year they were required to move up a notch and they were also getting quite lengthy in the old word count area. (Did I mention that I still have one last assignment to write? Hmm, as I told you exciting ways to procrastinate.) I put my heart and soul into them, and a hefty chunk or so of previous assignments. No point in letting perfectly good stuff go to waste.

In March it was our 28th wedding anniversary, (I know I've aged well, I also have a painting in my attic), and so once again his Lordship being ever the romantic that he is booked a suprise holiday. A long weekend to the Arctic.. again! Once more my dreams of warm and sultry days languishing on a beach and balmy nights tasting the local cuisine were rudely snatched from my poor aching brain. But there were polar bears and this time lightshows too.

As our weekend faded into memory I got my head down and ploughed on with my studies. My earlier bout of flu had taken its toll and I was unable to burn the midnight oil any longer or rise with the larks. My case load was increasing and the morally challenged seemed more challenging than ever. They are not renowned for their intellectual prowess, or decision making skills nor do they tend to have much get up and go, unless the boys in blue are on their tails. Because of this some have the ability to sap your patience from 300 yards away without even breaking a sweat. 

One such young man became my nemesis for a short while. I doubt that under normal circumstances I would have batted an eyelid at his behaviour, however my life felt far from normal at this point and the phrase, 'sin lieth at the door'* became my raison d'etre. Young Erbert, as he shall be known, arrived on my desk during the second week of April. He was 20 years old and he already had a string of convictions as long as my arm, nay an orangutangs' arm. Most of them were related to fights whilst drunk and public disorder.
On the morning of his first appointment I received a telephone call. 'Hello St Jude speaking,'

'ello I'm Erbert's dad, ee won't be coming in today, ee's not well.'

'oh dear, what are the symptoms?' I asked Erbert the elder.

'ee's bin sick an ee's got a banging eadache, so ee's in bed, it must be food poisoning.'

That would be the kebab and not the dozen or so pints he consumed prior to eating it then, I thought. 'I'll need a sicknote if he can't come in, those are the rules' I explained. Erbert the elder grumbled down the phone and left it at that. Slightly before close of play that day I received a call from reception to tell me that young Erbert was there. As I arrived I noted that he was accompanied by a rather rotund and redfaced chap, Erbert the elder I assumed. I greeted young Erbert, 'good afternoon Lazarus, it's good to see you have recovered so quickly.' Erbert the elder shot me a look of confusion,

'is name's Erbert,'

Too tired to explain I escorted them to an interview room. No sooner had the door closed than Erbert the elder started his offensive, 'it's ormones, ee's just doing what lads do, ormones!'

'He's twenty, isn't he a little old for hormones?' I enquired.

'Late starter,' Erbert the elder said emphatically.

I looked at young Erbert who was smiling smugly at me, 'so what you are actually telling me Mr Erbert the elder is that your son is juvenile in his behaviour and immature in his thinking, would that be correct?'  Young Erberts' grin slipped.

'Boys will be boys, you know what it's like they get into scrapes.'

'Then may I suggest that now would be a good point for your boy to grow up, I am not  entirely sure that he can afford to get into any more 'scrapes'.'

As the weeks passed by young Erbert would appear at the office, occasionally on the correct day, rarely at the correct time. He refused to talk about his behaviour preferring to regale me with the lurid details of his increasing nights out with his friends and their antics. When I enquired about potential employment he informed me that he did not have the time to work, what with the many appointments he had to keep, primarily with me and to sign on at the jobcentre for his benefits. By mid June I had decided that if neither he nor his father were prepared to make the changes then I would. There are times when people have to be shown the consequences of their behaviour and so I requested that he be taken back to Court and that the Judge send him for a short spell in prison. Yes I have the power to do that, not a power I take lightly, but on occasion I use it. Think of it as a kind of 'tough love' thing. So young Erbert is now spending some time at Her Majesty's Pleasure, I hope contemplating the consequences of his  behaviour, and whilst there perhaps his 'ormones' will settle down a little. And what of Erbert the elder, it appears he has become a man of letters, weekly so I hear, too embarrassed to visit his son in person. 'Sin lieth at the door'. 

In July the dreaded flu put in another appearance only this time it had a curly tail and went oink, oink. I was not impressed. I emerged from my quarantine unscathed, however I do have an incredible ability to root out truffles at a 100 paces. His Lordship announced that he had booked another suprise holiday. So over the next few days I began to assemble thermals, gloves, hats, boots etc in one of the guest rooms ready to pack. Then one day I wandered into the room and to my horror they had all gone, in their place though lay a natty little bathing suit and beside it two first class tickets to St Lucia staying at a five star resort... and yes with our own personal concierge. He knows me so well.

There is just one small matter that has to be resolved before I head to paradise... 5000 words!!



*Genesis 4:7 - don't look so surprised, I'm a Saint I'm supposed to know this stuff.

Another Medal in the Bag...

Well heavens where do I begin. I've now completed my degree, well almost, I have one last 5000 word assignment to write this weekend. I have crammed a three year degree into two... my brain is fried but I have discovered new and exciting ways to procrastinate. In fact if there were Olympic medals for it I would be up there on the podium. I did discover a tiny little hitch early on when I was informed that my particular writing style was not especially adapted to academia. Lecturers are a tad stuffy at times I have to say I do recall one of them telling me;

'you're not an academic are you St Jude!'

'hell no my dear,' I smiled, 'but I am terribly good at canapes and cocktails... oh and by the way plaid is so last season, actually my dear it is so last century.'

She was a game old bird and took it on the chins well. She did make me realise however that my lifestyle and writing style would have to alter considerably. So I put my party frocks into mothballs and dusted down my laptop, signed on at the local uni library and set the little grey cells to study mode. Although I may at first glance appear to be somewhat soft and fluffy I do in actual fact have an underlying rod of iron however there have been times when my resilience has been sorely tested.

During the first year of my studies I had numerous lectures and training courses to attend with assignment dates descending thick and fast, at one stage almost monthly. I was also expected to carry a case load and still attempt to find the time and energy to enjoy fleeting moments with my family. By the end of the first Spring his Lordship told me I needed a holiday. White sandy beaches, swaying palm trees, turquoise sea and my own personal concierge to wait on my whims. Bliss! So I immediately agreed. Over the following weeks I could hardly contain myself waiting for the moment when I would step from the plane onto some wonderful exotic land. My first doubts were raised when his Lordship told me that we were going shopping for the holiday. His Lordship does not do shopping other than when gadgets or 'equipment' is involved. This was equipment shopping.

Now forgive me for being a little dim and slow on the uptake, but I did rather have my mind on other things at the time. I nodded inanely when the lady in the shop showed me the pretty pink thermals with the lacy bottoms, I haplessly stood like a mannequin when she dressed me in sallopets and jacket. I even giggled when she rammed what can only be described as something akin to a dead cat on my head telling me I looked a picture. Of what I can only now imagine, and this is when his Lordship broke the news to me, I was heading for the Arctic. There would be polar bears he assured me, lovely, 'do they serve cocktails?' I enquired.

Our Arctic sojourn over I threw myself back into my studies, my case load was increasing and I was now dealing with some thoroughly nasty and dangerous characters. By the Autumn I was starting to feel a little drained. By early December of 2008 I was in two minds as to whether I could actually pull this off. Then in mid December my rod of iron made me aware that there was some serious corrosion happening. My best friend left me, she had it transpired been ill for many months but she had kept it from me. She had been there for me through some of the worst times of my life and the best. Her name was Tyke. The vet tried to save her for four days but in the end I had to do the 'right' thing and let her go. So on 9th December 2008 I said my final farewell. On 10th December I came down with a bout of flu that almost called a halt to my dream and would take several months to recover from.

I had two assignments due in at the end of January 2009 and I had to write them from my sick bed. His Lordship was wonderful, he brought me tea, in my favourite china of course, he brought me food, even when I didn't feel hungry and patiently tried to get me to eat it, but most of all he carried the huge tomes from which I was working back and forth to the bedroom and helped me to research for my assignments. I got them in on time. Two weeks later I received an email from the plaid clad lecturer:

Morning St Jude
just reading through your assignments and I have to say I am somewhat disappointed with them. (Oh really! a slight clenching of the jaw.) You have obviously put some effort into them, however I am not happy with your referencing style. (What? But it is the same one I have used for all of my assignments to date, maybe some teeth grating now.) I do not believe that to my knowledge two of the books you have referenced are on the reading list, I think Ms St Jude you will find that neither Jonathan Livingstone Seagull or The Tao of Pooh are considered authoritative texts on Social Learning Theory. (Urm!!! Spitting feathers).

I can only imagine how her chins thrust skywards in triumph as she hit the send button. It transpires that in one of my less coherent moments I thought that it would be my civic duty to unstuff the plaid clad lecturer and so I replaced all of my references in my assignments with references from such notable works as The Tao of Pooh, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and The Hobbit. His Lordship had discovered this and bless him came to my rescue by putting back the original references unfortunately it appears he missed a couple.

To be cont...

(I have not given much detail about our Arctic trips as you would be reading this post until Christmas if I did, and I am sure that none of you can afford to be sat on your bottoms for so long. I will be posting separately about those trips over the coming weeks.)

Well hello again.. now where were we?

Well, well, well how on earth do you catch up on virtually two years absence. How rude I know to disappear like that without a word or a letter or an email. I am so, so sorry but life became a little hectic, (slight understatement), and I am only now recovering from the potential burn out that trying to cram a three year degree into two years whilst working and an expedition to the Artic to photograph polar bears then another to photograph the northern lights. I've been a tad busy.

A Little Cultural Exercise - Santa Clause

Well it has been far too hectic in the St Jude household this past month. With studying and working we have not had a moment to ourselves. With this in mind I decided that this year I needed to avail myself of a 'personal shopper' for my Christmas pressies. After some thought it came to me that at this time of year there really was only one person for the job a true professional in every sense of the word... Santa Claus!

So I settled down and wrote my list of presents. This done I pondered on what to do next. I could pop it in the post box with nice little note;

My Dear Santa,

I just thought that I would drop you a quick note and a short, (shortish), list of my gift requirements for the forthcoming Yuletide festivities. Please note that I have referenced in italics preferences for colour, size, brand, and alternatives should the item be out of stock. I have also put the address for each item to be delivered.

Yours in eager anticipation

St Jude xxx

I set off to the post box with my precious list. As I rounded the corner I noted the burly figure of the postman heaving a huge sack of letters into the back of his van. He groaned as I sprinted towards him with the list in my outstretched hand.

"Oh blimey, not another letter for his nibbs!" he huffed, "I hate this time of year with all this extra mail. Why don't they just go and see him instead, it'd make my life a whole lot easier."

Of course! What a wonderful idea, then I could be sure that he had received the precious list. Unfortunately this was a tad difficult as I had already delivered my letter into the 'safe' keeping of the postie. Who was adamant that it was now the property of the Royal Mail, and I couldn't have it back. I thought about turning on my saintly charm, but then I realised that time was ticking on. After a couple of minutes of attempting to wrestle the letter from his grasp, I had the better of him and triumphantly marched back home with my prize held close to my chest for safe keeping.

A short while later I was headed for the bright lights of the city and my hunt for Santa Claus had begun. Now boys and girls I don't want to burst anyones bubble but I have to inform you that there are some rather scurrilous people out there, not least the 'Santa doppelgangers'!!! You see I wasn't about to leave my precious list with just any old Santa lookalike. No! I was determined to make sure that I went to the very man himself. This mission was not going to be an easy one, but I was up to the challenge, I had ensured that I had put on my comfiest heels and wrapped up warm in a natty little cashmere number. Look out Santa... St Jude is on your case.

After doing a brisk recky of the shops and malls I discovered to my horror that there were even more 'Santa's' plying for business than I had anticipated. Hey ho I would just have to jump in at the deep end. My first port of call was a smart shopping mall with a grotto situated on the top floor. It looked the business with a Peter Pan themed display and little animated characters jiggling here there and everywhere. (They really should have put it closer to the toilets, children do have very small bladders.) I took my place in line and waited with baited breath. After what seemed like hours but in reality was a mere forty minutes, I was finally bidden entrance to the man himself.

I smiled my saintly smile and approached Santa. Just as I was about to plant my saintly behind on his lap a rather matronly fairy sternly announced, "we don't sit on Santa's knee,"

"Oh would that be the 'royal' we, or the common variety of we?" I asked bemused

"Please use the stool." she glowered.

Turning to follow her gaze I noticed a somewhat diminutive wooden stool placed to one side of the now smiling Santa. A couple of minutes later I had managed to balance myself, somewhat precariously onto the aforementioned stool. So with my knees jockeying for position with my ears I proceeded to go through my list. Sadly I had only managed to get a third of the way through before the Fairy called time and insisted that I let someone else have a go with Santa. After a somewhat undignified scramble and with the assistance of Santa's beard, I managed to extricate myself from the stool.

The next Santa was located in a large department store that had obviously seen its heyday and was now marching time until the developers could move in and change it into up market apartments. The grotto had seen better days, some of the characters were now showing their age. Snow White needed her roots doing as the grey was showing through, and grumpy had obviously been stored too close to the radiator as he had melted and now looked like he had, had a stroke poor soul, and where was Dopey? I needn't have feared, Dopey was alive and kicking in the shape of a spotty little Herbert who was dressed as an elf. He smiled inanely as he rooted around the caverns of his nostrils seemingly blissfully ignorant of the audience he had accumulated. After passing him a tissue I proceeded in to see Santa. Trust me when I say that this was not the real deal. If the shop was past it's best then this chap was definitely past his sell buy date. The suit was threadbare and smelt of mothballs, his boots were a pair of wellies and his beard, well, suffice to say that I could have knitted him a better one. I didn't linger, made my apologies and left sharpish.

Onwards and upwards as they say!

To be continued.....

It Never Rains...

I am still here, I'm just buried under a mountain of lecture notes and books. I don't actually attend campus, my lectures are held in various locations and towns. The upshot is that I have to have a meeting every morning before setting off just to make sure I am heading in the right direction.

Friday morning was a classic example. I was up bright and early and headed off to my training for the day. It took me almost two hours to get there as the traffic had come to a virtual standstill, due to 'rain'. The world and his wife had decided to ditch public transport, (well we are into the season of soggy leaves on the rails and soaking wet bus seats), and take to the road. Anyway I digress, so I arrived a tad late.

I managed to discreetly slide myself into the back of the room and position myself at a work station at the rear. For the next thirty minutes I got my head down and tried to catch up. It wasn't too difficult as it was systems training and already having used the systems for some time I discovered that I already knew most of what they were doing. In fact it seemed ridiculously basic. Hey ho I thought, not all of my new trainee friends have worked in the organisation before so I guess they have to cover everything. Then it was time for a break. I looked up at the trainee sitting next to me and smiled. Somewhat to my confusion they didn't look familiar!

After scanning the room for a familiar face I realised to my horror that I didn't recognise anyone. I had in fact gatecrashed a training session for new starters. After checking with the tutor and making a hurried phone call to one of my fellow trainees I discovered that I should have been at a different location altogether in another town. So my head in a fog I jumped back in the car and drove for another hour until I reached the 'new' venue. The tutor was on form, and there was to be no discreet entrance this time. He ensured that a place had been saved for me at the front of the room and insisted on doing a lengthy recap of the mornings lecture, much to the chagrin of my fellow trainees.

But on a positive note I now have a wonderful team of assistants who kindly text me the times and venues of my lectures.

The New Office

Well not only am I now at 'big school' but I have also been placed in a new office to boot. It is in a different area to my last office, a rather more, shall we say deprived area sadly very much in need of some investment.

On my first visit to my new office I had a slight problem finding the place. I had been given directions on where to go, but at first sight I thought the place was derelict. No sign on the door, but then I suppose they don't particularly want to advertise their existence. I entered the building with the feeling that I should be wearing a hard hat just in case! The foyer reeked of damp and mould. The paper was peeling from the walls and the lift door was open displaying its grimey rubbish strewn interior for all the world to see. So I decided to take the stairs, dimly lit and only slightly more enticing than the lift I headed for the second floor. A small laminated sign stuck to the door told me that I was in the right place.

The surly grunt of the receptionist acknowledged my presence and I was buzzed through to the reception. As I stood for a moment trying to take in my new surroundings I became aware of two 'bodies' bedded down on the comfy chairs, a faint sound of snoring and an aroma of stale beer and farts added to the homely feel of the area. Another surly grunt and I was buzzed through to the office, leaving the two morally challenged bods to their morning nap.

I was greeted by a rather ebullient looking chap who welcomed me to the office and proceeded to show me the 'sights'. I was also introduced to the team, their names briefly making an appearance in my memory only to fly off to pastures new as the next one came along. They seemed somewhat bemused by me, some of them had no experience of my role and were intrigued as to what I was doing there, others, possibly the more jaded among them greeted me with a knowing smile and carried on with their work. I for my part smiled until my face ached and made the usual small talk required on such occasions. Then I was shown to my desk. Devoid of any clutter or indeed a PC I noted, I sat down and settled myself to the arduous task of thumb twiddling for the next few hours.

Several cups of tea later and having fended off an attempted coup on my desk I decided that I had put in enough effort for one day and headed off to the local cafe for another much needed cuppa and a toasted teacake. It's hard work being the 'newbie'!

Eating Elephants.

What happended to the weekend? Did I blink?

Week 1.

Well I now consider myself to be well and truly inducted, I've been inducted into university, well actually not one but two... I don't do things by half my dears. I've also been inducted into my new team, my sub group, my super group (no not as in Bee Gees or ABBA type super group), my district. In fact I am so well inducted I feel like I have been turned inside out and back again and I'm not sure if at some point someone didn't tattoo the company logo on my rump, well ok if they didn't do, then it certainly felt like it was going to be done at some point.

My fellow 'cohortees' are an amiable bunch. The usual mixture of the shrinking violets who at some point will come out of their shells and let their hair down, probably after a babycham or two... bless them. The peirced, tattooed wild child, only with a few years under her belt looking slightly jaded and a little the worse for wear. Sadly at two of the offices we've attended so far she has been mistaken for one of the clients! The ebullient and ever so chatty ones who really don't understand the concept of putting a sock in it, but hey ho they give the rest of us some snooze/thinking time and keep the tutors off our backs. Then of course there are the fresh faced post grads who haven't a clue what they want to do when they grow up so when they saw the advert for the trainee ship they rubbed their hands together with glee and whoopeed at the prospect of another couple of years as an undergraduate again. (Are you mad children?) Oh and of course then there is little old me, the saintly Jude who never could say no to a lost cause... and believe me at the end of the first week I feel like the biggest lost cause going!!

Blimey!

I'm half way through my first week of 'big' school. They've thrown so much information at me that my brain feels like it's in a blender. I'm preparing a post to let you know all about it this weekend, but right now I'm heading off to... oh bugger, I'll need to check my calender. What day is it?

St Jude is Back....

Well I can't believe my dears how long it is since I was last here. How rude! I apologise profusely.

Just a brief update for now. I am still working with the morally challenged, no they haven't done for me yet. Remember I mentioned that I had applied to do my degree... there were 35 places available and over 2000 people applied. So I have to say the odds were not good.

I DID IT, they actually liked me and I got through the assessment centres and months of trials. Today was the last day at my previous office. It was so sad to say goodbye to all of my colleagues and especially my boss, who is also a very good friend. From Monday I start my course and I join a new team, I'll be working in a drugs intervention team, yummee, yum!

Once again I'm sorry that I haven't been 'around', but I will hopefully now be 'online' a lot more.

I've really missed you all and thought about you often.

Civic Duty - Part 2

After having spent the best part of day one with my nose in my book it wasn't looking too healthy on the old jury selection front. So I arrived for day two armed once more with my trusty tome and settled in for another day of reading, secure in the knowledge that I would not be disturbed by the class idiot who fortunately for me had been selected on day one. Alas it was not to be, as ten minutes later an usher appeared and my name was called.

After we were sworn in the judge addressed us. He explained what would be occurring, but most importantly he told us when we would be breaking for lunch. Then the prosecution Barrister stood up and outlined the case against the defendant. I obviously can't go into detail but suffice to say that it was a case of wounding. Then the defence Barrister stood up and outlined the case for the defendant.

Throughout the course of the day a procession of witnesses came and went, their evidence duly picked over by each of the Barristers and the evidence was distributed to the jury. Full colour glossy pictures, witness statements, oh and a time lapse video to boot. And so it was time for the defence to call their witness... their one and only witness.

A rather dapper gentleman strode into the court room and took his place in the stand. He reminded me somewhat of 50 cent dressed up for a funeral, he did however have the obligatory gold chains and rings. He faced the jury and glared, not just any glare a malicious glare, (I come a cross this rather a lot in my line of work, it is intended to put people 'in their place', let them know who is the boss so to speak), as he continued to glare I could sense some of my fellow jurors shifting in their seats uneasily. I was just considering giving him a smile and wave, you know to lighten the mood a little, when the defence Barrister began his questioning.

Initially he gave only yes or no answers but then he obviously began to get into the swing of things. He was asked about the events of the day leading up to the event. Then he was asked to relay what had occurred. He told the court that he had been stood some four or five feet away from the defendant when the event had occurred but that he could see quite clearly what had happened. At this point I should perhaps point out that the defendant was claiming that he acted in self defence and that the claimant had struck first.

"So you had clear sight of the event, is that correct?" asked the defence Barrister

"Yes, I saw it all" replied the witness

"So did you actually see the Landlord throw a punch?"

"Yes,"

"So he definitely threw a punch at the defendant, thank you. Who threw the first punch"

"Bill, (the defendant),"

"Are you sure about that?" asked the rather rattled defence Barrister

"Absolutely my friend it was definitely Bill"

It was at this point that the Judge asked the defence Barrister if he was really sure that he would like to continue with his questioning. He simply shook his head and sat down.

In a masterful stroke the prosecution Barrister rose.

"Your Honour, the prosecution has no further questions for this witness, however I would like to thank my learned friend here for his assistance"

As we in the jury and the rest of the court room choked back our stifled giggles the judge adjourned proceedings until the following morning for the summing up.

The following morning my fellow jurors and I were taken to the deliberation room. Here we had to hand in our mobile phones to be locked into a drawer, just in case we should feel the need to phone a friend for help, and the door to the room was locked behind us. It was only at this point that I could really take stock of my fellow 'peers'. A young woman who would remain silent throughout, clearly showing withdrawal symptoms from lack of her mobile, an elderly chap who must have been dozing during the trial as he had to be reminded on several occasions of the evidence,and then there was the 'falterer'. There's always one, they just can't make a decision. Even if the evidence is there in black and white, even if the defendants own witness has categorically dropped him in it. The 'falterer' will not take responsibility for the verdict. Fortunately even with these hindrances the deliberation was mercifully short.

We were escorted back to court to present our verdict. 'Guilty'. The judge having nodded his agreement proceeded to recount the previous convictions against the defendant, which included numerous violent offences . I think the falterer can rest easy.