All's Well...
... that ends well.
After the jitters having flown out of my stomach I settled into bed with a good book and my lovely duvet, having banished Other Half back to his flat so I could Rest In Peace and get lots of sleep before the interview. Read for a while and then decided that I was suitable knackered and that I'd have queue jump to the Land of Nod as soon as my head touched the pillow.
Oh how wrong I was.
In the even it turned out to be one of those nights where as soon as the light is out, your mind makes up for the lack of stimulation and you end up trawling through your catalogue of thingsthat you never do or have done and shameful things and every possible aspect of life that you can dredge up.
I finally rested my eyes about 5 a.m. and panicked I was going to miss the alarm so I stayed awake for the remaining hour and a half, busying myself by having breakfast (something I almost never do) and drinking cups of espresso in quick succession like downing tequila shots in a Mexican bar.
Anyway, went off to interview and got my knickers in a twist when I realised that my cufflinks weren't matching. My friend Tinkerbell who had an interview at the same time as well told me that that was the least of my worries and pointed out a spot that was developing on my chin. Why oh why does it always happen? So there we are, 8 a.m. rush hour on a Northern Line train and she's trying to apply liquid eyeliner and I'm dabbing furiously at the pot of concealer that she's thrust at me to try and hide the angry spot. She's using the only mirror available and I'm trying to apply this stuff using my reflection in the doors as a guide.
Big mistake.
Tinkerbell has a typical English Rose complexion and my complexion is olive-tan. While the fluorescent lighting on the tube may make everyone's complexion look the same sallow grey, out in daylight it is another matter altogether. When we got to the hospital we took a short cut through the Staff Entrance and made our way into the waiting room where our interviews were to be held. I went to the loo's before that and had a bit of a shock when I realised that the artfully applied (or so I thought) bit of concealer actually looked like I had the same melanin-breakdown disease that has consumed Michael Jackson, and it was slowly consuming my face.
So I rubbed it off. And I went for my interview.
It wasn't too bad, I get the results next week and I'll be posting then.
Hopped on tube back, went to Boots and bought some Kalms as recommended by the Muse. Seriously, they are like the best legal drugs in the world. I've never been so close to a vegetative state as I was while watching the fabulous new Wachovski brothers (of The Matrix fame) film, V for Vendetta.
Incidentally, go and watch it. It's really good, and it makes me think of conspiracy theories. Especially with the current bird flu malarky.
After the jitters having flown out of my stomach I settled into bed with a good book and my lovely duvet, having banished Other Half back to his flat so I could Rest In Peace and get lots of sleep before the interview. Read for a while and then decided that I was suitable knackered and that I'd have queue jump to the Land of Nod as soon as my head touched the pillow.
Oh how wrong I was.
In the even it turned out to be one of those nights where as soon as the light is out, your mind makes up for the lack of stimulation and you end up trawling through your catalogue of thingsthat you never do or have done and shameful things and every possible aspect of life that you can dredge up.
I finally rested my eyes about 5 a.m. and panicked I was going to miss the alarm so I stayed awake for the remaining hour and a half, busying myself by having breakfast (something I almost never do) and drinking cups of espresso in quick succession like downing tequila shots in a Mexican bar.
Anyway, went off to interview and got my knickers in a twist when I realised that my cufflinks weren't matching. My friend Tinkerbell who had an interview at the same time as well told me that that was the least of my worries and pointed out a spot that was developing on my chin. Why oh why does it always happen? So there we are, 8 a.m. rush hour on a Northern Line train and she's trying to apply liquid eyeliner and I'm dabbing furiously at the pot of concealer that she's thrust at me to try and hide the angry spot. She's using the only mirror available and I'm trying to apply this stuff using my reflection in the doors as a guide.
Big mistake.
Tinkerbell has a typical English Rose complexion and my complexion is olive-tan. While the fluorescent lighting on the tube may make everyone's complexion look the same sallow grey, out in daylight it is another matter altogether. When we got to the hospital we took a short cut through the Staff Entrance and made our way into the waiting room where our interviews were to be held. I went to the loo's before that and had a bit of a shock when I realised that the artfully applied (or so I thought) bit of concealer actually looked like I had the same melanin-breakdown disease that has consumed Michael Jackson, and it was slowly consuming my face.
So I rubbed it off. And I went for my interview.
It wasn't too bad, I get the results next week and I'll be posting then.
Hopped on tube back, went to Boots and bought some Kalms as recommended by the Muse. Seriously, they are like the best legal drugs in the world. I've never been so close to a vegetative state as I was while watching the fabulous new Wachovski brothers (of The Matrix fame) film, V for Vendetta.
Incidentally, go and watch it. It's really good, and it makes me think of conspiracy theories. Especially with the current bird flu malarky.
posted by Marmoset at
4:33 pm
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