Tea, Camping, and JOB NEWS!

So, I have news. Lots of news. my nearest and dearest (and yes, most people on my Facebook and Twitter) know the gist of most of it, but it all deserves a blog so here it is. Vodka-fuelled.

First of all, I have spent the last few weekends working as a tea-lady for a vintage pop-up tearoom. So much fun! I dress in flowery dresses bolstered by hefty petticoats, pin my hair in victory rolls and slick on red lipstick (though I do that last one every day anyway...) to serve tea, cake and sandwiches to crowds at festivals across the UK. I have washed up more china than I ever want to see in my life, have inhaled far too much weed smoke from festival patrons, and learned the hard way that camping on a festival site is noisy and weird. In Brighton, I was woken at half six in the morning by "Molly, do your wees, darling!!" very loudly - we were camping on the prom in the middle of a lovely park, full of dog walkers. A husky nearly peed on my tent. When we ate our breakfast, polystyrene bowls of Cheerios while standing in a corner of the fenced-off enclosure, I felt like an exhibit in a zoo, especially when dog-walkers and exercisers hovered close to the bars to say good morning. In Bristol, we were right next to the chefs' demonstration tent, on which some of the metal bars screeched horrendously all night long and even my earplugs couldn't block it out. Last week I got to add Land-Girl-style green wellies to my vintage get-up, frantically sourced from Primark, as we arrived at Clifton Downs to an absolute swamp. This is still the most glamorous part-time job I've ever had... I got to see a few minutes of Rosemary Shrager's demonstration in my break, and rung my mum to make her jealous. I watched her on Ladette to Lady years ago, which I remember as brilliant but was probably really problematic. Her demo was hilarious, anyway, as she relentlessly ribbed her volunteer helper and kept losing her equipment. Next we're off to Syon Park in London...

Even more incredibly, my boss is on the lookout for a new tea-lady. I got a graduate library traineeship! On Monday, after I finished work in Bristol, I hopped over to Bath to spend a night in a proper bed at my uncle's house, and spend some time with him, my aunt and adorable five-year-old cousin. It was divine to sleep on a Temple mattress wrapped in the most squishy cloud-like duvet ever, but it was a flying visit as very early the next morning I caught a train back into Bristol for an interview at UWE. I gave a stellar presentation on what an excellent modern university library service should look like, answered ten questions of varying complexity and scope, and smiled a lot while selling myself as hard as I could. It worked. I got the call that very same day, bouncing up and down in my mum's office as everyone eavesdropped (she works right next to the train station so I'd popped in to say hello, be distracting and cadge a lift). I panicked, and said I had to think about it, then spent the next twenty minutes calling the poor man back and emailing him to say yes, of course I want it and sorry, I'm knackered into incoherence. So, since then I've been flathunting,  scouring Spareroom and Rightmove, and will be speeding back down to my new city to secure a place to live before I start.


I've been doing some work experience in an NHS library too, making a nuisance of myself and busily quizzing everyone on their roles, chasing up missing journals, withdrawing stock on their system, and picking up typos on an e-learning programme. The photo was taken in a historic garden near the Wrexham Medical Institute, where I spent my lunch break, communing with nature, as you do. Next week we're jetting off to another library to learn about using Twitter in libraries, 'cause all the best libs have witty, informative social media accounts (Orkney Library's Twitter is my absolute favourite). That's what I said in my presentation to UWE, of course.

My Neurotic Jack Russell was bought a new chew-toy today, in the shape of a toothbrush, and I watched as she sneaked into the garden and buried it, casually testing the ground in a few bits with a paw until she found the right spot, then using her nose to carefully push the dirt back over it again. Last time I watched her bury something, it was a crust of toast, carefully planted as if she expected a tree to start growing. She's sat next to me now, sans muddy toothbrush chew, watching Upstart Crow.

Oh, before I forget, here's a gratuitous photo of the salted caramel and toffee popcorn eclairs I made a weekend or two ago:

I'm reading: The Clasp by Sloane Crosley, added to my latest haul from the library as I've seen it recommended all over the place. This weekend I blazed through Who's That Girl by Mhairi McFarlane, who writes clever romances that make me literally lol (and books rarely make me laugh)
I'm listening to: Velvet Goldmine by David Bowie, Amanda Palmer's powerful Machete, and all of Death of a Bachelor by Panic! at the Disco (for the fiftieth time)
I'm eating: slices of bashed-up red velvet cake unfit to serve to customers in the tearoom. Mmm
I'm writing: not nearly enough, but this is going to change now my presentation for that interview is out of the way. I'll probably escape to somewhere picturesque with my notebook and write profound things. Or at least bash out a plot for The Novel.