Customer Service with Penny

Working in customer service sucks. We've all been there and we all know it. Hopefully we get lucky and end up working with a group of like-minded individuals, each so equally scathing of the world that somehow the day seems somewhat brighter by a shared hatred. It's lovely really how group loathing brings people together.

Having to deal with the general public and their general problems (by "general" I refer to a problem with you,my our product, their lot in life, whatever seems to be disgruntling them at that moment in time) is soul destroying, but having lived through it for the better half of my life, I've come to take a certain amount of pride in my work.

As such, it truly irks me when confronted with a "customer service representative" with about as much people skills as a dried up prophylactic. Today, I have had the pleasure of such service.

It's funny really; it seems that the cheaper the product, the better the service. Go into 90% of cafés or coffee houses across the country and you are more than likely to be greeted by a cheerful server, more than happy to share a joke as they prepare your steamy chai latte. Same goes for pubs. When was the last time you were confronted with a genuinely grumpy barmaid? Personally I can't remember.

Today, prior to leaving the North East, I decided to pop into my local comic shop simply to thank the guy that handles my orders for his help over the last however many years. I didn't have anything to pick up, but his advice and knowledge of his wares has meant I've achieved the maximum enjoyment with the minimum spend on my monthly subscription. Is he a smily chap? Not overly. But dear god is his service great. So thanks were in order.

Compare that then to the rent-a-car representative who I've had the joy of dealing with this afternoon. An expensive transaction, and one that was conveyed with about as much warmth as a snowhair's ear. Sure, I'm not looking for a bar-mitzvah style hootenanny when I'm hiring a vehicle, but at least tell us how to use the keyless car instead of just disinterestedly thrusting an envelope upon us and pointing to a car out back. For a moment I felt like busting out a Planes, Trains and Automobiles inspired rant. But no. Won't be seeing her again, so stuff her.

All I'm saying is take a little pride in your job. To coin the cliche, a smile costs nothing. If you're working in a restaurant, it should get you a tip, in a shop, repeat custom and a satisfied shopper. Anywhere else, and it might eventually get you somewhere in the world. I mean Christ, none of us really want to be in the industry anyways. The general public are generally freakin' douchebags.

Pack Up Your Troubles with Eliza Doolittle

I've discussed already this week how much of a pain moving house is; finding a place, dealing with ruddy estate agents, getting monies together for deposits, wondering exactly what you're going to need in regards to furnishings, council tax brackets, power providers... It's all just an utter nightmare.

With all of that out of the way, however, you're still left with one of the most time consuming and utterly boring aspects of the move;

Packing.

Like most things in life, there are two approaches to packing; the careful approach and the manic approach. each has it's pros and cons, but at the end of the day, you're going to find yourself pulling your hair out either way.

The Careful Approach

Organised packing, like most tasks sprinkled with a little touch of OCD, is time consuming and generally madness-inducing. Ensuring everything is in a carefully labelled box and grouped together for ease of access at your eventual destination. You're probably going to have a jolly good sort out as your doing it, ruthlessly getting rid of all of that stuff that at one time seemed so very important, but now looks like nothing more than a hotch-potch of random nick-nacks garnered from a gypsies wedding. You're going to end up ready to move in the other end with ease and organisation, but, like anything so meticulous, it's going to take you ages to get there. I think I'll just practice some guitar a bit... damn procrastination.

The Manic Approach

In the days before the move, there will inevitably cone a time when you simply think "sod it, I'll just stick it all in boxes and deal with it when I get there!". Now, if you're the kind of person who can happily spend the next few months, years, decades, living in clutter and disorder, then perhaps this is the method for you. If not however, you're only going to hate yourself when you reach the other end and thereafter spend three days manically searching for the loo roll. By which time, of course, it's far too late. Do yourself a favour and take the careful approach.

And allow yourself some procrastination time. It's all got to be done by some point, and everyone works better in those last few crazy hours. So Grab another cup of tea, have a fag, take the dog out for a quick walk, or, heaven forbid, write a bloody blog entry...

Famous Last Shifts with Mila Kunis

I've had a lot of different jobs in my lifetime. So many in fact that most people, when meeting me for the first time, find it hard to believe that one man could have been head chef, hotel manager, English teacher, house musician and advertising agent by the age of twenty seven. But I have. It probably helps that I haven't been out of a job (technically, though not necessarily psychologically) since the age of fourteen. Subsequently, however, I've had a lot of "last days". Many of these I remember with fondness, some I barely remember at all, and some I still look back upon with a sense of regret.

I guess that's always the way when moving on to pastures new. Save for being made redundant twice last year, leaving has been, for the most part, my choice. I've always strived for better, and having been stuck in the service industry for much of my career, can you really blame me?

So to mark my final day as Farnley Tower Hotel's breakfast chef/assistant general dogsbody (after a year and a half of searching, I've finally found a teaching position in Bournemouth of all places!), I thought I'd take a look back on some of my previous "last days".

Rock 'n' Amigos

My first job (paper rounds not included) was in a twee Mexican restaurant in Durham city. I started out waiting tables before the head chef took something of a shine to me and moved me into the kitchen. At sixteen it was quite cool to be able to tell people at school that I was a chef, though looking back I was really little more than a glorified kitchen porter. It was here, however, that I learned the basics of the trade that would both support and haunt me for the next decade. Unfortunately, my father (always an overbearing presence in my life) took a disliking to the fact that I was working unsociable shifts for three pounds an hour and essentially told me I wasn't to go back. Ho hum.

Dogs' Trust

Advertising? Dogs? What a great mix! No, not really. My advice to anyone who sees an ad for "at least 23k" commission only work is to steer well clear unless you enjoy traipsing the streets in all weather for about £100 a week. My "career" in marketing lasted less than a month before I politely informed them it wasn't for me.

Salt

Salt was a pretty fun place to work; I was at their Aberystwyth restaurant for two years during university before becoming sous chef in their Cardiff Bay site for a year and then subsequently returning to Aber whilst sofa hopping as the gods on high took their merry time processing my visa for Japan. The staff were great, and many of them have become my friends for life. The stories that the submarine-like kitchen could tell are endless (indeed, my fry cook at the time - the one who inspired me to go to Japan - did in fact write a "kids book" called The Happy Little Fry Cook). When I left Salt, I was thrown a huge Japanese themed do which involved me dressing up as a Hentai schoolgirl. Like most restaurants, I left with the bittersweet feeling of relief and fondness.

WinBe English School

I loved this job. I truly did. It's because of my time in Japan that I have spent the last eighteen months desperately trying to return to teaching. I left due to an acrid mix of wanting to return to the "normality" of the UK and longing to see friends and family again. And cheese. Dear god I missed cheese. Saying goodbye to the ninety or so kids that I had taught and watched grow over my years at the school was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but the blow was lessened by the amazing barbecue and booze-up thrown by the bar that I had spent my weekends singing in. Unfortunately my totes emosh leaving speech is somewhere on YouTube. Oh the humanity!

Mrs Mustard's

Mustard's was one of the toughest jobs I've ever had to endure. After returning from Japan, I found it nigh on impossible to find work and inevitably found myself back in the kitchen. Unlike previous culinary exploits, however, we had a very tense head chef (from the school of Marco Pierre White) and a kitchen haunted by poltergeists. Seriously. I nearly died one day when the ceiling collapsed where I had been standing a split second before. Our last day at Mustard's will always stand out as the day I turned up for work as usual to find the bailiffs emptying the place. Much drunkeness ensued, followed by a week trudging through three feet of snow before I found...

The Establishment

Of all the restaurants I've worked, the 'stab has been my favourite. As head chef, I developed my own menu, did a heck of a lot of baking, and, most importantly, got to work with the most amazing team I've ever had the privalage to be stuck with. Unfortunately, the restaurant just wasn't making enough money, and we were forced to close. Our final night was the George Gently wrap party, and myself and the team had an awesome evening throwing cocktails and shapes with the stars of the show before having one of those manly emotional moments as the doors finally closed. Save for WinBe, leaving The Establishment was my saddest last day to date. Which brings us finally to...

Farnley Tower Hotel

Farnley is like my safety net; ten minutes from my childhood home, I have worked here sporadically for the last decade, and was fortunate (if that's the right word) that a position arose the same week the Establishment shut down. Returning to somewhere you worked as a teenager, before the degree, the masters, the teaching... It rather gets you down. But you get through it, and as I said in my blog with Mr. Luhrman, it's worth it in the end.

As Justin Beiber said, never give up!

Am I seriously leaving on that? No. Here's a picture of Mila Kunis on a cliff instead. Enjoy.

The Funny Thing About Arenas with Jack Whitehall

Comedy is a funny thing. It's something that we can all share in, and something that we all need to brighten up our day to day lives. Of course what one person finds hilarious may well be utterly offensive to another, but our reaction, whether positive or negative, unites us in reaction alone.

In recent years, the comedian has become the height of celebrity. Where once we looked upon musicians and film stars, in the Twitter-verse, we now see the funny men of this world at the height of stardom, and where once they had been relegated to dingy pubs and comedy clubs, a new wave of arena-filling stars has emerged.

This week, with a small hint of trepidation, I headed to Newcastle's Metro Radio Arena to see young comedian Jack Whitehall in action. The hesitation was not for the comedian himself; I've come to garner a large amount of respect for Mr. Whitehall; at twenty five he has already managed to make a name for himself as one of British TV's smartest comedians - Bad Education is by far my favourite sitcom in many years, and I feel a strange kinship that is only shared between fellow public schoolboys. No, my concern lay in the fact that this was an arena gig.

Now, I've always held strong the image of the aforementioned dingy comedy club. Maybe it's because all of my previous experiences of live comedy have been in such venues, but I feel there is a certain intimacy in live events. Indeed even when seeing live music, I like to be so close to the stage that I can almost touch the performers (I reference my trip to see Counting Crows last year when I was literally within reach of Charlie Immergluck for much of the show. I spent most of the evening quivering like a schoolgirl). There's just something magical about being up close and personal with whoever is on stage.

So the concept of arena comedy rather bemused me; could the intimacy of a darkened room translate into the cavernous halls of an arena? 

Well, for the most part, yes, I admit, it can.

Performing in the round, Whitehall managed to be engaging throughout, utilising the space to its fullest, thus ensuring the entire audience could appreciate the performance no matter where they were sitting in the vastness of the arena space. A number of large screens positioned above the circular stage ensured that those at the back could still see the amusing gurnings of the comedian, and meant that even those in the executive boxes (why on earth would you sit in a box for any live show? Sure, sports I can understand, but a performance? With the sound piped in, you really may as well be watching on television) had a good view.

The show itself was a cracker, keeping us in fits of laughter throughout, Whitehall's manic neuroses on the subjects of sex, the British psyche and, of course, The Lion King, are thought-provoking and hilarious. At times, longer anecdotes seemed a little over-rehearsed, but for the most part, this was a perfect night out.

So I admit I was wrong; perhaps with the right man and the right material, a comedian can comfortably make his home in the spacious abodes of arenas up and down the country. But when the stadiums of the world replace Springsteen and Bon Jovi with the likes of Michael McIntyre and Lee ruddy Evans, I might raise an eyebrow or two...

House Hunting with Gil Gunderson

Whenever there is a survey or top ten list of the most stressful things in life, moving house always reaches high in the charts.

In my own past, I've always been quite blessed in the house-hunting department; when I first left home to go to university, I was, as most students are, supplied with university accommodation. It was a pretty depressing little room, shared with a rather monosyllabic young Christian with a penchant for eating the fat on steaks and a communal toilet used by around twenty strangers. Fortunately, within a couple of weeks, I managed to get myself moved to a much more pleasant abode, an eight-person flat with my own en-suite. I'm not a fan of sharing toilets; I have a shy bladder at the best of times.

My proper first experience of "house-hunting" thus occurred near the end of my first year, when my friends Michael, Adam and I realised we really needed somewhere to live for the following semester. The three of us had met at registration, and had instantly bonded over a David Bowie badge on Adam's pre-hipster blazer. From that point we had been an inseparable trio and had decided it would be pleasant to get a place together. Fortunately we were right. We took the first place we looked at and subsequently spent a very happy three years in what we christened The House of Tasteful Men.

Since then, every house I have lived in has been supplied by employers, and as such it was not until this past week that I experienced the nightmarish hell that is finding a new home.

Admittedly, giving myself a day to find somewhere to live three hundred miles from my current base was probably not the smartest first move, but hey, it's always been easy before, so why shouldn't it have been this time?

Here's why:

1. Everybody is looking for value for money

An obvious first statement, but why would you pay X amount for a squalid little bedsit when you can get a furnished flat for the same price? You wouldn't, obviously, and that's why chances are that nice cheap and cheerful flat you've seen on the website, or even looked at a mere half hour ago, has already been let. Even if you've already paid the admin fees. More on that later.

2. If a house is nice, someone already lives there

Think about it; the only reasons to move from a house you like (actually, to move at all) are for a new job or if you're having kids. The nice houses are gone. People ain't moving in this crummy economy.

3. Houses on with multiple agents

Personally I feel this should not be legal. Having found a flat on Friday, a tidy little loft apartment, I immediately returned to the letting agents, paid my holding fee and that was that. I returned home feeling accomplished and thereafter spent the weekend relishing in relief only to be informed on the following money that the house had been on with two agents and that the landlord had decided to go with the other. Since then, I have been pulling my hair out trying to find somewhere from afar. Not fun.

4. Estate agents do not care

At first meeting, your agent may seem like the loveliest fellow in the world, someone determined to fulfil your needs at any cost (preferably the lowest to you). Unfortunately, like most salesmen, this is a complete ruse to try and lull you into buying into whatever they may happen to be selling. In the end, the only thing important is the commission. We've all seen Glengarry Glen Ross, we know how it works.

Fortunately after stressing myself into the worst flu I've had in years and crying like a baby for three days straight, the school I'm going to work for has found me a lovely condo-style apartment with pool and gym facilities, so turns out I didn't need a ruddy agent after all! Looks like Grae's movin' up to the big time!

Ninja Japanesing with Chiaki Kuriyama

My Japanese is terrible.

That's not really a surprising statement for an Englishman to make, but when you consider I lived in Japan for over three years, it's actually quite embarrassing that my proficiency never exceeded that of a four year old child. 

It's mostly an aversion to studying; since leaving school, whenever taking up a new hobby, I have hungered to perfect it as quickly as possible. Whether it's cooking the perfect moules mariniere, or learning how to draw manga, I find myself either picking it up instantly, or simply deciding it's not for me. So when it comes to the hours of actual book-smarting required gain any level of fluency in a foreign language, I'm somewhat begrudging to sacrifice time that could be otherwise spent rewatching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

And so my skills in Japanese have been rather limited to those that have been acquired through an eclectic mix of anime and extreme gorno, many hours spent in karaoke bars and even more hours of general chit-chat with my girlfriend (a native of the Chiba area). As such, the four year old analogy is probably not best suited... Probably a severely handicapped alcoholic is a better likeness.

That said, my hold of the language is still better that 99.9% of non-Japanese living in the UK and as such, since my return from the Nippon, I have been having fun with a little pastime I like to call "Ninja Japanesing", a phrase coined by a very dear friend of mine during an excursion to London...

Soon after my return to the Uk, whilst on a jaunt around Soho, my friends and I passed by a tai-yaki shop. For those of you not versed in Asian baking, a tai-yaki is essentially a fish-shaped donut filled usually with either chocolate or sweet azuki bean paste. They are frankly bloody delicious!

As we passed by the shop, I began extolling my friends on the amazingness of this sugary treat, only to realise that the diminutive shop girl was at that moment turning the "open" sign to "closed".

With all the speed a slightly overweight chain-smoking dispraxic can muster, I jumped into the doorframe and begged in my best pigeon jap-lish for a handful of the tasty treats. So taken aback was the young shop girl that we spent the next ten minutes communicating in our linguistic hotpotch, establishing where best to find tai-yaki at that time of day (unfortunately, I established, their machine had been turned off and was not likely to be switched on again for the sake of three cakes). As we left the shop, my friends were dumbfounded, undoubtedly believing my Japanese to be much better than it actually is.

Since then, however, I have been having fun with tourists, whether it actually be being helpful when they're lost, or simply joining in random conversations with passers-by. Every time I still get that same bemused yet relieved reaction, and it means a lot to be able to give them a little bit of language relief when so far from home. Also I feel like a clever bastard. So I guess, as Joey Tribianni so rightly pointed out, you can never do a good deed without feeling a little smug about it somewhere inside.

Now, just to keep hoping for the day I can pull of some ninja-ing with the lovely Chiaki Kuriyama...

Why You Can Always Rely on The Muppets with Dr. Bunsen Honeydew

Today has been one of those annoyingly kick-in-the-teeth kind of days... I'm full of man-flu, meaning that my vocals and general demeanor have been in no fit state to take advantage of Monday's usually lucrative buskings, and worst still, the flat in Bournemouth that I had put down a deposit on a mere two days ago has fallen through, thus leaving me about ten days to find a new abode from four hundred miles away... Fun times.

So what do I find myself doing? The same thing I tend to do every time life gives me a good beating; curling up in bed with a mug of hot ribena and delving into the world of Jim Henson,

The Muppets have always been a source of comfort to me. Maybe it's from the huge amount of Sesame Street I was plonked in front of as a baby. Perhaps it's that Muppet Babies is one of the first non-Disney cartoons I can remember religiously watching as a pre-schooler. Then there's Fraggle Rock; one of the few eighties TV shows that actually lived up to its theme tunes...

Side note: Seriously, we all remember TV themes from the eighties; Turtles, Captain Planet, Thundercats, but save for Disney's entries into the eighties/early nineties oeuvre (Rescue Rangers, Ducktales, Gummy Bears, Darkwing Duck, all of which had stellar intros, matched by equally awesome shows) how many of these cartoons were actually good? Put the nostalgia aside for a moment and watch an episode of Ulysses 31 and you'll realise what absolute dross was being smothered by an amazing piece of synth rock. Anyways...

When I was six I was given the choice of going to see Jason Donovan playing Joseph, or going to the pictures to see A Muppet Christmas Carol at the pictures. Looking back, I've always had the most outstanding taste. 

I think the major turning point, however, was when my family and I uprooted to Durham the week of my tenth birthday. I have vivid memories of being sat around the television on that first Friday night, hundreds of miles from my erstwhile home, watching in comfort as the premiere of (the sadly short lived) Muppets Tonight aired on BBC1. I realised then how much the Muppets meant to me. Had I known at that point that in my late twenties I'd still be finding solace in their fuzzy hides, I may well have made some very different life choices. But ho hum.

So as I sit watching Muppet Treasure Island, mouthing along to the entire script and yet still laughing my pants off, I figured it was time to give celebration and thanks to the merry band that have kept me company so very well thoughout the years.

How to do that? Why a countdown of my favourite Muppet movies of course! And hey, there's actually ten Muppet movies! A comprehensive top ten indeed!!

10. The Muppets Wizard of Oz

The most annoying thing about this film is that it should and could have been amazing. But it isn't. It's not funny, it's not heart-warming, and it's a good thing so few people have seen it, as it genuinely besmirches the Muppets' good name.

9. The Muppets Take Manhattan

The main problem with Take Manhattan? I must have seen it a dozen times, but can only remember Piggy's Muppet Babies dream sequence. It's kind of like only remembering Happy Days for the Mork and Mindy episode, that'd be insane!

8. Kermit's Swamp Years

Actually not that bad a film, but suffers immensely from a lack of Muppets. Indeed, aside from Kermit and a brief cameo from a young Statler and Waldorf, there's not a single recognisable character. Hmmmmm...

7. It's a Very Muppet Christmas Movie

Admittedly, we're already starting to get into the golden goodness of Muppet-dom, though this is the weakest of a great bunch. It's It's a Wonderful Life with Muppets. What more do you want from a Christmas film? Well... More on that later...

6. The Great Muppet Caper

Kermit and Fozzie play identical twins. Nuff said.

5. Muppets From Space

A really underrated film, this is probably the funniest Muppets movie to date. The pop-culture references are spot on, the idea of Gonzo actually being an alien, guided by cosmic wish fish, is hilarious, and Pepe's line "I have some green jello mmmkay?" Is simply priceless.

4. A Muppet Christmas Carol

I'll probably get some flack for putting this in fourth, and yes, it is my (and everybody else's) favourite Christmas film. It has Michael Caine in genuinely one of his finest performances ever (seriously, the conviction he puts into the role is astounding), some wonderful music, and always manages to put me in the Christmas spirit a'proper. No buts. Just I think these other three have higher merits...

3. The Muppets

The most recent entry to the canon is a love letter to Muppets fans of all ages; young Walter represents every fan from every country across the globe and as such helps to deliver us exactly what we needed; great music, a tear-jerking ending, just enough of each Muppet to keep us satisfied ("priceless!"), and the feeling that we have always, and will always need more Henson in our lives.

2. Muppet Treasure Island

Probably the most quotable Muppet film, with the catchiest tunes and Tim Curry being ruddy amazing. Fact.

1. The Muppet Movie

I couldn't not put this in first place; it truly is a classic. A road movie with a difference. From the opening credits and that Oscar winning song, I always had a rainbow connection (see what I did there) with this film, and still laugh every time someone mentions a fork in the road. Oh, and also it introduced Steve Martin to the world, so without this film, we could never have had The Man With Two Brains. And what kind of a world would THAT be???

So there we have it. A big thank you to Mr. Henson for brightening my life for pretty much as long as I remember, and kudos to his team for continuining his legacy in some equally wonderful films in the years that have followed. Unfortunately, come May, I get the feeling Wizard of Oz will be disappearing from the top ten as Muppets Most Wanted hits our screens. But that's probably not such a bad thing. Seriously. Disney, what the hell were you thinking?