h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

[Not sure where I'm going to go with this...]

Got onto my PS today and noticed in small writing on the right-hand side: "last posted 5 weeks ago". Hmmm.

Real life has been getting in the way. In fact, recently RL has been getting in the way of RL. Is that a valid excuse for not turning up on hootoo for 5 weeks? Yes, I think it is, actually. Is this what I'm wanting to write about here? No, I'm not sure it is.

...

Back in nineteen-eighty-vvmmm-mumble-mumble I got my first 'real' job working for an investment bank on the dealing-room floor (I wasn't a dealer, but yes, this was a room of people shouting "buy" and "sell" down the phone for a living). A few months later I got a job working for a company who actually made real stuff in real factories and transported it in real vans to real shops where real people would buy the stuff for an actual purpose. Next job was in finance, as was the next, and the next, and most of the rest. For the best part of 2 decades I worked mainly for companies who made money out of taking money off of people in exchange for some other money.

By 2001 I had gone full circle back to the same investment bank I started at, but by then I was spending at least 5 hours a day on various trains and tubes, just so I could spend 9 hours in an office on the 15th floor watching literally millions of dollars being turned into billions of yen, then maybe into squillions of turkish lira, then back into dollars, and so on.

Then one day a couple of planes flew into a couple of tall buildings in NY, and London emptied, and I stood on a platform at Cannon Street station watching people quite literally climbing over each other to get onto the first train outta there.

Rat race!?! Rats, yes. Race, no. I was part of a huge great machine of people and money and green bits of paper going round and round, going nowhere fast. I had to get off. I had to get out...

Me and the missus dreamt of 101 acres of land on the North Devon coast and a run-down house and a barn conversion...

I packed in the job and did nothing for 3 months. Then worked for a company writing manuals, then a company churning out what they would call marketing, but what you and I would call junk mail.

Then I packed it in entirely. For a year. Moved down to Devon. Didn't get the 101 acres and the barn, but did get enough grass to have to spend one whole day a week cutting it. Did some bits of work, but round these parts people don't like to part with money, they'd rather fix your gate, or give you eggs.

A year later a recruitment agent phoned and I admitted I had to work again. So I went back to what I knew, just for a bit, you understand. Companies making money out of taking people's money off them. 9 months work. 3 months off. For a few years, it'd be OK. A Monday morning 3 hour drive up the M5, or 8 hours from one side of the country to the other, or 4 hours cab-plane-cab to a lump of rock in the English Channel. An office, a hotel room. Breakfast with colleagues, dinner with strangers, phonecall with the missus and nippers, sleep alone.

The nippers did 3 years of growing up while I was doing 3 years of growing weary.


So where am I? I've got back on the machine, joined the rat race again. By mistake, this time.

So what can I do about it? One of two things:
1) Live somewhere nice, work somewhere far away, see the nippers at the weekends.
2) Move back to somewhere not nice, work somehere near, see the nippers every day.

The other option hasn't - and isn't ever - going to work out: That is, no one pays you to cut your own grass, and they don't even pay you enough to cut theirs.


But, what if there's a third option?


What if I get on a plane, one last time, with the missus and nippers, and go to Jersey and... well... stay there. 15 minutes walk to work. 15 minutes walk back home. 15 minutes walk to the beach.

The down-side? I have to keep working for companies that make money out of making money. I can do that with my eyes shut.


Maybe if I do it with my eyes shut, I can pretend I'm not doing it at all. And just open them when I get to the beach. Every day.

The kiddies won't be kiddies all their lives. Although it might seem like it, according to my mum.

Suffer now, enjoy life later when you're complaining that *they* never see *you* because they're too busy having crises of their own.

this maybe me but you seem to be saying that you are only cut out to do one job and I'm sure you are cut out to do a lot of other things. Is there something nearby that you think you would enjoy doing? Perhaps you could learn new skills?

Move to Jersey.

Don't know what to say, really. I think I'm with Mina here, though.

So, if I was to say that I've booked the ferry...

You did? I'm sure you've discussed this with your wife and children, and not taken the decision lightly, so for all of you.

Oh yes, we've discussed, over and over and round and round (and round and round).

To answer Opticalillusion's question about doing something else: That was the idea of the year out (4 years ago now), but although I tried other stuff, neither me nor the missus are any good at 'selling ourselves', so nothing we did really got off the ground - not enough to make a living anyway. I can say I had a go, but it didn't work out. Better that than not trying at all.

So I've had a go at having my cake and eating it... and now it's time for a compromise.

Of all the places to go and 'compromise' in, Jersey is - by all accounts - a lovely place to do it. The nippers have to leave school friends, the missus and me have to leave friends and family, we all have to leave our beloved Devon, I have to keep doing a job that I'm not really all that happy with.

In return, we get each other back together, and we get the sea.

You know I'm a fan of your 'Notes from...' , and it does sound like a nice place to live. So does Devon, though.
It's really tough, and I wish you that it will work out as best as can.

Thanks Bel. I guess 'Notes From a (Very) Small Island' will take on a different angle now. Or maybe I'll go back to Devon regular enough to do 'Notes from a (very) Big Moor'.

Whatever you'll write about, I'm sure it will be great.

IMHO, it would be JWTDO.

Seen a house to rent. Signing on the dotted line on Thursday.

(I feel an entry coming on: Renting Houses in Jersey, Channel Islands)

Is it different from renting houses elsewhere in the UK?

I hope it's got a large enough garden for a tent. I've always wanted to visit Jersey.

Jersey! Home of Bergerac! It's an intriguing dilemma. I heard on the radio yesterday that the average salary of a teacher is £34,000.

Interesting, as both my parents were teachers and some time during the Thatcher government I binned the profession as a possible career choice due to being stressful and underpaid.

Ironic being as I ended up working in BBC local radio, earn just over half a teacher's average wage and work far longer hours and am probably more stressed than my parents probably ever were.

But I've ended up in an 'interesting' profession. I think I'm the other side of the coin to you, Paff. I wonder if I'd be better off being 'interesting' at the weekends and in the evenings and the rest of the time doing a job that you can actually earn a decent living at...

with the move Paff

The missus and nippers have started packing boxes.


Bel, renting in Jersey (notice I've started saying 'in' instead of 'on' - apparently that's a sign that you're a local ) is bizarre to say the least. The States of Jersey basically use the housing laws as a way of controlling immigration (this really _does_ need a guide entry). It is _very_ difficult rent anything unless you have been resident for 5+ years. So there is this chicken/egg thing going on where you can't be resident if you can't rent a house, and you can't rent a house if you aren't already resident. There are loopholes of course .

Related to this and Number Six's comment about teachers: One of the loopholes is you can get an 'essential employee' exemption. Jersey teachers get this if they are a department head. There are allegedly a lot of teachers here with job titles like 'Head of South-East Wing Broom Cupboard Facilities' who, along with their new 'head' status, get a certificate which they can present to the Housing Minister to get themselves a half-decent house at a relatively reasonable rate. So Number Six, you missed a trick. Take up teaching, move to Jersey, humbly accept a promotion to Head of Playground Equipment and Boys Toilets, ask for a housing allowance - say 30% on top of your basic teacher salary - and get yourself a little place overlooking the beach.

Mina, the garden is large enough for a tent, but it's mostly gravel so I don't know if it would be easy to peg down. There's space to park a Bambi though.

GB and all, thanks for the posts. We're going to need it 'cos they ain't making it easy. I'll keep you all posted...

Paff

I'm not sure I could get Bambi on a plane.

Thanks for explaining, Paff.


Did you sign the contract today?