Marvellous
TWENTY-NINE
Dora
Got a letter this morning. Well not an actual letter, but a kind of appointment card thing to tell me the date – omigod – of the first round of X Factor auditions in London!! This is like, so boom! This is it, baby. Stage one. Passed it. I can continue on in my goal of my dreams towards becoming Britain’s Next Top Singer.
I so cannot tell Mum and Dad about this. They just don’t understand. They are both old and they’ve like totally given up on their dreams now. All they do is their jobs. Whatever they are. Well, Mum does therapy with teenagers and families and stuff and Dad … has a job too. On computers or something?
Not me, I’m not going to waste my life on a bloody job where you just go to the same place 24/11 and die of boringness. I just can’t for God’s sake. I’ve got a talent and it would be oh so wrong not to let it out, not to let other people hear me. How would I feel if I just go to uni, get a degree, get a job, get a family, get a dog, get a house? It would kill me. Proper dead. I want to LIVE. I want to sing, sing, SING! ‘I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky …’
A Tiny Bit Marvellous
THIRTY
Mo
Interesting day. Am feeling somewhat unsettled, but not unhappy. Little bit muddled. Nothing serious.
I agreed to give some time to Noel at the end of the day, so that he could fire any questions at me. Thus far he has been the perfect shadow – hardly ever in my line of vision and taking up very little of my time. Of course George’s experience with Veronica seems to have been rather different – but then, George is only too keen, isn’t he, to find time to answer the slightest query and to assuage any doubts his needy protégée might have. Ho hum.
Noel is practical and, frankly, more professional. He is fascinated by the fact that I am amongst the very few who still keep session notes in longhand. I have always taken minimal notes during the sessions, otherwise essential eye contact is lost, and frankly it’s just a bit rude. But I don’t think anyone is put off by my occasional scribbles in my lovely battered old pad holder. As long as I write up my notes after each session verbatim, I see no reason to log everything on the computer. I also feel that, ironically, the files are safer in this tangible form, where they are filed out of sight, securely. The computer seems so dangerously accessible somehow. George is constantly telling me that passwords and suchlike are fierce protectors but I prefer to stick with my old tried and tested system. Until someone can prove me wrong, I will continue to do that.
Noel seemed fascinated by all this when we sat down together. I thought for a moment he might be suppressing a scoff, saving up a snigger for later, but I realized I was wrong, he was genuinely interested in my methods, which for a young buck in his thirties is fairly impressive. He was attentive and curious and his subsequent questions proved that he was listening. I suspect he’s a bit frightened of me. George is forever telling me that I am regarded as a Jekyll and Hyde figure – calm and patient with my clients, but rigorous and brusque with everyone else. Fine by me. Totally true. Ask my family – none of them are my clients and consequently I’m sure they’d agree that their mother is chiefly evil Mrs Hyde. A little bit of nominal fear from a trainee is no bad thing, it keeps them on their toes. In Noel’s case, though, he seemed to be bravely battling his misgivings in order to find out more, and so I felt inclined to be helpful. Even though I have very little time.
Actually, I am completely snowed under, a fact I was describing to him when he tentatively asked if I would like to continue our talk in the pub since Lisa seemed to be actively kicking us out of our own offices. She has taken to violently jangling the keys as she stomps up and down loudly announcing the end of the workday. Lisa has assumed the role of warden. More
TWENTY-NINE
Dora
Got a letter this morning. Well not an actual letter, but a kind of appointment card thing to tell me the date – omigod – of the first round of X Factor auditions in London!! This is like, so boom! This is it, baby. Stage one. Passed it. I can continue on in my goal of my dreams towards becoming Britain’s Next Top Singer.
I so cannot tell Mum and Dad about this. They just don’t understand. They are both old and they’ve like totally given up on their dreams now. All they do is their jobs. Whatever they are. Well, Mum does therapy with teenagers and families and stuff and Dad … has a job too. On computers or something?
Not me, I’m not going to waste my life on a bloody job where you just go to the same place 24/11 and die of boringness. I just can’t for God’s sake. I’ve got a talent and it would be oh so wrong not to let it out, not to let other people hear me. How would I feel if I just go to uni, get a degree, get a job, get a family, get a dog, get a house? It would kill me. Proper dead. I want to LIVE. I want to sing, sing, SING! ‘I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky …’
A Tiny Bit Marvellous
THIRTY
Mo
Interesting day. Am feeling somewhat unsettled, but not unhappy. Little bit muddled. Nothing serious.
I agreed to give some time to Noel at the end of the day, so that he could fire any questions at me. Thus far he has been the perfect shadow – hardly ever in my line of vision and taking up very little of my time. Of course George’s experience with Veronica seems to have been rather different – but then, George is only too keen, isn’t he, to find time to answer the slightest query and to assuage any doubts his needy protégée might have. Ho hum.
Noel is practical and, frankly, more professional. He is fascinated by the fact that I am amongst the very few who still keep session notes in longhand. I have always taken minimal notes during the sessions, otherwise essential eye contact is lost, and frankly it’s just a bit rude. But I don’t think anyone is put off by my occasional scribbles in my lovely battered old pad holder. As long as I write up my notes after each session verbatim, I see no reason to log everything on the computer. I also feel that, ironically, the files are safer in this tangible form, where they are filed out of sight, securely. The computer seems so dangerously accessible somehow. George is constantly telling me that passwords and suchlike are fierce protectors but I prefer to stick with my old tried and tested system. Until someone can prove me wrong, I will continue to do that.
Noel seemed fascinated by all this when we sat down together. I thought for a moment he might be suppressing a scoff, saving up a snigger for later, but I realized I was wrong, he was genuinely interested in my methods, which for a young buck in his thirties is fairly impressive. He was attentive and curious and his subsequent questions proved that he was listening. I suspect he’s a bit frightened of me. George is forever telling me that I am regarded as a Jekyll and Hyde figure – calm and patient with my clients, but rigorous and brusque with everyone else. Fine by me. Totally true. Ask my family – none of them are my clients and consequently I’m sure they’d agree that their mother is chiefly evil Mrs Hyde. A little bit of nominal fear from a trainee is no bad thing, it keeps them on their toes. In Noel’s case, though, he seemed to be bravely battling his misgivings in order to find out more, and so I felt inclined to be helpful. Even though I have very little time.
Actually, I am completely snowed under, a fact I was describing to him when he tentatively asked if I would like to continue our talk in the pub since Lisa seemed to be actively kicking us out of our own offices. She has taken to violently jangling the keys as she stomps up and down loudly announcing the end of the workday. Lisa has assumed the role of warden. More
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