So You Want To Be a Care Worker?

Hello again.
I live in West Moors, a town that essentially exists because there was no more room for any more old peoples homes in Ferndown, so the Dorset Council commanded from atop their mighty tower, that more care homes must be built, it such vast quantities that they may constitute as a village, NAY, a town, and it shall be called.....
WEST MOORS. 

I live in the ideal area to be a Care Worker ™, and have a good few years under my belt in the ' Profession ', for want of a better word.
Before I started as a carer I could just picture the sort of job it would be. I had all these preconceptions as to what the job would entail and the gory sights that one is to behold if they are to take up the mantle of Carer In The Community. It will probably come to no surprise to hear that all my thoughts were wrong and the job is totally different to what I personally imagined it would be like.
The purpose of this article is to maybe give some advice to people considering going into care, or, if you know anybody in care, to help you understand what they are having to do.

" Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...

1) Be prepared to work with the very worst of the middle aged women elite. They talk about themselves, they talk about television soaps, they bitch like there is no tomorrow and everything you do, they could do better. If you accept this then you are in for a smooth run in your chosen care home. Personally, they make me want to take a drill to my temples...

2) There is no where near as much poo as you would think. Its the elephant in the room when you have a conversation with someone about being a carer. They know you deal with it. You know you deal with it. But how much? Put it this way. In the three years I have been doing this job, yes you see your fair share, but its not as bad as you might imagine, in fact you get used to it to some extent, odd as that sounds. 

3) Your pay will be crap and your hours will be abysmal. Accept this.

4) People will say to you "God, that must be so rewarding". Hmmm, it is, but that aspect can fade pretty quickly. However, there are moments, sometimes quit often, where something will happen with a resident, they may walk when they haven't for a long time, if they are not eating then suddenly they eat an entire meal and ask for seconds, they may spend half their life asleep in their chair and then suddenly want to go out in the garden...
It is those kind of moment that make the shit pay, the rubbish hours, the tedium of it all - seem worth it.


5) It is important to remember that you are dealing with people. Real People. Some of the most boring people I have met in my entire life are my age and some of the most interesting and fun people I have ever met are 86. If you go into care believing that you are going to be working with smelly old shells of the human race who once had a life, then don't even pick up an application form, in fact, shame on you for being so fickle and shallow. To assume that people lose their character, their fun, their morals, as they get older, is wrong. An Epic Fail as we say in 2012. Yes there are one or two residents you may not get on with or particularly like, that's cool, I bet if I put you in a room with 15 people of your own age you would think one is a complete and utter berk. When you meet someone, and when you talk with someone, it is a personal choice, be it subconscious or conscious, as to why you decide that you respect that person. Respect is a personal choice in my opinion. I respect my friend because he has a successful job, a wife and two kids, and makes time to be a good friend, I respect my sister because she isn't naturally academic but works her arse off to make something of herself, and so on....
I respect most people over the age of 65 almost on autopilot because in some way or other they were affected by WWII. If somebody played any role in protecting our country in its darkest hour, they should demand our respect. Its a pity because a lot of people from my generation seem to have forgotten that.


I could say more on the subject of care, but I doubt many people are that interested. I just felt that nowadays Care has a really bad repore. Care workers are being villainised and the simple fact is that only a very small percent are actually the perverts and arseholes you read about. To be in care is to dedicate long hours and an awful amount of personal time, to making sure that vulnerable people are safe and well looked after. To me that shouldn't be twisted and turned by the British media into something that it isn't. I hope that maybe this blog helps some people who are thinking of going into Care have a better understanding of what you they going into. 

Keep Buggering On...

There are terrorists walking amongst you. They browse your Facebook, they follow you on Twitter and they cross your path on your way to the make up counter at Boots. When you get your pint they are next in line, and when you go to the cinema, they are eating popcorn next to you. Except these terrorists are not bombers with a desire for 72 virgins. They are a sign of the times and of the country, and they are called - Pessimists.

To quote one of my favourite songs ("Medicine" by The All New Adventures of Us), Britain is a nation of cynics; that much is true, and part of our national identity, something that on the back of the jubilee we're all probably very familiar with. It is also true that we are in dark days, for reasons you would have seen in the Daily Mail and heard discussed on the Today programme on BBC Radio 4. 

Unfortunately, and this is only my view - now is not the time for pessimism.

During WWII London was Blitzed continuously. Great masterpieces of architecture and design were obliterated and thousands killed. Men, women and children. You're loved ones crushed under rubble and dust, your home destroyed and the only thing holding you together was hope, hanging tentatively by a thread, but that thread was enough to see us through a war, enough to bring communities together and unite the country in a steadfast and stubborn belief that we could pull through.                                                                          

                           

This time there is no Germany. There are no night-time bomb attacks - the enemy is within ourselves.

The past few days have been a display that spirit and unity, two words you very rarely hear anymore, are still present in our country. We are still a great country. 

Cynics and downright pessimists (there's that word again), will say that the Queen costs too much (she costs us each 62p each so...) and that there are more important things that need sorting out in Britain rather than celebrating some old women staying on the throne for 60 years. True. But its events like the past few days that will stay in the minds of children and of the next generations, it is those moments that we can look back at and enjoy when the shit hits the fan and we feel like everything is falling apart. 

If we showed half as much unity with each other on a day by day basis then we would be a much more forward moving country. We don't all have to like each other, that's a ridiculous notion, but we can look forward, and we can try and see the good out there. I think that is a large part of it. Every time you see a new manager take over the English football team for example, everybody expects England to go on some rampage of victories and be the best team in the world overnight. It cant happen immediately - It takes time!

We are a nation going through massive changes, and while this entire post is hopelessly romantic in its ideas, surely you too would like a day to come where you can enjoy life, and our country. There will always be people who are unhappy, there will always be people who disagree. But in my mind, the time for dragging our heels and moaning (such is the English way) is over. I don't see any room for negativity going forwards as a country. Sure be cynical, that's entirely different, but there is a fine line between being a cynic and being a misery. Negative energy will get you nowhere. Fact.

I could ramble on for ages, but I won't. I think to be honest everybody has to make up their own minds on this and where you stand. There are lots of things that need fixing and resolving. Nobody wants the wool pulled over their eyes, but at the same time change cannot just happen. If we are going to go forward and make this a country that we are proud of, then we have to believe its possible to do so. We have to try and be as optimistic as we can be.

I'll leave you with a quote that I pretty much live by nowadays, and one that a good friend told me when I felt like there was no optimism left in me. You may have heard it before....

"Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be".

                                                                    - A. Lincoln. 

Sixty Million Errors

Just returned from seeing the wonderful Errors at Bournemouth's 60 Million Postcards.
Initial things I have learnt from this evening are as follows: -

• Bournemouth music fans can nod their heads with enthusiasm. It's far more polite and British than actually jumping about you see.
• Errors are amazing. Tight. LOUD. And packing more beats and funk than the most beat filled and funky thing on the planet. True Story. They were immense.

I first heard Errors way back, and remember their first record was a regular on my Spotify playlist. I was privileged enough to get the opportunity to support them with my band when they played at the infamous Southampton Joiners on 5th March 2010 in support of their second LP - Come Down With Me. I was given a bit of advice when I first started out taking my band seriously, and that was to be careful of the smaller, more indie bands. They are the ones that tend to have the ego, and it is the larger bands that are lovely. I kept that in mind and have encountered both on my travels, and after supporting them back in the day, was chuffed with how friendly and genuinely kind Errors are as people, which I find makes me more enthusiastic to buy into their music. They're brilliant chaps, making brilliant music.

Anyway tonight - back to that. The band were on top, top form. One member down from when I last saw them, they played to a small but enthusiastic (by Bournemouth's standards) crowd of about 50 people and ploughed through a 60 minute set. 

It was pretty much agreed by the end of the evening that the drumming was some of the best me and my friends have ever witnessed live, but this would be nothing were it not for the enthusiasm the whole band clearly have for the music they are making. I caught up with Stephen Livingstone of the band just prior to the show and he was very excited to be playing the new songs out on the road and is proud of their new effort, the fantastic - " Have Some Faith In Magic". 

If you have never listened to Errors before, then I implore you, please give them a listen. They may not be your thing, but what have you got to lose? They may just be the best thing you've ever heard. If you are familiar with the three piece, then congratulations, I applaud your taste in music. 

Who says Mondays have to be rubbish eh?!

" Why Do You Hate Me So?"

So Just a quick one really. Enough blogs have been written about The Drums since they formed in 2006, but for me my relationship with the band has been such a love / hate affair, that I feel I owe them an outward display of affection. 

When NME first mentioned The Drums in the radar section of their magazine I checked them out because I was sceptical how a band could claim to blend The Beach Boys with Joy Division. I didn't like them. Or rather, I didn't give them a chance. I regarded them as NYC Cool and way to interested in what 'sneakers' they were wearing then the music they were putting out to the world. It wasn't helped when in an NME issue, dedicated to new music in the U.S.A., my favourite band, The National, were relegated to some inside page, whilst THIS band, who had only been around a year, were given the honour of appearing on the cover *.

I checked out their debut LP, and felt little warmth from it and assumed I wasn't really their demographic. I'm Matthew, and I listen to serious music, about serious things.

I am pleased to say that I have got off that disgusting, venomous pedestal, and stopped pouring scorn from upon high on anyone attempting to enjoy their lives through fun music and have found that in the past 6 months I have truthfully listened to music that I enjoy, regardless of if it is cool, or in, or trendy, groovy or hip. No, the time for bigotry is over, and for this I must thank The Drums.

When the band released their second record, their 'sophomore', to use the correct lingo, I was listening to Arcade Fire solidly and had also discovered Berlin era David Bowie. I thought I would be nosey and see what The Drums had been up to, and if they had produced more of the same, but the band had a little surprise in store for me. Not only had they refined their sound while my ears had been busy elsewhere, but they had also hit upon a nerve creatively, that produced better and more confident songs. For me, Portamento is the sound of a band that knows what its doing. I can't put my finger on it, maybe it is the lack of romanticism compared to their first outings, maybe it is the impression they're not bothered about impressing sideline fans anymore, maybe it is just simply the song craft, but something changed for me from The Drums to Portamento. I listen to the record and I feel darkness, but not in a Gothic, Pornography era The Cure sort of way, more melancholic, and very much in keeping with a band sighted as an influence, Factory Records' The Wake. 

On the first record The Drums were children playing on the roofs of cars. They were Levi's too short in the leg and they were bowl cuts. That record was to my ears, pure innocence, it's every sound excretes romanticism and hope, that the world is going to be a kind place. Portamento is the late teenager to that record. It has been kicked and punched, had its wallet stolen and its heart broken.

The Drums make me feel that is okay to simply like pop music. For the longest time I battled in my head with how I could possibly like this band when I also liked these large grandiose bands, full of angst and political rage. Since the riots in London last year I have found myself attempting to seek mental refuge from the harsh realities. This isn't something I recommend, at the end of the day I will have to pull my head out of the sand sooner rather than later, but for as long as I possibly can I want to live in my bubble and keep the world at a distance, even though I know on the horizon is a heavy black cloud of change and despair headed in the direction of any good, honest and hard working individual. The Drums are my blanket and my reassurance during these times. On Portamento I feel I have a kindred spirit in its desire to stay innocent and hidden from the world, and to put on a brave face and show up to work, and thanks to that record I have been able to go back and enjoy their past releases with a better understanding of where they fit in the 

scheme of things.

I could keep talking about this, and many other things besides, and at some point I am sure I will, but for me this story has a happy ending and has taught me that attentive listening can, more often than not, be rewarded and you can pull something out of a record that you didn't expect to find. I certainly didn't think I would find it in a three piece pop group from Florida with a rather fantastic taste in filmography and jackets.

I feel that I should add, just as a little side note, that this is not the first time I have found attentive listening pays off, far from it, I'm am loyal to the bone about bands I care about and have a list as long as my arm of albums that I return to on an almost weekly basis when I am seeking anything from comfort to laughs, but this is the first example where I found it in the most unlikely of places. 

Jonny Pierce, the singer and front man of The Drums, once said that all he wants in life is to write perfect pop songs. I think its safe to say he's definitely on the right track. Portamento is pop perfection.

Check out the new music video for 'Days'. Based on the life and sex change of synthesizer extraordinaire - Wendy Carlos.

*I no longer buy The NME - Utter shit. Words cannot describe my dislike for that publication.

HOME.

I have never lived in the same place for any more than 4 years at a time. It wasn't my decision, nor am I blaming anybody else - it is simply the result of a busy life and a parent who had itchy feet. 

Since moving out of my parents house some two years ago, I have put down my own roots and am settled in the quiet, but consistently enjoyable, Dorset. I feel it makes sense to stay in the same place, and whilst growing up, have always been jealous of the people that can say - " Oh I've lived in that house 15 years etc." 

So I am now a Dorset boy. This is my adopted home town, and the stage upon which I will act out many more years of my life. I Love it for the most part. It can be dull at times, but so can everywhere, and at other times I feel like the luckiest person alive - this more often than not is when I have just been on a walk with my westie, Ruby, around the New Forest, not 5 miles out of Ringwood. Stunning.

Anywho, the point of this ramble is that even though I now live in Dorset, and enjoy living here with my fantastic flat mate Lucy - who is essentially my wife, just without the ring, the certificate and the love life - my four close friends and my Mother and Sister, all just a stones through away, there is still a nagging feeling to go back to a certain part of the country that I lived in as a child, for no more than 3 years. Wiltshire.

I think it is quite standard to remember with fondness places that we visit when we are young. The mundane can quickly become transformed through naive eyes and a packet of sweets, but for me, it was the woods. My uncle and aunt lived on some big lardy-dar estate, that my aunt has inherited, and if this all sounds a little bit Jane Austen, you wouldn't be far wrong. On their many acres of land was this big lake, which had fishing points all around it that were rotting and always empty of fisherman. I remember taking down my jam jar, with a home made handle made out of wire, and plunging this glass prison through the surprisingly clear water, and capturing hundreds of tadpoles. I would waddle back to the house happy as Larry, because the great explorer had caught his prize! 

Now if I visit Wiltshire again, or even move there when I have a head full of grey hair and a passion for tweed, I highly doubt I will be seen skipping through Marlborough or Devizes with a glass jar of tadpoles -  I would look strange and in need of locking up no doubt - but I certainly want to visit the fields again. I want to go to the coffee shops my Granny took me to, and I want to enjoy the open space and the familiarity that comes with visiting somewhere you have been before. Dorset is my home, and I am delighted to say that earnestly, knowing that for the foreseeable future, this will be where I live. But one day I do hope to retrace my steps around the lakes and the fields, and if I see any tadpoles, I may just be tempted to pull out a jam jar.

The King of Limbs by Radiohead is named after a very, very old tree (oak I believe), that resides in Wiltshire. This songs subject matter, plus my occasional low frame of mind, coupled with its dream like textures, reminds me of the lake near my Aunt and Uncles house.

ALEX PRAGER - Vintage Chic and Colour Boom!

I was skimming through the newspaper a fortnight ago when an article about a new Photography Exhibition at London's Michael Hoppen Gallery caught my eye. Alex Prager brings her brand new, and utterly captivating - " Compulsion" - to the capital city for one month from April to May 2012.

Despite studying photography for my A Levels I haven't ever really possessed much interest in researching professional photographers, naively thinking them not to be real artists in the true sense. I then discovered William Eggleston and that blew the doors wide open. It would appear, after doing my research on Miss. Prager, that I am by no means the first to be excited and influenced by Eggleston's perfect control and mastery over colour and the beauty of suburban life. 

Prager has picked up the Eggleston baton and run with it. Her pictures conjure up the late 50's / early 60's, and her earlier work often features female students and house wives, living out their day to day existence or in a state of distress. The area that really intrigues me is Prager's most recent works. There has always been something faintly disturbing in the photographs, that lurks behind the veneer of America during its first great boom in consumerism - all the high heels, the lipstick, the cigarettes hanging off the bottom lip, the bright colours, the perfume, its all there. Its all covered. 

But beneath that, Prager is questioning what price we pay for our looks, and for our westernised obsession with a consumer culture. In her current exhibition, almost every single picture features a tragedy, still shot in the happiest of tones and colours, which makes the pieces appear comical and tongue in cheek, were it not for the subject matter they are depicting. 

I simply love her use of colour. I love how you can either take her work at face value, or you can scratch at it and give it as much or as little meaning as you like. There is a tendency nowadays to take ourselves ever so seriously, which leads me to wonder if the photos themselves are meant to be taken with a pinch of salt, and for us to just enjoy? To marvel in the nostalgia of the environments and the beauty of the characters Prager is depicting? Or are we meant to be seeing the big questions of the world?

For me the answer is not always obvious. Sometimes I can't help but be drawn into the photos due to their sheer joy and brightness. The photos offer up a naive America, when the country appealed so much for its infinite possibilities and for being a land of innovation and dreams, and much like those who fell for it at the time, I find myself wanting to believe that exists. It is then that I see past the initial appeal of what the photos are presenting to us, and see a dark and harsh world of ruin and loss at pursuing a life that is fabricated by nothing more than possessions. The characters in Prager's photographs tried to live the dream but fail to find any satisfaction.

There is certainly more to Alex Prager than first meets the eye and I suspect she has walked a more complicated and difficult road then even she lets on, but either way, the work she is doing is the real deal, and utterly, utterly beautiful in its presentation. The power Prager really has is the endless appeal of her work. She has already branched into film and adverts, and is willing to try new mediums if it is something that excites her. The style she has landed on is so gorgeous and so vivid that her work could appeal to any old Tom, Dick and Harry, whilst at the same time have critics and journalists on their knees. 

Where Alex Prager goes next is mystery. But you can guarantee its not going to be dull.

* Watch a brilliant interview with Miss. Prager here, as she talk about starting out in photography and what inspires her. *