The Interview

In last week's blog I mentioned that I am not good at interviews, in fact in the whole of my life I was only successful at one interview, and that was the one that got me my first job in 1976. Subsequent interviews at which I failed resulted in one of three outcomes: Someone else got the job (I can cope with that); The Interviewer got the job (mildly humiliating); No one got the job (very humiliating). On occasion I was on the other side of the desk, interviewing people, but thankfully not alone; had I been I doubt I would have been comfortable.

Interviews are notoriously stressful and some candidates, like me, are not good at talking about themselves, well not in a way that sells themselves anyway: there's a very British trait that we don't like to boast which conflicts with the object of the interview. Some interviews require candidates to perform some sort of test, in fact I was involved in interviews where we were looking for a Workflow Architect (part Business Analyst, part Software Programmer) where we asked applicants to design a workflow diagram (not for anything too complex, it was for making a cup of tea). These tests have always struck me as a lot more useful than questioning alone.

But these days it seems that interviewers have gone beyond the "What are your strengths?" type of question and added some that, at first sight at least, seem surreal, irrelevant and possibly downright unanswerable. Out of idle curiosity, I took a look at the top ten toughest questions asked in the UK [1] to see if they as pointless as they seem at first sight, and the answer is that by and large they make some sense, even if the answer is to some extent irrelevant.

1. "Can you calculate how many tennis balls are used during the course of Wimbledon?”

No, is the short answer, not unless you know the number of matches played in the tournament, but even then you'd need to know how many games within those matches, because the balls are changed every nine games, unless of course the answer required is how many are supplied by Slazenger, which is not necessarily the number used. I'd say that by demonstrating your understanding of the question you would at least show the interviewer that you had the ability to think through the problem. Alternatively you could admit you don't know, but know how to find out, an equally important skill in my book. After all, I couldn't say I knew everything about my job, but what I didn't know I knew how to find out. The actual answer to this question is 52,000 by the way.

2. “Estimate the total number of cars in the UK.”

Unless your previous job was with the DVLA or the Office of National Statistics, this is not a fact you will have at your fingertips, but again you could demonstrate a logical mind by estimating (because that's what you are asked to do), that in a population of 60 million about half the population will be too young, too old or not bothered to drive, leaving 30 million people who are likely to drive, and let's assume one car per person for the sake of argument; it is an estimate after all. And the correct answer? 34.5 million.

3. “How many calories are in a grocery store?”

You can take this question literally, in which case the answer is none because a grocery store will comprise steel, wood, glass, concrete and other building materials that are not known for their calorific content, or you could ask, how big is this grocery store as a starting point, then dissemble a bit by comparing the little corner shop with the cavernous out of town supermarket, and what sort of grocery store are they talking about anyway and the state of the nation's diet. The number of calories in the food being sold within the supermarket will also vary due to the season (at Christmas it seems food of a much higher calorie content is on offer), the time and day of the week, whether a delivery has recently been received and how much stock has been sold.

4. “How would you sell a fridge to an Eskimo?”

As soon as the interviewer said Eskimo, you immediately thought of someone swaddled in seal fur, living in a house built of ice, and how could you sell a fridge to someone like that? Except Eskimos no more live in ice houses (igloo, by the way is Inuit for a building people live in, so they all live in igloos, whether they are ice houses or brick built) than I do. So the answer is, in exactly the same way you sell a fridge to anyone else. Oh, and some people prefer Inuit to Eskimo as they consider the latter term non-PC.

5. “What would you take to a lonely island with you and why?”

Note, lonely, not desert, not deserted. So my lonely island would be Bandos in The Maldives, and I'd take my family, my swimwear and my Kindle, because that's what I take on holiday.

6. “Is Batman a superhero?"

Yes. Superhero is not the same as having super powers in my view, so the fact that Batman can't fly or turn green, or burst into flames does not prevent him being a super hero, because he is undoubtedly heroic and super has any number of synonyms, including great, magnificent, sensational, terrific and cool, and I think he fits the bill there, don't you?

7. "You have 17 red and 17 blue balls, and you remove two at a time. If the two are the same colour, add in one extra blue ball. If they are different colours, add in an extra red ball. What colour is the final ball removed?”

Let us assume that the first two balls you remove are red. You are now required to add a further blue ball, but since you only have 17 blue balls to start with, how can you? Nowhere in the question does it say that you have a reserve of red and blue balls to add to the balls you begin with. Also, since you remove two balls at a time, there cannot be a final, single ball removed. There can of course, be a final ball remaining, but that is not the same thing. The question is inherently flawed.

8. “What cartoon character would you be and why?”

Think of the most obscure cartoon character you can, Dagwood Bumstead perhaps, or Garth, or The Escapist. If the interviewer has not heard of them, so much the better. This sort of question is surely asked solely so that you can demonstrate the ability to speak coherently. Better yet, make up a character.

Dagwood Bumstead

9. “What is the wildest thing that you have done?”

Naturally, the answer here should be tailored to the job you are applying for. Obviously the position of Club18-30 rep requires a much raunchier answer than that of Archbishop of Canterbury. On this occasion, I think you have to second guess the interviewer!

10. “What was your opinion of the film Blair Witch Project?”

How you answer this depends very much on whether you have seen it or not. I haven't, so I have no opinion on its content, but I have heard of it and have a general idea about it, so at least I could waffle on about how it popularised the "found footage"  type of movie, albeit that it was not originator of the genre.

A lot of these questions anticipate that you, the interviewee, will make assumptions based on preconceptions. In a similar way, when one goes on courses and is given a team activity or exercise, you will be given certain limitations. There will invariably be a limitation that is assumed by the team that was not named; finding and then exploiting that invariably makes the task easier.

The ten questions are there to make candidates  do something that Edward de Bono labelled lateral thinking, but what we now generally call thinking outside the box. When we see a question we make assumptions, invoke our prejudices and preconceptions and answer accordingly, often missing what the question actually wants.

But finally, a question that I think you will find impossible to answer. When does the dfs sale end?

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[1] Source: glassdoor.co.uk

What? Me Worry?

My Mother, God bless her, was an inveterate worrier. My Dad and I would often remark that when she had nothing to worry about she would worry that she had missed something she ought to be worrying about. With hindsight, this was probably not helpful. In fact I think that today Mum would have been diagnosed as suffering from anxiety, a condition experienced by nearly 5% of the UK population, but back in the days I'm referring to people worried rather than suffered from anxiety.

And in the 1960's, my Mum had plenty to worry about, largely it has to be said, about money because my Dad rarely had a secure or long term job. A French polisher by trade, my Dad would frequently start a new job on a Monday only to be handed his cards by Friday. During the decade that began with the building of the Berlin Wall and ended with the first moon landings, my Dad had so many jobs that Mum had to keep a notebook of employers, start and finish dates, pay and the like in order to be able to fill out his tax return, and when Dad dropped a cast iron letter box on his foot and broke his toe,  he was off work for weeks with virtually no money coming in. So I guess there were times when, by any definition of the word, we were living in poverty, not that I was aware of it, it wasn't a concept my ten year old self had heard of let alone could grasp. In later years my Mum told me how much she had to scrimp to put food on the table and pay the rent, and how much of a worry that was. That probably influenced her in the last few years of her life, when even though she had enough money to live comfortably if not in luxury, she would worry about spending her savings.

When my Dad gave up polishing in favour of more stable occupations (he was a school caretaker and later, storeman for firm of pneumatic engineers) and my Mum went to work for a firm of solicitors as a shorthand-typist, money was less of an issue, but Mum found other things to worry about, principally me it seemed, especially when I went out. Like any normal teenager I would go out with friends, but whereas they seemed to be able to divert from a previously made arrangement and do something off the cuff, I could not, particularly if this meant staying out longer than planned, because Mum would enter panic mode if I was home even five minutes later than I had originally said I would be. Over the years this caused me to cancel or not even bother with arrangements to go out, especially if they were spontaneous arrangements; the hassle, particularly if events overran, was just not worth the bother.

I suppose that this has driven my almost obsessive approach to timekeeping. I abhor being late but even above that I cannot abide being late when it is me and me alone that has imposed a deadline. I guess that most people have a slight concern about being late when they have a plane to catch, but I tend to fret about being late to do something as trivial as going to the shops once I have decided that I will go at a particular time. Unfortunately I have inherited some of my Mum's traits when it comes to worrying. Rationally I can see them for what they are; most of the time they are baseless and not worth consuming thoughts with, but that does not mean that I will not worry about them.

Most people will have heard the famous Serenity Prayer:

 " God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference."

Huh! Is all I can say to that. To me there is no difference between something I can change and something I cannot; I will worry about each equally. I even worry about things that may not even happen (and what a total waste of time and energy that is). For instance, let's say you apply for a job. You send off your application and wait to hear if you have got an interview. Meanwhile you get on with your life. I, on the other hand, start to obsess the moment the application has been sent. Here's a short list of the things that I will worry about:

• What happens if I get an interview and it's at an awkward time?
• What time should I leave to get to the interview?
• How should I get there?
• What do I say when I get there, how do I introduce myself?
• If I get the job, I wonder where my desk will be? And where the toilets are? And how will I get my system access on the computer set up? What time train should I get on my first day? What if I'm late? What are the names of the other people and will I remember them? 

I do not worry about whether I will get an interview, you will notice, although inside I am praying that I don't because then I don't have to worry. Whether I get an interview or not is genuinely beyond my control, I cannot worry about that. And I do not worry about the interview itself (should I get one), which is probably not a good thing as it leaves me unprepared and in a sort of self fulfilling prophecy, I confidently expect to fail...and do. All that worry about trivia such as where is the stationery cupboard becomes irrelevant and exhaustingly time wasting.

Oh, and I can worry by proxy quite nicely too, thanks very much. Let's say it is a family member who has applied for a job, not me. All of the worries that I listed above will pass back and forth through my mind even though it isn't me who may have an interview and may eventually have to make that commute and find that stationery cupboard.

Anxiety can be a debilitating condition and I don't mean to make light of it, especially since I don't think I am a sufferer (I am writing that because I am worried that people who genuinely suffer from anxiety may be offended or upset by my potentially making light of it), but I am a worrier, and like my Mum I will occasionally worry that I have nothing to worry about. I suppose I am by no means unique in having had periods of my life when everything seems to be going according to plan but still I worry that there is something around the corner or something that I have not thought of that will give me something to worry about.

The strange thing is that I rarely worry about the really big issues, assuming I cannot influence them. After last Friday's tragic events in Paris, you might expect me to be worried about a repeat in London that might affect me, my family or friends, but I'm not (well, not unduly) because I can do little or nothing about it. There are some things that are genuinely not possible to worry about, such is their enormity and our inability to influence them. 

Maybe there's something in that Serenity Prayer after all.

The Long Walk To Tilbury

A few weeks ago I wrote that I was looking for sponsors to support me in walking from Romford to Tilbury to raise money to buy a defibrillator for Romford Football Club (see Project 10 - Walking To Tilbury). The aim was to set out from Westlands in London Road, Romford (the site of the football club's proposed new home) and walk to Tilbury, where Romford were playing that day, a distance in the region of 16 miles. 

This was the first time I had tried this sort of fund raising and I have to say that the internet is absolutely vital in getting the message over. Without the internet my exposure would have been limited to supporters of the football club through our programme and matchday publicity and family and friends, and since I am now retired I have  no network of work colleagues to tap into. And without the internet it's a largely repetitive process of canvassing people face to face. JustGiving, well known for helping people raise money for charity, also help with Crowd Funding and their website was invaluable in publicising my campaign and collecting pledges. Social media sites like Facebook and Twitter were similarly crucial in spreading the word along with Romford FC's website and the Ryman League's site (see http://www.isthmian.co.uk/blogger-turns-walker-to-save-lives-27005). But for all the amount of publicity, I was still had no idea whether my target of £1,000 was achievable.

About to set off, 8am, Saturday 7th November 2015

I started canvassing for pledges in mid-October at Romford's game against Redbridge and within a week I had £200, which I was quite pleased with. By the end of the month this had more than doubled and that point I wondered if I could reasonably expect much more, so as you might imagine, I was delighted that the pledges continued to come and on 6th November, the eve of my walk, my target was reached.

Five miles done, eleven to go. 

But my happiness was tempered by the weather forecast, which was for heavy rain for virtually all of the duration of my walk and could have led to the game being postponed. The prospect of arriving at Chadfields (Tilbury's ground) to be greeted by a waterlogged pitch, no game, no fellow Romford supporters and then having to make my way home again on my own  didn't really bear thinking about.

Nine miles done!

Come Saturday morning, it was raining when I woke up just before five o'clock but mercifully it had stopped by the time I set off from Westlands at just after 8 o'clock. I say "I set off", but in fact I wasn't alone. My wife Val came along initially just to take a photo or two and walk as far as Roneo Corner. As it turned out she then decided to walk to Rainham but eventually walked as far as Lakeside (that's 11.81 miles) where the prospect of a sit down with a cup of coffee and some retail therapy proved too strong and she left me to my own devices for the rest of the trip. By that stage we had marched from Westlands to Roneo Corner, on to Dovers Corner in Rainham and then trudged along the A1306, getting a good drenching when we crossed the A13. After Val went off to sample the delights of Lakeside, I plodded on through Grays, which was where for the first time there was a hilly bit. Leaving Grays Town Centre, Orsett Road climbs up towards Palmers College and I was puffing a bit by this stage, being overtaken at one point by an elderly lady carrying home her shopping. Still, I bet she hadn't walked fourteen and a bit miles to get there! Oh, and I also met a couple of Mormons who attempted to engage me in conversation (bent, presumably on conversion), but I made my apologies and ploughed on.

Checking my phone, I noticed some reference on social media about whether the game was on or not. At about 10 o'clock Tilbury FC had tweeted that "as it stands (the game) is on" which was only vaguely reassuring, and when my phone rang as I approached Palmers College at 12.45 I imagined that this would be a call telling me that it was off. I wrested my phone from my pocket to be greeted by a recorded message, "We understand you may have been involved in a car accident that wasn't your fault..." I hung up and plodded on. The next stretch was mercifully downhill, along the Chadwell By-Pass, and in the distance I could see Tilbury's floodlights. My goal was in sight, but as I reached The Gateway Academy the heavens opened again.

I squelched into St Chads Road and arrived at the ground at quarter past one, 5 hours and 11 minutes and 16.34 miles after leaving Westlands. Romford skipper Matt Frew and some of his team-mates were in the clubhouse when I walked in and were obviously aware that I'd walked there. Not so the locals who at first thought I was some sort of madman, but when I explained what I'd done and why, they  became more and more genuinely interested. And I have to thank them for their impromptu collection that raised a further £54 for the fund. At this point I have to admit to feeling almost hyperactive; I thought I would just sort of collapse, but bizarrely I felt as though I could have kept on walking.

1.15 pm Saturday 7th November 2015

Considering the rain that fell at various points in my walk I was not too wet, although I was grateful when Romford manager Paul Martin lent me a spare, dry coat for the duration of the game, allowing mine to dry off in the changing room. The rain held off for the ninety minutes, but unfortunately we lost 3-1 after being a goal ahead.

By the time I got home (thanks to club chairman Steve Gardener for the lift) and checked my Crowdfunding page, the total pledged had risen to £1,040 and when cheques received and cash donated were added, the total reached £1,325. That exceeded what I realistically expected to raise, so once again, my grateful thanks to everyone who contributed.

I expected to ache a bit the next day, but remarkably I didn't, well nowhere near as much as I thought I would anyway, although every now and then a little stiffness crept into the muscles after sitting down for any length of time.

The next step is to arrange the purchase of the defibrillator and organise training courses for the users. The irony is of course that once we have bought the defibrillator, I really hope that we never actually have to use it.

"Remember, Remember, The Fifth Of November!"

In 1605, Guy Fawkes and others conspired in an attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament and assassinate King James I. Fawkes was given the job of keeping watch over the barrels of gunpowder in the basement and to light the fuse. On the morning of 5th November, soldiers discovered Guy hidden in the cellar and arrested him. Subsequently, to celebrate the fact that King James I had survived the attempt on his life, bonfires were lit around London, and later the introduction of the Observance of 5th November Act enforced an annual public day of thanksgiving for the plot's failure. We've been celebrating Guy Fawkes Night, or Bonfire Night, or Fireworks Night (call it what you will) with pyrotechnics and the burning of effigies, ever since.

Guy Fawkes

That said, Guy Fawkes Night celebrations have increasingly taken a back seat compared with other Autumn/Winter celebrations. Now that the Christmas period seems to start in September and Halloween has gained greater prominence, Bonfire Night is a bit of an afterthought; a damp squib if you will. Halloween is now celebrated, or at least marked, with much greater fanfare than it was when I was child. Looking back fifty years (my goodness, where did the time go?) I cannot remember there being much, if anything, made of All Hallows Eve. But for anyone in the UK who laments the increasing prevalence of "Trick or Treat" and believes it to be an import from our former colony across the pond, the tradition of going house-to-house collecting food at Halloween in the UK dates back to the 16th century, as does the practice of wearing costumes at Halloween. It found favour in the USA in the late 1920's and has merely regained popularity here in recent years.

When I was child, Guy Fawkes Night was definitely the bigger occasion. In the weeks leading up to Bonfire Night there were the TV ads, "Light Up The Sky With Standard Fireworks," and then we would go out and buy our box, always Standard, never Brocks or anyone else. I would pore over the contents with anticipation until the night, 5th November, itself. In the risk averse, Health and Safety conscious world we live in today, I very much doubt that the proposed sale of these low grade explosives would be allowed were it not for the fact that they have a long tradition. Firework accidents are blessedly a lot rarer these days, but back in the 1960's when I was growing up, the build up to each Bonfire Night would include dire warnings of the dangers of fireworks,  and sadly most years there seemed to be stories on TV and in the papers in the days following November the Fifth of people, often children, horribly scarred and burned as a result of Bonfire Night mishaps.

Standard Fireworks implore you to "Take Care" while depicting a child with a firework clamped between his legs!

Fortunately in my childhood there were no major accidents on Fireworks Night, although one year a gust of wind did blow a rocket into a neighbour's bathroom window and a Spitfire firework (basically a banger with cardboard wings) once went haywire and had us all diving for cover! There was one year when tragedy might have ensued, however when I proudly showed my Dad my box of fireworks not realising that he had a cigarette in his mouth. Fortunately there was no errant spark, no catastrophic, impromptu, indoor display! There was one occasion however when a flash from a Roman Candle burned a hole in his spectacles; had he not been wearing glasses he could easily have suffered a nasty injury.

Other things that have changed are the growth in organised displays and the complete disappearance of children begging for "A Penny for the Guy." The former are generally a good thing. Rather than stand in the back garden with a box of pyrotechnics costing anywhere from £50 to £150, you can take in a spectacular display organised by a local council or club without the risk to life and limb (having once been chased round the garden by an errant Roman Candle, I appreciate not having to light my own). The increased popularity of organised displays must take some credit for reduced domestic firework related accidents.

The groups of children with their motley collections of Guys, pestering people for funds to buy fireworks have long since demised (in my neighbourhood at least; if you still see any where you live, let me know, I'd be interested), in their place are the Halloween Trick or Treaters. Sadly, I don't think I've seen anyone with a Guy collecting pennies for over twenty years, and I doubt a penny would be good enough now, I reckon a quid would be considered the minimum.

With Halloween falling on a Saturday this year, we had a huge number of small children (accompanied by responsible adults, I'm pleased to note) knocking on our door last weekend and they staggered away with huge burdens of candies of various types. We had a few knick-knacks on the house; a couple of ghosts, some skeletons and the like, to show we were Trick or Treat friendly, but some people in our area really pushed the boat out with some fabulous decorations.

Fireworks are increasingly a feature of celebrations not associated with Guy Fawkes. Diwali and New Year's Eve are just two occasions when you can expect to see and hear them and as much as I like watching them, why do so many of them have to be so damned loud? Technically, fireworks can only be set off  between 7am and 11pm, although the law makes exceptions for  Bonfire Night, when the cut off is midnight, New Year’s Eve, Diwali and Chinese New Year, when the cut off is 1am, but increasingly that 11pm cut-off seems to be ignored with impromptu displays going off to all hours. It isn't unusual to be woken at all hours by distant (and not so distant) displays.

Although it is Guy Fawkes Night we celebrate on 5th November, and Fawkes was the one discovered with his finger on the trigger as it were, he was not the leader of the conspiracy. That man was Robert Catesby. Somehow it's as well that it is Fawkes who is remembered; Robert Catesby's Night just doesn't have the same ring to it!