Girls and high winds

On the subtitles on the BBC there was a warning of "girls and strong winds" in northern England. Both featured prominently in my weekend.

Ignoring, to my cost, the advice not to attempt to travel north of York, I went to Newcastle for yet another assessment morning and interview for a job. I'm losing count of them now. The plan was to come back to Bristol on Friday afternoon, then on Saturday it was over to Lewes for a family conflab about improving my grandparents' grave.

The storm hit and my options started narrowing. There were no trains on Friday going to anywhere where I knew someone, so I booked back in to the hotel I'd stayed in on Thursday. It turned out to be an enjoyable, but very expensive, unscheduled stay.

On Thursday afternoon I had was nattering to a couple of railwaymen, one from Liverpool, the other from Manchester. The Manc went to the loo and the Scouser said "I'm starting to think he's one of these right-wing working class people. I'm alright Jack." In the evening I ended up sitting with these two women, once of whom was pleasingly touchy-feely; they both kissed me when it was time to go.

The trains started creaking back into action later the following day. I went for a pub breakfast and was delighted to be joined at the adjacent table by this gorgeous group of Geordie lasses dolled up for Burns Night, cleavage and legs all over the place, starting the day with Prosecco at 9.30am.

I managed to get a seat on a very crowded train. There was a man opposite, earbuds plugged in, reading a book subtitled "why you are depressed and how to find hope." Poor lad. The middle classes are so fucked up.

I shared my table with some three young blokes on their way to support Burton Albion at Derby. There was also a young girl and her gran on their way to see a musical in London. There's so much to enjoy about other people if you open yourself to it.

I arrived in Lewes. I'd reserved a table in a pub for the eight of us. I got there to be told that my mum and auntie weren't happy because they said they couldn't hear each other "and it's pizza." The pub had turned off the music in our room and had made sure that my mum and auntie had the seats by the fire. But no, after my brother driving a round trip of six hundred miles to collect my mum, and me being on a train for over six hours, they wanted to go to my auntie's house in Brighton instead.

I had two hours before my train back to Bristol, and had chosen the pub partly because it was a couple of minutes walk from the station. By the time we'd faffed about with arranging to go to a Brighton suburb, I'd have had to set off home again. I thought it was unreasonable of my mum and auntie to start altering the plans after such efforts, especially on the part of my brother. I went to see the landlord to apologise for cancelling the reservation.

I said I couldn't (well, wouldn't) accompany them, made my farewells, then sat feeling very irritated and wound up in a different pub before catching the train home. I got home at half past midnight, feeling the weekend had soured at its end.

I feel very bad about upsetting my mother, and have left a message on her phone this morning, but I also think it was a little selfish of them. If they weren't happy with meeting in the pub the least they could have done was to inform me beforehand. Or they could have just put up with it for an hour-and-a-half.

Yesterday I found out that I had been unsuccessful at the interview. I've asked for any feedback, but they usually simply ignore the email. A couple of hours later, I was informed that I'd also failed the interview back in December for the job in Liverpool.