Under Contract...

OK, I did sign the new contract which arrived through the post on Friday.
I'd had a phone message from the college telling me about the pay rise, a direct result of my letter, and saying that a new contract was on its way, with the hope that I would reconsider my position. It was from a woman - the name was unfamiliar, so I thought it might be the Art Department secretary. But when I went in to work on Friday the tutor wrinkled his face - 'name sounds familiar, not someone from our office though. Think she's from Finance?'
Oh. So still no recognition from the Art Department itself. The tutor seemed very happy that I was returning next term, and understood that a two-hour session was hardly worth my while, what with the travelling time and the petrol. He said he'd confer with another tutor to see if they could give me more hours together.
The work that session was dynamic - they had to draw a series of movements. The first was from curled up on the mattress to outstretched, still kneeling. It did get a bit repetitive after ten minutes, and my calves were starting to ache, strangely. The next was standing - a twist on one side, around the front with one arm going over my head to a twist on the other side. And the third series was walking towards a chair, sitting down, and getting up again facing another direction. Slowly, with pauses.
On returning home I phoned the number I'd been given. It was for the Head of Human Resources (there's a poem in that job title, I'm sure), so I asked her a few relevant questions, like when might I actually be paid, how much it would be per month, and was the Local Government Pension Plan transferable between jobs...
I also complained a bit about the lack of communication from the Art Department, and how I had no idea who my line manager was, if I was indeed supposed to have one. Maybe that will filter back through the system.
I've never had a contract before. I've certainly never paid into a pension plan. I'm wondering what's happening to me. Is this part of becoming a Real Adult? Of Taking Responsibility For My Financial Future?
Meanwhile my oldest daughter phoned to tell me about her latest likely promotion - from part-time manager in January to full-time manager two months later. On 34k a year. And she's 23.
I invested in my children, not in banks. And now I'm trying to follow in my daughter's footsteps, slowly, and many miles behind. In my own inimitable bohemian fashion, of course...

Work is Cancelled Today

Hey great news! Work today is cancelled...
I was supposed to be doing six hours for Adult Learning and Leisure in a town about an hour away, leaving at 9am to get back around 5pm, and out again to teach the last session of my poetry course soon after 6pm - this is after being out from 11am-10pm yesterday. So I was relieved to take a call on my mobile yesterday lunchtime from the tutor, apologising for the late cancellation due to outbreaks of flu among participants.
All I need now is a call from the college begging me to stay at the higher rate - or a cheque from them for 60 hours at the higher rate, and thanks for my sterling efforts... or snow...
Everywhere else in England gets snow. We have more grey rain.
I spoke to one of the other models for the college last Thursday evening and he told me the rate had gone up to something over £9/hour. I went in to work the next morning and the tutor told me that was a direct result of my letter. But no-one's bothered to contact me yet, despite a request via the secretary for the Head of Art to phone me that afternoon. I'm still debating as to whether it's best for me to contact them and find out what's going on, but on a point of principle I'm not going to. Yes, dear Reader, I can be a stubborn cow when I'm in the mood.
The private school work ended last Thursday morning and I was paid for the month. Most of it went on paying the mobile mechanic for rescuing me with a new battery when the car wouldn't start last week, and on paying for my portion of the videoing we've done for our poetry set (to be on youtube or googlevideo soonish). The remainder I blew on some early (for me) xmas shopping.
I do have a booking for another private school next term - Friday afternoons at the very friendly Catholic boarding school. £20 per session cash in hand, personal contact and thanks.
I'm aware that I have to start cutting down on the amount of modelling I do, and increasing the amount of creative, academic and 'professional' work. Adjusting the balance. So I'm still not sure if I want to go back to the college. But I DO want to be paid for the work I've already done at the higher rate, of course!
Meanwhile hoping to hear of success in poetry and short story comps, and needing to send off more submissions. And write my essay, and think about my 'placement' for next year, etc.
OK, work's not really cancelled. I'm just doing different work, that's all.

Stuff the job!

Well, dear reader, I resigned.
Or rather, I decided not to sign the contract they finally managed to send me from the college. Same thing really.
You may remember we've been waiting all term for our shiny new contracts with a number of hours to be filled during the academic year, and a monthly salary, and - we were led to believe - an hourly pay rise. For the last few years I've been working there the tutors have actually told us to claim for more hours than we're doing, because the pay is so abysmal. That was one of the major reasons for sorting it all out and going on contract instead of monthly claim forms. At least I thought it was.
I got home from a full day yesterday to find a large envelope from the college. It contained yet another police Disclosure form to fill in, a pair of forms relating to the pension scheme and how to opt out of it, and two copies of our contract to be signed. I would be expected to do 105 hours over the year (I've already done 60 of those this term) - at exactly the same rate as before, £7.34 an hour.
I was dismayed.
I considered how much I have paid out in petrol already this term - £4-5 per round trip depending on pump price, often twice a week. I revisited the work I've turned down at £10/hr, and even £12/hr, because I have been prioritising this one as my 'main job'. I wondered whether it was appropriate to feel angry and let down, rehearsing arguments until 2am. Even Adult Learning and Leisure pay over £8/hr, PLUS travel costs, and they're considered stingy...
And I crawled out of bed this morning, showered, left at 8.20 am to get there by 9am for an hour and a half session, thinking 'I'll be home by 11.15 if I'm lucky, charge them for 2 hours, that's still under £15, petrol costs of £4 - is this worth it? I think not.'
Went to see the Head of Department straight from work. He's not in until the afternoon. So wrote him a letter and left it with all their forms returned. I said I'd honour the bookings already made unless they can find anyone else to cover them - I like to be professional even if it's against my interests - but will not be signing the contract or returning next term.
So there.
It's hard work valuing myself, but I'm getting there, gradually.
I was in tears on the way home.

Ah, more relaxed thank you...

...due to a (free) shiatsu session lasting over an hour, from a friend who's in training and needs people to practice on. She comes to my poetry course on Tuesdays.
This week was more manageable, but I still had to lie down for a long time yesterday, after four hours working at the private school, two hours choir and another two hours in town catching up with an old friend and going to the preview of an Art exhibition. It reminded me of how Chronic Fatigue felt, and I don't want to go there again.
I did have to go in for periods 1&2 this morning, but I've found a friend (from choir) who should be able to do Friday mornings for them now. I'll be back working at the college from next week anyway.
The first double period on a Thursday morning is with a different tutor, teaching BTech Art rather than A level. She's enthusiastic, friendly, dynamic and inspiring, and had them drawing lots of quick poses and even a moving series (I was walking around the big table, slowly) right from the start. The second week was a 'measuring' intensive with longer poses, and all the students said Thank You to me again at the end. The main tutor (Head of Art) always refers to me as 'the model', not by name, and talks about 'the hips, the breasts' etc. I feel dehumanised, somehow, and it's hard to connect with the students in his classes. Maybe that's the idea. Can't have impressionable young things from moneyed backgrounds fraternising with the model now, can we?
Anyway, the Adult Learning classes are a delight in comparison. I mean, exposing my 48 year old body to other mature adults (especially the retired gentlemen) is considerably more flattering than the unspoken but unmistakable Yuk reaction of teens who probably equate me with their mothers... in fact I have two children older than them myself. The Adult classes are chatty, we have a laugh, and everyone apologises for how they've depicted me (it really doesn't bother me, I can't draw for toffee myself so anything they do is better than my own attempt would be). This week the tutor had a 'crib sheet' printed out on cardboard which they were all supposed to attach to the tops of their easels. As she went through it I mimed the things she told them to watch out for (angles of rib cage and hips, negative shapes, weight on one foot, overall shape of pose on the paper etc) and by the second class I added the aircraft gestures for emergency exits; we made a passable comedy double act. Unfortunately I won't see them again as she's booked other models for the remaining three weeks. The upside is that I can send my monthly claim sheets in today and might even get paid by the end of the month, that would be very useful. (Don't mention the C word, please).
My shiatsu therapist told me she's doing some modelling in a couple of weeks, for a private Friday morning group in a village hall which I've done before. She asked for some tips, as she's new to this. I told her to think of it as yoga, count breaths, relax every muscle which doesn't have to be used, and don't do a pose with arms above the head for longer than ten minutes. Most of it is a matter of experience, learning what artists want and like, and how your body feels comfortable for long periods. I forgot to tell her to stretch lots in-between, but I'm sure she'll work that out for herself. I'm waiting to compare notes with my choir friend after her first session at the private school too.

Time to slow down

OK, I've been doing too much and I have to cut down.
It was really hard to get up this morning (Sunday) to be at my friend's for 9.30 am to do some video of us performing poetry - they all said 'Are you all right?'
So now I know that 6 different jobs in a week is too much, especially when added to a day for my Diploma course, teaching my own course Tues eve, a gym session, a 2-hour choir rehearsal and a poets meeting. Oh, and the usual mothering stuff of course. Plus going to visit a dear friend for 24 hours because she's in pain and can't get out much.
The first 2 jobs were fine, Adult Learning classes, I like the tutor (she plays music in the sessions) and it was the same format for both. The 2nd was in a new town and venue, just a little bit too far for me to travel though. Thursday was a very long day, 4 hours at the private school with an early start, then another 2 1/2 that evening for an untutored group of artists. They booked me months ago, and it was cash in hand, but again a longish drive and I wasn't back home until 10.15 pm.
Friday morning was supposed to be my slow morning, but the private school secretary had phoned in a panic on Thursday afternoon saying their other model had let them down, and could I possibly do periods 1 & 2 for them? Reluctantly, I dragged myself over there to start work before 9am, heading straight off afterwards to do 5 hours for the degree students at the college. At least they were kind to me! It was my last session for them, and I asked the tutor what was happening about my monthly salary, because I still have no idea when I'm getting paid, or how much, and I'm really out of pocket now with all the money I keep spending on petrol...
'It's all in hand,' he assured me.
So pretty grumpy today. I need time off and I need some money. Unfortunately the two rarely go together.

A bloody nuisance

If you're male, or particularly squeamish, you may not want to read this post. It gets a bit bloody.
It's half term for most of us, but not for the prestigious private school a mere few miles away, who had booked me for Thurs and Fri morning this week from 8.45-12.30. 'There'll be breaks,' she said, 'and we'll pay you for four hours.' They have someone else for the other Fridays which I can't do because of my college work, but I'll be doing Thurs mornings for them until the end of term. Cash work, ie it goes into my self-employed accounts with invoices, greatly appreciated.
Two days before starting the Arts secretary phoned me again and said I didn't need to come in until 11.00 on the first day 'but we'll pay you the four hours, as agreed.' OK, no complaints my end.
As it happened, it was just as well I didn't have to be there early. I woke up to find my period had just started, unexpectedly and without warning. And I'd run out of tampons. So at least I had time to call in a supermarket on the way and stock up.
The class were Lower Sixth and it was their first time with a life model. The Secretary flapped around worrying that it was too cold in the room for me - the sudden cold snap had caught them on the hop, heating repairs or something - so I assured her that I'd worked in colder situations before and that I'd cope with the fan heater.
The room has changed since the last time I worked there, some years back. They now have a large roughly oval table-cum-bench in the centre of the room, with lots of drawers beneath it, and the easels set up all around. 'I've got you a duvet,' she said proudly, 'and some clean sheets from Housekeeping.' (It's a boarding school with local day pupils too). I changed in the girls toilets and sat on the edge of the table in my dressing gown, watching the students file in and waiting for the tutor to arrive.
He's very 'old school'. And the whole focus of the class and his teaching is on pleasing the A-level examiners. So no friendly chat, no introducing the model by name, everyone called him Sir and they were straight into a whole double session of ten minute poses, outline only, no details, using pencil on A3 or A2 paper. The girls seem to be terribly thin and the boys have bizarrely-gelled 'windswept' hairstyles. I don't really enjoy this particular job, but there is a lot of good art-work to look at, and from my vantage point on the tables I can see the tops of some glorious Autumnal trees (oak and beech I think), and a Scots pine. I concentrated on staring out of the window and let the students get used to seeing and drawing a naked woman their mothers' age. It's always a shock to start with.
By the end of the session I was indeed freezing, it took me the rest of the day to warm up again, and the news was full of the freak hailstorm and floods in a Devon village not 100 miles from here. My oldest daughter was trying to get home by train and kept texting me to apologise for further delays, cancellations and re-routings.
That night I was bleeding heavily and had to keep getting up for loo visits. On Friday I was in the Arts office all changed and ready to work before 9am, but just as the tutor came to collect me I felt a drip on my leg - it was bright red. Panic stations. I told him I'd just nip to the loo on my way over, and hastily stuffed a second tampon in over the first - not recommended, girls, but needs must in this case.
I spent the whole double period (no pun intended) hoping I wouldn't leak onto their nice clean sheets, while doing exactly the same ten-minute poses as the day before but for a different class. This time I asked for an extension lead and put the fan heater on the table with me. Much warmer.
Back to the Arts office to make myself coffee, and the Secretary agreed to pay me monthly by invoice, asking the tutor to sign a chitty so she could go and get the cash. I thought I might have a whole hour's break before the next class, if it was indeed going to run, but no. Suddenly the tutor re-appeared and said, 'Right, the Upper Sixth have decided they do need some more life drawings in their portfolios.' And off I went to fill in the second half of their single period with yet more ten minute poses.
Then it was the real break - but I could go home now they said. 'Sorry we're still working out the sessions...' said the tutor. 'Take the money and run,' advised the secretary.
I pocketed the eighty quid and lounged around the Art Exhibition downstairs instead - figure drawings, some from local artists I know. Great stuff.

Busiest Week Part 2

OK, so the last post covered up to Thursday lunchtime - but the day was far from over. In fact I managed to spend one whole hour at home between 8.20 am and 10.15 pm...
From the college I go straight to choir practice, two hours every Thursday afternoon with our (alternative) community choir. I then had an extra sing-through of an old number we want to revive, just to make sure those of us who've been in it from the year dot (1993 I think) could remember our parts. And a rush over to the venue where I run my poetry courses to pay some rent money. And off to the secondary school to catch my youngest in her first ever hockey team game. I'm not a standing-on-sidelines mum, as a rule. Fortunately it was sunny and not too cold, and I could give encouraging feedback on her goalkeeping even though they'd lost quite dramatically to the other school.
So my hour at home was between 5.10 and 6.10, during which time of course I had to feed her and bundle the games kit into the washing machine. And off to work again...
7.00-9.30 in a delightful village hall near the A303. Getting there was a bit of a pain. My chosen route takes me along a very narrow lane to reach an underpass, the most direct route to the village concerned. And for the first time ever I met a vehicle coming the other way. It was dark. The headlights dazzled me. I'd just come round a bend and down a slope, so assumed the other driver would back into the nearest passing-point. We both waited. No-one moved.
Eventually I decided to try reversing. Well, someone had to or we'd be there all night. Did I mention my clutch is at the end of its adjustment and will need replacing fairly soon? So reversing uphill and back round a bend involved stalling at least twice and a fair amount of cursing. When I finally managed to pull into a gateway I noted that the other driver was a woman (I'm afraid) - in a 4x4. And she could have backed into the farmyard just past where we met, really easily. Nuff said.
This particular group of artists are unfailingly charming and proud of their little hall with its community breakfasts once a month. This week there were only two of them, which made me worry a little for their future - but I did hear the Treasurer mentioning the £140 in their bank account so no immediate likelihood of credit collapse. For such charming people, they seem to require quite difficult poses, slightly longer than I'd normally like to hold them. I've learnt this now and argue back - no, I'm not bending forward like that for fifteen minutes, no matter how much you want to imagine me bathing... After the tea-break with its chance for general chat, we did two longer poses of 'general abandonment' on a table dressed to resemble a bed. They were very pleased at how abandoned I could look.
Friday was another whole day at the college. One of those evocative Autumn mornings with the mist rising like steam from the river as I crossed it, and dew so thick it was almost frost. A heron stood sentinel by a rhyne, large and grey and hunched in the morning's chill. Reaching the town I drove past an easy parking space, then couldn't find another one and was stuck in the traffic queues for ten minutes until I could turn round and take it from the opposite direction. The room was cold for the first session, two poses. Charcoal and chalk on brown paper, followed by a close-up of one body section using cardboard 'viewfinders' - a rectangular hole to look through while held at arm's length. They're really coming on, this class. Some good results.
Off to the other campus and again, plenty of time sitting around reading my book and drinking coffee before the students wandered in from their break. They were all knackered after a day in London traipsing round galleries the day before. I was feeling similar so we agreed not to push ourselves too hard.
The tutor kept dropping in with promises of marks to come soon - she and their other tutor were in the staff room upstairs discussing their progress. Otherwise we were pretty much left to our own devices. They complained a little at the lack of tutorial content (the idea was that they should be self-directed by now), so in the end I took over a bit, suggesting poses and times and even towards the end, telling them to get out their sketch pads and work hard and fast with a few short poses. I've picked up a lot of tips over the years it seems. They finally got their previous assignment back as I changed ready to leave.
And so to the weekend, which should have been relaxing but was in fact spent in a state of high anxiety over the 'practice session'I had to lead for my Diploma course on Monday.
As this is now Tuesday, I can tell you that all the obsessive sleepless thinking paid off. But it was most uncomfortable at the time.