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A letter this morning from the department of my ill-fated interview in soggy Southampton, containing the feedback notes on the interview. That was a major surprise, as most people don't give you any feedback even if you ask - and also a real eye opener. Mark and Sue's belief that I must have just been beaten out by an amazingly good candidate turned out to be wide of the mark.
In fact, my interviewers' analysis was that I'd signally failed to demonstrate two of the three competencies they asked me for evidence of. My examples of past performances at work, which I'd thought showed those skills, didn't show them at all in their opinion. Annoyingly, the forms don't state what those competencies actually were, so I'm forced to try and rack my memory - difficult when I've been making a concerted effort to put that nightmare day out of my mind for the last fortnight.
Still something to chew on ahead of my next interview in Birmingham on Monday, though I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some good news from Milton Keynes...
Train to London for Fisher v Ash United in the Vase. The train was full of Pompey fans on their way to West Ham; the guard had some banter with some of them about being from Fratton, and confessed with a smile that he was a 'Parkie' (a resident of Leigh Park, which has a reputation for being the chavvest district in Portsmouth). The food and drink trolley man had been warned to keep away from the more boisterous elements, so I had to move to a carriage with quieter occupants to buy a bottle of water.
In the bar before the game, met an old boy who used to watch the Fish back in the late 80s and early 90s, and was back today for his first game in many years. He reminisced about the days of the Conference, Dogan Arif and Malcolm Allison, and mused how sad it was that we'd plummeted to the Kent League. I and a couple of others did our best to jolly him round by pointing out how well our current team are playing, though it wasn't long before one guy was bemoaning our insipid exit from the FA Cup last week...
The first half, which I watched through a fog induced by two pre-match Chockwork Oranges, was a fairly quiet affair, and the scoreline was blank at the break. Early in the second half Fish won a penalty and Jamie Turner converted. With us all hoping Fisher would shut up shop and hold on for 1-0, on 79 minutes the Fish won a corner, and Super Stevie struck home one of those net-billowers that has you jumping out of your seat. The Fish added two more in the closing minutes, young sub Junior James scoring on his debut.
Into the clubhouse for a Pepsi and the full-times on Sky Sports.
Loads of Pompey fans and a few Hammers supporters on the train home. My carriage was chock full again; if ever Fisher have another home game with Pompey playing in London on the same day I'll be sorely tempted to pay the extra to travel first class and have a bit of breathing space. There was again a large group of boisterous Pompey youths, watched by two policemen; there were a couple more coppers in the next carriage. One of the lads was actually removed from the train at Haslemere; don't know why as I wasn't looking or listening.
Whether because of one bagel too many (I stopped for bagels at London Bridge both on the way there and on the return journey) or a dodgy half-time burger, I've had a touch of gut rot since halfway through the return train ride. Beh.
In fact, my interviewers' analysis was that I'd signally failed to demonstrate two of the three competencies they asked me for evidence of. My examples of past performances at work, which I'd thought showed those skills, didn't show them at all in their opinion. Annoyingly, the forms don't state what those competencies actually were, so I'm forced to try and rack my memory - difficult when I've been making a concerted effort to put that nightmare day out of my mind for the last fortnight.
Still something to chew on ahead of my next interview in Birmingham on Monday, though I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some good news from Milton Keynes...
Train to London for Fisher v Ash United in the Vase. The train was full of Pompey fans on their way to West Ham; the guard had some banter with some of them about being from Fratton, and confessed with a smile that he was a 'Parkie' (a resident of Leigh Park, which has a reputation for being the chavvest district in Portsmouth). The food and drink trolley man had been warned to keep away from the more boisterous elements, so I had to move to a carriage with quieter occupants to buy a bottle of water.
In the bar before the game, met an old boy who used to watch the Fish back in the late 80s and early 90s, and was back today for his first game in many years. He reminisced about the days of the Conference, Dogan Arif and Malcolm Allison, and mused how sad it was that we'd plummeted to the Kent League. I and a couple of others did our best to jolly him round by pointing out how well our current team are playing, though it wasn't long before one guy was bemoaning our insipid exit from the FA Cup last week...
The first half, which I watched through a fog induced by two pre-match Chockwork Oranges, was a fairly quiet affair, and the scoreline was blank at the break. Early in the second half Fish won a penalty and Jamie Turner converted. With us all hoping Fisher would shut up shop and hold on for 1-0, on 79 minutes the Fish won a corner, and Super Stevie struck home one of those net-billowers that has you jumping out of your seat. The Fish added two more in the closing minutes, young sub Junior James scoring on his debut.
Into the clubhouse for a Pepsi and the full-times on Sky Sports.
Loads of Pompey fans and a few Hammers supporters on the train home. My carriage was chock full again; if ever Fisher have another home game with Pompey playing in London on the same day I'll be sorely tempted to pay the extra to travel first class and have a bit of breathing space. There was again a large group of boisterous Pompey youths, watched by two policemen; there were a couple more coppers in the next carriage. One of the lads was actually removed from the train at Haslemere; don't know why as I wasn't looking or listening.
Whether because of one bagel too many (I stopped for bagels at London Bridge both on the way there and on the return journey) or a dodgy half-time burger, I've had a touch of gut rot since halfway through the return train ride. Beh.
