A workshop may be a room or building which provides both the area and tools (or machinery) that may be required for the manufacture or repair of manufactured goods. Workshops were the only places of production until the advent of industrialisation and the development of larger factories.
I went to a “workshop” yesterday, but nothing to do with the definition above. This was a training course provided by a national company for those wishing to start up a business of some kind. I knew it was going to be a different experience when I sat down opposite a young lady who had shaved both sides of her head and combed the long bit on top back, in a fashion that my eldest son M. and his friend S. had in the 1990’s. She then introduced me to her wife , an attractive girl who couldn’t get a word in edge ways and who was patronised every time she expressed an opinion. This young lady, then dominated the whole morning by telling us how she worked in a bar in and what she liked to drink,and how she and her wife wanted to open a business relating to child care.During the break she deftly “rolled her own” which was really impressive , even better than the little tin produced , that my Dad had when I was a child and he let us have a go, after we had run to the shops for a packet of Old Holborn. I think that she found me rather annoying and “posh” from the comments she made, such as “swallowed a dictionary” and although she didn’t voice them, strong views on immigration, as that was where my interests lay.It all made for a rather interesting time.
There were various others who had planned their business venture quite well and knew where they were going. I went because I wanted to teach English to the Polish, Russians etc who are having trouble settling in Scotland because of language difficulties.I have met a few and understood their difficulties. To live in a any Country other than your own, even if you have a profession and employment, you need to be able to speak fluently enough to sort out everyday things we take for granted. It was soon apparent that I was in the wrong place because all the tutor was interested in was how much money I was going to make out of it and I was soon out of my depth. I don’t seem to be ruthless enough to run a business.My reasons for wanting to do it were right but but I do not seem to be competitive in any way.
By lunch time I had had enough, I struggled to fill out the workbook that I had been given with my free pencil, wobbly biro and thin piece of covered foam which turned out to be a drinks mat;so, I handed in my badge and legged it into town. I just missed the bus home, so I went to the Parish Church “drop in ” cafe for lunch because I hadn’t eaten for 5 hours. They do lovely food, a toastie and salad with a cup of tea for £2.75! As I finished my meal, I looked up and realised that I couldn’t see! I had the worst migraine I’ve had in months. Either the stress of recent weeks or lack of food must have caused it. I decided to go and sit on the front green by the Loch until it wore off a bit as it affects my balance and speech as well, I remember passing some folk I knew but my brain wouldn’t function enough to talk to them. They must have thought I was a bit rude. I tried to call the Rev. but had no credit on the phone, so I staggered back up to a cash machine and stood there for ages until I could remember my pin number to top it up.
Then I remembered he had gone to a Mission Committee meeting, so I phoned my youngest son who was a sleep and didn’t know who I was when he answered. I got some funny looks as I stood there shouting “It’s yer Mother you daft wassock!” into my mobile.
I wandered back to the co op, as it’s the only supermarket for miles, and when I do my weekly shop it takes yonks because I meet so many people I know; but today not a soul! Son phoned back eventually, by now it was 3 in the afternoon, but it was good news, he said that the Rev. was home would come and get me. So I eventually got back and thought I’d doze in the chair.The Rev. decided that it would be a good time to do some skipping and exercises and every thump on the floor went right through my head.
So what to do with my last 6/7 working years? Back to the drawing board I think. No news on my move yet, still waiting for accommodation to be finalised, in the meantime, generously donated furniture is filling the dining room here .
Time to trawl the job sites or I may have to “sign on” ,an experience I hoped I wouldn’t have to repeat!