‘Tell her how many big shops you did.’
It is only when I was reminded of this that I started to cringe. ‘Eeeh no, I can’t!’
The truth is that I went to a supermarket once in the entire four years I lived in York, and even that was when my mam and dad came and they did a big shop for me. Other than that – and I’m going to sound so bad here – I ate all of my housemates’ leftovers. Zoe would make noodles, and then whatever she left over, I’d eat. No wonder I was so slim at uni. I literally only ate leftovers. Or the other thing I’d do was just buy massive bags of pasta and have that with tomato sauce. I don’t mean tomato pasta sauce; I mean ketchup. So I’d just have pasta and ketchup. Unfortunately, it was always rock hard. I didn’t even know how to make pasta properly.
How scruffy is that? My mam would be like, ‘Oh, you look like you’re losing weight. Are you eating well?’
‘Yeah, I had king prawn linguini last night.’ I didn’t tell her it was just scraps. But it wasn’t lying, technically. I don’t know what I would have done without Jess and her big portions. In fact I don’t know what I would have done without any of my girls at university. I certainly wouldn’t have ended up graduating. On my graduation day I didn’t just leave York Minster with a 2:1 degree (and debt up to my eyeballs), I left with friends for life.
Best of all, they were friends for life who loved me for me. With the confidence I had learnt from dancing and with the encouragement from my family and what I’d learnt at secondary school, I walked into that university being nothing but Scarlett Sigourney Moffatt. I embraced my weird traits; I danced like a robot in clubs; I told the girls stories of aliens and conspiracy theories; I had the confidence to teach children and I changed my dance course even though it was completely changing the path I thought I wanted to take. Through it all, the girls helped me and I helped them. We built each other’s confidence up every single day and we all wanted each other to succeed so badly. I have learnt that it’s important when you find true friends to never let them go and to never betray them. As an Aesop fable once said:
‘Betray a friend, and you’ll often find
you have ruined yourself.’
Chapter Eleven
THOSE DARK DOLE DAYS
The University of York lost a rubber duck they sent into space; there’s a £200 reward for its safe return.
The average time spent by recruiters looking at a CV is five to seven seconds.
J. K. Rowling was on benefits three years before the first Harry Potter book was published. She couldn’t afford a computer or even the cost of photocopying the 90,000-word novel, so she manually typed out each version to send to publishers. It was rejected dozens of times until, finally, Bloomsbury, a small London publisher, gave it a second chance after the CEO’s eight-year-old daughter fell in love with it.
Getting a job in the ‘real world’ is a lot harder than getting a student part-time job at uni. It was really hard to find what I wanted: which was an actual career. Now in all honesty, I wasn’t completely sure what career I wanted but I just knew I wanted to help children. I’d done placements working with children with autism and Asperger’s and I found it really rewarding. I didn’t want four hours here and a zero-hour contract there; I wanted a proper career. But there were just no jobs. Not even in the field I wanted, just in general. For every job that was coming up in the North East, there were 200 applicants, even for part-time jobs. It was just ridiculous. There was just nothing out there. I had so many friends at the time who were on zero-hour contracts. The recession had really changed everything.
When I graduated from York St John’s I felt I had honestly been fed the dream: ‘If you go to university, then you can have a career you love. The world is your oyster.’ But it’s not as easy as that. I remember thinking at the time, ‘God, I wish I hadn’t gone to uni.’ I was up to my eyeballs in debt from my student loan and living off £40 a week. Now, looking back, I wouldn’t change it for the world; I’m proud I accomplished what I did and it was a great experience. It just wasn’t as easy getting a job afterwards as I had anticipated.
I just wanted to have a career, I wanted to work hard, be independent and make myself and my family proud. I ended up being on the dole for about five months before getting my job helping to assess medical information and helping disabled students at university.
I remember going to the dole office for the first time. I arrived fifteen minutes early and was greeted by the security guard. It didn’t fill me with confidence that they needed to have safety precautions. When I got there I tried to stay positive. I sat at the slate-grey desk and handed the lady my CV and we chatted about what jobs I would be suitable for.
‘I have had a lot of experience working in customer service, I have worked in part-time retail jobs since I was sixteen as well as working as a checkout operator. I volunteered teaching drama and dance to children who lack confidence and I’ve done many placements with children with special educational needs.’
‘Well, you know you haven’t got enough experience in the workplace for teaching or caring for disabled children like you’ve specified on your curriculum vitae. I know you have done placements at university but it just isn’t enough for the competition that’s out there, I’m afraid. Everywhere is wanting people with experience so they can spend less time training, do you understand?’
I did feel slightly patronised but I stayed positive. ‘Yes, I understand but someone needs to give me the opportunity to get some experience, otherwise I’m never going to get anywhere. It’s a vicious circle.’
It just wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get the job of my dreams straight away but I just felt like they didn’t listen to what I was saying. I know they’re only trying to do their job of helping people get off Jobseekers’ Allowance but some of the jobs I had to apply for I knew I was never going to get.
‘So you live in County Durham, are willing to travel but can’t drive. Hmmm, there’s a job here just thirty miles from your home but it’s a pizza delivery driver so that’s no good for you.’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Here’s a job that’s just popped up on my screen today: a sandwich artist.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s someone who makes sandwiches. Right, because we are setting up this interview for you, you should be aware that your Jobseekers’ Allowance will be stopped if you don’t attend.’
‘I never said I wouldn’t attend.’ I honestly didn’t mind the idea of becoming a sandwich maker; to be honest I’d have taken a job eating the crusts from the sandwiches of kids who didn’t want to eat them if it meant coming off the dole. I handed a CV in and waited for the call to tell me when the interview was happening. Well, days passed and I realised I clearly hadn’t quite cut the mustard. Maybe I should have enclosed a picture of all the Billy Bear ham sandwiches I had made in the past.
The second time I went to the dole office, they said, ‘Oh, you need to go on this three-day CV-writing course.’
‘Are you joking? I know how to write a CV. I might have a lack of experience – even though I’ve had part-time jobs since I was sixteen – but I’ve been in education all my life. If there is one thing I can do and I have experience in, it’s writing.’
So I had to go on this course, otherwise I wouldn’t get my dole money. I went there, and they read my CV and went, ‘Yes, really good.’
‘Right …’
‘So if you could just help everybody else write theirs, that would be great.’ For the next three days, I was a CV-writing teacher.
The next week when I went to the dole office, because I had had to go by bus to the CV-writing course, I had to give in my bus tickets to the dole officer so they could give me the £6 back. I could feel my face turn crimson but I genuinely couldn’t even afford the bus fare because I was already in my overdraft.
I was given a new dole officer and she was very kind. She asked me, ‘What was the course like?�
��
‘In all honesty I would love to give you one good remark but it was a complete waste of time. They didn’t amend anything on my CV. I didn’t learn anything. I just felt like I was there helping everybody else.’
‘Sorry to hear that. If you can fill this form in and bring it in next time I can pass these remarks on. Right then … actually, I’m afraid it’s flagging on my screen that there’s another course you need to attend. It’s only two days and it’s on customer service skills. There’s no way of getting around it.’
It was a dark period in my life and there were days I’d not get up out of bed and I’d just cry while scrolling through my computer on the Universal jobs page. I really feel for people who are trying hard but there’s just nothing out there for them. At the dole office, I’d get talking to people while I was waiting. I remember there was one man who hadn’t been able to get a job in eighteen months. He was only in his thirties. He’d literally worked every day since he was sixteen and he had been made redundant. Now he was applying for jobs, and he was just like, ‘It’s so frustrating. I want to work, but I come in here, and I feel like some people are looking at me like, “Oh God, you’re so lazy.”’
I think there’s a stigma attached to job seekers, especially because of the programmes that are on telly now. Like in Britain on Benefits, they’re literally zooming in on the one person that’s in the town centre having a can at eleven in the morning. Not everyone is like that, but they pigeonhole everyone. They’re like, ‘Right, this is what everybody’s like who’s on the dole.’
It makes people hate the unemployed for no reason. Everyone thinks that ‘those people’ are all the same. But obviously they’re not. I know you do get some people who fiddle the system and who can’t be bothered to work. I also know people who admit they think it’s more beneficial for them to be on the dole than to get up and go to work. But the majority of people are good people who do want to work, but the jobs are either just not out there for them or they’re unable to work for medical reasons.
It is hard; I hardly stepped foot out of the house for those five months. The only time I’d get out was if I went for a walk or a wander round the shops with my friends.
‘Oh, let’s go to Costa Coffee,’ they’d say. I’d be thinking, ‘Shit, even if I get a small coffee, it’s £1.40. God, I really want that hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows and salted caramel sauce, but it’s £3.60. I can’t afford that.’ I’d end up sitting there without a drink, pretending I wasn’t thirsty. It was hard being twenty-two and not being able to go out with your friends. Me mam and dad offered to pay but I felt bad taking handouts.
They knew I was trying my best. But it was still just dreadful. I’d cry constantly. I’d be sat at the laptop, day in and day out. I couldn’t go out anywhere because I had no money to do anything with. Then you’re just seeing the same jobs over and over again that you’ve already applied for.
I had eight CVs. One for sales, one for customer care and so on. I just really wanted something. Anything. It was so demoralising.
I was like, ‘God, Mam, why won’t anyone give me an interview? I feel worthless.’
So then I’d rearrange my CV and she would say, ‘Scarlett, I’ve read it, and it’s fine.’
I even contemplated lying on my CV to get a job. ‘Mam, I’m nearly over my overdraft limit, surely other people must be lying on their CV? We all tell little fibs.’ But I knew they could check up, and then I’d be in trouble. See, the upside of having rough times is that it does teach you not to take anything for granted and to count your blessings when things do go well. Remember that when things aren’t going completely the way you intended, you’re allowed to scream, you’re allowed to cry, but you are not allowed to give up.
In all honesty, like a lot of students when they first finish education in college or university, I didn’t really know what exactly I wanted to do. I just knew I wanted to help people. I think sometimes when you have a certain qualification or a dream job in mind you can focus solely on that one pathway to get the job you want and dismiss anything else that comes your way. But sometimes you have to take a more circuitous route.
Eventually, I got a job at a mobile phone store selling contracts (which I ended up loving). Which strangely took me to my next job sorting out students’ finance. Which then led me nicely on to my dream job at the time of assessing medical evidence and helping disabled students. So I did get there in the end.
Sometimes, because we live in a world that moves very fast and we can get what we desire with a click of a button, or we stalk through people’s lives (seeing what they want us to see) on social media, where they appear to have your dream job and dream life, we are harsh on ourselves. But we need to realise that life isn’t always that straightforward and it doesn’t matter if our own path takes a little longer to become apparent. Lewis Carroll sums it up nicely in Alice in Wonderland:
‘One day Alice came to a fork in the road and
saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. “Which road do I take?”
she asked. “Where do you want to go?” was his response.
“I don’t know,” Alice answered. “Then,” said the cat,
“it doesn’t matter.”’
Chapter Twelve
‘YOU WANT ME TO WATCH THE TV FOR A LIVING?’
Gogglebox has now gone international: seventeen other countries have now got their very own Gogglebox including the USA (where it is called The People’s Couch) and Slovenia (where it is called God, Please Don’t Let the TV Die!).
In 2009, the United Nations proclaimed Mandela’s birthday (18 July) to be Nelson Mandela International Day. The holiday asks people to spend sixty-seven minutes doing something good for others, which represents the sixty-seven years he spent working towards change.
Pease pudding is known as Geordie caviar. It’s made from lots of squashed yellow split peas.
One of the big questions I always get stopped and asked in the street is ‘How did you manage to get onto Gogglebox, Scarlett?’ Actually that’s a lie, it’s: ‘How do I get onto Gogglebox? Me and my family would be great on there.’ The truth is I genuinely do not know, I’m sorry. I wish I had an email address I could just dish out to people. Me and my family didn’t fill in application forms or go to lots of tedious auditions. In all honesty it was a favour gone wrong (or right, now that I look back).
My friend who I went to college with, Tommy Turnbull – great name, great bloke – was the one who made it all happen. He worked as a researcher for the TV production company Studio Lambert. One Thursday afternoon he called me up. I was sat on the couch in the living room watching Time Team with my dad (and moaning about how much I dislike Time Team).
‘Scarlett, it’s Tommy. I bet you know a lot of interesting people. Do you think you have any mates or relatives that are interesting enough to want to audition for a Channel 4 show? It would only take half an hour at most. Basically it’s a show where people watch people watch TV,’ Tommy explained down the phone.
‘Pretty sure that’s voyeurism, Tommy. I don’t know, mate, they make programmes about anything these days. When would they need to be free?’ I replied.
There was a long pause followed by, ‘Anytime tomorrow. I know it’s short notice but you would be really helping me out if you found someone.’
I called up all my contacts on my mobile straight away; I only have about thirty contacts so it didn’t take long. I mean twelve of them are immediate family, six are takeaways, three are hair salons and four of the names I don’t even recognise. No one was up for doing the audition. I was gutted; I really wanted to help Tommy out. ‘Oh well, fuck it,’ I said to myself. ‘If you want something doing properly do it yourself.’
‘Hello, Tommy, it’s Scarlett. I have bad news and good news. The bad news is I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to take part, the good news is me and my family are up for doing it – well, I’m pretty sure they’ll be fine about it, I haven’t actually asked them yet. But give us a
time and we will be ready, as long as it only does take half an hour.’ Tommy was thrilled he had managed to get an audition in the North East. ‘Mind, Tommy, we’re not wanting to actually do the show for real. Remember, this is just a favour.’
Now I knew my mam had already watched the first two series of Gogglebox; this was back when they were on Channel 4 on a Wednesday night. So I gave her a call at work.
‘Hello Burton’s Bishop Auckland, Elisabeth speaking, how can I help you?’ I knew if I called my mam at work she would be more likely to say yes in front of people.
‘Right, Mam, tomorrow come home during your dinner hour – try and be back for half twelve because me, you and Dad are going to help my mate Tommy out by pretending to do an audition for Gogglebox.’ I quickly hung up in order not to hear her response in case it was a no.
The next day a little crew of four people came to the house with a camera. We all sat on our couch, in our own little spots (everyone has their certain seat in the house).
‘Right,’ explained Tommy. ‘We are going to show you some picture cards of celebrities and all you have to do is chat about them.’
First they showed us a picture of Piers Morgan, who I mistook for David Cameron. This resulted in us having a family argument about the bedroom tax, completely forgetting there were four other people in the room. Other pictures included Victoria Wood and Dawn French; we were told to stop chatting about them as we just couldn’t shut up once we started recalling all our good memories of ‘The Ballad of Barry and Freda’ and The Vicar of Dibley.
Now before I explain the next picture card I feel like I have to defend myself. Although I have a good memory and will never ever forget a face, I will forget where I met you, how, in what circumstance and your name. So they show me the next picture card and I can’t quite put my finger on who it is. Have I seen this man in a documentary? No, I think, he’s from an advert!
Me Life Story Page 11
