Portsmouth Water — week 3, and…


Gimme death and dead bodies and I can talk you to death — I can bring here a conversation that assists if needed, that offers the assurance that I am assisting, and it comes quite naturally to me.

Gimme water and meter options and I’m all ‘huh? Don’t get it’, and I know I’ll’a “Co-operative Funeralcare, Tom speaking — damn it!” greet Portsmouth Water customers, and I’m not convinced that I’ll be any good at the job because I just don’t know what I’m doing or saying.

I know nothing, and I hate it.

Yesterday I was meant to go on the phones — not let loose on the phones but tethered to a trainer — and it didn’t happen because I was insistent that I didn’t know what to say.

I was very insistent — it was the how to say what I didn’t know what to say that was stopping me from wanting to answer the phone.

My argument was flawed — I knew it was flawed but I wouldn’t budge. I didn’t know how to say what I didn’t know what to say, and that was my foot down.

On Thursday Tracy pop-quizzed us twice and I discovered that I actually knew things, and yesterday whilst Becca and I were hooked up to the phone (I became insistent at the very last minute) she pop-quizzed me and I got most of the answers right.

My PDF-post processing abilities were reviewed and no obvious errors jumped out — I even said myself that I was almost competent when it came to the basics of the system, and that I was learning my way around it well.

I also said that I understood most of what I had been told, and that I was quite happy to ask someone if I didn’t.

How do you say what you don’t know what to say?

Tracy nailed it on the head when she said:



Tomos James