Job, or lack thereof

Picking up work is proving difficult. Since my first week where I got paid for 1.5 hours of market research, I haven't had much luck. In desperation, I've been whoring myself out to the various recruitment agencies, all of whom have been fairly discouraging in their responses (if they respond at all). It was bad enough before I left last April when jobs were plentiful and the interest on my ISA actually looked like the interest someone should be earning on an ISA, not a token gesture from the fiscal passers-by who throw the occasional copper into my begging bowl as I swig on my own super strength recycled piss. Even then they made you feel like you had to desperately grasp for any scrap they threw in your hungry direction. Now I just feel like a ho who's been locked away in a small room with 20 other eager beavers whilst the cream of daddy's stable earns him his next zebra hat allowance.

Still, musn't grumble - it could be worse. Earlier in the week I narrowly avoided having to drive my mother up to Bradford so she could have a word with the Council about some development issues around my uncle's old house. I really can't stand the place. The accent's awaful, it's bleak and the one way system is a carbon copy of the one ferrying tortured souls through Dante's 5th level of hell. The only thing it's got going for it is that it serves some of the best fish and chips in the country, which is a poor reflection on the country seeing as it's miles from the nearest coast.

I did, however, drive my mum up to my uncle's new cottage near Ulverston in Cumbria. A far cry from Bradford indeed. The latest news read "Vandals slash choir boys posters". Whatever next, hey.