Things To Do In England When You're Dead

I When I think about he amount of interviews I go to and jobs I apply to, and the distances I travel, I think I have earned the moniker I think I must work harder while unemployed than most people do while working full time. One would think this unrewarded effort could break a man, sending him into a hopeless downwards spiral, but hey, I put the Soul in Dole, I'm unstoppable.

Three big jobs things from the last week, starting with a typing test for a bank job. Kicked its arse, kicked it into next week, but next Thursday I'm around to round three, the aptitude tests. They clearly have little faith when I claim to be more competent and articulate than say, a worm. The bank things have all been down in distant Speke and after the first one I realized I didn't have enough money for bus fare home (Liverpool buses being extortionatly priced). This resulted in a six mile walk home in the rain, but while some would have moaned, I relished this and broke out in funky strut, after all, I was listening to a Ramones live album. In fact, I had too much a funky strut, I wore my interview shoes down to the heel on the outside, wrecking my leg muscles n the process (And my shoes). This has prompted me into inventing mode, currently in development is an essential item for anyone with too much funk and too few shoes, the funkopedic insole!
Possibly sponsored by George Clinton (Who has a new album, How Late Do U Have 2b B4 Ur Absent, is out now, by the way). Walking back the second time was a considerably less funky Henry Rollins bootleg from Manchester Opera House, but I was far more flexible shoes who's soles suffered no damage.

The second job interview took me to distant Dewsbury, not far from Leeds, a small town who take their charity shop shopping very seriously. Data Analyst post, knew I didn't really stand a chance, there as the wild card, but still, the job centre paid my fare and I got to go back to Ilkley and buy three bottles of Gordons Distillers Cut Gin, and then hang out in Leeds and discover the joy of pickled ginger. When applying for the travel thing of the job centre to go to Leeds, a TIS, not only did they loose the application and have to rush it through there and then (Something they've previously told me is impossible, meaning have to walk there and back twice) but I asked if they could help with me having to commute or relocate until my first pay cheque. This was met with a resounding no, as although unemployed for three months, I wasn't unemployed enough. Turns out you need to be unemployed for six months before they can do anything to actually help you get a job. When I conceder the extra money it would cost to be on the dole for an extra three months, it strikes me as being far more expensive than providing me with a travel pass. It also seemed foolish to send me to an interview for a job that I couldn't accept. Imagine my lack of surprise when the news this morning said Job Centre failed to provide a decent service.

Finally, this weeks final application was to be a montage assistant, traveling around Europe putting up tents prior to the holiday season. While this seemed a tempting offer in the paper when I was given more detailed eyebrows, mostly mine, started to raise. Only £120 a week? Have to share a tent with two others despitebeingg in an empty campsite overflowing with space? Holiday Break are clearly taking the piss. They where supposed to call yesterday for a telephone interview, and after waiting in all day, I heard nothing.

So, undisheartened my quest for work continues, with an application to The Raddison being in the pipeline, an application destined to be shot down in long haired flames. Till then, I'm on dole but I'm not a dolelite...