About Me

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The older I get, the more cynical I get. It is not a fact I am proud of, but it is a fact. I disbelieve just about everything the establishment and the media tell us. I am convinced that we are manipulated into being the submissive, law-abiding robots that we have become. It grieves me greatly.

Tuesday 27 November 2012

Bidding a fond farewell to daytime television

It is months since I last blogged.  Unemployment tends to sap the urge to do anything.  This can be something of a drawback when some time out of every day, or at least a few hours out of each week should be devoted to seeking work.  Despite all this lethargy and depression, I have managed to get a job!  Yes, I even surprised myself.

After months of looking and dozens of applications - around 200 possibly, I was asked to attend an interview in September.  I was so shocked I wanted to telephone them up immediately and check they realised I hadn't worked for nearly two years AND was very much the wrong side of 40.  This desire was obviously driven by deep-seated insecurity, but it had to fight with my bank-balance's equally deep-seated desire for replenishment. At one point insecurity looked like winning.  Then the part of my brain devoted to my bank balance, somewhere in the hippocampus and connected to the nice clothes and lovely holiday thalamus took over and bitch-slapped insecurity into submission.  The interview required me to give a 10 minute presentation on running a project management office.  It turned out that all those involved in the interview had been managing projects for some time, so I thought this was something of a wasted opportunity.  They could have asked for a 10 minute presentation on something interesting, such as Channel Five USA's TV schedule or Film4's devotion to war and bloke movies in the daytime and we could all have gained something from the interview.  I began to suspect towards the end of the interview that they were going to offer me the job.  I don't know what gave it away, their keenness to know that I could start as soon as possible, their assurance that they would definitely get back to me the next day, or the comment at the very end of the interview that even though the advertised salary was a 'payband', I was new to the organisation so I could only start at the very bottom of the payband.  This put me in a difficult situation.  I had already informed DWP I had an interview.  They had noted down the details.  On being offered the job, I had to take it or lose my benefits and, possibly in the current climate, be shipped off to the nearest gulag, or as New-Labour-with-Blue-Ties like to call them "Work Programmes".  Had the payband point been made in the advertised role, I would not have applied.  However I did apply and I now have a job, albeit one in which I feel a bit exploited, but it will definitely be more than £71 a week.  Even if I can't be fully grateful for that, my bank balance definitely will be.  My liver will also be grateful, the quality of alcohol to which it has been subjected over the last few months has been on a downward spiral, supermarket special offers, otherwise known as stuff they couldn't sell and a friend's home brew are now my drink of choice, or more accurately my drink of lack of choice.

My job hasn't started yet, I have had two months to get used to the idea of having a job, without actually having to do one, which has been nice. I have still had to look for alternative employment, which is more than reasonable when I am still on benefits, and I have done this, even yesterday an agency called me about a job and asked me if I am immediately available.  Being loyal and mindful of the commitment to my new role, I said 'how much money is it?'.   With days left, I have now signed off the dole, my personal advisor was very pleased for me.  He is one of the few people there who have treated me like a human being, so it was nice to get to say goodbye to him and thank him.  Everyone keeps on saying I must be over the moon, but really I am quite numb, and more than a little apprehensive. I have had a few practice runs at getting up early, getting showered and dressed and feeding and walking the dog.  So far none of these have resulted in me being ready to leave the house just after 8 o'clock, which is not early for most commuters, so I am very lucky, just worried that even that will be a huge shock after all this time.

Practice runs lack the urgency of the real thing, so I am kidding myself that this is why so far I can't manage to be ready on time.  The real reason is that for the past year I have had the luxury of a very gradual start to the day.  Once the dog is fed, I can take my time, and I do.  My TV habits are shameful.  I can't watch Breakfast TV, all that noise, colour and information so early in the day makes me feel a bit giddy.  I can just about manage Radio 4, but by about 9 I can generally cope with television,  multi-tasking as I go by drinking endless cups of tea, checking Facebook, Twitter, Yahoo and Google Mail, plus my horoscope, my tarot card, my lottery numbers and chatting on the phone to my mother, my fellow unemployed and the lucky few who don't need to work.  Telephone sales people have given up calling me, so freaked out were they by my willingness to chat to them.  In between this hub of inactivity, I walk the dog, apply for a few jobs and think about what to have for lunch.  Once lunch is out of the way, I realise I have done 'nothing' with the day, and dash around the house for an hour, half-heartedly .. well possibly quarter-heartedly doing some housework, or nip to the shops.  Then I walk the dog again and think about what to have for dinner, making sure I am back to the Sofa in time for Pointless.  I do have some standards though, I draw the line at soap operas.  They are always so grim and dramatic.  If my neighbour had a child that had been kidnapped, electrocuted, lost, nearly drowned and all that in the first two years of its life, even I would consider involving the social services, but in soapland common sense rarely prevails.  Nobody has normal problems to deal with, it is all big issues.  People get slapped, unfairly dismissed or locked up on spurious grounds at the drop of a hat, and there are no consequences. It is like the Premier league with lip gloss and botox.  Another thing about soap operas that drives me nuts is the plethora of the aesthetically gifted, gone are the days of Hilda in her day coat and rollers, everyone is glamorous, chiselled bones, six packs, perfect teeth and manicures and dodgy regional accents more often found in US sitcoms rolling out their token English cast member.

Now all this is coming to an end, a chapter of my life is over, I will never get this year back, I may not have used it well, but it is at an end.  I have watched every single episode of the Big Bang Theory, recognise antique/bric a brac auctioneers and have memorised the names of most of the key cast of Real Housewives of New York, time to move on.  Don't pretend you don't love RHONY, as we in the know call it, or should that be we in the no-life-to-speak-of?  But really, what's not to love?  They are rich, thin and vacuous.  How can you not warm to the inanities that make up their lives, particulary when compared to the inanities that have come to make up my life.

My time has not been completely wasted.  I have finished my degree, adopted the dog, perfected a few chutneys and put in quite a few volunteer shifts for a local hospice.  A friend pointed out today all the things we could have done, had we known this time last year that our unemployment would last this long, but hindsight is a luxury and luxuries are thin on the ground on the dole. Many of the things I wanted and needed to do (house and body extreme makeovers) involved money, or at the very least willpower.  Willpower doesn't sit that well with depression so that was out.  Money definitely doesn't sit well with long-term unemployment, so that too was out.  On the plus side, I have rarely had an alcoholic drink before 7 p.m., never stayed in bed all day and have been out walking for two hours every day.  Everyone tells me how marvellous I am to take on the dog, but if it wasn't for walking him, I would be too large to leave the house.  He has been my saviour.

I now realise that regardless of how soul-destroying and futile I may feel a job is, I will never chuck one in again.  I will just keep quiet and take the money, as several of my fellow contractors advised me to do, particulary the one who said I was going to 'ruin' it for everyone.  The guilt at taking money for a job that you suspect is not actually there is nothing compared to the humiliation, despair and constant worry of long term unemployment.  I have also learned that I need to have a purpose in life.  I am not one of those inner-glow people who radiate creativeness, good works and Pollyanna-style gladness.  I have also found out who my true friends are, and am so amazingly lucky to have such a supportive network of cousins, friends and neighbours.  Also, for all people mock Twitter and Facebook, they serve a good purpose.  They give people at home alone a communication with the outside world.  Sometimes those like me may take this too far and spend too much time on them, but better that than alone with your thoughts!  I have travelled quite a bit and been to some very dodgy places along the way, but nowhere as scary as the world inside my head.  I have also realised that I need to be busy, need to feel useful and, most importantly of all, need to win the Euro Lottery.  But until that day, and I am convinced it will arrive, I at least have a salaried job to tide me over.