Thank you, Job Centre Plus

Today was my final trip over to the local Job Centre to sign on, and they didn't disappoint. Anyone who is looking for something to blog about could do worse than visit a Job Centre, sit in the waiting area and listen to some of the conversations. As with Ronald MacDonald and the Nazi timekeeper, I swear the people in there knew that I was writing a blog and today they really put on a show for my final visit.

In the waiting area were two of the chavviest looking blokes you've ever seen, and what follows is a rough version of the conversation they had (apologies to Irvine Welsh):

Chav 1: Man, it's really changed in here since ma day. Thur wiz nane ay this waitin aboot or security guards. Ye jist came in an queued up until some cunt could see ye.

Chav 2: Ah ken, aye. This is fuckin mental. An ah'm no used to places like this, ken? Ah'm a grafter an ah aiways huv been.

Chav 1: Ah, me an aw. How much dae the cunts gie ye nowadays anyway?

Chav 2: Fuckin forty quid a week. It's fuckin brutal.

Chav 1: (visibly shaken) Forty quid a week? Fuckin hell. That's fuck all.

Chav 2: Fuckin right. Ah used to make mair about a hunner quid a day. Forty quid wiz a bad day's choryin.

(For those of you who don't speak fluent Scottish chav, 'to chore something' has nothing to do with tasks and errands. It means to steal something)

I'll skip the part where one of them went into great detail about how is ex-girlfriend hit him in the face with a driver because she had walked in on him and one of his friends 'spit-roasting' another woman. I was quite disappointed when my name was called and I had to leave the waiting area. I'd never thought of thieving as 'graft' before, and I severely doubt they were using the American variation of the word. I suppose I'll miss the Job Centre.

Apologies and Explanation

So, no posts for nearly a fortnight, but thanks to the precarious state of my love-life I find myself with more than enough time on Valentine's Day to write this. The hunt is over, I got the job in Canterbury and it starts next month. I have relinquished my status as dole monkey: I'm now merely 'between jobs.' I'm looking forward to the new job - the company seems like a good one and the people I've met that I'll be working with all appeared to be human and pleasant.

That leaves the question of what happens to the blog. I suppose the logical thing to do would be just to wind it up, but I've never been a particularly big fan of logic. Instead I thought I might follow the example set by so many media outlets over the last couple of years and just make it up. So, ignore everything that I wrote above and enjoy the continuing tales of Yosser Hughes.

Big City, Bright Lights

It's almost the end of my birthday and it's been the quietest and soberest one I've had in a long time. Going to London tomorrow for entrance exam/open day and I really didn't want to face the infamous British railway system with a hangover and a headful of fuzzy memories. Despite living in Tokyo for the best part of five years I find myself heading to London with small-town trepidation: will I navigate my way around the transport system successfully; will I find a pub/restaurant that is reasonably priced and serves decent food and drink; if I get a taxi will I get fiddled? These are all questions that I know are ridiculous (especially the one about food and drink - it's all a fucking rip-off) but they remain stubbornly stuck in my head. If this is the effect my shitty little hometown has had on me in six weeks it's no surprise the long-term residents are as narrow-minded and dull as they are. "I'm a city boy, get me out of here."

On the job front, a few more applications and a couple of rejections. Got first dole payment today but stayed out of the pub. Didn't I do well? Not sure if B&B I'm staying in has Wi-Fi or any other internet access, but there'll be an update when I get back from the centre of the Universe, if not before.