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.

Here we go again

I wrote a blog like this a couple of years ago when I was living in Tokyo and looking for a job. I'm now back in the UK and going through the whole rigmarole again. The last time I lived in the UK I signed on, and one of the requirements was that I keep a diary of the jobs I'd applied for. Given that we're five years down the line and blogging is the new __________ (insert your own witty way of finishing this sentence) I felt that this was one way to keep track of the hoops I have to jump through in order to get gainful employment. As I said in my profile, I'm not stupid and I have experience in a variety of areas. I'm willing to relocate if necessary and I'm not afraid of hard work. It surely shouldn't be that difficult then, should it?