Articles

In the process of emailing the editors of local newspapers advertising some articles I've written and wondering if I'm completely insane to even think that people might be interested to hear what some unemployed loser thinks.

Of course, the fact that I am an unemployed loser is exactly why I've written what I have written, it's the whole point. Still, I'm not expecting any replies.

In other news, there are some rather odd noises coming from the next room. It reminds me of my first year at uni when I lived above a guy addicted to playing online games and I'd hear angry American geeks shouting obscenities through the night.

Ahh, the joys of living in a houseshare...

The house is suddenly full of people, where there were only three of us there are now five, and soon there is to be a sixth! It'll be interesting to see how the house dynamic changes over the next few days, maybe there finally will be a house dynamic. As long as I don't have to fight for the TV to watch America's Next Top Model it'll be fine.

Not much to report really, have filled my day with speaking to family and friends on the phone and preparing some pieces for the local paper. I hope they go down ok, mind you I'm not keeping my hopes up.

Off to knitting club tonight which will be nice, although it's in a pub and I don't know if I'm ready to look at or smell alcohol yet. Must try to not vomit on the crochet.

'Life Experience' - most hated phrase of the day.

There was a great article in the Times today (by the fabulous India Knight) about how the unemployed graduates of 2009 view the older generations. She believes that we judge those with established careers who took full advantage of the boom period of the 80s and 90s, and blame their frivolity for the difficult state of affairs that we have been landed with.

But what I found interesting today was the judgement I received from a member of an older generation. The judgement wasn't immediately related to my unemployment, I think it runs deeper than that. I'm sure the comment that was made was entirely off-the-cuff and not meant to cause offence, but it did.

"He's just a young guy, he hasn't even had any life experience yet."

The words are like a paper cut through my conscious - not immediately painful, but definitely felt. I find it incredible that the individual concerned could nullify my recent past and current situation with such a flippant comment, and I'm left wondering whether this was a localised incident. And why? Why have I 'not had ANY life experience' yet? I may be relatively young, but no experience? I have spent 15 years in education in total so far, and in that time I have proved myself intelligent, analytical, able to form lasting relationships with others, able to work professionally and efficiently with others, able to research and understand an incredibly wide range of subjects, I've lived in 4 share-house situations with people from all walks of life, I've traveled independently, I've managed my finances, I've managed to feed myself, I've been published, I have a good degree...the list goes on and all of these skills are transferrable. No experience?

I wonder if the label 'no experience' comes from my age, or from the fact that I am unemployed, the latter leading to a whole other can of worms which brings me back to the bitterness and resentment narrated by India Knight today.

Graduates today have experience coming out of their ears, life experience and otherwise. And to get a job or embark on a career we are expected to prove this, but how can we do that if we are just passed off as inexperienced because of our age or employment experience? And why are we passed off as such? Because we haven't built schools in Third World countries, because we don't have mortgages, kids, marriages, savings, designer clothes, a sodding iPhone?!

I ask: what is 'life experience'? And please. If you can't answer that question don't you dare tell me I don't have any.

Graduated

I can't believe I was dreading the ceremony as much as I was. It was fantastic, I'd do another degree just for the ceremony. After three years of hard work, constant criticism from the lecturing staff and several nervous breakdowns it was all worth it in the end to see the staff turning to you and applauding. I've never felt so good.

Mind you - the hangover yesterday was something else entirely. It wasn't just an 'I'm never going to drink again' hangover, it was more of a 'I don't know if I'll ever be able to even LOOK at a drink ever again'. Urgghhh. I'm thanking my lucky stars it didn't turn into a two-dayer.

It was all worth it just to forget how awful post-university life is for a few hours.

Graduation

Well, it's my graduation ceremony tomorrow afternoon and I can't say I'm really looking forward to it. Leaving university has been comparable to the death of someone close to you, and graduation is like the funeral - you dread it, not because of the event itself, but because it's the last thing you do before it really is all over.

It seems cruel that school, one of the least enjoyable times of my life, lasted almost twice as long as the most treasured. I'm not ready to say 'goodbye' to it yet, but I've got to grit my teeth and hope that there are better times ahead.

I'd love to play the petulant child and say, 'stuff your silly hat I'm not graduating yet!' but my grandmother cleared a space for my graduation photo on her mantelpiece half way through my first year.

God, I hope I don't blink when the flash goes off....

Blummin' shattered

Just got home from the wedding, ah it was wonderful but BOY am I shattered!? I have a stinking hangover even though I had TWO drinks before bed. I think I'm allergic to work.

Oh dear, that doesn't bode well for my job hunting, does it?

A Tuesday Wedding

Good morning all,

Very much looking forward to the first of this week's two big events, in about an hour I'm heading off to a friend's wedding to help out with the bar. It'll be a long day but the possibility of good company, good laughs and a free meal is making me eager to get there.

Can't wait!

In other news: Landlord is advertising for new tenants and has asked me to show someone around the house this week. I hope we end up with a couple of girls really, we could do with a female touch (and one that's actually willing to do something rather than just moan like the last one).

Finger's crossed eh?

Now, what on earth am I going to wear today?!

Monday Monday (Ba-da ba-da-da-da)

(Extra brownie-points for those who catch the reference in the title of this post ;-) )

Another Monday morning, another week gone, another week I've failed to get a job. I'm thinking of making a new week resolution (new year being, mercifully, too far away) to stop me from getting disheartened with my situation. Something specific, to allow me to make the best of the time I have and use it as an opportunity to give my dreams one last shot. I realise this completely contradicts my argument to the world that the "unemployed yoof" of today are not wasting time pursuing doomed creative projects. But what's life without a little contradiction-in-terms? Sod it.

Also, the cleaner is still here and I HAVE managed to shower and start the day. Admittedly, I still scurried around the house so as to avoid a semi-dressed-at-mid-morning encounter, but it's all progress.

Baby steps, baby steps.

Trashy TV

I love it. Shamelessly.

Big Brother has finished, but with that comes a new series of America's Next Top Model and, of course, X Factor. It's funny how tweeting about x factor this evening has increased my follower count by a substantial percentage. Perhaps doing the same might drum-up some followers for this blog.

Anyway, the main thing is that I'm not the only desperate loser watching shit (but completely brilliant) TV in the evenings.

Phew.

What a day. I wouldn't necessarily call it a 'bad day', I've done lots of nice things with people I care about and have fun with, but I think this morning's rude awakening set the tone for the day. I seem to have not shaken the mood I was in writing the first of today's posts as I sat at my desk scowling into a mug of coffee.

There are so many things I am frustrated with. My lack of an income, my current lack of creativity, the fact that Plymouth fails entirely to excite me as a city should...I could go on. I think maybe I should move, but maybe I'm not ready to give up on Plymouth. The reason why I'm frustrated with it as a city is because I can see how amazing it could be. The Council's website talks extensively about Plymouth as a city of culture and rejuvenation, and details quite specifically how much money and time is being put into achieving this, but where are the results?

In the three years I have lived here little appears to have changed.

I think it's time for a letter to be written.

Sixinthefuckingmorning

I am not a morning person. Nor have I ever claimed to be one. I can barely function on less than eight hours sleep and struggle to form sentences without at least two cups of coffee inside me. As I write this I am half way through my first mug and the effort of typing is giving me a headache worthy of Othello.

I am awake because my utter shit of a housemate came home at six this morning and, finding himself locked out of his room once again, decided it was acceptable to shoulder his way in, then play music so loud the chair I am sat on is vibrating. I (and believe me, I say this with utter spite) hate him. I'm sure he will apologise, and appear genuinely remorseful for this, but this time it's not good enough. In a few hours (because I am aware of which hours are acceptable and which are not) I will call the landlord and inform him that, one way or another, my relationship with this person will end and we will no longer refer to each other as 'housemate'. He's on his final warning as it is, having already lost said landlord three tenants in the past.

So long, dickhead.

Boredom

Nothing particularly interesting to report today. Have been fairly productive but still a couple of things on my 'to-do' list to cross off.

It's funny how the mundane doesn't affect me like it used to. At university I would be racked with boredom and moan incessantly at those near me like a child. 'But I'm borrrreeeeeddddddd.' I'd say, reminiscent of how I used to talk to my parents when visiting family. But now boredom is an inevitable part of everyday life as an unemployed person, even spreading out daily objectives to take up more time doesn't solve the problem.

Perhaps I should schedule it into my day:
8.00 - 9.00: Breakfast, check email
9.00-10.00: Job Hunting
10.00-11.00: Facebook/Twitter
11.00-12.00: Be Bored

Hardly a promising looking morning, is it?

Monday

Well, I got out of my room without wetting myself this morning. Still haven't showered because the cleaner used all of the hot water. I guess the house was dirtier than I thought. My housemate is bent on hiring an exterminator after finding a mouse in his room the other night, so now I'm having visions of the house being transformed into a circus big-top for a day and being pumped with chemicals. Must remember to go out that day.

Emailed a bunch of temping agencies this afternoon, don't expect to hear from them so will do a ring round tomorrow - show them they won't be getting rid of me without getting me a job. Can't wait to do my best 'annoying uncle who turns up unannounced every christmas' act. Wonder how many consecutive days I can get away with ringing them and asking for a job before I start getting visits from hit men?

Social Etiquette

I'm sat here at my computer with my morning ritual: coffee, yesterday's paper, good album on (Radiohead's 'OK Computer' today). Yes, I know it's almost noon and I'm not strictly being productive. I will admit that I haven't even showered yet today. For shame.

The problem is it's the first day we have our cleaner in, and she's been here for almost three hours already. I'm not used to having a cleaner, never having had one before, so I don't know what the etiquette is for such matters. Is it okay for me to walk out there from my room to the shower in my dressing gown? Do I avoid eye-contact, make pleasantries, talk about the weather while I stand there all-too aware that I am naked save for a flimsy flannel gown covering my dignity? It's a nightmare. I thought I'd wait until she's gone, but I'm bursting for the loo now (coffee, it seems, was a terrible mistake). By now I've convinced myself she'll be cleaning the bathrooms. What happens if I go in there clutching my towel and shampoo and the poor woman's on her knees scrubbing the mildew off the bath? It's a minefield of potential social embarrassment for the both of us.

A hundred years ago this would have been easy, she would have been staff and I would have been comfortable enough in my own house to mistreat her accordingly and get on with my day, expecting her to stand still in a corner waiting for me to go out of sight before carrying on with her duties. But I can't shake the feeling that she has more social status than me, not only because of her senior years but also because she is in employment and I am not. She is out there in my bathroom contributing to society and I am sat in here blogging and staring at my to-do list.

It's certainly made me realise how unemployment affects your self-esteem. I'm university educated, from a middle-class background, sat in my room afraid of offending a cleaner. I can see the disapproving stares of my ancestors permeating through the decades. Forgive me if I sound pompous, but I should feel like her equal, not embarrassed at the possibility of running into her and feeling like a lazy benefit scrounging couch potato. It seems status, even if it is self imposed, now depends on how hard you work rather than how educated you are.

So, legs crossed, I'll wait until she's gone.

Busy Weekend

Had a busy weekend with visitors and having a social life.

Back to the daily job hunt tomorrow so witty posts abound no doubt.

Hmm.

Sign-on day

Well, Thursday heralds my now weekly excursion to the job centre. Walking down there all I can think about is my answer to the inevitable question which takes the title of this blog: 'How is your job search going?' I could feed them the same line every time, but it feels rude and besides, trying to think of new ways of saying, 'Awful, actually, do you happen to have a length of rope and a nice strong beam I can hang myself from?' exercises my creative mind.

But today was brilliant, not just because the weather was fantastic, but because she DIDN'T ASK!! Hooray!! Instead we chatted about crochet for a bit and she sent me on my way with a big smile on my face.

Ace.

Second Draft

'Generation Crunch' - A letter of recommendation.

To whom it may concern,

There is scarcely a news article or bulletin these days without the word 'recession' in it, followed by a detailed analysis of how it is affecting Britain's economy, workforce, and more pointedly the increasing numbers of unemployed people found queueing at the job centre every day. A more specific demographic falling under the umbrella of 'unemployed' taking the spotlight recently are the 18-25 year-olds, of which I am a member. There is much speculation, it seems, surrounding the attitudes and outlook of this new 'lost generation' and whether youthful hopefulness is being replaced by world-weary pessimism. As a member of the class of 2009, I would like to voice my opinion on the matter, feeling that I am better qualified than a middle aged journalist with a healthy salary, a semi-detached house in a West London suburb and a holiday home in Cornwall.

Less than a year ago it seemed becoming a member of 'generation crunch' was a positive thing, allowing the arts graduates of 2009 the time to pursue their creativity rather than be, 'lured by fat pay packets into ghastly careers', as Mr Giles Coren of The Times wrote back in February. At the time reading this was fantastic. I can be an artist, a writer, a bohemian, I thought, All I need is a bottle or two of wine, a laptop and some time and before I know it I'll be an opinionated luvvy on Newsnight Review making scathing remarks about the state of British culture. But whilst this apparent freedom seemed positive for the individual concerned, for the rest of society it made 2009's graduates not only unemployed, but rendered unemployable by this perceived flippant attitude.

The inevitable wake-up call from my creative dreams came as soon as I visited the essay submission desk for the final time. Suddenly, once the cotton wool of education that I was so tightly wrapped in began to unravel, the realisation hit that I had an empty bank account, an unbelievable amount of student debt and far too much white space on my CV. A good BA degree was not going to solve my problems and Mr Coren's article became meaningless in the cold harsh light of unemployment. The endless free time I have to be creative is taken up by the constant awareness that I owe the government an incredible amount of money for my education and continue to take more while I look for a job in order to support myself. The 'free' in my "free time" became entirely ironic.

The class of 2009 is not a hoard of hedonistic freeloaders taking their time to 'find themselves' or pursue doomed creative projects until the world of employment finally and inevitably catches up with them, discussing this matter with my peers shows a unanimous agreement on this point. The reality of the situation we are in is hard, alienating and really lonely.

As a University City there are dozens, hundreds, of us queueing at the job centre every week desperate to find work of any kind, and because the reality of unemployment has been made more than apparent, it is more than likely that we would happily give a year or two of our professional lives to a potential employer while we get back on our feet and wait out the recession. The fact that we may have sparse CVs and outdated references should not outweigh our attitude and sincere enthusiasm for employment. We are an investment, not a liability.

And this is why I highly recommend any member of the class of 2009 for a position of employment at your company.

....................................

Hmm, still has kinks I think. Will go away for a while and come back to it for final revision.

Just watched 'Beaches' with Bette Midler and it's made me sad. Will scold Mr Big tomorrow in a lengthy and stiffly-worded email for letting me borrow it.

Not really done much today, but knitting club was fun. Who knew sitting in a pub doing crochet and putting the world to rights could be such fun? Am developing an irrational jealousy of Big & friend for moving in with each other...well..not entirely irrational. Who knows when I'll be out of this hellhole and living with someone I actually can stand to live with? With no job and very few friends after the mass exodus of pretty much everyone I know from Plymouth after uni finished, the pickings couldn't be more slim. I hope he knows how lucky he is...

Anyway, vowing to get up and have a productive day tomorrow. Must write and continue the job hunt, but won't get up early unless I go to bed now. Must be unconscious before my housemate's nocturnal gymnastics start, not having a repeat of last night.

Letter to the Herald

I'm thinking of writing a little piece and sending it off to the newspaper. A view of the current economical climate from the view of someone wading in its murky depths. This is a first draft, I'm just putting it here because I don't think my computer can take many more saved versions of my numerous unfinished projects (and to show the world that I have been doing something today...obviously).

.............................................

There is scarcely a news article or bulletin these days without the word 'recession' in it, followed by a detailed analysis of how it is affecting Britain's economy, workforce, and more pointedly the increasing numbers of unemployed people found queueing at the job centre every day. A more specific demographic in the latter group taking the spotlight recently are the 18-25 year-olds, of which I am a member. There is much speculation, it seems, surrounding the attitudes and outlook of this 'generation crunch' and whether youthful hopefullness is being replaced by world-weary pessimism. As a member of the class of 2009, I would like to voice my opinion on the matter, feeling that I am better qualified than a journalist with a healthy salary, a semi-detached house in a West London suburb and a holiday home in Cornwall.

Less than a year ago it seemed becoming a member of this new 'lost generation' (this specific terminology entirely debatable) was a positive thing, allowing the graduates of 2009 to pursue illustrious pursuits in creativity rather than be, 'lured by fat pay packets into ghastly careers' as Mr Giles Coren of The Times wrote back in February. At the time reading this was fantastic. I can be an artist, a writer, a bohemian, I thought, All I need is a bottle or two of wine, a laptop and some time. I'll be part of the next Brit Pack, and before I know it I'll be an opinionated luvvy on Newsnight Review making scathing remarks about the state of British culture.

The inevitable wake-up call came as soon as I visited the essay submission desk for the final time. Suddenly, once the cotton wool of education that I was so tightly wrapped in began to unravel, the realisation that I had an empty bank account, an unbelievable amount of student debt and nowhere to live for the summer hit me, and a good degree was not going to solve my problems. Mr Coren's article became meaningless in the cold harsh light of unemployment. The endless free time I have to be creative is taken up by the constant awareness that I owe the government an incredible amount of money for my education and continue to take more while I look for a job in order to support myself.

The class of 2009 is not a hoarde of hedonistic freeloaders taking their time to 'find themselves' or pursue doomed creative projects until the world of employment finally and inevitably catches up with them. That is a luxury we literally cannot afford. The reality of the situation we are in is hard, alienating and really lonely. There is a kind of freedom provided with a salary ...

...............................

I'm not quite sure how it's going to end yet, will come back to it tomorrow.

Monday

Am awake and determined to have a semi-productive day. Which means I might sit here and actually try and write something, although I must admit my imagination has been nothing but white noise for a while now.

Finished that terrible Ben Elton novel last night. "Good grief, I can do better than that" I thought as I put it down (would have thrown it across the room but it's a library book, some things are sacred you know). So today I'm going to try. Might have a look at PostSecret and see if there's anything there I can write a little story about. Hmm...

Will write again later, I'm sure.

Oh, Must remember to do some job hunting today. And call those useless idiots at the employment agency I'm trying to bully into finding me a job, must get my curt phone voice on before I dial or I'll just be ignored again.

Evening

There seems to be some kind of party happening in the room next to mine. It's Sunday. I mean, I could have work in the morning! I don't, I admit, but I could. All part of the ups and downs of living in a share house I suppose.

Saw Mr. Big this evening which was nice. He's thinking of moving in with one of his lovely friends and I really hope he does, it'll be great for him (and selfishly it'll give me somewhere nice to hang out in the new year.) Oh God, 'new year' - where is 2009 going? I have so many birthdays in the next three months to buy presents for, and then there's christmas. I'm terrified. And then there's the really pressing issue - do I say 'Two Thousand and Ten' or 'Twenty Ten'??

Honestly, this time of year is fraught with anxiety. It's an emotional minefield.


Eye is still killing me, by the way, having visions of me waking up in the morning partially blind. Hmm, wonder if I should tell the job centre this? Might get a few extra quid a week out of it...
"Have there been any change of circumstance which might affect your claim?"
"Well yes, actually, I've got this really bad spot and it hurts loads."
"Ahem...I'll see you next week then."
"'k thanks..."

Post Secret

I very much enjoy reading this blog. It's a community art project in which people anonymously send in a postcard with a secret on it. The result is a continually updated catalogue of sad, tragic, hilarious and often touching secrets which illustrates the beauty and variety of the human condition.

Brilliant, read it.

PostSecret

Oh for heaven's sake

When does it stop? No, really, WHEN do the horrible symptoms of the disease known only as 'Puberty' stop presenting themselves??

I am Twenty-One years of age and still plagued by spots. The latest of which has put its roots down in my lower left eyelid - in my eyelid of all places! It's so swollen it actually hurts to blink, and ice only appears to anger it.

It's all I can do not to stand in front of the mirror screaming: 'WHAT do you WANT from me?!?!'

It better be gone by graduation. Argh.

Frustration

Frustration. A word which once only conjured the image of my favourite board game as a child (which then became a favourite drinking board game as a student), now has a whole other meaning in post-university unemployment.

I flew through school and college doing the subjects I loved best, not giving a thought to where they might eventually lead me. While some of my peers were lucky enough to be shooting for their perfect career in their teens, I took the advice of my mentors and continued doing what I loved until the perfect career presented itself to me - which didn't happen until my final year of university.

Now it is some months later, and due to circumstances (be it the easily blamed recession or just bad planning on my part) I find myself unemployed, with a barren CV and stagnating in the waters of my ambition. Wanting something and finding it out of reach. Going nowhere fast.

As easy as it would be to find my situation entirely hopeless, I must remember to realise how lucky I am in what I have achieved so far and to have found a direction. Taking the first step is the hardest part, I hope, and item one on my to-do list is to go out there and get myself a salary. Frustration can be the lead boots pulling me down, but it can also be the driving force behind me reaching my goals.

So be warned if you work for an employment agency, because I'm not too proud to beg.

My god it's half past three already.

Done a big load of washing, 8 t-shirts, 12 pairs of pants and countless socks. Room smells of detergent. Lovely.

I'm reading 'Inconceivable' by Ben Elton at the moment and I think it deserves a mention, not because it's particularly good or dreadful...but because it's a weird mixture of the two. I mean, it's a terrible book, really, it's one knob-gag away from being an episode of 'Kevin the Teenager', but I can't seem to put the damned thing down. What puzzles me more are the pull-quotes on the back of the cover: "Extremely funny, clever, well-written...brilliant, chaotic satire..." Have these people READ this book?? 'Extremely funny'? No. I've read plenty of books that have made me laugh out loud and the closest this one has come to that is provoking the occasional snort of distain. 'Clever, well-written'? Okay, I'll give them 'well-written' at least, I am turning the pages after all. 'Chaotic satire'? Satire? What exactly is this satirical of? It's like the reviewer is some GCSE student bent on using big words without looking up the definitions. I mean, really.

Ah, just got my explanation for the ill-informed review. It's from the Mail. 'Nuff said. I hate The Daily Mail for so many reasons (not least the badly written literature reviews), but what I'd hate more is to see it disappear. I stumbled across an old article on the internet a few days ago about Vivienne Westwood and her exposing herself when she collected her OBE (forgetting she was knicker-less she twirled her skirt and bared all *snicker*). The article seemed to be suggesting that she did it on purpose, the possible reason why she would do this on purpose forgotten about. Anyway, the funny bit came as I scanned the comments left by Daily Mail readers underneath the article. Some unintelligent, self-righteous dickhead had written: 'Ooh, isn't she clever?' in a very childish, sneering way. Well, YES she is clever, actually, she was afterall there to collect an OBE! Where's yours eh? In the shed with your Nobel Prizes and Bookers? People like this grind my gears but never fail to make me smile. Long live The Daily Mail and the idiots who read her.

Now, back to this crappy novel.

First Post

I should have started this blog ages ago, but I've never been one to write a diary really, so we'll have to see how it goes. Now Big Brother has finished I guess this will help the increasingly dark nights pass (although I must say the new cycle of America's Next Top Model might keep me from updating this!)

It's Saturday and I'm bored, but I've been unemployed for 13 weeks so this is nothing new and at least I have a pile of dirty laundry to wash and watch dry this afternoon - it's all about the little pleasures in life, isn't it? If writing this makes me some variation on the archetypal Carrie Bradshaw then my own Mr Big is away at a wedding this weekend at some lovely place in Dorset (hence the aforementioned boredom). Am insanely jealous but must refrain from becomg embittered and muttering scathing remarks into my super noodles.

Time for another cup of coffee.