Studio Living

Re-joining the commuter masses

After not having worked a full five day week since June (June!), I've got me one of those jobs things again. Just a contract for a couple of months, and nothing particularly taxing. OK, so the interviewer described it as "incredibly dull" but
a) kudos to the guy for being upfront
b) I've done a similar project before so at least I know the score and
c) it's probably for the best that my first job in eight months isn't something complicated and project managery that requires a lot of strategic thinking. This will be nice work to ease back in gently.

Plus, it's in London Bridge. 25 minute door to desk commute, baby! And now I can finally buy the things I promised myself I'd buy when I started earning again. Professional hair colouring. That cinnamony Lush shower gel that's so new it isn't even on the website. Some new underwear. And a netbook. Ohh, a netbook. I'm going to spend some very happy hours in electronics stores over the next couple of weeks.

Oh, I amuse myself

Seen on Ben Goldacre's delicious links: "uranium" for sale on Amazon. But then click the 'Available from these sellers' link...

Really? Just 4-5 days for the uranium to be processed? Someone get onto the Iranians, stat!

Fnar

Told ya

Oh look. Job Centres are having to bring in private recruiters because the staff don't know how to handle the professional, middle class jobseekers that are walking through its doors at the moment. Like, duh. When the back-to-work system doesn't have certain jobs and professions programmed into it, are they surprised they're having problems? And unfortunately, these little oversights have big ramifications: not having a suitable code to 'classify' me would have meant that, had I gone through with the Jobseekers process and not found work within 6 (?) weeks, they would have told me to look at other jobs. Other jobs brought up by the computer, based on the code assigned to me. Which wasn't appropriate. They would have insisted I apply for jobs I didn't have the qualifications or experience to do, and would stop any benefits if I didn't do as they said.

Perhaps this system works better if it's normally dealing with unskilled labour (but I wonder how many former automotive workers, with 20 years' experience, are told to go work in a garment factory because, hey, it's all manufacturing?) or, perhaps, skills are more transferable when you're stuck on the minimum wage. Or, more likely, the vast majority of people who need to use the Job Centres don't have the middle class righteousness that demands to be treated as a person, not a cipher, the experience to know what happens at a Job Centre is farcical and the ability to articulate that dissatisfaction and frustration. As Justin @ Chicken Yoghurt points out, this is a whole new recession. The unemployed are getting a facelift. And hopefully, that might bring about change.

Things I have learned in the last few days

It is not a good idea to buy mangoes out of season.

Some fakes are excellent.

Companies might say they need to hire a contractor urgently for a project that ends with the financial year, yet still take three weeks to shortlist. Can't be that urgent, then, can it?

If procrastination were a paid position, I'd be on about £50k a year.

Spring is springing

Spring is here - if only temporarily. There are snowdrops and mini daffodils in the garden and crocuses in Greenwich Park. El Mog's going out for longer periods of time only to sit by the back door again as soon as he comes back in. And last night I found a sleepy queen wasp on the hob. So I beat the crap out of it with a newspaper. Without having a panic attack. I call this progress.

Coping with dementia

Watching BBC Breakfast this morning I witnessed possibly the most heartbreaking thing I have ever seen. John Suchet was there, talking about how his wife has dementia and beating the drum for more support for carers. Now, I have a relatively flinty heart, but I burst into tears at the six minute point of this video.

Beware sleepiness

Why is it that women get older, but men just get tired? Nivea for Men caught my attention a while back and now Lost's Matthew Fox keeps popping up on my TV screen wittering about living life to the full and not allowing himself to look tired. Apparently there are five signs of fatigue that your skin may show (dry, tight, dull, less firm, rough, dontchaknow; sounds similar to ageing to me) and so of course you need MOISTURISER! Sorry, no, you need "Hydra Energetic Turbo Booster".

When I've finished laughing about the kind of people who get paid to come up with this sort of branding crap, I am, of course, angry. And not because angry is my default setting (no, that's more of a bored superiority.) It's because of the double-standard-yet-again. Olay has seven signs of ageing, because the worst crime a woman can commit is to stop being a foxy, buxom, temptress. But men get tired, poor babies; when men age they still command respect and use their cash and bachelor-dom (the ex-wife having got custody in the divorce) to attract wily young minxes, so advertising can't leech off those latent insecurities. Somebody, somewhere, has clearly decided that men should be taught to fear tiredness just like women have been taught to fear wrinkles, cellulite and all food.

Incidentally, I note the obvious solution to looking "tired" - get some sleep - isn't mentioned. Because a company can't mass-market that.

James May is [not] on Twitter

My life is now complete.

Edit: FAIL

Edit again [title] for all the people coming here via Google...

VD

Yeah yeah yeah. Valentine's Day. I wondered why the newsagent at the station had suddenly sprouted buckets of flowers for sale - it honestly took me a day to realise.

And so I have, today, with an acknowledged sense of cliche but honest-to-god it's coincidence, stopped off at Konditor and Cook and bought myself a big slice of Curly Wurly cake (though truth be told I was actually fancying some treacle tart); been to the gym; and read other people's experiences of this Hallmark holiday. And had an A Level flashback when Crockatt & Powell posted a UA Fanthorpe poem... Basically, pretty much what this anti VD card of Meish's says.

And no, even if I weren't single (a situation which, apparently, merits no +1 for moral support even for my cousin's wedding), I wouldn't be frolicking hearts and flowers. Because it's all mass-produced, unheartfelt, desperation.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have the Guardian and several back issues of New Scientist to read. Mmm. Now that's what I call a good day.

Ping

Walking down the stairs to the Northern at Bank. It's 11.30pm, there or thereabouts, and London is marinaded in just the right amount of booze. Two guys in suits are rambunctiously making their way down behind me. One is jumping down the steps two at a time.

I am a flight in front of them when a silver screw pops out of the stair that Suity Guy #1 just landed on. It tinkles to a halt by my feet. The three of us look down at it and back up at each other. "You broke the stairs!" I say. We giggle a bit and carry on.

Truly, the Underground is crumbling.