It's written in the starz

Thank goodness for horoscopes


According to the reliable source which is Russell Grant I can expect the following to happen to me today:

CANCER - June 22nd - July 23rd  Updated 14.12.2011 At long last, you're seeing some movement on the job front. Requests for interviews and work samples will pour in. Be open to meeting with potential employers, even if the position advertised doesn't thrill you. It's always helpful to brush up on your interviewing skills. The more you practice, the easier it will be to land the position you really want. The relief of making your way back into the workforce will ease the stress that's been building up. The resulting surge of energy will be exhilarating. Having considered this it seems to me the horoscope indicates that I have already put in enough leg work to chillax, so I have decided to spend the majority of the day in my pyjamas. If I choose to get a little bit wild I may stick the heating on full blast, get the hula hoop out, get naked and create some obscene routines to Christmas songs. Team Win  I am also an ickle bit hungover today as "Team Win" kept up the magic last night and won a new pub quiz, so pyjamas and/or nudity seems somewhat mandatory.In Team Win there is a hardcore of three; betterthangoogle (he really is), thevoiceofreason (again he really is - anyone who can veto my ridiculous suggestions is already a winner) and me queenofcrapculture. Everyone else is a guest star. We have moved quiz venues - essentially because the last pub was a mix of lesbians and homeless people, which I was fine with, but the boys kept pointing out that this was not ever going to result in another kind of win if we became regulars. Mid-week hook ups? Seems unlikely to me, BUT WE DARE TO DREAM, and the whole pub quiz business only started as a way for us to meet up and have a laugh and now WE ARE WINNERS! So who knows? Maybe we could meet our future ex husbands/wives after 5 pints and pocketing £70. I know I would find such a meeting charming and alarming in equal measure. In other news... The care home campaign is thickening somewhat and has become awfully complicated. I am still applying for jobs. I have discovered that rapping and hula hooping at the same time is not a task which I find physically enjoyable. I took a pint of Amstel back to the bar last night and DEMANDED my Strongbow and correct change. A new low.

TheMostAmazingThing...

Me and two of my compadres won the pub quiz last night. This has made me very happy and very hungover. I have become such a simpleton.


But what this does prove is that I have not wasted the past few weeks reading trivia on the internet during job hunting downtime. I have learnt something which has translated into a tangible win.


Now I am off to find a pub that does "Rap Idol". I feel a winning streak coming my way. I am not so foolish however to believe that part of this streak will involve me pinning down a job in a way that a stud dog pins down and impregnates an unsuspecting bitch; I think potential employers have to be more willing than that, and I really ain't no stud. It is almost Christmas after all and they are playing hard to get.

Characterisation - Part One

The context of characterisation
This blog has been relatively self indulgent with no real personification or intricate references of the magically diverse group of individuals who help make my version of the world a better place. I think an introduction to specific characters and miscreants periodically is thus required.


Last night as promised I ventured into a local public house, which until about five years ago was a great watering hole because it never pretended to be something it was not. Now however, it has tokenistic flock wallpaper displayed at regular key wall intervals and is punctuated with bold paint colors and a mish mash of "vintage" furniture. 


The real main difference between now and five years ago to unemployed me is the cost of pint of cider £2.70 to a whopping £3.75. Great. 


After realising the cider was so costly, myself and The Troll hit the mojitos; stronger and tastier. Thanks to his other worldly powers he had convinced the barman to upgrade the mojitos to include Mount Gay Rum. Yum.


The Troll
It was over these mojitos that The Troll started divulging snip bits of his life as a freelancer. My understanding from this conversation is that he is now technically unemployed until February. But will still tell people he is freelancing. Incidentally it was National Freelancers Day this week (on the 23rd of November). In knowledge of this I told him "to get a fucking real job and to stop riding on a bmx to get to business meetings". Now I have this blog, according to The Troll I am a freelance writer. If I choose to raise this in open banter hopefully the conversation will stop at that point and I will not have to explain I am self publishing through the powers of blogger.com.


The Troll is one of the many loves of my life - but there is no romantic or sexual inclination from either party. Though he will attempt to touch my breasts from time to time. He is a hairy little man boy complete with a sexy set of moobs. He has been like the little brother I never wanted to me since I have been 14 and he has been 12 (this is even though we have known each other since we have been 8 and 6). Our friendship became cemented after a series of highly inappropriate teenage escapades in a field outside of Lewes. He claims I groomed him. I claim he was, and still is a willing apprentice. He refutes apprenticeship and now contests that he has officially earned the dual title of "partner in crime and co-founder of The Family of Misery". He is probably right. To be honest I can ring the troll and we say things to each other as follows (a typical thrice daily conversation);


The phone rings. It connects. He picks up. It is 2pm on an otherwise pretty unexceptional Friday afternoon (yesterday);


Me: (cheerily )You fucking little shit.


Troll: (equally cheerily) Whorebag, I could really deal without hearing about your unemployment misery today. What the fuck is it?


Me: I want to howl to the moon.


Troll: ( despondent) Not this shit again, Halloween was last month.


(About three years ago I abandoned Troll mid way through a night out, the next thing I know I get  a phone call from my family who found him in the middle of a night club howling at the moon. Showing loving concern they filmed him, took pictures and danced around with him. Asking me what to do, I explained the kindest thing would be to put him in a taxi with a note and send him back to his mum.To this day, no one really knows what happened to him that night. There have been many other nights like this, with and without howling involved. But whenever either one of us get the urge to get our rocks off we make it clear by "howling" down the phone. What a pair of dicks).


Me: (flat and disengaged) Fine. But I need to do something. 


Troll: (aggressive) Shush. Listen. I AM BUSY. I am a self employed freelancer. I do not have the time to deal with your childish requests of a drinking partner. 


Me: Sighs.


Troll: Do not fucking be like that with me you fucking little bitch. I said I. AM.BUSY.


Me: (pathetically, but endearingly) But trollie, I have a business proposition for you I need to discuss with you, the perfect venue of which would be a pub.


Troll: (in a probing and curious manner) Is this an actual bonafide idea? Or have you been hanging about in a crack den in Cambridge Road or Oriental Place?


Me: (smugly) No crack.


Troll:(in an aggravated yet an amusing tone)  WHAT THE FUCK IS IT?


I hang up.

The next time I see Troll after this conversation is like I said in the pub last night.I did not get home until 2:37 am. No howling was involved. 

An unemployed tale of troll
The troll used to work in London say around 2008. We spent a lot of time together. I was a few bus stops away (Wilesden to some part of Ealing). The troll did not tell me he had lost his job (walked out or got fired I can not remember, but based on previous I would say packed his bags and left head held high with a big grin on his face) for two months. A month later he left London. I was devastated his leaving me in London. I needed our special time. At the time I was recuperating from major surgery so I would hobble over to his flat doped up on some concoction or another the Dr had given me.  

What I had not noticed in this in this whole two month time period was that the troll had not cleaned his flat for about 4 months. I only noticed when he cleaned the flat, it looked amazing. Totally beautiful. It had a floor and surfaces. He said I could not go in the kitchen. Once he entered a food coma I went in the kitchen. It was UNFUCKINGBELIVABLE.  The troll had squirreled away all his mess and put it in the kitchen. It was worse than a scene from Bottom or Trainspotting. It was a squatters paradise. It was riddled with e-coli and listeria and so only a troll could withstand such uninhabitable conditions.

What happened next is so disturbing and hilarious that it is necessary to extend this tale of the unemployed troll into another blog entry...