Sunday, November 25, 2007

The World of Employment

This last week, I have mostly been writing about:

T-shirts/tops of many varieties
Layering tops
Roll necks
Cycle shorts
Yoga wear
Performance wear
RealCool cotton

And many more… All womenswear you understand. I don’t think I’m doing very well, but they don’t seem to mind.

Not that anyone really notices that I’m there, but I don’t actually work with anyone I sit near. My boss (or the woman who sets me work, I don’t actually work with my boss) sits a few desks up on the other side of the office.

Still, I think I’m making some impact, the guy who sits opposite to me asked me if I wanted a drink on Friday, but the guy who looks like Sylar from Heroes.

This week I get to go to the store in Marble Arch and note down everything that’s written on the clothing tags to make sure it tallies with what’s online. This will include the underwear…

I’m going to wear my ID card around my neck to show I’m an employee but I’m still going to look like a massive pervert.

Instrument of the Week: The Tromboon the reed and bocal of the bassoon attached to the body of a trombone in place of the trombone's mouthpiece, the Tromboon features the worst aspects of both instruments for maximum irritation.

Sounds a bit like an electric razor.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

The House Hunt

I’ve been spending all week trying to find somewhere new to live in London. It’s been hard, it’s been difficult, and it’s been damn irritating. From the flat so small I could urinate from one end to the other*, to the flat I saw twice with two different agents one after the other and let’s not forget the estate agent who tried to talk me out of seeing the flat, only to eventually give in and drive me violently there for a tense 30 second viewing before thundering off – it’s been a demoralising time.

Mostly I’ve been looking at studio flats.

What are studio flats?

Studio flats are the gutted rooms of once beautiful townhouses with a small bathroom and small bits of kitchen stuffed in them.

That sounds a little cramped.

You’d struggle to swing a small fraction of an anorexic pygmy cat in most.

Can’t you get large ones?

You can, but you pay a lot more and get very, very little extra. Basically, if you have any belongings, you’ll have to leave them somewhere else.

But I don’t want to live like a rabbit in a warren. What can I do?

Live on the streets or in a bed-sit, or pray you can find someone to move in with.

But I have found somewhere. Expensive, oh yes, very much so. But it’s liveable and actually has room to breathe and move and stuff. I’ll be appreciating that a great deal as I go bankrupt.

On the down side, there isn’t any furniture. It’s going to be bare living for a while…

Delusion of the Day: Reduplicative paramnesia.

A belief that a place or location has been duplicated, exists in two places at once, or has been moved to another site.

*Hypothetically of course. I wasn't drunk.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

And Another Thing...

Last week was strange. I actually went for things – and got them! Opportunity to interview Gore Verbinski, director of Pirates of the Caribbean? Sure I’d like to give that a go. What are the chances of me getting it? Surely the other writers for the 6 Degrees Film site will get it first.

“Would you like to do it at either 9 or 5?”

I just don’t expect these things to happen.

So I set about doing my research. I actually watch the third film, read reviews, production information, other interviews, director’s biography and I come up with 24 questions to ask.

It comes to Thursday morning (choose 5 o’clock one – what a surprise) and I’ve heard nothing. The woman who runs the website asks me if everything has been arranged. I’ve heard nothing, was I supposed to contact the PR company myself and arrange it?

The hours pass and still nothing. I try to keep myself busy and occupied, but I’m nervous…

Then at 2, finally, I get an e-mail. I open it and…

Apologies, but the event has had to be postponed to unspecified later date.

Damn and blast it!

TV channel of the Day: The Puppy Channel

While watching the O.J. Simpson trial, advertising executive Daniel FitzSimons was flipping through channels during lulls in the events and found nothing but game shows, soaps and reruns. They conceived of a relaxing place to ‘park’ your Television.

The puppy channel ran on 4 cable stations from 1998 to 2001, with nothing but puppies frolicking to ambient music. During an audience survey 41% of people preferred it to news channel CNBC and 37% of people preferred it to all the TBS network of cable channels.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

The Work

I’ve applied for quite a lot of jobs this year. So many I’m beyond able to count how many.

I’d just started applying via a new website and was casually applying for copywriting jobs, when suddenly, one replied. This is pretty unusual – even rejections are rarely issued. But this wasn’t a rejection, oh no, this was a test. A test of my writing abilities…

A test for Endemol at Marks & Spencer – I was to write blurb for a selection of their products, based on only the picture, bullet points and category. The items requiring blurb: a bonded leather box, a 100% wool jacket, a set of four napkin rings, 2 stripy tops for girls and a kimono style ladies top.

I sent the test back on Sunday, before the Sopranos finale (which was good and not good at the same time).

Tuesday: I get a phone call at 9:30 in the morning; naturally I’m not awake. My test was ‘pretty good’ and they want to interview me. When can I come in? I say whenever is convenient for them. They say 3 pm tomorrow, I say I think I can sort that out; in my mind I’m saying ‘holy shit!’, I do agree and get to booking a train.

Wednesday: Armed with three bits of writing from the site that I like and three bits that I don’t like, I get on the train. I’ve got 55 minutes to get from Euston to Paddington, but by the time I arrive I’ve got 28. And I can’t find where the building is. I get there ten minutes late, covered in sweat, and after signing in and getting a badge, I make my way to their office.

I have the interview with wet patches on my shirt. I’ve proved I can write but I slip up on a couple of questions and don’t feel so good afterwards.

Twenty minutes later: I’m in Notting Hill about to practice some retail therapy and I get a phone call. ‘Yes we’d like to offer you the job’. I accept and then babble because I’m so taken aback that I have no idea what to say.

I start in two weeks.

And I am wetting myself.