Four Parties and an Interview

The last few weeks have presented more plot twists than an average episode of Jonathan Creek. Intrigue, suspense, love, lust, triumph and disaster, we’ve had the lot. I have found time to write this blog in what can only be described as the last ad break; after which, we will all find out who murdered who and whether the killer is going to chuck themselves off a cliff, (That’s what usually happens).

So what’s been happening?

Well, your ever so handsome and humble narrator has been working (unpaid) in an office for eight weeks trying to secure himself a well paid job. A job that would not only offer financial security but also a break from the inevitable boredom of watching all of his friends piss off back to uni. It would also provide him with enough money to continue his driving odyssey and in due course, get himself.... HIS OWN PLACE.

Working in an office is really very bad for you. Since starting I have developed a fetish for canteen food, in particular, trifle. Each lunch time I scuttle down to the food hall and grab myself a BLT sandwich, a pot of pineapple and a strawberry trifle. Often, the trifle is so appealing that I eat it first. This makes the first few mouthfuls of BLT taste weird but it’s completely worth it. I should add that this food is often in addition to a school boy style packed lunch. If I continue in the same vein I’ll be obese in a month. If the overeating wasn’t enough I’ve also suffered from some pretty serious sleep deprivation. Not wanting to miss out on the fun of the summer holidays, I have made little to no consideration for the working week when planning my sleeping pattern, often awaking with my ears buzzing and spending entire days downing tea to stop my eyes sealing themselves shut.

The last and most serious of my health concerns comes in the form of a growing fondness for cigarettes. At first I had the odd one to fit in. Then I wanted to stop stealing other people’s so I bought a pack or two. Then I decided I often wanted to look cool while walking around on my own. I mean it’s not like I’m addicted or anything bad like that, it’s just..... Sometimes I fancy one, all the time. I regularly wake up with a smoky mouth.

So I spent eight weeks stuffing envelopes, laminating, writing about middle aged women and abusing my body in preparation for the interview I had last Thursday. I wasn’t nervous about the interview but I was really fucking stressy. When occasionally stopping to look at myself in the mirror (at least 10 times a day) in the preceding week I didn’t recognise the zombie staring back at me.

The interview itself went fine, but there were 300 applicants so I’m not holding my breath. In truth I am holding my breath. I spent eight weeks working there which left me black lunged and penniless. If they don’t give me the job it might be me Jonathan Creek comes after when he finds an NHS director with their head twated in with a laminator. I can just imagine Alan Davies crouched over the body.

“Look! The murderer has given him paper cuts all over his body..... That’s funny, no blood. These wounds were inflicted after he died! What sick bastard did this?!”

Me. I did it! He didn’t give me a job.
Anyway, enough of that, for now at least, I find out in the next day or two.