Monthly Archives: July 2005

Things are looking up on the job front

I’m still working at the pub but I had an ‘informal’ interview at a shipping company on thursday. Not being familar with the company’s policy or knowing quite what ‘informal’ meant in an interview context, I briefly toyed with the idea of turning up wearing chinos and a salmon pink shirt with no tie, or possibly a turtle neck. I figured I’d look a bit like a yuppie (maybe accessorise with a white jacket with rolled up sleeves). In the end I opted for black trousers and a blue shirt with no tie. In the absence of turtle necks the interview seemed to go okay, so hopefully I’ll only be pulling pints for a bit longer (although we do have Theakstons Old Peculier at the moment!). Katie also has a job at the pub now because shes waiting for the CRB checks to come through on her ‘proper’ job working at a brain injury rehabilitation centre, but bizarrely the licensee has put us on seperate shifts so we won’t ever actually see each other because one us will always be working when the other one is free.

The Ashes

Given my status as an unemployed person, I’ve become strangely addicted to the Ashes. I don’t normally care much for televised sport but Dan my housemate (another displaced Yorkshireman) insists that understanding the game is my duty, on account of my yorkshireness. So I’ve been getting my head around the complexities of the LBW rule and drinking tea. I even get as far as getting faintly exc ited when we do well and listening to Dan insult Flintoff for being fat (Flintoff being from Lancashire and hence our historic enemy but he appears to be a pretty good bowler so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt).

My unemployment has changed abrubtly though becuase I finally caved in and went back to the pub I used to work in. Blearly eyed alcoholic scousers here I come, hurrah!. At least I’ll get some practice at being evil to the customers for a while. Until I get a proper job.


I’ve finally moved to my new house, which means I don’t have to stage running battles against a hyperactive jack russell everytime I want to make a cup of tea. This is actually my 3rd attempt at writing this entry because the last two inexplicably deleted themselves. To quote that modern parable of our time ‘Team America World Police’ – "Hmm".

Take the national express when your life

It'll make you smile
All human life is here
From the feeble old dear to the screaming child
From the student who knows that to have one of those
Would be suicide
To the family man
Manhandling the pram with paternal pride
And everybody sings ba ba ba da…
We're going where the air is free

(Lyrics (C) The Divine Comedy)

As you might guess from todays entry, I took an national express journey down to Bournemouth via London for one of Katie’s friends weddings.

Armed with a thermos flask of tea and sandwiches we turned up at Liverpool bus station for 10 am on Sunday morning. I know thermos flasks have that unhealthy trainspotter conotation BUT, the ability to dispense hot caffine on demand is not one to be scoffed at (in fact if I were one of the X-men, my special power would be to spray scalding hot tea at my enemies from some kind of duct in my hands). Anyway I digress.

We stopped over in north east London on Sunday and had Falafel for tea. I can’t remember which area of London it was (possibly Wood Green) but the office of the Cyprus Potato Marketing Board was just down the road from us.

The actual wedding was kind of cool (took place in Bournemouth town hall) and had bubbles instead of confettti (presumably because confetti takes too long to clear up). We didn’t get to see the sea though because we had a seven hour journey to get back again Grr. Coach journeys can be fun if you actually have something to do, I sat attempt to read Either/Or by Soren Kierkegaard in the scorching heat. It wasn’t going to happen. Ah well.

And the first thing we saw when we arrived back in Liverpool, was a scallie in a lacoste tracksuit vandelizing a vending machine in the bus station, and we knew we were home.


My housing situation contiues unabated. How long does it take to puch a few numbers on a computer do a credit check? The worst thing is we paid a large sum of money to the letting agency for the processing of our paper work. Grrr.
Katie’s suggestion was to take the new resident’s Jack Russell round to menace the letting agency (or at least inconvience them when it poos on the floor). In the meantime all my stuff is in boxes waiting to be moved and I can’t really do anything in the current house because theres no space.


Is it just me or are librarys becoming increasingly noisy? I had to leave my local library earlier because it was impossible to work due to the singing of the mums and tots group (or rather "parent who stays at home and tots group" if we are going to be inclusive about it). Now don’t get me wrong, I’m sure groups like that need suitable places to meet, but is a small community library really the best place? I’ve now relocated to the library in town and the librarians here talk louder than the clientel. Just what you need when you trying to plan your future using the internet. Well obviously I’m currently writing my blog, but I intend to start planning, just as soon as my daily rant is over. Has anyone else in blogland experienced this increase in noise in our public places?

Our house of wayward mobility continues. I need to move soon. Having four people in a three bedroom house is intensly claustrophobic.


I’m illicitly sharing a house with a Jack Russell. This state of affairs has been reached because I am in house moving purgatory, waiting for the credit checks and paper work to go through on the new house. In the meantime the next tennant of our old house has moved in along with said dog (who answers to the name ‘Galaxy’, pretty cool). Theoretically I’m a squatter. Also, I smell of dog.

In other news, (relating to the Make Poverty History campaign) George Bush has apparently said ‘America’s interests must come first’ in today’s Guardian headline piece. I think several billion people probably disagree with you there. Idiot.

Must find a way of getting the smell of dog off my hands.

Preachy old me

So then, can rock music change the world? I guess that’s the question everyone should be asking themselves today.

The other day Tractor girl was writing about the problems of post modernism on her blog. The problem is that such a complex theory gets reduced to a soundbite. I think this is the same problem which faces the Make Poverty History campaign. No one whats to sit through a lecture on why European and American farming subsidies hurt the trade of developing nations. People would rather listen to Coldplay.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not critising the movement or it’s aims. I just don’t think things will really change until the average consumer on the street makes the link between (for example) buying certain brands of high street clothing and the conditions of sweat shop workers in Tijuana or Malaysia. Perhaps as well as having a Make Poverty History campaign we should have a Make Excessive Consumption History campaign too…

Sorry I’m getting preachy in my old age but someone once told me a story that highlighted the problems of capitalism and it’s worth mentioning them here.

A man from New York went on holiday to the coast of Mexico. Whilst he was there he met a Mexican fisherman by the sea and they began to talk. The New Yorker asked the Mexican how he spent his days and the Mexican said he went fishing for the morning and then when he had collected enough to feed his family he spent the rest of the afternoon napping. The New Yorker asked him "Why don’t you spend all day fishing, then you can sell the fish you don’t eat? You could then use the profit to employ other people to work for you and eventually maybe you could open an office in New York selling fish all over the world". The Mexican looked puzzled and asked what he would do with all the profit. The New Yorker scratched his head for a while and replied "Well you could retire, buy a house next to the sea and maybe do a bit of fishing"

Yeah I know it’s a bit of a lame punchline but it makes the point.