No trip down memory lane this week, unless you count the last 7 days, because I'm going to do something a bit different (for this blog anyway; I'm sure plenty of others do it all the time) and do a week in review kind of thing.
I post on here about how my Grandad had died and how I'm feeling; or not feeling, as the case may be; about it. Not the best start to the week, I'll be honest, although as is often the case when I get too whiny on t'internet the lovely @The_Moiderer from the twitters gives me a slap and puts me in my place. Her words of calm wisdom are always appreciated.
Get a couple of 'We'll keep you on file' letters from prospective employers. Yeah, like I don't know what that means. Grumble grumble.
Opening a couple of envelopes is obviously too much exertion for me and I collapse on the sofa, sound asleep, until 8pm, which means I missed Emmerdale. Oh, the humanity!
I walk into town. Then walk back out of town when I realise that my JSA doesn't actually go into the account until Wednesday. Such is life.
I walk into town. JSA is in account but I can't get it because machine is faulty. Grrrrr. Wait for branch to open, go for a wander, hop on the bus to Old Darlington Town.
Get a haircut, buy a book (The Outcast Dead; part of the never ending Horus Heresy series that I can't seem to catch up with), a DVD (Jekyll, because I never saw the end on TV and it was only £3), and a cup of coffee, then hop on the bus back home. Excitement doth abound, doth it not?
I do not much of anything until the evening, when I start to bash out a bit of rot to go up on the book blog the next day (about Horus Heresy: Age of Darkness; I told you, that series is endless) before suddenly remembering that I have a load of forms I need to fill in for my 'Diagnostic Interview' at the Job Centre the next day. Joy.
Fill in the forms. Do not answer 'Cheese' to all the questions, like a certain someone on twitter suggested I should. This feels like a missed opportunity, but sometimes you just have to be mature about these things. (willy, wee-wee, poo drops)
Get a phone call. Old mate from old job. Tells me that the boss has announced they are hiring and that if I'm still out of work I'll be getting the job. Expect a call, he says. Squeeeeeeeeee!
Traipse into town. Woman in Job Centre is nice enough, to be fair. She points out that I could probably do with a new email address, which is a good point actually; it has never occurred to me, after all this time, that I'm putting faplad all over my job applications, duh; but she then proceed to give me a tutorial on how to set up an email account, which, you know, I'VE GOT ONE! DOES THAT NOT IN SOME WAY IMPLY THAT I KNOW HOW TO SET ONE UP?
Nice lady goes on to explain all the many and varied 'training courses' I will be sent on, should I not be successful in finding work. These will 'help you expand your skill set and give you support in your job search.' They won't. I've been on them all before. They are exercises in mind numbing tedium designed purely to shift your name from the 'Unemployed' column to the 'In Training' column. This is not purely cynicism on my part. (May be purely cynicism on my part)
I leave the Job Centre and head off for a coffee in le cafe. Whilst drinking my coffee and reading my crap book; that I just want to be over, please, and may she never write another one, ever, ever; I get a phone call. Old Boss! Can I pop in, soon as I like? I'm 20 minutes away, but don't want to seem too keen. I'll be there in the next couple of hours, I say.
I go in. He's busy. He tells me to go and make a cuppa in the bait room. He gets there 5 minutes later. He offers me the job. I accept. We shake hands. We idly natter for a bit, then he chills me to my very marrow.
"When E&E (names withheld cos they is like the top bosses and shit) gave me the go ahead to take you back on" he says, with a malevolent glint in his eye, "they mentioned 'developing' you." Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo! (This means training with a view to promotion. I am trained, and was promoted, once before. It was the worst year of my life. Myself and desks do not get along.)
He lets me stew for a few minutes, then assures me that it's not a prerequisite of the job and he's already told them I probably wouldn't be up for it. He's evil, but he's a good lad really.
So there you have it. My week. As you can see, I lead one of the most exciting lives imaginable. I could have spiced it up even more by regaling you with my thrilling adventures in CV posting and 'ringing up random people in the phonebook to beg for work' but I decided your hearts might not stand the strain.