Tuesday, 3 June 2008


I half suspected this would happen, so I shouldn't have been too surprised.

Having come back to work on light duties, I was put on the customer services desk at our head office. And there I've worked, not missing one day off, working as best I could, dealing with the public. So much so, I was really beginning to enjoy the office, the job, and the possibility of working there permanently.

So, I applied for the post.

so did well over a hundred and eighty other folks. yeah. One eight zero.

I made the paper sifts through to the final twelve for interview, and this gave me a one-in-six chance of getting the job (they were recruiting two permanent staff to the job).

Needless to say, thanks to the points system they handicap the interview process with, I was stuffed from day one, and never knew it until AFTER the dust settled.

Since this damn company has rules regarding public comments on the company, I can't name it, but you can take this to the bank: Any loyalty that I had for them is now down the goddamn toilet, folks.

I have had enough. I've been knocked back by this damn firm three times in the last eighteen months, and I've finally had enough. I am now, officially, looking to get the hell out of London.

Congratulations, London: You succeeded. I know when I'm beaten, and I'm now trying as best as I can to find a way out of this bloody rat trap. You see, everything that I've tried to do to improve my life since leaving school, has come to naught. I got onto the property ladder when it dipped; my flat was worth 47500 then; it's worth a shedload more now, but then, one used to be able to have a London property and move up to an actual house if you moved out of London.

Not anymore: EVERYWHERE is as flaming expensive. I know this now: I looked online this evening.

In the fifteen years since I bought this place, and have worked on a shoestring set of wages, the rest of the blasted country has cottoned onto the way you can allegedly finance your life with your property.

I am, in other words, f***ed. Sorry, there's no other suitable way of putting it.

I'm 43.

I had a heart attack recently.

I've had enough of the capital.

I want quality of life.

I've no bloody chance.

Folks, I'm at my wits end here, and can't see a way out. I have naff-all in the way of qualifications, five O levels, a driving licence, know how to make a basic web page, can use fireworks and dreamweaver, along with Pagemaker and Photoshop, and I'm fairly computer-literate; only problem is that for none of those do I have paper qualifications. In addition, I'm qualified to drive buses (if the DVLA actually pulls their fingers out and conform that I can drive a bus again - they're dragging their heels again), and no bloody idea how to go about getting my life back on my terms.

I'm stuffed, in other words.

I'm throwing the floor open to ideas. Comment away. I'll read every comment, but I won't promise to reply.

Chances are that I'll be too busy being ground down by the system.