If it was just the not having a job, then that wouldn't bother me so much. Ditto for the not having much money… But the combination of everything's really getting me down at the minute. I feel really bad about still being here at Richie and Ciaran's place, because I was *hoping* to have a job and my own place by now. I know that if the cockup with the job in Oxford hadn't happened then this situation wouldn't have arisen, and that it's not my fault that this is going on… but the feeling still stands – I was only going to be here for a week or 2 after coming back from France, but now it's the 4th week I've been here (with a week in the middle in the hostel in Oxford).
I'm not sure how I got myself into this situation – I've got the option of a one-month contract doing some stuff for someone, but I've also got a couple of other things on the boil as well. There's the job in Aylesbury which I had a technical exam for on Monday and have another interview for in the morning, I got a call yesterday about a 4 month contract at Canary Wharf, and there's another contract I'm waiting to hear back about… so yeah, if I'd known 3 weeks ago what was going to happen I'd have taken the 1 month contract and nearly been finished it by now. As it currently stands I've got activity surrounding me, just no bloody results !
Again, the irritation is exacerbated by the fact that I can't go out and do too much touristy stuff while I wait for answers, cos money's really tight.
Normally I'd have my weeknight activities to keep my mind occupied, and there's plenty around here I'd like to get into – maybe get into another choir, join up with Toastmasters (public speaking club), get into some theatre – but of course it's hard to get involved in a club or organisation when you don't know if you'll be living in a different suburb or city the following week.
I just wanna get out of here and stop being an inconvenience to these guys.
On a more amusing note however, my dear chum Annie came out with an absolute pearler last night – we'd gone to Clapham Junction to pick up a bread maker that she'd bought on eBay. On the way she was explaining that she hadn't met him, but she knew he was about 6 foot 3 and balding. After a shortish train trip, we hopped off, wandered outside and she says quite earnestly, “I wonder if we'll have any trouble spotting him ?”. At which point I remarked:
“What do you think the chances are of spotting a 6 foot 3 bald man carrying a bread maker ?”.
OK, maybe you had to be there.