The Luck of the Draw

I don't know whether I was green with envy or just plain sick but the number of high end designer coats I handled yesterday was insane. It was Dolce & Gabanna after Prada after Burberry, and so much fur; god knows how many dead animals I hung on a coat hanger. What did I expect when I was the coat check girl for a very very expensive jewellery shop on New Bond Street? When I say expensive, I mean some of those jewels would have bought several houses.

While a few of the clientèle were almost ridiculous - botoxed faces that looked like masks and 40 year old bodies pushed into see-through black dresses - the owner of the shop was actually quite normal. Once they had discovered I was more than just a waitress (actually we are all always, more than just waitresses) they told me about how their son had just graduated from Manchester (ha...Nottingham is better!) and was going to be in the same situation as me soon.

Well, this got me thinking... is he actually going to have to face the same obstacles as me? His parents own a spectacular diamond shop and they know countless extremely wealthy and connected people. A reader of this humble little blog recently stressed to me how much luck comes into the equation. They wrote

'Even the work ethic required to complete a law or medical degree is established by a certain amount of luck. Lucky to have nurturing parents, lucky to have wealth (for most), lucky to have the correct set of genes to use a certain side of the brain, lucky to be taught from an early age how to manage time. With 7 billion people on earth, there's more pressure than ever to be perfect' 


Well it seems that my luck has dried up, or at least it's in drought. I was lucky enough to have parents who gave me decent enough genes to do well at my education, pushed me to take on lots of extra curricular activities and who taught me how to communicate well. Certainly there are people born into far unluckier circumstances than myself.

I'm not the kind of person however, who wishes to leave it all up to luck. While several factors are playing in my favour in the 'rat race' I also believe that most of my good fortune has come about through sheer hard work. The luckiest person in the world wouldn't get the job of their dreams without at least trying.

Well here's a test for you life... I recently had a very exciting interview at Bloomsbury publishing for my ideal role in their academic division. It went really well - the interviewer seemed to like me, I answered the questions naturally and comprehensively. I left feeling good about it but I was only the second interviewee and they had several other candidates to see after me. I'll know if I got the job by tomorrow.  Come on luck, open the flood barriers again and pour your glorious water all over me because this drought is starting to slowly suck the life out of me.

Selling My Soul

Hold the press! The kindly people from the JobCentre have revoked their decision to offer me absolutely no money at all while I search diligently for a job and have instead decided to award me the incomprehensible sum of 88p per week.

While it is awfully kind of them to reconsider my economic position in society all the way from their offices in Scotland, this now means that I have to provide proof of my job searching activities and go to the JobCentre every other week to sign on in order to claim my 88p. I'm going to say it again out of sheer disbelief.... 88p.

Please, please keep your money and preferably shove it somewhere unmentionable. Or at least give it to a more useful, less time-wasting cause. This is absolute bureaucracy gone mad and I refuse to participate in it. All it means is that I am now the government's female dog and must adhere to their ridiculous laws in order to get my bone... and a measly old bone it is too.

I have just got back from Berlin, a city that was not so long ago divided by a wall and whose inhabitants (at least in the East) were often forced into conspiring with the secret police in order to get their daily bread. Have I essentially just sold my right to live a free and private life for the price of a loaf of bread? I don't want to get carried away with comparisons here but I'm a historian (or so they told me at university) and so I like to make historical connections between our present day and past occurrences. It was Pasha in Doctor Zhivago who claimed "the private life is dead in Russia". Perhaps the private life here is dying? How many national databases share our private information every day? How many people sell their privacy for 88p?

While I don't have to be a part of this, I refuse to be. Ironic really, considering the fact that I am blogging my life to the world, but at least that is of my own choosing. And plus, I like to think it is my own minute political stand. Better ring the JobCentre now and tell them I choose not to sell my soul for 88p and I really haven't found them the least bit helpful. After all, I am the one who has just secured myself work experience at Time Out Magazine. I can't wait to get some more experience. It may be unpaid but even they are offering me travel expenses and £2 for my lunch each day... I might even be able to afford some sandwich fillings for my bread now.

Spam Attack!

So I just found out that I've been fooling myself all along. The hundreds of views which I was so proud to be racking up on my page count are mostly something evil called referer spam. OOOOH I hate spam - whether it's electronic, paper or meat based, it is the absolute bane of my life. How dare these Russian spam artists take over my blog stats and make poor unknowing people click on their links! Of course, I clicked on them - pride got the best of me and I wanted desperately to know who it was looking at my posts. Well, turns out it's no one. And their sites are rubbish. Humph.

99% of the mail I receive is generally tut. Emails getting me to sign up to yet more job sites where I can advertise myself and my manifold skills by posting my CV on line... and get no responses whatsoever. Letters from the NHS wishing me Happy New Year and offering me a free Chlamydia test. Yay. It's just what I always wanted! Then there's the the ones from every single voucher company available on this planet offering me half price spa days and manicures. While I could definitely do with one of those right now - my nails are worn down from a combination of washing up since the dishwasher broke and general anxiety - I can't actually afford their lovely and slightly pointless offers. There was one exciting thing I got in the post however; a Graze box. Four little compartments of healthy, tasty, nutritious treats, intended to ward off the 4 o'clock snack attack. And...it was FREE! So at least I'm sticking to my New Year's Resolutions. Save money and snack healthily. In fact I'm nibbling upon some chilli and lime pistachios right this very instant. Yum.

Oh yeah, guess what? I got promoted again. In that job that I thought I'd never go back to. A 50p per hour pay rise, more seniority and the task of reporting on staff members who dare to turn up with a hair bobble coloured other than black or with beard stubble. It seems that I am perhaps destined to become a worker in the catering and events industry after all. Or is it the bitching industry? I'll have to work that one out. Either way, they are the only ones who seem to want to hire me right now. And the only people who send me emails which aren't spam - although how eager I am to receive said emails is another matter.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Hi guys. Apologies for the lack of posts lately. I have been a busy bee - working at the Olympia Horse Show serving very rich, often posh people hundreds of bottles of champagne and then buying Christmas pressies with all the marvellous tips I earned from doing so. Seriously, it shows you just how much money these people have when they order drinks at over £500 and have paid for their boxes at over £5000 and then give me a £60 tip! Anyway, it made my Christmas time because I was able to get the people I love some good presents, as supposed to a shoddy attempt at a handmade one - I'm really not that creative.

Anyway, before I rush off to help my poor mum finish preparation for boxing day lunch (yes, boxing day, not even tomorrow) and then skip to the local for a cheeky Christmas Eve pint, I would like to wish you all a VERY merry Christmas. Let's all forget about our tribulations and fill our heads with the smells of Christmas pud and mulled wine. Have a great few days.

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