Currently Listening The Difference Between Me & You Is That I'm Not on Fire By McLusky see related

A visit from the goblin of gainful employment prompts me to resurrect this neglected corner of the internet... your correspondent soon to be one of the city's top financial journalists, despite what cynics might call a lack of any knowledge about the subject...whatsofuckingever.

So my current temp job is pretty much as good as it gets: I'm working in the Meds packing warehouse of UCLH, in what can only be described as a "supermarket sweep" meets "fear and loathing" role. I trundle a trolley round a vast metal shelved hanger, a bit like the one at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, pulling various medicines off the shelf and boxing them up according to the whims and needs of nearby druids, doctors etc. Every now and then I get jolted out of that mindless-task-limbo that you may all recognise from every shitty job you've ever had: I notice what it is that I'm holding. Meths, codeine, a "pill clipper", adrenaline, needles...it's like Irvine Welsh's garage in there. Today I packed up 30 enema bags, on whose packaging could be found the advice "hold the patient's buttocks firmly together for several minutes to avoid seepage". This is a genuine quote- I shit you not.

Ralf is my supervisor, and though I'm sure he's German he has the common decency to effect a comedy gay dutch policeman accent:

"Sho, Lawrensh... this is bashically what we do here, lunch break ish one hour and shome days the bonush two or tree mintuesh..." He has sported the same "Biohazard: '93 total chaos tour" t-shirt both days, which is alarming because those days were a friday and then the following monday. Luckily, I know through my amazing knowledge of terrible metal that Biohazard is a band and not an amusing  comment on the wearer's personal hygeine.

I read a newspaper review of a blog-compendium book, and the reviewer pointed out that most british authors prefer detailing the mundanity of their jobs in as dry a manner as possible, as opposed to the American prediliction for political fuming. I'd love to discuss this, but it also mentioned that most blog entries are too long and because I am Afraid Of Ridicule I will go now and think about the 19th of December. Oh fuck me, am I  looking forward to the 19th of December.

Currently Listening Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) By Wu-Tang Clan see related

   A parcel arrived from "Spike" Brody today, galvanising me into my first pre-midday arising (arousal?) in months and allowing me one of those brilliant, private moments of glee when you realise that someone "gets" you... False-bottomed home-made box adorned with 50's erotic movie art, containing volume of Sterne's works, glorious (hidden) "Hai-Chu" sweeties and more: I salute you, and return a smile across the seas to your sender.

    Meanwhile, I devour news from the whole spectrum of Brit media in vast, ugly binges: finger-blacking, page turning and fact-gobbling like a man who has just emerged from a lengthy coma, the better to try and grab an unpaid position as "tea-bag recycling monitor" on the Somerset Evening Discharge. Nihil_Obstat claims that this puts me on a par with those of our friends seeking employment in the legal sector in terms of moral abasement; I refute this on the grounds that a the ambulance chasers will be well (over)paid for their efforts, whereas I will at least have the insufferable piety of the destitute to grip on to.

Can you tell I've stopped smoking?

Cough, cough.

"So what are you doing now?"

"Using the careers centre, er, catching up with people...you know...resting..."

"Rehab?"

"Funny."

"Sorry. Masters, or phD?"

"Maybe."

"The Book"

"pre-production phase at best, i.e. no fucking clue. Pint?"

"Why not."

Packing it in...

Final enkai with hated-Kogakura school; Nervous teacher and Bird teacher absent due to teacher training exams (explains a lot) so I talk to Hirata, he of the massive beetles and jozu english fame. He's getting merrily trashed and seems apart from all the other teachers, the high-school tubby geek with glasses and entomological obsession who dislikes the louty atmosphere of Le Enk. Something horrible happened halfway through our conversation; a sense of creeping dread as this more laid-back and interesting of teachers steered the conversation implacably towards China, declining patrotism in Japan, Kim-Jong etc. I realise I'm dealing with a fucking Right-o Rant-o, complete with phrases like "students today" and "I would fight if enemy country attack"...

...ten minutes later we're talking about dragonflies, and how when he was at High School he would net them and spend hours trying to paint them before setting them free. Apparently no matter what combination of paints he used he could never capture the exact shade of their bulbous eyes; this only made him try harder while (oneassumes) his classmates were all squatting by the 7-11 smoking mildo-7's and keitai-graphing each others crotches.

...I leave him lost in his drunken reverie, in which I imagine he pictures hordes of korean dragonflies with nebulous rainbow-eyes invading japan while millions of jaded youths in b-boy threads look on indifferently. I spend some time doing the merry round of traditional enkai activities, including trying "japanese sake rice wine" for the 100th time, running out of cigarettes, misunderstanding large streams of Japanese, explaining what country I'm from, surreptitiously trying to grill some sashimi with my lighter to make it edible, and feeling my legs go numb. Mr Hirata finally rises at about half ten, and I escort him to the door where we hug awkwardly and he whispers to me that "it's bluff" and he's just pretending to be pissed so he can skip out of the party.

I'm skipping out too; we'll see whether life in England merits blogging (assuming that any life does, but let's not have that debate) when I get there.