Not That Kind

So I just got a call from my agent, and I didn't get the job. Neither of us did actually.... they've asked for more cvs. So I guess my feeling was right after all.

I'm ok I suppose, definitely better than the other times I've been rejected. It's never fun, and I wish I knew why, but at least I don't feel like throwing myself off a bridge. My agent is chasing them for more specific feedback; hopefully this will give me a clue.

Even though I have other options, and I'm getting calls everyday, I'm starting to a feel (irrationally) that I have a "second interview curse", where people are impressed by my cv and acknowledge my capabilities in the first round, but when I get to the second round they take a long hard look at me and mentally throw me in the "no" pile. I feel unemployable. I know that I'm not, and I know that someone, somewhere, in the greater universe must want me to work for them. It just feels that the only way I'm going to get there is to temp first. Companies don't usually care that much about what kind of temps they get. Obviously they want capable ones, but if in the long run the person doesn't fit, it's easy to replace them.

I keep wondering how I would have fared in my temp roles if I'd had to interview for them. Would I have been chosen? Or would they see me the same way I've been seen in the 3 months' worth of interviews... good, potentially the right candidate, but at the last second, not quite good enough? Would I even be getting temp roles if I had to interview for them? See, when I think like that I get a little scared, as all the evidence is pointing to a no. Which begs the question - what is that I do in my second interview that puts them off? Or is it not what I do, but simply who I am.... an even more harrowing thought.

I suppose it's not a very good thing to sit and analyse like this. They have their reasons, and I hope they will forward them on to my agency so they can help me next time, but let's be honest, how truthful are they going to be? Maybe they just didn't like me. Would they say so, or would they cover it up with "she doesn't have enough experience in blah blah blah (hard to swallow in this particular situation, as I've done everything on their list).

My biggest problem is the slow draining of my confidence. I can still remember how I felt after my first interview for a perm position a few months ago. I was so shocked when they said no. Like, how could they possibly not want me? With each subsequent rejection, another part of me stops believing in myself, and becomes more resigned to the fact of it. I know this is no-one's fault but mine.... I have to be strong and competitive enough to fight for what I want and believe in my potential no matter how many knock-backs I get. It's just difficult.

Ok. I'm not going to let this one get to me, I'm going to take it on the chin and not be upset. But I am going to say that I hate job-hunting in London, and going home is looking more attractive than ever right now. I won't do it; I'm not going to quit, but I'm allowed to hate it. And I do - very much. On the bright side, it's the first time I haven't cried. :-) There's a spark left in me yet.... a little dull at the moment maybe, but definitely there.

Time To Shine?

So yesterday I went for my second interview with the TV Network. I met with the same HR Manager I'd seen before, and the Head of the Planning team, along with his "Number 2", as he referred to him. I'm still not certain, but I get the same impression that it's between myself and one other girl.

How do I think it went? Ok, I guess. There was nothing that I would do differently if I had to go back and do it all over again, but there wasn't an overwhelming sense of "Yes, you rocked that interview!" I liked both guys, answered the questions well (or so I think), and shared a few laughs with them. I did all the things you're supposed to do. I just didn't walk out of there feeling anything, other than relief that it was over. For those who have been following the drama of my job search, you'll know if there's one thing I can count on, it's that my post-interview feelings have absolutely nothing to do with the eventual outcome, so in this case it could be a blessing in disguise.

I did ok. Would I give the job to someone who did just ok? No. I can only hope I'm wrong, but this time I'm really prepared for the worst.

I should get the call today to find out if I got it, and I'm not really even tense or excited. It's almost like I've already said goodbye to this one, which would obviously make a nice surprise if I get it. I think subcosciously I am telling myself to feel negative no matter what the situation, as it's far easier to deal with if you believe you weren't really in with a chance anyway. I recognize this as a not very healthy attitude, but it's sort of out of my control at the moment.

I will of course update you later with any news.

1, 2 Step

This morning I got the call I've been waiting for.... I have a second interview with the TV Network on Thursday! I don't know exactly how many other people I'm up against, but I know my agency sent through three candidates, and they want only two back for the second round. So this is good news, but I think I'm more nervous than excited this time. So many close calls.... will this finally be my time? I really hope so.

I just had a cackling fit sitting here at my desk, thinking about the guards at Windsor Castle on Sunday. They are Shoes' and my new favourite things. They march around in teams of 4, dressed in their impossibly old-fashioned grey coats with their pirate-ship hats, and they have little tappers on the heels of their shoes so their clickety-clacks echo through the grounds. We followed them around for a while; it seems people can't help but do this. The majority of visitors turn into giggling monkeys when they come into contact with the guards, marching along behind them and imitating their swinging-arm strides, or attempting to distract them from their business of looking solemn and important. It was quite funny watching human beings treat them as if they were some exotic (and clearly not very well respected) animals in a zoo - ourselves included. Shoes and I were in fits of giggles as we trailed them with our camera, taking video footage of their sweaty, pained looking faces and the Japanese tourists shoving cameras in them.

We were trying to figure out how they know when their shift is over. They're not allowed to look at their watches, or indeed anywhere except straight ahead, so we decided they must have learnt to tell the time by the sun. Imagine that.... you need a piss so incredibly badly, but you can't go and you have no idea how many hours of marching you have left to do before you can relieve yourself. My guess is that they sign up for the job expecting a bit of prestige and perhaps to meet Her Madge the Queen, and spend the rest of their years thinking up terrorist plots to eradicate all tourists.

Shoes, Glorious Shoes

I'm sort of avoiding my blog at the moment, because I went for the interview with the TV network yesterday and I'm now completely superstitious about it, despite never having indulged in these kinds of beliefs before in my life. I'm afraid that if I talk about it, I won't get it. As simple as that. This is a ludicrous idea, I know, but you can't really blame me, can you? I wax lyrical about the fabulousness that is this new job I am applying for, only to get told in the end that I'm not quite what they're looking for, thank you very much. It has started to mess with my head. I actually think that by not talking about it I may have a shot. Ok, so, moving on from the apparent loss of my rational mind....

The weekend was pretty damn cool. On Saturday we went to Verve Bar for La Poo's 21st, and in true 21st birthday style, she got absolutely legless and suffered a 24 hour hangover the next day. I was on my best behaviour, and emerged from the bar at the end of the night barely even tipsy. How boring. *sigh*

Shoes was the Awesome Foursome's public enemy of the night, as he got the most pissed and decided, as he often does, to pull out mid party. Well, not quite mid party, but at 10:30pm, when we were only planning on leaving around 12pm to catch the last train home. I was having a great time, despite the fact that we'd already spent our (small) drinks budget by that stage, and was keen to stay. Shoes magnanimously offered to make his own way home, but I was not about to fall for that one again. I have suffered through a fair number of drunken Shoes nights where he falls asleep on the train/bus and overshoots his stop, landing up in the sticks somewhere (literally, there are small towns with bales of hay in outer London) and needing an £80 cab ride to get back home again. That was more than we'd spent on drinks, and I was having none of it, so I opted to accompany him home.

We walked to Charing Cross and stopped off at Burger King so Shoes could get his late night On The Piss snack, and then we jumped on the train. I had been wearing my brand new leopard print peep toe stillettos... shoes I bought about three weeks ago in Camden and that I had been dying to wear out. Due to the extremely annoying fact that my left foot is substantially bigger than my right foot, the left shoe had clamped around my toes like a python round a fatted pig and was not going to give even a milli-inch for one second's relief. My second-from-left-toe (What on earth do you call that one? The little piggy who had none, maybe.) was permanently bent upwards, like a meerkat keeping lookout. The result was that I had to take that shoe off at the bar every half hour or so and massage it (the shoe, not the toe) in an attempt to soften the material and prevent my toe from getting gangrene. So, I had wisely brought a pair of slip-slops with me, and I wore them to and from the bar. Shoes had brought a backpack for me to keep my spare pair of shoes in, and when we got on the train, I put the pack with my stillettos on the rack above the seats. You can see where this is going.

Shoes ate his burger as if he was going for Gold in the Food Gobbling Olympics, and fell asleep straight away, as predicted. Luckily I was awake and alert, and I stayed up watching the stations go by and thinking random thoughts. If only I had chosed that time to think about my shoes.... We reached our station, and I tried waking Shoes up. He was vas aan die slaap however, and was not waking up for love or money. In my panic to rouse him and get him off the train before it pulled out, I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THE BACKPACK. It was only as we stood on the platform watching the reatreating train, me congratulating myself on successfully dragging my drunken boyfriend home, that I realised. Fuck.

I've done all the necessary like file a lost property report, and phone them every day day to check on it, but I know deep down I'll never see those shoes again. I hope the bitch who's wearing them now breaks her fucking ankle. You see how shit hits the fan even when I stay sober? I might as well just get pissed!

Die Another Day

Don't really have time to post today - for the first time in a long time I have loads of work to do and am feeling quite frantic. But.... there is some good news: I have an interview with a major TV production company on Monday. This one is through the Coven that ignored me for two months after I went to an interview through them and didn't get the job. Not surprisingly, I am a little mistrustful of the Witch who blanked my attempts to contact her, but still, she did just get me this interview, so I'll call a truce for now.

The position is for a Planning Team PA and involves all the usual duties plus assisting with other things, like research and co-ordinating company events.

I love this stage of the job hunting process. I am quietly satisfied that I have an interview, hopeful that it could go well and secure in the knowledge that it's something I'm qualified to do. Even the next stage - the actual interview - is fairly trauma-free. It's only after the interview is over that the shit hits the fan, particularly if it has gone well and I think I'm in with a shot. Oh well, no point in thinking about that now. If it's meant to be blah fucking blah and all that crap.

For now, I'll just bask in the contentment of someone wanting to see me. That's good enough for today.

The Nicest Rejection Letter I've Ever Had

from LabelManager
to lopz@lopz.com
date 16 Oct 2007 17:28
subject Application - Fabric

Lopz

Firstly can I take this opportunity to thank you for taking the time to come in and see us for a second time yesterday.

As you may know we had an amazing response and our decision was made even more difficult because the candidates were without exception of a high caliber and all fully employable.

Nevertheless and after careful consideration I am afraid we will not be taking your application further.

On a personal note, although I am sure it is of little consolation to you, I was extremely impressed by both your skills, your desire for the job and the way you conducted yourself, please do not feel too disheartened.

Once again thank you for the time you have put into these interviews. I really am sorry – PA and I feel really flat! However we really appreciate the interest you have shown in Fabric and wish you all the very best for the future.

Yours sincerely

LabelManager

And then, on my reply in which I thanked him for his e-mail and asked if there was anything I could have done differently, this:

from LabelManager
to lopz@lopz.com
date 16 Oct 2007 19:25
subject Application - Fabric

Hi Lopz

Truth be told you did absolutely nothing at all wrong there was just another candidate who had a direct skill set that would add real weight to our business.

When its so close between candidates it might only be the smallest thing that tips it so certainly don’t change your approach.

Thanks again for taking the time and I wish you all the best

Kind regards

LabelManager

Waiting On The World To Change

I've been waiting in anticipation all day for a call from Fabric. My interview went really really well yesterday - the Label Manager complimented me afterwards on an excellent interview and said he was very impressed. *big grin* I was the last person to go - they had a total of 160 applicants for this position!

I know I have a real shot at getting this job, and now I definitely want it. However, it's not in the bag yet; besides the fact that there could quite easily be several other people who he liked as much as he appeared to like me, there's also the money issue. I told him what I want, and I said straight up I would not consider any less than I earn now, and he didn't fall off his chair. But he didn't say that's no problem, either. He just remained poker face - damn!

So we'll see. I've decided I can live with the hours - it would mean getting up at the same time in the mornings and going to gym before work (ok, trying not to cry at the thought), but I would manage.

And now I'm going to stop talking, because it just makes it that much harder to move on if I don't get it, so cross fingers for me and hopefully I will have good news soon!

It's My Party And I Will If I Want To

I am sooo tired this morning, and usually I would take that as the mark of a great weekend, but I'm afraid it might be because I'm getting sick instead.

It was, however, a good weekend. Saturday night was by far the highlight, when the boys went clubbing and Scarf and I arranged a chicks' night in at home. Mello, Mandz, La Poo and the ArtyOne descended on our front doorstep bearing truckloads of booze, and the minute the rugby was over and the guys left, we cranked up Gwen Stefani full blast and proceeded to have a night of drinking, dancing and enough screeching to send any lurking testosterone fleeing the building in terror. We spent most of the night flinging ourselves around the lounge in a euphoric state, and whenever anyone stopped for a breather or attemped to have a moment's coversation, they were dragged relentlessly back to the 'dancefloor' (our now stained and dirty lounge carpet) and made to whirl and jump around like they were possessed. As a result, I now have to get together with each girl separately at a later stage to actually catch up on what's going on in their lives.

We absolutely trashed the house. It was obviously going to get dirty, what with the drinks and snacks being ferried from one room to the next as we raided our cupboards to try on clothes and accompanied one another to the bathroom. However, it is Scarf who gets the prize for Caner of the Night as she was responsible for the start of the popcorn fight that was the end of any semblance of order in the lounge. My defining memory of the party is crawling around on my hands and knees at 3am, frantically trying to vacumm up popcorn kernels that kept getting stuck in the pipe, while Scarf just kept on throwing them as fast as I sucked them up. Good times! I maintained my dignity in keeping with my new Drinking with Moderation and Class programme.... ok, maybe dancing like an epileptic chicken and shrieking along to pop songs is not the epitomy of class, but I didn't throw my name away either.

Yesterday we spent much of the morning cleaning the house and absorbing barbed comments from the guys - just wait until they have a booze 'n braai next, we will be merciless! I was hangover free and wide awake at 9am, which is partially repsonsible for my fatigue today.

I am going for my second interview at Fabric this evening, but unfortunately the only slot they have left is 6pm. So I'm going to get home really late and can't go to gym.... and it just occurred to me that if I'm already moaning about this now, how much more would I moan if I get the job and I have to finish at 7pm? I'm hoping that the money issue is going to decide for me, because if they're prepared to pay me what I want and then offer me the job, I know I'm going to be quite torn.

Must give a quick mention here to the Boks for their drive and spirit. We are very much looking forward to them taking their deserved place as Champions on Sunday. Viva South Africa!

Beautiful Day

So, my interview at Fabric yesterday was pleasantly surprising! I walked in expecting to hate it, and really thinking the job was not for me, and walked more than a little excited. :-)

Still, I don't think it will work out, but it was a nice interview and it was certainly good to know I was well received. I was interviewed by the PA to the Director, and it was more an informal chat than a structured interview. She said she'd seen about 25 people, and was hoping to start second interviews this afternoon. She gave me a second interview on the spot.

The whole working environment is very much like working for DMP, the production company I spent three years at in CT. A little chaotic, very fast paced, always busy, everyone pitching in to help everybody else.... basically organised mayhem, which is exactly the type of thing I'm looking for. Everyone wears jeans and tackies to work, and the office is open plan but they all sit close enough to absorb each other's roles. Also, the role I went for is working directly under the Record Label Manager, so it cracks open the door to the music industry.

The reason I don't think it will work is money. She said the salary isn't set in stone, and it would be discussed at the second interview, but I know what I want and I still don't think they'll pay that much. So that's really the main issue. Of course, I was surprised once, and I could be again. The other thing is, I didn't manage to work up the nerve yesterday to ask if they work flexible hours, so for example could I come in at 9am and finish at 6pm. I somehow doubt it, but I will ask at my second interview. So what it comes down to is this: if I go and they like me and they're willing to pay what I'm after, then perhaps I have a real shot at this. If I actually get offered the job, I would have to decide if I can live with the hours, assuming they don't have flexi time.

However, this is all what if what if what if, and at the moment, although it's really nice that I have a second interview (my first ever!), it doesn't mean that this could actually be the right thing for me. I am leaving it in the hands of Fate.

The best thing about yesterday though was walking into a place that felt instantly familiar, and having my interviewer immediately recognize in me the traits that connect me with a place like this. She knew I was the right kind of person, and I knew I'd be a good fit. So even if this doesn't actually work out and I have to keep looking, that moment where I got her approval made me feel for a second like I could conquer the world. And sometimes that's just as important as actually getting the job.

In other news that doesn't involve my work situation, Shoes, Eyes and I are completely obsessed with a series on Sky called Ross Kemp on Gangs. It's a documentary style show that has former EastEnders' actor turned investigative journalist Ross Kemp travelling the world in search of the meanest gangs on the planet, and then burrowing his way through the layers of hierarchy to the Dons to find out the truth of what they do and why they do it. So far we've been introduced to the Crips and the Bloods in America, neo-Nazis in Russia and California, teenage delinquent gangs on the council estates of London, Polish football hooligans, the criminal underworld in Kingston, Jamaica (aka the murder capital of the world) and The Numbers Gang in South Africa, where he spent time in the cells of Pollsmoore with the leader of the 28s. It's absolutely fascinating watching, and the high levels and rapid spread of violence linked to poverty is eye-opening. Of course it doesn't hurt that Ross himself is a bulky skinhead with the look of an army colonel and the diplomacy of a politican, and he is as compelling as the bellies of the monsters he visits. Stirring stuff, and a good andtidote to the excesses of reality tv.

Hole In My Soul

Apparently I have another interview today! I picked up a voice message at 11pm last night from the PA at Fabric, saying they want me to come in for an interview today. I am duly waiting for their offices to open so I can call and make arrangements.

The thing with this one is, I almost know before I go in there that I don't want the job. I know that's a bit presumptuous, but it's based on three factors.

One: their office hours are 10am to 7pm. In Cape Town, I would probably consider a job with those hours, as it would take me 20 minutes to get home. In London, it takes an hour an a half, and I can't abide by the thought of arriving home at 8:30pm every evening. I would never go to gym and so become a big blob, I'd have to eat really late and everyone else would be doing sundowners in the park in summer while I was stuck inside. It's one thing to have office hours of 9:30am - 6pm - the norm in most media jobs - and maybe work late the odd evening; it's another thing to officially finish at 7pm and then still have to work late sometimes.

Two: I don't think they're going to offer enough salary wise. Of course, I am prepared to be pleasantly surprised, but from the conversation I had with the PA when I first applied, it looks like they're aiming to pay a good £2000 per year less than what I want, and if that's the case there's nothing that could make me take the job. It's not set in stone yet, as she assured me, but it doesn't look great.

Three: the role itself seems very very basic. The reason I applied in the first place was kind of on a whim, thining that maybe there would be an opportunity to get into the music side of things, as they run their own record label. That is something I would definitely be interested in, but there isn't any evidence based on the job spec that this is a possibility.

So why am I still going? Two reasons. One: the small possibility that this could be a foot in the door into the music industry. Two: self esteem. It would feel really good right now to go for an interview, have them decide that I am exactly what they want, and then decline because they are not exactly what I want. Not that I am using them just to give myself a big head.... all interviews are good practice, so I'd be getting that out of it too. And despite what I've written, maybe they'll surprise me and I'll be a whole lot more enthusuiastic once I've heard what they have to say.

Most of all though, I have absolutely nothing to lose, so therefore it can only be a good thing.

Desecration Smile

I didn't get the job. My agent phoned yesterday afternoon just before I left work. Apparently I am overqualified. The HR manager said it is clear I am looking for the opportunity to develop and advance, and that coupled with my experience and capabilities means that I would be bored, as the role is simple, straightforward PA position.

So on the way home, as I sunk into a pit of self-loathing and humiliation, I wondered to Shoes if I shouldn't just take accept the offer of going permanent in my current job. Cons: there is no room for growth and it would pretty much seal the deal that I'll be a PA for the rest of life. But pros: I'd have security, £500 a year more than I get now, holidays (they go overboard here - staff get 30 days annual leave), sick leave and of course, being able to stop this seemingly pointless and very unsuccessful job hunt. I was so down, so despairing, that for just a couple of minutes I made the decision to come in here today and tell them I'd take it.

I just got in right now, but I'd already changed my mind.

After the initial shock had worn off - I was 100% certain I'd get to the second round on this one - I got pissed off. What gets to me more than anything is that the HR manager made a choice that I feel should have been mine. I knew what the job entailed before I went for the interview. If I'm fine with doing it, and have shown enthusiasm and the required experience, who is she to tell me I would be bored? That should be my cross to bear. She acted like she was doing me a favour. I think it's just a cover; a cop out for whatever the real reason is that I didn't get it. I'm struggling to believe that's all there is to it.

When I got home, after burbling to Shoes for the whole journey, I decided against going to gym; when one is upset, exercise becomes entirely optional. Of course, I knew I could have pounded out my frustration on the treadmill, because that is a fool-proof way to release tension. However, I decided to take the time honoured woman's tradition in hand instead - comfort food. Shoes went to gym, I went straight to the chocolate cupboard. As my hand reached for the M&Ms, I saw my unopened box of garlic and herb crackers and remembered the sizable chunk of brie in the fridge. After giving myself a brief talking to ("You know exactly what you're about to do. If you do this, I forbid you from feeling guilty afterwards and thereby making the situation worse. If you open this box, you will enjoy every moment, especially the empty space where the guilt would have been were you not such a rational person."), I ripped open the packaging and devoured half the crackers and nearly all the brie in about 5 minutes flat. Felt a bit better. After that I finished my book, and then, since no-one was home, decided to play mournful songs on my guitar, as I could wail along in peace without my housemates shooting concerned looks at each other and making discreet calls to the men in white coats. I wailed away for a while (songs included Cigarettes by the Wreckers, which has the following lyrics: Someday maybe somebody will love me like I need / Someday I won't have to prove to somebody who'll see all my worth / But until then I'll do just fine on my own / With my cigarettes and this old dirt road - Oh yes, I can be quite melodramatic when it suits me, makes me wish I still smoked so I could suck deeply on a ciggy whilst staring moodily out the window), and then finally Eyes came home and I thought I'd spare him my abject misery, so I stopped.

I feel slightly better today; at least well enough to be driven by the rejection to increase my intensity in the job search. It still stings, and I don't get it, and I'm hard pressed to believe I'll ever get anywhere at this stage, but I haven't quite given up yet. I'm sort of hanging in between thinking they're just idiots, and a place where my self doubt in growing alarmingly by the minute; a place where I question whether I do in fact have anything to offer that anybody is actually ever going to want. I've only had two interviews, but I've been looking on and off for 6 months now, and of the 5 or so agencies I've joined and the 50 odd jobs I've applied for, all I have to show for it are 2 rejections in first round interviews. It's a shit track record, there's no getting around it, and while I'll keep looking and keep hoping because I simply don't have any other choice, it's not as easy to believe in myself as it was before I came to London.

My Guitar Lies Bleeding In My Arms

This is just a quick update; for some reason I have been insanely busy today and now I've run out of time to do anything! It's been rather annoying really.

So, my interview yesterday went well, I think. I am fully aware that what I think is successful might be just the opposite, as evidenced by my last experience with this, so I'm not getting too hopeful, or indeed anticipating much at all. It was only the first round anyway; if I get through to the second, I'll meet with the two Directors I would be supporting. The interview this time was with the HR manager, who was lovely but most employers tend to come across as congenial on first meeting; it doesn't mean anything. She said she hoped to be able to tell me by the end of this week if I had made the cut or not, so perhaps I will hear back tomorrow.

Last night the others were all watching footie, and I had some to kill so I decided to pick up my abandoned guitar. I've had it since January, and like anything novel, I couldn't put it down for the first few months, as I listened to Eric Clapton make his magic on my mp3 player and imagined myself wowing the world with my incredible skill. Then, as with anything else that requires major effort, I sort of lost interest once I realised I would have to practice every single day, and do boring things like scales and strumming patterns if I wanted to play properly. I am of the instant gratification generation; when I want things I want them now, not in 6 months time. Patience is not my strong suit, and it annoyed me to find that even if I practiced religiously every day for 3 weeks, the improvements at first are very marginal, and I didn't pick up my guitar one day and find I was suddenly pinky perfect.

Everyone has a rock star fantasy. In some people's dreams they are the singers; until recently so was I. However, let's face it - playing the guitar really well lends a moody, rebellious nature to the musician, plus they have a claim to fame that few can dispute. There are no guitar players on stage today who cannot play, while there are many singers who cannot sing. It's infinitely harder to fake playing an instrument. I should probably mention here that my guitar is acoustic, so it's not exactly dripping rock n roll. But you can't run before you can walk, and acoustic is the easiest thing to learn on.. plus, if I'm honest, I doubt I will ever find it in myself to devote enough time to this hobby to warrant the purchase of an electric guitar.

Both my parents are musical. My mom plays piano and sings, my dad plays acoustic and bass. I had piano lessons when I was younger, and if I remember correctly, my teacher told my parents I had talent but, surprise surprise, I was lazy and wouldn't get anywhere because I didn't practice. Even as a wee lass I wasn't interested if it required hours of repetition. In fact, that is very much a theme throughout my life, which possibly explains my penchant for last minute cramming during exams, projects only started the night before the deadline and why I like alcohol so much - it doesn't require an awful lot of repetition to get to where you want to be.

Anyway. So I really do want to play the guitar well. Not brilliantly, but passably enough so that if someone walks into the room and I am wailing along to my plucking and strumming, they might stay and listen and nod thoughtfully instead of look at me in horror and dive for the ear plugs. So last night I played, I'd like to say til my fingers bled, but that would be a lie - it was more like til they went rather pink and puffy looking. This didn't take long, as the slight callouses I built up 6 months ago are long gone, and it stings like a bitch while you try to build them up again. My problem at the moment is trying to get a strumming rhythm right according to the song I am playing, while still changing chords and singing the right words. It's like rubbing your stomach and patting your head - when you manage to get the pattern right you realise you are two chords behind and you're singing the chorus when your fingers are trying to play the first verse. I must say, I am grateful for the fountains in our pond that mask the cacophony; we've just made friends with our neighbours and I wouldn't want to be responsible for the erosion of good will.

Jailhouse Rock

I have a job interview! I know I'm not supposed to get overly excited about this, given my atrocious track record with job hunting (unhelpful covens, cvs put forward but no interviews, then finally an interview which I thought went great but they gave me an almost instant no), but once again I can't help it. I suppose when you apply for so many jobs and never hear back from 90% of them, when someone finally shows interest you can't help but be the dog wagging it's tail joyfully at the sprinkling of crumbs from the table.

The position is for PA to the joint MDs of a TV production company, and the interview is tomorrow afternoon. That's all I'll say for now; heaven help me if I've jinxed it already just by mentioning it, but since I'm not superstitious I'll take my chances. And I'll wag my tail in delight until the outcome, when my luck will either change or prove yet again that I am obviously a test case: how long can one person stay motivated and retain her self respect whilst getting knocked back over and over again for no apparently good reason. To be continued.....

Last night we watched the second episode of Prison Break Season 2. The plotlines are as nailbiting as ever, if no longer quite so unique. We were trying to imagine what the writers will come up with for Season 4: "After breaking out of Sona, Scofield goes on the run while attempting to clear his name and expose the sinister group behind his incarceration; during which he is betrayed by one of his Fox Rover cronies and gets banged up in Thailand's notorious Bangkwang prison from which he is forced to escape on pain of losing family member/loved one/former prisonmate."

Good, exciting stuff - the first time, anyway, and quite possibly even the second, to a lesser degree. But really, they have to know that unless they change the name of the show to Serial Prison Breaker, they aren't too many hours of fun left for Scofield and friends. Perhaps they should have a spin-off show, the classic move when writers have run out ideas for their main ensemble cast (think Joey from Friends and Private Practice from Grey's Anatomy). We could have a brand series called Linc the Sink, in which Lincoln Burrows attempts to cast off his former criminal self and learns to button his shirt using all the buttons, instead of just the middle one. Or perhaps Sarah In Chains, where Sarah Tankrety flees her current captives and opens a clinic for drug addicts who have served their time in jail. The possibilities are endless.