I got a job, if you can call it that. You'll all be pleased as you won't have to subject yourselves to my constant bitching anymore.
An old friend of the family called round earlier today. He's on leave from the Navy, but before that he worked plenty of labouring jobs, from plastering to warehouse work. He recommended that I go to the local job centre and get in touch with a temping agency, so I walked into a drab backstreet office half an hour ago, and had the strangest interview ever with a delightfully chatty young lady named Sarah.
Me: Hi. I need a job.
Sarah: Fill out this form.
Me: There you go.
Sarah: OK. Be here 6:30 Monday morning. Wear something warm. Bye.
I stumbled out to the street, slightly baffled but pleased I have work. When I got home I called her back to ask a few questions - little things such as what should I wear, how much is the pay an, well, what will I be doing?
Apparently I'll be working for a week in an ice cream factory. With a hair net.
Well, work is work.