In the pines, where the sun don't ever shine

Trying desperately to keep my chin up, following on from my last post. Work is becoming more familiar and more routine for me -- they set me loose live on the customers today, on my own. For a couple of days I have taken calls from some customers while a more experienced advisor listened in and gave me prompts. But today they felt I was ready to fly solo. Who knows if on Monday I will come in to a pile of notes about what I have done wrong.

Contrary to the opinion of some of my colleagues, I'm not heartless and evil -- and I would actually prefer to be able to tell people I am happy to authorise their claim and send them a new mobile phone, than to refuse them. That said, some people have claims that seem so ridiculous you can't help but laugh at them, knowing they will be rejected. What's that you say? You were in the garden and your neighbour's dog ran off with your phone, but it's okay because you've been using your Sim in a different handset... So let me get this straight, you dropped your phone down the drain as you got out of the car -- yet you were able to hold onto the Sim card and the battery? On the other hand, they might be genuine claims and I don't enjoy having to refuse anyone.

I got an email today about the last PR job I had an interview for. It was a job advertised on Gumtree of all places, and I went into it without really caring one way or the other. But the company impressed me, they had some good accounts and afterwards I felt like I could be happy working there. So, of course, today I get this email:

"Thank you so much for coming in to meet us last week. It was a pleasure to meet you. Unfortunately we are unable to offer you the position at this time.

I felt after meeting you that the role was a little too junior for your experience, and it might have been frustrating for you.
I wish you all the very best in your job hunting.
With kind regards..."

No. You know what? You really want to know what is fucking frustrating? It's training as a journalist, working for a newspaper without pay, working without pay in public relations for a further six months, and then having to work in an insurance call centre for minimum wage because apparently you're too experienced for a job you want. Now that you bring up the subject of frustration, that is frustrating.

I have actually replied to the email with a much more polite version of the above. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, should I pretend to be less qualified, experienced, competent? I get the opposite impression from recruitment consultants who hum and haw about if there is a cat in hell's chance of them being able to find me anything. I might try sitting on the underground with a hand-written sign saying "Will give sexual favours for a job in PR". Except for the fact that I believe you should be careful what you wish for, in case you get it, and I don't think any particular job is crucial to my happiness. Except maybe working with sea turtles in Mexico.

In other news, Luisa -- the mullet-haired Italian hottie from my now ex-place of work -- has returned to London after her seemingly-endless holiday in Italy. And it has officially ended between us before it begins, as she sent out an email to everyone she knows, announcing she is taking a job in Italy. I have no idea what was between us, if anything was ever between us, or what she felt for me. I'm not even really sure what I felt for her -- was it her I liked, or was it the fact that she was from Italy that appealed? I could never work out if I fancied her or not. And if she really did have a mullet. None of that matters now. Still, if nothing else she is responsible for introducing me to The Mighty Boosh. One of the most bizarre, surreal, and frequently silly sitcoms I've ever seen. I need to devote a whole post to things like trapped in cabinets, the Nanageddon, French dukes and the king of the mods. Among many many other things too numerous to mention, outside of a top ten list.

It's 12.30am and I need to sleep. I'm still tired from last night's excursion to see The Twilight Singers play in Camden. Their name to me brings up images of a black male voice choir, but instead they are the band (or maybe project) of Mr Greg Dulli. With the incredible and intense Mark Lanegan they were one of the highlights of Reading festival this year, and last night they were no less amazing. I was slightly disappointed they didn't drop some Afghan Whigs on us, but again their cover of Leadbelly's Where Did You Sleep Last Night was fantastic. So yeah, tired. And have just noticed I took the sheets off my bed to wash them so will need to find more before the afore-mentioned sleep can be obtained.