Work, music
I'd forgotten how torturous it is to be unemployed and looking for work. It seems like nowhere in London is hiring which isn't great because I enjoy eating and would like to continue to do such for many years to come. I'd also liked to keep the power on in my house since the sheer amount of stairs would make candlelight more than simply problematic; it would make it a sheer challenge to survive each day.
At my interview today I was told that I wasn't quite what they were looking for. I should have told them that they weren't quite what I was looking for either but we should give it a go and try not to make each other miserable. Alas, I didn't.
Instead I bundled myself up in a coffee shop (actually 'The Coffee Shoppe' as the sign read) and handed over one of the last of my crumpled pocket notes to get myself re-caffeinated. I wore my pair of big Audrey Hepburn sunglasses in an attempt to look like a celebrity fleeing the attentions of the press. ("A mocha, my dear boy, and don't spare the 'mallows!" Because in my imagination I'd be the sort of celebrity to order people about like a 1940's posh totty, and have menservants called things like 'Gibbons' and 'Jeeves')
To entertain myself while sipping coffee I penned a silly little ditty I have named Vampire Graveyard, which turned out sounding a bit like the sort of thing Neil Gaiman would write for Tori Amos to sing if they were both ten year olds with a penchant for ill-fitting rhyme. It's dreadful and will never see the light of day but it sure did keep me entertained for an hour or two on this dreary afternoon.
At my interview today I was told that I wasn't quite what they were looking for. I should have told them that they weren't quite what I was looking for either but we should give it a go and try not to make each other miserable. Alas, I didn't.
Instead I bundled myself up in a coffee shop (actually 'The Coffee Shoppe' as the sign read) and handed over one of the last of my crumpled pocket notes to get myself re-caffeinated. I wore my pair of big Audrey Hepburn sunglasses in an attempt to look like a celebrity fleeing the attentions of the press. ("A mocha, my dear boy, and don't spare the 'mallows!" Because in my imagination I'd be the sort of celebrity to order people about like a 1940's posh totty, and have menservants called things like 'Gibbons' and 'Jeeves')
To entertain myself while sipping coffee I penned a silly little ditty I have named Vampire Graveyard, which turned out sounding a bit like the sort of thing Neil Gaiman would write for Tori Amos to sing if they were both ten year olds with a penchant for ill-fitting rhyme. It's dreadful and will never see the light of day but it sure did keep me entertained for an hour or two on this dreary afternoon.