Anyone who has been reading this blog over the last year will be aware that I've been attending evening classes, most of them pertaining to bookkeeping and payroll. My intention for doing such a thing was to increase my chances of getting a better deal, should I ever decide to surrender myself back to the depressing world of wage-slavery.
I still maintain my stance that working is a waste of life, and that anyone who is proud of the fact that they piss away their time in a workplace is a fucking mug. And while I've been resourceful enough to find ways of keeping my attention occupied for most of the past two years that I've been unemployed, I've been getting really fed up of it lately. So now I've figured that I may as well give in, and get a fucking job to distract me.
But the problem is, even though I now have some qualifications, every job I see listed in the accounting field is only available to applicants who also have the relevant experience. And I don't see the point in applying for another shitty admin role that barely pays more than I'd get for doing nothing on the dole. So once again, I found myself in a chicken and egg situation. I can't get the job without experience, but I can't get experience without the job.
It seemed to me that the only way to get my foot in the door would be to put myself forward for an internship. So last week, I spoke to my contact at FÁS about doing this. I had kind of assumed that an internship was like a work placement scheme, in that my contact would assign me to a workplace with no hassle. But she told me that was not the case, and that I'd have to apply to the companies directly, and be interviewed by them.
Kind of a disappointment. But nevertheless, I've been firing-off my CV to every company offering a suitable accounts-based internship in the listings since. And of course there's no shortage of internships being offered, as businesses obviously like them, because it means they get free staff. In fact, while browsing through the listings, I noticed that the last company I worked for is offering internships as sales support administrators, which is the job I used to do. Evidently they've realised that they don't have to pay for temps any more, which means even more money for the fat-headed parasites in the boardroom. Hooray!
I did not receive any responses until yesterday morning, when I was sent an email inviting me to attend an interview. I attended said interview this morning, and felt that it went very well. I believe that I made a good impression, and certainly didn't give them any reason not to take me on. Now I just have to wait, and hope that none of the other applicants impress them more. Or that one of them isn't a woman with big cans. Or that the interviewer isn't secretly racist against English people. Or that my former-supervisor doesn't speak ill of me over the phone (19/05/10).
If they do give me the position, I will not receive any wages from them, but I will get to continue claiming my €276* per week welfare money, plus a €50 per week top-up from the government. In a way, it's kind of like working for €1.33 per hour. But the important thing is, I will get up to nine months experience in accounting, and something recent to add to the "employment history" section of my CV, thus improving my job prospects. Or alternatively, it might prove to be an ordeal that renews my lost-appreciation for unemployment. Either is good, really.
*My rent allowance was cut again in the last budget. Fuck you, Enda "Stupid Name" Kenny!
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Monday, 2 January 2012
BACK TO DUBLIN, AGAIN
I had booked an afternoon flight back to Dublin for today, because at the time I didn't know if I'd be doing anything, and so thought I'd give myself a couple of extra hours in Crawley. But it turned out I had nothing going on, so after I checked out of my hotel at noon, I went straight to the airport by train and spent the afternoon just hanging around there until 4:40pm.
I'd sort of forgotten from last time that it really doesn't take a long time to get yourself sorted at an airport these days, what with online check-in and the automatic scanners. You don't need to arrive early like you once had to years ago.
The flight was alright. Except when the plane landed, they played a pre-recorded fanfare with a spoken message from Ryanair, in which they patted themselves on the back for having arrived "on time". Then a bunch of people clapped. I didn't join them of course, as a plane arriving on time is something that should be expected, and not an achievement that calls for congratulation.
I got the bus which took me as far as the city centre, and walked from there. I got home at bout 7:30pm. Back to normality.
Next year: Glasgow for "Hogmanay", apparently!
I'd sort of forgotten from last time that it really doesn't take a long time to get yourself sorted at an airport these days, what with online check-in and the automatic scanners. You don't need to arrive early like you once had to years ago.
The flight was alright. Except when the plane landed, they played a pre-recorded fanfare with a spoken message from Ryanair, in which they patted themselves on the back for having arrived "on time". Then a bunch of people clapped. I didn't join them of course, as a plane arriving on time is something that should be expected, and not an achievement that calls for congratulation.
I got the bus which took me as far as the city centre, and walked from there. I got home at bout 7:30pm. Back to normality.
Next year: Glasgow for "Hogmanay", apparently!
Sunday, 1 January 2012
NEW YEAR'S DAY IN CRAWLEY
Woke up feeling hung over once again, but obviously not to the extent that I did the previous morning. I remembered that the last time I'd staying in the hotel, I had a full-English in their breakfast hall, and found it to be really nice. In fact, for quite a while later, I found myself reminiscing about it, and thinking "Holy shit! That was a really good full-English!" So I got out of bed early, and rushed down there in eager anticipation. But this time, the food wasn't as good. I'd even go as far as to say it was awful. It was like my entire stay at that hotel was one disappointment after another.
I began to feel ill during the afternoon, and considered not going out in the evening. But of course I realised it'd be pointless sitting alone in my room watching television, browsing the Internet or reading for the remainder of my visit, as I could do that any night of the year in Dublin. So I agreed to go out on the town with Pointz and his sister.
We started off in the Old Punch Bowl. While there, Pointz announced that he intended to start writing a blog. I suggested that he make it his new year's resolution, and even threw in a possible title to consider (Pointz of View*). So if you're reading this Pointz, that's a reminder. Get to work!
Drinking up time was early, on account of it being New Year's Day and/or a Sunday, so from there we moved on to a new place called the "Anjelique Bar". Apparently it was the only bar in town still open. I wasn't sure what to think of it at first. The furnishing was kind of basic, and as the unit was a driving school beforehand, the front was one large, clear glass window that anyone walking past could gawp into, which I felt to be unusual for a drinking establishment. But it actually had quite an agreeable, pleasant atmosphere, and we really enjoyed ourselves.
In the bar, I couldn't help but notice a somewhat simple-looking fellow who seemed to be dancing by himself. I decided that I would call him "Gerald", as he very much reminded me of someone I once knew while growing up in Ireland of that name. We left the premises at closing time, and even though none of us (to my knowledge) had spoken to Gerald throughout the course of the evening, he decided that he was going to follow us. Gerald continued to closely but quietly follow us for some distance, until Pointz asked him what he was playing at. I believe Gerald said that he was following Pointz's sister. So Pointz lamped him one in the face.
I felt this was a bit harsh, personally. There are plenty of people in this world who I'd like to see take a fist to the face and be brought down a peg or two, but he was just a kid and obviously not all there. His life is probably enough of a living hell as it as. But on the other hand, I did take pity on that "Billy Bullshot" asshole for similar reasons at first, and look what that got me.
*Turns out this is already taken, on Blogger at least.
I began to feel ill during the afternoon, and considered not going out in the evening. But of course I realised it'd be pointless sitting alone in my room watching television, browsing the Internet or reading for the remainder of my visit, as I could do that any night of the year in Dublin. So I agreed to go out on the town with Pointz and his sister.
We started off in the Old Punch Bowl. While there, Pointz announced that he intended to start writing a blog. I suggested that he make it his new year's resolution, and even threw in a possible title to consider (Pointz of View*). So if you're reading this Pointz, that's a reminder. Get to work!
Drinking up time was early, on account of it being New Year's Day and/or a Sunday, so from there we moved on to a new place called the "Anjelique Bar". Apparently it was the only bar in town still open. I wasn't sure what to think of it at first. The furnishing was kind of basic, and as the unit was a driving school beforehand, the front was one large, clear glass window that anyone walking past could gawp into, which I felt to be unusual for a drinking establishment. But it actually had quite an agreeable, pleasant atmosphere, and we really enjoyed ourselves.
In the bar, I couldn't help but notice a somewhat simple-looking fellow who seemed to be dancing by himself. I decided that I would call him "Gerald", as he very much reminded me of someone I once knew while growing up in Ireland of that name. We left the premises at closing time, and even though none of us (to my knowledge) had spoken to Gerald throughout the course of the evening, he decided that he was going to follow us. Gerald continued to closely but quietly follow us for some distance, until Pointz asked him what he was playing at. I believe Gerald said that he was following Pointz's sister. So Pointz lamped him one in the face.
I felt this was a bit harsh, personally. There are plenty of people in this world who I'd like to see take a fist to the face and be brought down a peg or two, but he was just a kid and obviously not all there. His life is probably enough of a living hell as it as. But on the other hand, I did take pity on that "Billy Bullshot" asshole for similar reasons at first, and look what that got me.
*Turns out this is already taken, on Blogger at least.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
NEW YEAR'S EVE IN CRAWLEY
I woke up on the morning of New Year's Eve feeling like complete shit. So naturally I decided to spend the morning wallowing in my hotel room bed, while struggling to recall what the fuck had happened the previous night after it all got hazy.
When I finally did get up, I headed into town to get something to eat. And while there, I met up with Mr. Beardo and another mutual friend. I was pleased to see them. Beardo was actually present at Pointz's shindig the previous night, but I was already pissed by the time he arrived. And apparently I had been unwittingly impolite to him, so it was good to get a chance to talk soberly.
Later, I received a call from Pointz, informing me of a New Year's party that we could attend. This one turned out to be a lot more relaxed, with fewer people present. And this time, I made sure not to start drinking until it actually began, and then stuck to the beer, turning down any shots that were offered to me. Although of course, I did enjoy a glass of champagne at midnight.
Pointz very almost ruined it for me when he opened the bottle. As it exploded, the cork shot right past my head, and half the contents were sprayed across the kitchen. I escaped, but only narrowly. Had I been standing a few inches to the left, I would have been drenched!
The party activities included pissing about with sparklers, obnoxiously yelling "Happy New Year" at other nearby drunkards from the apartment balcony, and later on, playing a dancing game on this "Xbox Kinect" nonsense. All in all, it was very enjoyable.
When I finally did get up, I headed into town to get something to eat. And while there, I met up with Mr. Beardo and another mutual friend. I was pleased to see them. Beardo was actually present at Pointz's shindig the previous night, but I was already pissed by the time he arrived. And apparently I had been unwittingly impolite to him, so it was good to get a chance to talk soberly.
Later, I received a call from Pointz, informing me of a New Year's party that we could attend. This one turned out to be a lot more relaxed, with fewer people present. And this time, I made sure not to start drinking until it actually began, and then stuck to the beer, turning down any shots that were offered to me. Although of course, I did enjoy a glass of champagne at midnight.
Pointz very almost ruined it for me when he opened the bottle. As it exploded, the cork shot right past my head, and half the contents were sprayed across the kitchen. I escaped, but only narrowly. Had I been standing a few inches to the left, I would have been drenched!
The party activities included pissing about with sparklers, obnoxiously yelling "Happy New Year" at other nearby drunkards from the apartment balcony, and later on, playing a dancing game on this "Xbox Kinect" nonsense. All in all, it was very enjoyable.
Friday, 30 December 2011
OUT OF HERE
For most years, New Year's Eve is just another day for me. While other people are out "partying" and whatnot, I'm usually just loafing around at my parents' house, watching other people celebrate on television. Or in the case of last year, loafing around in my flat. The one exception to this was 2002-2003, when I went to a party and ended up having my drink spiked, and being sent away on a terrifying psychedelic nightmare through town. But I think it's best to forget about that one.
But a couple of months ago, that Pointz guy informed me that he would be returning to Crawley from Glasgow for the festive period. So I thought what the hell. Seeing as things went so well back in August, I decided I was going to shake things up and go to Crawley for the new year period.
I booked my flights and hotel room in advance, and early on Friday morning, I headed up to Dublin Airport. From there, I caught the first Ryanair flight to Gatwick, where I was met by Pointz. I was glad to notice that he has now dropped the absurd quasi-Glaswegian accent he was using the last time I spoke to him in person.
We went for some coffee and then Pointz dropped me off outside my hotel. It was the same hotel as I stayed in the last time, but I was disappointed to discover that my room was only half the size of the huge room they put me in before. The bed was also smaller and so was the television. But apart from that, it was a perfectly nice room. I suppose I wouldn't be complaining if I didn't know about the giant rooms they have inside the main building.
From there, I popped out to deposit my £767.46 cheque (16/12/11) into my UK bank, because I know that if I'd given it to my Irish bank, they would have raped me on the exchange rate. Then I went to the shop to pick up some toiletries, as they try to charge you something like €2 for the poxy resealable plastic bags at Dublin airport, but give them out for free at Gatwick on the way back. Soon after, I met up again with Pointz and his sister.
The reason I came a day early was because Pointz had informed me that his sister would be throwing him a party on the 30th, and that I was welcome to attend. This turned out to be a lot of fun for everyone present, and for me too. Up until a point fairly late in the evening at least.
I had spent most of the day leading up to it at Pointz's sister's flat, and Pointz and I had already been drinking beer for a number of hours before any of the other guests showed up. And I had not been to bed the night before, as I'd gotten up late in the day before that, and figured it would be pointless trying to sleep before 5:00am, when I'd need to be up again to head off for the airport. And throughout the course of the party, I'd lost count of the number of shots and concoctions that I'd been handed. So understandably, I became quite drunk and tired. And apparently, I mouthed-off at some woman who was talking to me.
I didn't know the woman and have absolutely no mental recollection of it occurring. None whatsoever. But I was informed that it did happen by two different sources*. No-one seems to remember what she was saying to me beforehand, but I know my mind, and for me to have reacted in that way can only mean that she was trying to exploit my drunken vulnerability and confusion by giving me shit. Which of course would have put me well within my rights. And it would certainly explain the overwhelming sense that injustice that I distinctly remember as Pointz consequently frog-marched me out of the building.
All I could really do by way of an act of defiance was refuse to get into the cab that he had summoned to take me away, and walk back to my hotel instead. I later found out that the driver had insisted Pointz pay him for wasting his time, out of his own pocket. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
*Yes, I'm writing this post dated 30/12/11 retrospectively, with insights from the future. Blow me.
But a couple of months ago, that Pointz guy informed me that he would be returning to Crawley from Glasgow for the festive period. So I thought what the hell. Seeing as things went so well back in August, I decided I was going to shake things up and go to Crawley for the new year period.
I booked my flights and hotel room in advance, and early on Friday morning, I headed up to Dublin Airport. From there, I caught the first Ryanair flight to Gatwick, where I was met by Pointz. I was glad to notice that he has now dropped the absurd quasi-Glaswegian accent he was using the last time I spoke to him in person.
We went for some coffee and then Pointz dropped me off outside my hotel. It was the same hotel as I stayed in the last time, but I was disappointed to discover that my room was only half the size of the huge room they put me in before. The bed was also smaller and so was the television. But apart from that, it was a perfectly nice room. I suppose I wouldn't be complaining if I didn't know about the giant rooms they have inside the main building.
From there, I popped out to deposit my £767.46 cheque (16/12/11) into my UK bank, because I know that if I'd given it to my Irish bank, they would have raped me on the exchange rate. Then I went to the shop to pick up some toiletries, as they try to charge you something like €2 for the poxy resealable plastic bags at Dublin airport, but give them out for free at Gatwick on the way back. Soon after, I met up again with Pointz and his sister.
The reason I came a day early was because Pointz had informed me that his sister would be throwing him a party on the 30th, and that I was welcome to attend. This turned out to be a lot of fun for everyone present, and for me too. Up until a point fairly late in the evening at least.
I had spent most of the day leading up to it at Pointz's sister's flat, and Pointz and I had already been drinking beer for a number of hours before any of the other guests showed up. And I had not been to bed the night before, as I'd gotten up late in the day before that, and figured it would be pointless trying to sleep before 5:00am, when I'd need to be up again to head off for the airport. And throughout the course of the party, I'd lost count of the number of shots and concoctions that I'd been handed. So understandably, I became quite drunk and tired. And apparently, I mouthed-off at some woman who was talking to me.
I didn't know the woman and have absolutely no mental recollection of it occurring. None whatsoever. But I was informed that it did happen by two different sources*. No-one seems to remember what she was saying to me beforehand, but I know my mind, and for me to have reacted in that way can only mean that she was trying to exploit my drunken vulnerability and confusion by giving me shit. Which of course would have put me well within my rights. And it would certainly explain the overwhelming sense that injustice that I distinctly remember as Pointz consequently frog-marched me out of the building.
All I could really do by way of an act of defiance was refuse to get into the cab that he had summoned to take me away, and walk back to my hotel instead. I later found out that the driver had insisted Pointz pay him for wasting his time, out of his own pocket. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
*Yes, I'm writing this post dated 30/12/11 retrospectively, with insights from the future. Blow me.
Thursday, 29 December 2011
CHRISTMAS IS OVER
I returned to my flat in Dublin this evening, after spending the last week at my parents' house for Christmas. I felt that this Christmas was a particularly good one. Partly because my family had given the annual Christmas Eve visit to church a miss, on account of my father still feeling ill, having been in bed with the flu for the week leading up to it. Having not wasted an hour sitting, standing and kneeling in a cold hall while some jumped-up charlatan in a dress peddles mythology as fact to a room full of deluded fools, we had more time to focus on the true meaning of the season. Which as far as I'm concerned is eating too much, drinking too much and sitting around watching television.
And for the first year since he was born, "Agus" wasn't at home for Christmas, monging-up the place with his slovenly presence and general assholism. This was because he's off in South Korea or something. I was quite pleased about that, anyway.
But if I did have to say something bad about the past week, it would be that my sister's cat Bradley was there the entire time. Bradley is essentially harmless, but I do find him irritating. The reason for this is that he's everywhere I look. For example, if I want to get something from the fridge, he's standing in front of the fridge. If I need to go up the stairs, he's sitting on the stairs. This alone wouldn't be a problem, but whenever I go near him, or sometimes even just look in his direction, he darts off as quick as he can, as though he thinks I have nothing better to do than harm him. I don't know what that guy's fucking problem is!
And for the first year since he was born, "Agus" wasn't at home for Christmas, monging-up the place with his slovenly presence and general assholism. This was because he's off in South Korea or something. I was quite pleased about that, anyway.
But if I did have to say something bad about the past week, it would be that my sister's cat Bradley was there the entire time. Bradley is essentially harmless, but I do find him irritating. The reason for this is that he's everywhere I look. For example, if I want to get something from the fridge, he's standing in front of the fridge. If I need to go up the stairs, he's sitting on the stairs. This alone wouldn't be a problem, but whenever I go near him, or sometimes even just look in his direction, he darts off as quick as he can, as though he thinks I have nothing better to do than harm him. I don't know what that guy's fucking problem is!
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