Bye Dolie Freaks!

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What an uncomsumate professional. I am writing this from the comfort of one of those specially designed-for-professional-comfort chairs in the office of a wealth management consultancy (I'd say 'Boutique' - its a small firm with big contracts), at ten past four on a Wednesday when I should be finishing this survey I'm writing. But I'm taking a breakout meeting of one to update my blog and chart this boat's shipping lane back into the sea of work. Or something. I am currently in the employment (contract and temp, mind) of no less than three companies. Three is my lucky number you know. And publishing is my lucky industry. And contacts are my lucky... contacts. All of this stuff I've gained from contacts and / or friends in the industry, not from agencies, job ads or the fucking dole. It does really work this lark. I have a small freelance piece to write about family business in South America from Marc, the guy who took my job at Families In Business - no doubt it was my recent return from the continent that helped him decide who would take that piece on - a second freelance piece, a cover story for a new magazine called Employee Engagement Today, from my good friend Katie who was FIB's sub and my rock for four years sitting, as she did, to my immediate left while we slaved thanklessly for that job. I'm also working four days a week, 10-6 for this wealth consultancy in Regent Street, which is the product of a professional friendship with the husband-and-wife team who own the firm. That one is a good story: I met the guy a few years ago when I interviewed him for a story and, being an excellent networker, he kept in touch and answered all my calls and emails for future stories. I, also quite liking the networking aspect of my job, arranged to meet him just before my trip to let them know I was off and to let them know I was up for freelance. I actually met with his wife, who is lovely, and although I couldnt help with freelance stuff at the time, I got in touch with her on my return to the UK, met her, had a great catch up, and here I am a week later sat next to her under the title 'Consultant'. Being a non-journalism role it's just temporary, but it's lucky for both of us as I need a job, and they need someone to do the donkey work on this new project, forming a marketing plan for an as-yet unidentified billionaire who has bought a deserted island in the Bahamas and divided it up into 16 undeveloped plots in order to sell them off at extortionate prices to rich folks as a vanity purchase, a third or fourth home. The project itself is quite interesting and identifying the holes in the guy's plans (labelling his island 'exclusive' but cutting it into 16 plots backing onto one another, though seperated by a couple of acres - when for the price he is asking for one plot you can buy a whole island for yourself in that region) is too, and as my job is primarily to get some feedback on the concept from those whose clients might be interested - wealth managers, family offices, private banks, lawyers, even architects - I'm on the phone trying to get these people to spare me some time. It's not easy but also being a small team, and an all-lads team here, typically the data they have is not well organised and sometimes has holes where phone numbers should be, and sometimes is just out of date. So I spent as much time calling as I do looking for the right data and changing their spreadsheets. But I don't mind this. I think it's a good way to slide back into the world of work. And everyone here seems nice. But I'm not keen on feeling like I'm new to it and the time it takes me to get up to speed: the feeling of instant achievement I can get from writing (once I get over two weeks of writer's block) can't be matched in my new position most probably just because I need time to get into it.

Anyway, I guess I should sign off the dole now, even though I only have temp work. And I'd be pleased to: the DSS office in Farnborough is full of weirdos. But it's the staff who are weird, not the clients. The last time I did my weekly signing on visit that is compulsory (cannily booked at 10.40 every Tuesday morning by them, an odd time for the unemployed to be out and about). I was ten minutes late. When you go for these signining on things, the process is, on entry to the building you have to sign in with the security guard at the door, and give him the little booklet thing they write your notes and proof of interviews on. He asked me in a very gruff, schoolmasterly way why i was late. I didnt think it any of his fucking business so I just told him I was stuck in traffic, which he could tell was a lie but accepted. He told me to go to the 'job machines' and pointed at an area with what looked like ATM's surrounded by builders. These machines were touch screen things with all the vacancies loaded on to them for you to browse through. I had been tood my the woman I signed on with the first time not to bother with them as there would never be any journalism jobs on there. I was going to explain to him but I realised that not only would be think it was some sort of excuse, and maybe think, another of these fucking middle class twats whose been laid off with another one of their 'i'm too good for your sort and your piffling job centre' excuses. And there was a queue behind me of pikeys. So I just signed and went over to the machines. As I settled into browsing one I spied to my left a couple of traditional english builder/labourer types with paint all over their clothes, and one of them had his hand right down his pants, having a good scratch. After that got boring I went and sat on the couch where two other (oddly respectable looking) job seekers were loafing. I noticed there were two ladies in suits hanging around looking nervously at people coming through the door, brandishing clipboards. One came over to me, bouincing almost like a little lamb. "Hello!" she said in overly jaunty, totally home counties/i live in a semi detached house in Cove way. "Are you looking for work?"

I thought about it for a second. "Yes?"

"Well, we're from Search Recruitment just down the road." As if being a local person from a local part of town would make me say, "oh, yes? Well please tell me more!"

She went on in her jaunty lamb way. "Have you thought about doing temping work? Where do you live?"

I live in Fleet, I told her. "Oh, we have lots of work in Fleet! What do you normally do?"

I'm a journalist and I usually work in London, I told her. Her face dropped.

"Oh. Well we don't have anything like that."

No shit! I thought.

She wished me luck and bounded back to her mate in the corner of the room. God, everyone hear me say journalist. It was like admitting that I'm a contract killer. It pur me at odds with everyone there. Then when I finally got to speak to my 'respresentative', she tried to put me off claiming travel expenses (which they do) by saying that she would have to call every person who I claimed was going to be interviewing me, before I went for interview, and explain that this was the DSS calling and was it true that a Melanie Stern was going to come for a job interview with you on such and such a date? I mean, I admit I'm a bit of a ponce, but I don't think having the dole office ring up an editor and check whether I'm a big fat liar ia a good look for a professional who is looking for gainful employment in a respectable company.

Anyway, other than that, I don't mind being back at work, I'm not doing what I want to do full time but this is ok for now, the people here are nice. It's good to get back to London and back to London life. I've been out every night this week catching up with friends after work, and today I am going for lunch with one and for after work drinks with another. Of course with my cashflow not flowing at all I can't really party or buy any drinks, but luckily everyone is being super kind and treating me. And I actually quite like staying with Sonia and Rosie (not that I thought I woudln't but I mean sharing my space and them sharing their space - me staying in the living room and all), it's nice having chats after a hard day rocking the consultancy world.

I haven't put up a playlist in months so here is an excerpt from my latest one:

She Wants It - 50 Cent
Inside My Love - Minnie Riperton
Midnight At The Oasis - Minnie Riperton
I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic! At The Disco
Boredom- The Buzzcocks
U Don't Know My Name - Alicia Keys
Eres Para Mi - Julieta Venegas
Anything by Pitbull
Jailbreak - Thin Lizzy
In My Arms - Rufus Wainright
Drowned - Youth Group
Surfing Magazines - The Go-Betweens
Time Out of Mind - Steely Dan
Young Folks - Peter Bjorn and John
Crashed The Wedding - Busted (Yep, and not in a post-ironic indie way. Just in a this-song's-good way.)

x

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