The Emotionally Delicate Person's Guide to Job Hunting

As if being terminally single wasn't enough (tangential update: I have been rejected by another nice guy and am now being pursued by three self-confessed nerds, two of whom are married for chrissakes), I am now voluntarily subjecting myself to the same level of emotional turmoil on the career front - the great job hunt.

I had forgotten the stages of job hunting. They should give you a public service style pamphlet: The Emotionally Delicate Person's Guide to Job Hunting, AKA So, You've Decided to be Repeatedly Rejected. This is especially true in London, where it seems to me that unless you have done the exact same job for the exact same type of company with the exact same buzz words (one recruiter even told me to include certain buzz words on my CV), then no-one will give you a chance.

Here's how I imagine the pamhplet would describe the five stages of job hunting:

Stage 1. Europhoric hope - you've just applied for a job, probably zipped off a cheery email into the ether, and you can already smell the freedom. You start fantasizing about how you'll resign, the great life you are going to have, maybe even justifying a bit of a lunchtime impulse shopping trip to spruce up your wardrobe for your new lifestyle. Yes? Then you're ready for...

Stage 2. Rejection Level 1 - this one is pretty crushing. The job you applied for doesn't even like you enough to accept you for an interview. Was it you? Was it your CV? Was it the incompetent person who read the CV? No, it's probably you - the first tendrils of self-doubt start inching their way around your heart. No, you think. That job wasn't right for me anyway. At this point you either go back to Stage 1 or progress to...

Stage 3. Determination, Rocky-style - about now you get a bit systematic, maybe even a little prolific, in your job applications. Cue 'Eye of the Tiger' and a nice montage of you typing cover letters and chewing pencils thoughtfully as you edit down your CV to that irrestible perfect draft. Once you've applied for one job, hell, copy and pasting that cover letter into a few more seems easy. You might even get a little nonchalant and bang a few unsolicited applications off. You'll show those rejectors from back in stage 1! Excellent. That must mean it's time for...

Stage 4. False Hope Level 1 - Yes! You've scored an interview. You're a shoe-in. This is it, the big ticket to your dream future. If you haven't indulged in impulse shopping back in Stage 1, then you'll probably be well and truly up for it at this point. Armed with your spiffy Stage 3 CV, nothing can stop you now. You take an extra long lunch from work and then prepare to dazzle. Which means, it can only be...

Stage 5. Rejection Level 2 - This is the kind of rejection you get after a long-term relationship. But they loved me, where did it go wrong, we could have been so good together, etc etc. There's only two paths here - back to Stage 3 (although probably a considerably more subdued version of it), or resignation to the fact that you will be chained to your current desk until they give you a cheap bottle of wine and your miserly pension cheque.

I don't know what the happy ending is yet, I haven't managed to get past Stage 5. I'm hoping that I can reach the mythical and rare Stage 6 - Fairytale Ending. Or failing that, Stage 6a - Satisfactory Employment Situation.

Meanwhile I am trying to resist the Impulse Shopping, although most of that lately has been photography-related, which I'm justifying on account of it being a bit of an outlet while I struggle with the emotional trauma of job hunt syndrome.

Oh Three, whyfore do thou stalk me?

I have come to the conclusion that my phone company, three, is schizophrenic. One minute, I am the lost step-customer, trying in vain to reach them through endless menus and long distance calls to India, where poor customer service reps try and convince me they are in the UK by making small talk about Three products which I know they don't actually have in Mumbai.

The next minute, I am seemingly the sole victim of a promotional campaign that sees them calling me, emailing me, messaging me, ringing my work phone and generally living in terror of their 'fantastic new products' that they think 'you'll be really interested in'. Their current record stands at 5 calls and two emails in one day (admittedly about various things, but the mind boggles at how this outsourcing to India malarkey saves them money).

Today, like some kind of Stockholm syndrome, I finally succumbed to the harassment and called them (from my work phone of course - their little tactics can't fool me). Unfortunately, this confused them greatly, and the fantastic new product turned out to be text messages (I think, couldn't quite decipher the accent). 'But I already use messages, I have like a million of them in my contract,' I said. The woman was persuaded to leave me alone - too easily.

Five minutes later, during a meeting, another missed call on my mobile. Hoping it was a fantastic once in a lifetime job opportunity in New York, I excused myself and checked the phone. It was Three.

I am embracing the fact that Three now calls me more than all my friends combined. Maybe this is their new scheme - tying up my phone so I can't actually use it for my own wayward purposes. Clever.

A season of nostalgia

Winter may be the season of our discontent, but autumn seems to be that of nostalgia. Apologies for a vague post, I am battling the flu and am not exactly witty and sparkling (embarking on a whiskey cure shortly). Erin and I have been drinking mulled wine (aka glögg - although the Marks & Spencer version is far stronger than the old Swedish supermarket edition that was a staple of my last autumn diet) and remembering how we felt in autumns past. It seems we're not alone - I have had several notes from Sweden asking when I will be there next, and I've been dreaming of faraway places and plotting travels (China, then Sweden, then Prague). Ben & Erin just got back from New York and have hatched a crazy scheme to move there as soon as possible. I'm kicking that idea around for a while, but it would mean I could see the Chrysler building every day.

I'm also going way back in time to my days as a 'photographer' (don't laugh). Digging out my ancient camera bag (my camera is older than me) I found flyers from university bands I used to shoot (DJ Spooky at The Zoo, anyone?). Erin and I have upgraded to digital SLRs and are desperately trying not to look like amateurs. It's funny, it's awoken something in me I'd forgotten about - at least there is more to life than shopping and Saturday wines (not that there is anything wrong with that). I have also had job opportunities suddenly spring out of the woodwork, and an opportunity to do an internship in another part of the Corporation (sadly, not with David Tennant as far as I know, although ripples of excitement have been pervading my Facebook page upon the news that he is at least single now).

The other night I was on the tube and an old man was blessing everyone at the station and then methodically every carriage on the Central Line. I took it as a kind of sign - of what, I don't know yet, but at least right now I'm happy to wait and find out.

Ode to the Chief (from Get Smart)

I am sitting at home watching Hitchcock's North by Northwest, weirdly, in fact I am up to the exact same moment I just found in this photo I've attached. I noticed to my amusement that one of the actors is Ed Platt, well known to most people who grew up with parents like mine, on a diet of The Young Ones, Blackadder, Monty Python and Get Smart. Old Ed was, of course, the Chief from Get Smart, although I discover now he's been in everything from Rebel Without A Cause to Pollyanna.

Anyway, at first I laughed when he turned up in North by Northwest - he had become a running joke in my family due to his prolific acting career. The Chief was everywhere. 'Guess who I saw today' had to be answered by 'I don't know, the Chief from Get Smart?'. 'Guess who's guest starring on The Simpsons this week?''The Chief from Get Smart'. This was also acceptable as a response if you didn't know the correct answer in a game of Trivial Pursuit. You get the idea.

So, smiling to myself, just now I looked up Edward Platt, and was shocked and saddened to read that Ed Platt suffered from depression and committed suicide in 1974 - after two attempts (nearly as shocked as when I found out Jonathan Brandis from Sea Quest DSV, a little watched and frankly crappy show from the early 90s had done the same when he was only 17 - Jeanna I'm sorry to break it to you like this, I know he had a special place in your heart).

Not only that, Platt shared my birthday. (I found this kind of spooky. That means that the Queen of Dumped and the Chief from Get Smart share my birthday.) Maybe there's a curse associated with being born on Valentine's day, because I can relate to these two (not the suicide bit, but the depression bit. And Queen of Dumped speaks for itself).

Hopefully, Ed was not a mere mortal. I mean from what I can see he looked exactly the same from about 1944 - 1974. He must have gone bald when he was about 15.

So here's to you Ed - and I am sorry you went the way you did, but thanks for all the shoe-phone jokes.