Went back to the Job Centre. I asked after a temporary post as security guard at £105 a week, but I was immediately told that I wasn’t suitable. I contemplated applying for the Community Program post as a soup kitchen supervisor but I realized I wasn’t being realistic.
Pete, in the cold light of today’s hangover realism realized his Easterby plan was impractical what with forms for his America trip to fill in and send off—he’s put his trip North back to Sunday, and I’m supposed to be meeting him in London but things remain doubtful.
The day passed in a dull blur, headache and muzziness my lot. I begin to doubt whether my oft-discussed holiday to the States in September will really ever come about. The longer the time goes on while I sit idle, the less likely such plans are to reach fruition. I haven’t yet admitted this publicly.
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