Pride and Prejudice – according to voice recognition software.

So. I am pretty certain I am not the only person who has had trouble with voice recognition software. Especially when it’s the free kind that comes with Windows..

Despite doing all the tutorials and spending aaaages reading through stuff so it got used to my way of speaking, and enunciating until I got cheek ache – I was still having no joy.

However, after reading my novel notes out loud and getting fun new sentences thrown back at me (My favourite being “He bunched his thigh then punched his life.” – absolutely not a single word right, yet so amazing I may have to fit it in somewhere) I thought it would be fun to, er, ‘re-write’ some classics.

So, here is our beloved Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, according to Windows voice recognition. Some bits just make no sense at all, others (some near the end) are pretty funny. Enjoy!

In the trees it is clear knowledge, that the man symbol, being to the ocean her own confession of a fortune, will be in want of a white collar.

However little known the feeling of such a man may be on his fisting a new neighbourhood, history is a fixing reminder that the grounding family in truth is so well fed, that he is convicted of working on art at properties of someone or other of the daughters. 

 ‘My dear Mr. Bennett’, they had evaded him one day,’have you heard but never feel half given fifth Leicester last?’

Mr. Bennett replied that he had not.

‘At the two,’ bit empty; ’for the mythical one has just been here, and she told me all about it.’

Mr Bennet made them on her

‘do not you want to know who had taken it?’Cried his wife impatiently.

‘you want to tell me, and I have no objection to hear it.’

Bit of invitation enough.

‘why you, my dear, you must know, Mr. Blunkett said that never-failed is taken by young man. A large fortune, north of England; then he came down on Monday and at full forward by the play, and famous delighted with her be greeting Mr. Morris immediately; that he did take the question before Michael men, for some of the curtains will added in the house by the end of next week.’

‘Would that have a name? ‘

‘Bingley.’

‘if he’s Marie Garfinkel?’

‘Up for!  Ingle, my dear, to be sure!  A single mum about 40; or I felt this year.  What a fine thing felt all like hell!’

‘how so?  I can expect them?’ 

‘mighty Mr. Bennett,’ replied his wine, ‘sucking up so tired in the nation!  You must know that I’m thinking of his marriage mother.’

‘is that his fifth violin in here?’ 

‘Oh fifth up to the divine! I Know how can you talk so, but very likely that he may fall off of one of them, and therefore you must admit any thing you can.’

‘it now locations that.  You an adult meadow, vol. viii then them buy and sell, which perhaps will still be better, Virginia Washington-any of them, but that being the might like you the best of the party.’

‘My dear, you Clapham me.  I certainly have had major beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now.  Women have five grown up daughter, she gives over thinking of hair and beauty.’

’ in that case, the woman had not offer much putative.’

‘Fact, my dear, you must indeed and been there being a when he comes in the neighbourhood.’

‘Even more than iron gate four, I assure you.’

‘that can fill your daughter.  Only think we can establish than many would be fauna then.  There will be emanating and they are determined to go, merely a market town, touring generally no place in the newcomer.  Indeed you must go, real impossible for her to visit him, if you do not.’

‘You the people of surely.  They get things moving they would be very sad to see them: and I will send a few lines by you too and up my high keeping of Marie which led to the guff; someone out there in that is aware of my little Bee.’

‘Added that it will do no such thing.  The Bee is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she has no jean, not so good as she made at the dinner.  But you’re always giving her the press .’

‘They have none of the much to recommend them,’he replied; ’ they all believe it when like other girls the cliff had something more quickly than half a stone.’

‘Mr. Bennett, sucking up into her own children that awake?  You take delight in vexing me.  You’ve no compassion on my poor nose.’

‘you make a kidney my dear I have a high respect for your nose.  Them my old friend.  I have heard you mention with configuration the 20 knew that me.’

’ at!  You do not know which apple Halifax are.’

‘but I hope you will get over it, and lift the many young men of 4000 who come into vinegar.’

‘it will be no use to laugh, if 20 think you will not see them.’

‘depend upon it, my dear, that when there are 20, they’ll be bed-ridden them all.’

Mr. Bennett was thank god a mixture of quick half, knock at the humour, and Caprice, that the experience of dummy and 20 years had been made in addition to make his wife and character.  Her mind was less difficult to develop.  She a woman of mean understanding, information, and a servant empire.  When she was in contempt he had her have known that he had had a nap.  The myth of her life was to get her daughter Marie; it’s solace reading and you.

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The Deer Rut..!

I happen to work in a lovely Historic property called Petworth House, which also happens to have a 700+ acre Deer park, which makes for good photos and relaxing walks in rain or shine.

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This is the time of year when the crisp autumn breeze is in the air, along with some Deer love! The Bucks in the fallow Deer herd start feeling a bit frisky, and choose their lady-wives for the season, the problem being of course they all want each others lady-wives and have to fight to keep them! We were lucky enough to spot some Rutting, the clatter of their antlers echoes across the park as they fight,

Bucks (Stags) Rutting

and they spend a lot of time doing a weird hooty-grunting sound to let all the other Bucks know to keep away once they have got a group of Does.

We did, unfortunately, witness a ‘Fenton’ moment too, although this dog was called Sophia – it does annoy me, as it caused a stampede of around 100 Deer into the paths of other walkers in the park!  Just remember if you do walk near Deer or livestock with a Dog, especially with a working breed (Sophie was a Border Collie) no matter how well behaved they are usually they can lose their heads in the face of all those animals to herd..!

We also saw other types of interesting Deer behaviour; a Buck would face the Does in his group and put his head down and paw at the ground, the Does would then all move in the direction he was ‘pointing’ to behind him with the pawing hoof. We also saw some young Bucks practice fighting, although they still ended up with cuts on their face!

small deer rutting

And to finish, this very sweet tableau of a Buck scratching a Doe’s back, they had a little face nuzzle after this. 🙂

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Damp Squids.

We have a thing, the boyfriend and I, that we call  ‘A Damp Squid’. It’s when someone tries to use a well known phrase, that they have apparently misheard and/or misunderstood their whole lives. We call it that because that was the first one I came across on Tripadvisor (a veritable mine of damp squids), and after laughing at what I thought was a typo, I realised the dand b are really quite far apart, and that they’d used the term twice!

So we started making a list whenever we come across one, (we don’t look on purpose, and if they look like a typo we only put it in if it’s been used twice – it’s a science) and here it is for your guffaw inducing enjoyment:

Damp Squid

stuck in a time warb

ride rough shot

Pacifically (specifically)

cooking with grass! (Cooking on gas – one of my favourite damp squids)

In the feeble position (fetal)

Daytime rest bite (respite)

over priced load of old tut

I error on the side of caution

A sorted tale of warning

They are heads above the parapet (rest)

Very open and slightly sole less

Scolding hot

A deffernat no/Discusting (a spelling error I know, but a really common one and it annoys me so it’s in)

Made an RSVP, did not honour our RSVP (reservation)

Dumbfunded! (Used 3 times)

His breath was discussing. (Quite the skill)

It was all makro food (Perhaps a colloquial term I haven’t heard for microwaved? :s)

Just a few months out of the states and away from my beloved Mexican food is enough to make me rapid for some properly spiced chicken

Brick walk (meant to be brisk, I think)

Clucking up the wrong tree

Giving me ‘Piece of mind’ (Gross. I would’ve complained too)

A better advantage point (vantage, Jenny, it’s vantage.)

Don’t get me wrong, we all do a Damp Squid now and again – in fact Pat did 2 in one day but I forgot to write them down! Would love to hear any others people have come across/said themselves 🙂

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Saying goodbye to my baby, my pet cat Kracker.

I wrote this yesterday:

I have to write a post today, although I haven’t bothered for months, because I need to get something out, a cathartic process I suppose.

Because today I had to have my pet cat, Kracker (Jacob’s Cream Krackers in full) put to sleep. Here is a little video taken a few days before. (link works now)  http://twitpic.com/czbhft&#8221

He was aged 15 years, 1 month and 1 day, and had an aggressive throat cancer than closed his throat until he could barely get liquid down to his stomach.

If he had not had this, he would have lived another decade, I know it – as his liver, teeth, kidneys and heart were, the vet had said, all of a cat half his age.

It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, but it was having him put to sleep or watching him starve to death, and he had already lost his little chubby belly ‘swing’. When I went to reach for it to grab/tickle his belly, I found just hard smoothness and knew it was the right time to say goodbye, that he would be suffering if I left it any longer. For 4 weeks I’d been pureeing cat food and feeding it to him off of my finger, driving to my parents house so he could still use the garden there. It was the only way he could eat without it getting stuck as he always ate too fast by himself and it couldn’t get down, coming up with a sad little gag and squeak thing he did, I’d always knew it was coming because he would lick his lips a lot like cats do when they’re nauseous, and grind his poor little teeth.

It was as peaceful as it could’ve been, even the vet cried a little, and with the first injection he fell asleep in my arms, his poor little body going limp against my chest.

I hope he could still hear me, as I did the little chirrups we always did to each other when having 2a.m cuddle (he would always wake me up with the chirrupy meow because he knew this would mean sure head scratches and stroking) so I hope he could hear.

But mostly I just stroked him. I couldn’t stop stroking him, even after he’d had the last injection and I saw him go. I had one last sniff of his belly and neck, because ever since he was a kitten he’s always smelled of digestive biscuits, and one last kiss on his forehead before they wrapped him in the dressing gown he always loved sleeping on (it was my favourite as it was so soft, but it became his as he loved it so much and slept on it so often) and took him away for cremation.

When I’m not crying I want to. There is already a hole and I dread to think how long I will look out for him when I drive in the driveway, think of buying him treats when I’m in the supermarket, how long it will be before I stop finding his hairs on my clothes (his dad was a persian, his mum a feral farm cat, so he was the cutest of moggies with hugely thick fur!).

Some people will not understand, say he was just a pet, one person even asked me “You’ll get another one though won’t you?”.

There is no ‘other one’. I don’t miss ‘a cat’, I miss Kracker. all his little quirks. Like how he would only jump on the bed after I switched the light off, how he was the only cat I’ve ever known who preferred to have his fur stroked backwards, how he would sneak in my bedroom window from the low roof, or meow at it at 3 in the morning to let him in if I’d left it shut. The way he modified his meows to squeakier high pitched ones when he wanted something because we cooed over him so much the first time he did it. The fact he loved cheese above all else and his left cheek and lip would always go a little puffy after he ate it. When I bent down and asked “can I have kiss” – he would always jump up on his back legs and rub his face on mine.

He had some scrapes in his life too. We left him collarless and microchipped him after he came home sans collar one day, and I found it hanging off of the branch of a tree. He got bitten and it because infected so he had to have a plastic ‘collar’ – and was so dejected he came in to where dad and I were playing monopoly, swept all the houses off with his tail and did the tiniest little meow, before permitting me to have him on my lap, which he only ever did when he was poorly, and also in this last year or two.

When a person dies, other people understand, it’s another human, it’s family or a friend you spoke to. But with pets it’s almost as if it’s something odd or strange, despite the fact that you spend more time with your pet than you do most people. Kracker was there throughout my childhood to my mid 20’s, a constant source of cuddles, purrs and a friend who was wholly accepting when everything else was going wrong. I was there from his birth, first holding him when he was 3 days old, and he grew up to be the most gorgeous human-colour cat, with green eyes that sometimes went turquoise, and reflected one green one red in photos.

What was most difficult was making a decision for him. I would have given anything for him to talk just for 30 seconds so I could ask him if he was in pain, if he’d rather starve than be put to sleep, but I know which one I would rather for myself, and had to make that decision for him.

But I know that know he is at peace, that he had a perfect life for a cat, acres of fields to hunt in, no busy roads, constant food, someone always there to stroke or play with. Even his cattery was only a 1 minute drive away, and he used to visit there sometimes on his longer adventures! I believe in reincarnation as well, so I can only assume he will of course come back as something awesome, although I can’t imagine him being something any more amazing than he was.

I will cry again, although it doesn’t seem possible I am still crying now. I cannot imagine what it’s going to be like knowing I won’t see him again, won’t call for him again, won’t see him in the garden rolling in the grass in the sun. He was loved by us all, but he was my baby,and no one could ever replace him.

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Parents who infuriated me today.

Being a parent is tough, so I’m told (again and again). I really do get that, but sometimes you just see parents doing something that is so ridiculopus you want to grab them and shake them and shout “NOOOOOOOO!” Until they understand what it is you’re talking about.

For example I was in a second hand book shop near me today. One boy wanted the next book in an adventure series he was reading. His Mum first of all scoffed at the idea he had read them all, then told him he ‘Had enough’ books.

One thing my child will never hear from me is that they have ‘enough’ books. Unless perhaps they can’t actually get into their bedroom anymore. This alone made me inwardly do the ol’ tut ‘n’ eye roll, but then she followed it with “Just use your money to buy some sweets instead.”  Just… WOW.

Ridiculous parent no.2 was defeated by her teenage daughter, who was looking at books from the ‘Spirituality’ section. As a teenage girl myself, my Mum bought me my first pack of Tarot cards, and herself purchased a book on ‘real’ fairies. Not because she was a believer, just because it’s fun, and also GOOD to read about everything you can, and keep an open mind. Also whatever your opinion on Tarot cards, sitting down and doing a Tarot ‘spread’ is calming and usually very reassuring, something all teenage girls could do with, I reckon.

After a small tussle where the Mum tried to rip the books from her daughters hands whilst muttering “It’s ridiculous, you will put them back, it’s all nonsense!” The girl stalked off with the line “It’s MY money from Grandma, I’m getting them.” I had to bite my tongue against a “HURRAH” but could not help the grin.

So -I hereby make a promise to my future self (who will no doubt read this and think “Pfft, what did old me know? Come back when you’ve got 3 kids!”) that no child of mine will be stopped from reading anything, except maybe Mein Kampf, and books on Scientology.

 

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Why the Recession has made me a complainer

So, you buy a multipack of crisps, open up the bag, and find one or two have burst inside. You sigh, try one from an open pack just in case it isn’t stale, spit it out back into the packet when you find it’s chewier than a chewy thing, sigh, throw them away, get a non-burst pack – and move on with your life. Or maybe you buy some onions and find half are mouldy in the middle – no big deal, they’re like 12p each. Or maybe you get a hot drink, and it tastes of sour milk, or has hair in it, but by now you’re on the train and by the time you get back to the station that evening you really can’t be bothered to complain. Right? Well, for me, not anymore.

The recession, combined with my lack of job (also I am told, due to the recession) has left me distinctly fed up of paying too much for frankly inferior products. I’m not sure if stuff is getting crapper, or I’m just noticing it more, but either way I resent paying good money for mouldy/tasteless/hairy food.

Happily, due to my lack of job, I have the time to write narky letters to the offending companies, and so I have become a complainer.

I actually got £15 for the hair in my mocha. I haven’t spent them yet because I haven’t been to a train station for a while, but they have no date on so it’s all good. Rather diappointing was the £4 I got from a well known yoghurt company for finding mould on the lid – Haven’t they heard of Botulism? I could’ve DIED, there’s no way £4 of yoghurt vouchers covers that stress. Walker’s gave me £4 too, but wanted me to mail the entire multipack back which would’ve cost me £2.80 in packing and postage. Turns out all they wanted was the codes on the packet but assume their customer base will not understand how to find it… really? I took back a multipack of peppers that had 2 mouldy ones in it, and got a new pack plus a refund, which wasn’t too bad.

My most recent complaint was (sensitive men – and maybe women – skip this bit, I’m about to talk about laydee’s things’) about some sanitary pads. They’re a natural brand, all cotton, none of those bleaches that one doctor told me ‘slowly erode the vagina’. Yes, he said that. Anyways, WOVEN IN to my lovely, non-bleached organic slightly smug sanitary pad was a HUMAN HAIR. *bleurgh* 2 others in the packet were the same – deliberate, surely?! Usually, I would’ve told the next person I saw about it in conversation to gross them out, then threw them away – but not anymore. “These are too expensive, you must complain” I told myself, and so I was straight on the laptop with the code on the back (that’s right, I know what the numbers are for, Walkers) and now I’m getting sent replacements and a cheque for £20.

The moral of the story – if you have no money, and when you do have a bit and spend it you get crap stuff – don’t let it go! Especially if you bought it from Tesco’s, they can get it out of the few billion they make each year. One dairy farmer’s milk was cut 2p a litre by Tesco. Guess who footed the bill? That Dairy farmer’s income was slashed £14,000 for that year for a choice Tesco made FOR them.

Never once have I had to return anything to the farmer’s market. Just saying.

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The Dreaded Commute

Recently, I have been commuting. (Urgh).

It’s for an internship, which I am very happy to be doing, as it’s a mix of two of my 3 favourite things – writing and Archaeology. (The third is, obviously, cake). Yet I actually only spend 1 more hour in the office than I do on the train, and that’s only if there’s no delays, or we don’t make one of those amazing stops in the middle of no where (If any of you lovely readers are fans of Bill Bailey you’ll remember ‘For the Coulis, is it?’ For those of you who aren’t.. why not?! ;p)  There was actually one of those this morning, the train ticket-conductor-man did the following, quite frankly brilliant, announcement; “I have no idea why we’ve stopped, and the train driver doesn’t want to speak to me, so we’ll just have to wait until we start moving again.”
I’ve gotten quite good at getting a seat, it involves knowing exactly where the doors will open on each platform, and standing there with elbows out, ready to duck and dive my way through the other, less aggressive, passengers. I would prefer it if it were all a lovely, polite experience where the elderly and pregnant ladies were allowed on first, and the rest of us followed in a very British ‘No no, after you’ ‘No please I insist’ sort of way. Unfortunately however, if ever there was proof needed that chivalry is dead, it can be found on trains. Men (normally in an expensive suit, often with an open can) will literally punch a woman in the face to get to a seat first. Ok, maybe not literally, but you can tell they want to as they do literally shove them out the way.  They then proceed to studiously stare down at their Blackberry/Iphone/Ipad/Kindle/Tiny netbook/newspaper until it’s their stop, making sure they don’t catch the eye of any tired old ladies or women with heavy bags. 
The other thing I love about sitting next to strangers on the train, is when you’ve already squashed yourself up against the window, and the person (again, usually an older man, sorry to generalise but it’s true) who sits next to you STILL feels the need to lean back on your arm, and breath his coffee breath very deeply into your personal space. When I take an isle seat, I lean out into the isle a bit, so I do not lean on the other person – why do these men not know about this rule? Surely it is a rule?
I’ve found the best way to stop these particular sorts of passengers sitting next to you is by reading slightly odd sounding books. So far the most effective has been this which I actually started reading just because it’s really interesting, I recommend it as a first foray into the History of Medicine, although I found I knew a lot of the content already due to doing a course in the subject! I’m thinking this may also work in scaring people away, it’s on my ‘to buy’ list.
I’m going to stop now before I start on people who seem to think it’s ok to fart and listen to music on their mobiles, and REALLY start ranting. 😀
On the upside, I get to see lots of wildlife out the window, and the other day I saw the sun rise behind Amberley Castle, all covered in snow with a beautiful deep purply red sky, filling the carriage with a red glow.
 The sad thing was, not one other person in the carriage even looked up from their phones.

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Why I love Shooting Stars, thought this may cheer some people up… the Douglet (Or doglet)

I was extremely excited about the new series of Shooting stars on telly. I know some people don’t appreciate it, but that level of randomness has to be very carefully scripted, and I love it!

The best bit about the Douglet/doglet, is that for ages, I didn’t realise it was a dog, I thought it was a puppet! So when the nose moved I was like “ARGH! How did he do that – oh wait – BWAH HA HAAA!” Silly me.
Anyways, – enjoy!

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Meetings, Mosaics and Mystery…

I haven’t blogged for a while, but I’ve been quite busy (promise!) doing all sorts of things. Mainly I’ve been preparing for my meeting with the Prince’s trust about becoming self employed. I needn’t have really, the first session is just information, and it seems like they don’t really expect you to do anything until you’ve been on the course about business they run.

I’d been nervous about it all day; google street viewing the building so I didn’t get lost, although the route was quite easy; out the station, left at the first church, right at the second church, opposite the third church! For the first time in my life I didn’t have to run frantically to catch my train, and I got to the meeting quite early, as did another girl. (Little did I know that was because the walk there was on a gentle down hill slope – the way back took me twice as long to walk! Must get fitter!)

They let us in the room, and told us they were expecting another 19! We pointed out there were only 15 chairs in the room, and they said lots of people don’t turn up.  I hoped not, because the room was small, and I didn’t fancy cosying up too much to strangers.

A few more people arrived, and we chatted amongst ourselves. Out of the 5 that turned up (!) there was; A boy with A levels in Physics and Biology who wanted to Tutor Piano and Guitar lessons, a 25 year old married to a tattoo artist (the awesome tattoos all over her body were a pretty good advertisement!) who wanted to open a clothes shop, and an art graduate who wanted to sell Sculptures. It turned out he wasn’t eligible at the moment as his graduation was just 2 months ago. The other girl was very nice, but a bit more tight lipped. Then there was me, with my 6 different business ideas, in a scale based on how much money they would give to/lend to me.  I found out that it’s all really based on what your idea is and how well it will sell.

The one flaw in this system is that you have to wait for an available slot on a 4 day course. There was one in 3 weeks, but it’s possible I’ll have to wait until next January! I’m a bit worried about that. Hopefully I’d get a job before then and then I wouldn’t be eligible for help from the Prince’s Trust! I’m hoping I’ll be able to work something out with them if that happened.

It’s amazing what they offer really – it’s essentially like dragon’s den but you don’t have to give them any of your business.

One of the things that surprised me (or perhaps it didn’t) was that the man running the meeting told us in 13 years he had never seen a group who a)All had a pen with them and b) spoke to each other whilst we were waiting. Apparently it’s usually dead silence! I felt rather proud of our friendly group –  In fact one of the others even brought Blackberries for everyone to share, and another went to get us all water – it was all very lovely and I felt a bit silly for worrying, but then it seems I was lucky!       Anyway – I’m hoping I’ll get onto the course this month, and can get on my way to self employedness!

In other news, I visited the Fishbourne Roman Palace last week. I am lucky enough to have a season ticket, and I think I’ll be visiting very often.

I’m usually very dismissive of Guided Tours, being very much of the stubborn “I’ll do it myself if you don’t mind” sort.

However, I’m so glad I joined on the one at the Palace. Not only were amazing aspects and ‘secrets’ of the mosaics pointed out, but the man who was doing the tour really helped bring the history to life. I have visited the museum probably around 15 times in my life, and I had never noticed some of the things he pointed out, like the burn marks where a wing was burnt to the ground (possibly by Pirate raiders, it’s easy to forget how close you are to the sea in fishbourne) and even the half finished building work, and where the ‘new’ fashionable Mosaics are damaged to show the older, black and white geometric ones beneath. I really do recommend it if you’re in the area. The garden too is brilliant, lots of visitors bypass it, but I had a look round, and even took a few fruits home, after all, they would only go to waste otherwise, like some Onions that had been left to rot in one area – and I’ve never eaten a Quince before!

The last thing I’ll mention is an amusing moment of clarity in my family history research.

I have a Hunton family, the parents seem to die and the children are spread about. One of them, Elizabeth Hunton, is living in a house of women, all living by ‘Independent means.’ I sat, puzzled, thinking – “How could a whole house of women live on Independent means?…. OOOHHHH. RIIIGHT.”

Seems I have some women of the night in my ancestry.

Might explain a few things.

Speak soon!

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Going self employed… EEK! Goodbye Job centre – HURRAH!

I have been job hunting for some months now, too many months, actually. I have come up against so many flaws in the benefits system, most noteably the fact that you do not get to keep any money you make working part time, it gets taken out of your benefits, so what are the (slightly lazier or unskilled or younger) people going to do  – work for free 16 hours a week or not work at all and get the same money?  And secondly the fact that volunteering and work experience is frowned upon unless they organise it for you: The problem with that being that the work experience (2 weeks) I wanted to do was with an Archaeology magazine (my ideal job) and they said I would lose my benefits because of it – and the work experience they said I could do and NOT have my benefits stopped was working in a shop (a job I have already had in the past, and did not ever expect to go back to, especially in an unpaid capacity). What useful experience will I gain working the shop floor YET AGAIN – none. What experience/contacts/useful skills would I have acquired writing articles and editing for an Archaeology magazine – too many to mention.

Add that to the humiliation of being rejected for 1000+ jobs and being told I don’t have the ‘skills required’ for the simplest of Admin jobs and I have just about had enough.

I have fought off depression, stopping myself from going down the same route I did in my last (much shorter) bout of unemployment a year or so ago, by not taking everything so personally.

However I have kind of had enough of the job centre. I have had enough of people looking at me like I don’t want to work then asking why I’m applying for jobs that “aren’t in my agreement”- what, I’m supposed to ONLY apply for admin and secretarial work? I can’t apply for Commis Chef and bar work because it’s not on the bit of paper even though I have 3 years experience?

I have also had enough of sitting next to men who stink so much of alcohol you get drunk just being near them, and people that come in with the minimum 3 job applications a week.

So – I have decided to take an oppurtunity that is now open to me – the Prince’s Trust. I am going – SELF EMPLOYED!!!! At least that’s the theory anyway.

Knowing my luck they will tell me my business idea isn’t viable and I’ll be back where I was before. BUT! I will be optimistic, I will tell the job centre lady at my extra appointment today (in which she will tell me for the 16th time I can look for jobs on the job centre website with the special codes they give you) that soon I will be signing off, I will be my own boss!

I will only have to worry about myself screwing up my finances, instead of them doing it for me!  (Did I mention that they stopped my benefits for a whole month because they thought my boyfriend was getting working tax credits – not only is he not old enough he is a full time student – they then tried to tell me I had applied for them and that was why it happened, when I didn’t even know what they were – and we ended up being one day from having gas and electricity cut off). oh, and our housing benefit doesn’t cover the last 1/4 of our rent because we don’t live in a council house, that comes out the job seekers, what we’re supposed to get for food and bills.

I will also tell her that whilst I am self employed, I will volunteer more than 8 hours a week – I am not allowed any more than that at the moment, because although I would be volunteering in a role that will help me get into the Culture and Heritage sector it “affects the time I spend looking for work”.

I’m guessing you’re sensing a little aggravation – not much, I mean y’know, just a little bit.

Well, all I am going to do now is hope that my business idea IS viable, and that they CAN help me with my Business Model, and then I can work hard and have goals and feel like I’ve acheived something (which hopefully I will), rather than being treated like a dope smoking chav who is only fit for working in McDonalds or on a checkout. Been there done that – I’m 23 now, I need a real job! I need a sense of self worth instead of a crushing sense of disappointment.

Wish me luck, and Good Luck to anyone else embarking on the same path! 🙂

Soon I will be Self-employed, or as my dad reminded me Del-boy says – self-UNemployed…

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