The slow down

I've been quiet on the blogging front as I only went and got paid employment, which kinda killed the angle of this blog, whose sole intention was to record my ramblings of life as a newly unemployed journalist.

Nearly six months after I found myself dumped on the unemployment pile along with thousands of others, I guess I can now officially call myself a 'freelance journalist' and not a dolely, although sometimes I can't see much difference between the two situations.

My work has slowed down this week, so 'freelancing' today has seen me play tennis, make bread and watch several episodes of the original Brideshead Revisited, which at 11 episodes long could be responsible for too many afternoons on the sofa and not at my desk.

One thing that has changed is where my head's at. Last October, newly jobless and thrown into a freelance world I didn't understand, I went into panic mode. I'd get up each morning with good intentions, determined that my life would change that day, only to slope off to bed mid-afternoon disillusioned that my emails and phone calls were once again being completely ignored.

This time I'm going to enjoy the days I'm not having to traipse into an office and focus my getting work efforts in a less rabbit in a headlights fashion.

Time flies

I'm constantly amazed at how quickly the days are slipping away. It's six weeks since I left work and it feels like only six days. I enjoyed my job and was rarely a clock watcher (except on days when I was very hungover) but the quickening of time is a common theme amongst other unemployed friends I've spoken to, even if we're not lying in until noon, just having that structure taken away seems to stretch out the day.

If I was spending all day in bed I might understand it, but I'm not. I might still be in my PJs at 3pm but I've been at my computer since 9, and have barely had time to even glance at TMZ!

I've always craved a life where I can do what I like and answer to nobody, but I'm only just learning to live with the reality of life without an obvious routine. And ironically the only way to live with it is to create your own routine.

Going bananas

Banana bread has always been a baking fail for me. Last time I attempted it I didn't grease the tin - yes, yes I know, but it's the dullest part of baking - I always used to get my mum to do it when I was a young baker, ha! Inevitably the bread wasn't budging when it came out the oven, so it was less a loaf of bread and more a piles of crumbs.

Lesson learnt, this time I dutifully greased and lined. But I wasn't out of the woods yet; I was all pinny-ed up with the oven on and butter measure out, when I realised I didn't have all the ingredients I needed.

The Arsenal/Spurs match meant that I was a prisoner in my own flat until the footie fans had passed out somewhere around 6pm, so I had to do a bit of tweaking on the recipe front.

Despite being up against, the result was my best effort yet. It even looked like a loaf this time and tasted so good I scoffed half of it in front of Come Dine With Me. The pub opposite was so impressed with my banana bread victory that they put on a firework display as a tribute. Or was that something to do with Halloween and Arsenal's victory? Nah, it was definitely the bread.

Forming apart

Forms, forms, forms, how I loathe thee. Whether they're online or handwritten; applications, jobseeker allowance forms, tax returns, they send me into a rage of confusion, or should that be a confused rage?

Either way, I'm currently drowning under a mountain of forms and I'm just so terrible at filling them out. I can manage my name, but beyond that it's a difficult task for this form-phobe.

I will always leave important bits out, tick the wrong box, or miss a whole page entirely. I was once landed with a very large tax bill because I left a vital piece of information out. And when you mess up, it's back to the beginning. Name, address, telephone...a total bore.

I had to go back to the job centre today to fill in, you've guessed it, another form, and the thing was so long (this is my second attempt) that the banana bread I had planned to make this PM will have wait until I get back from the Housing Benefit office tomoz. I mean guys, I've got unemployment to do!

Forms before food, that can't be right.

"Avoid employing unlucky people - throw half of the pile of CVs in the bin without reading them"

I spent most of yesterday being motivated by people who are paid a lot of money to tweek CVs and say things like 'personal stocktaking'.

I'm being rather cynical; it was good to be away from the laptop and the morning appointment with the career motivators my previous employers had set me up with was inspiring and constructive.

The afternoon three hour seminar entitled 'Tutorial to Help Newly Unemployed Professionals' which sounds a bit too like 'The Derek Zoolander Center For Children Who Can't Read Good And Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too' to take seriously was paid for by the government as part of my jobseekers allowance deal.

There were some excellent points, but the whole experience, from the beige, pokey room to the speaker's terrible jokes, was so David Brent-like that I expected 'Simply The Best' to be blasted out at the end.

Phrase of the day was 'appetite for evidence', something apparently company's currently have.

I on the other hand have an appetite for homemade soup and as a nod, in fact my only nod, to Halloween I'm going to rustle up a pumpkin one.

Loafing about

The best thing about 'working' from home, other than getting to watch period dramas all day, is being able to cook and bake inbetween updating my CV.

I only started baking my own bread a few months ago, and to be honest, despite in public being rather evangelic about how easy it is, my loaves have been a bit hit or miss.

The last couple have come on with a hole in the middle and a mushroom like top that just crumbled upon contact with the bread knife.

But I wasn't quite ready to go back to Kingsmill. On Friday, I rustled up one of my finest loaf of breads to date and enjoyed it with a freshly made soup for lunch. I certainly never got that when I was office based.

The soup I cooked was what I call, rather unsnappishly, the 'soup that's not a soup'. It gained notoriety at university amongst some of my friends as it was all I ever seemed to cook.

Is it a stew? Is it a soup? I say it's a soup with substance and soul. Its official name is chickpea and tomato and it's simply leeks, chickpeas, garlic, spinach, courgette and a tin of tomatoes and it's divine. Especially when teamed with a still warm piece of bread.

Sign On, Sign Out

I’m now officially another statistic, having added another number to the growing unemployed. I was expecting to walk in a loonie bin, but Finsbury Park Job Centre was remarkably civilized. Disappointedly there was only one mad old fella barking down the phone and even he was saner than some people I’ve spent time in an office with. Unemployed people! Just like me! Time to bin that snotty attitude me thinks.

Being made redundant has thrown open a whole new world, which is both exciting and daunting. The thought of the world being my oyster makes my head spin so much that when I start thinking about all I could do, I get so overcome, I have to go and hide under my duvet. But lying in bed isn’t going to get me a job or send me to Peru.

Unexpectedly, the trip to sign on actually fired me up. I even got through the day without seeking solace under the covers. Maybe it’s the thought of a whole £60 a week coming my way. Think of all the lentils I could buy with that.