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.

Life from the front line of the dole queue

Having recently being made redundant, I find myself, like a growing number of people, on the unemployment scrapheap.

Having being ousted from my cushy health and beauty journalist job, I’m suddenly having to contend with the rather less glamorous world of jobcentres and career advisors.

But it’s not all doom and gloom from the sofa of the jobless.

In between job hunting and firing off emails to disinterested editors, I’ve rediscovered the joy of time; when the thought of another application form becomes too much, I’m enjoying taking out my frustrations my kneading dough, stuffing my face with homemade cupcakes and, rather more half-heartedly, trying desperately to improve my knitting. I may well be the world’s worse knitter.

I’m still haunted by the tortuous weeks spent crocheting a scarf at school when my textiles teacher in exasperation yanked the thing out of hands and finished it herself. I thought, 20 odd years later I may have become better with needles and wool.

But I’ve unraveled what’s meant to be a scarf five times, and have now decided to turn a blind eye to holes in it. It’s dolely chic no?