Day Two...

I see a sign out side a local employment agency: "temporary to permanent". It's all advertising. It's like the pretty woman in the sports car advert, or the holiday ad that never shows the monsoon season.

Back to the New Deal, though: the standard wealth-redistribution programme - from the tax payer to the rich. I don't own a coat, so I've been getting wet. I don't agree with coats, if you can't take the cold it serves you right. Stay inside. Big girl's blouse. This is what happens when you let Jeremy Hardy sing.

As usual the day on New Deal was uneventful. I learned something, which is less usual, I learned how much you can stretch what is effectively nothing to fill a CV. I don't like being party to that sort of wastage of words, but that's the way it has to be. I say being a party to it, for I am far too honest to write that sort of thing. Luckily there is a woman who works there who seem to specialise in this sort of thing, this sort of thing being the writing of total rubbish where there should be clean and unblemished white paper. I wouldn't say it's lies exactly, most of the combinations of words are meaningless enough that they signify nothing, whether true or false. I'm by nature a taciturn man and word with no meaning don't come naturally to me. Women find it far easier to run at the mouth. Sonia, I'll call her, although I don't think that's her name. Names aren't my strong point.

I applied for a job today, from a man call shazbot, or something similar. Must be a pakistani name or something like that. He sounded like the typical kind of young trendy asian you find everywhere. He asked how old I was and seemed shocked I'd never worked. I remember years ago hearing "you're nineteen and you've never worked?" Didn't get that one either. He obviously has a different understanding of the phrase "previous experience not essential".

Speaking of people who don't understand the English language, another bit of the busy-work (which doesn't begin to keep me busy) A4E gave me was a sheath of papers purporting to teach me how to write a letter. Apparently I'm expected to send piles of letters to random businesses hoping they'll give me a job. 70% of jobs are unadvertised. The aim of this is, to quote the document in question, "to understand the person of different types of letters". Oh goody. Being taught how to write by an illiterate. I won't list the spelling mistakes and the frankly pathetic grasp of grammar, but imagine how pleased I was, on the first page of this sheath, to see the phrase "it is no use having a CV". Well, I couldn't agree more. It's nice to see my morning was well-spent. Well, I say my morning, it was the woman with the brown eyes, whatshername, who was reeling the drivel off, but it was very strenuous being nearby at the time.

I have a bit of time left, so I'll tell a brief story. One day I was at the Jobcentre (Plus, although plus what I don't know) and I was waiting to sign on. There were four women signing people on, although at that time I was the only one waiting. I was kept waiting, although if I'd been late I wouldn't have been paid. I listened for several minutes, dumb with disbelief, as they talked about what hats they were going to wear to Ascot. I remember that one of them was upset because she'd worn one of her hats before a didn't want to wear it again to such a prestigious occasion, which undoubtedly deserved new headware. Nice to see public servants so hard at work. Still, it's more productive that my current sisyphean nightmare.

I got a letter from a bailiff today. As usual my democratically elected representatives are my main persecutors.

Still, they seem "optimistic" about getting me a "work placement" (forced labour for below the minimum wage). Reasons to be cheerful.