Oh dear

Today, I filled in two more application forms (42 jobs and counting), I've set up search strings so that the NHS website will tell me about jobs.

I prepared for my interview tomorrow by logging on to the website and freaking out at all the information.

The job is Team Administrator LNW (S).

Nope. No idea.

And will the website let me see what I wrote?

Nope. The entire online form disappeared into the electronic ether as soon as I pressed "SUBMIT".

Brilliant.

I went to get my haircut today as well. I've got to save the pennies so it was the College Salon.

The very young sulky faced girl was very unsure of herself and very hesitant. She partitioned off the back of my head did a few snips and then called the Supervisor over.

The Supervisor finished graduating into the nape of my neck and showed her little protege how to avoid the side "horns" that would have grown around the sides. The Supervisor left us to it after criticising the state of the scissors.

Then Student started on the sides. Without starting a central guide, she set about cutting the left side of my head. Again, very hesitantly.

She called the Supervisor over again. The Supervisor started off at the centre and couldn't see where the girl had started from.

She was very rough with the comb and painfully scraped it over my ear repeatedly. Again, the Supervisor graduated the cut and tapered it off down my left side.

She left us again, warning the girl to remember the head dips down at the front and my hair was very heavy down there.

This happened over and over again. Young girl making a few desultory cuts and calling the Supervisor over. Supervisor finishing the cutting and walking away instead of standing over the girl.

ONE AND A HALF HOURS after I came in for a quick wash, cut and blow dry, the student was blow drying my hair. Again, very hesitantly.

She was using a slim ,round, spiky brush to style my hair under the dryer and by the time she finished, I looked like Jim Carrey from Dumb and Dumber. It was a total pudding bowl job.

I paid the £15 and hoped the wind and the rain would do something flattering.

By the time I got home and my hair had dried, I was starting to look like the strange, red haired woman trying to be Miranda, from the Dulcoease ad trying to look like Sex and the City.

With some styling wax, I could see what the Supervisor was aiming at. A kind of short elfin cut.

Kind of.

A productive sort of day. In a hermit sort of fashion

Today I tortured myself with four online application forms including the one for a Clerical Officer with Wolverhampton Council I discussed with Julie at the Jobcentre.

That's 40 applications in total so far.

I really, really need to get out more. I haven't said a word to anyone today.

That can't be good.

I got it

I got the £12.80 to go to Birmingham.

I spoke to a very nice girl who saw email proof of the interviews and proof of my entitlement to benefits.

When you're unemployed, the first thing you have to get used to is carrying all the paperwork of your life around with you. Documents that only see the light of day once in a blue moon are routinely taken off you to be photocopied and handed back every which way.

Photo ID (Passport or Driving Licence), proof of address (bank statements or bills), proof of entitlement (Job Seekers booklet), proof of National Insurance Number (NI Card, P60 or tax documents) - all stuff that normally gets tucked away in a lockable box safely at home gets waved around in public buildings, in front of the kind of people who would give their eye teeth to lay hands on someone elses' identity for various nefarious purposes.

It's embarrassing.

It was lunch time and her computer was v e e e e e e e e e r y y y y y y s l o o o o o o o o w. She needed to check online to see what the prices were.

Anyway, she found out. Eventually. The price list I'd picked up from the bus station wasn't enough. She had to check for herself.

£6.30 return from Wolverhampton to Birmingham by train and £6.50 for a one day nnetwork card for Monday when I have to sign on, travel to Selly Oak and then hoof it across the Birmingham suburbs to Heartlands.

That'll be fun.

She totted up the total and ran downstairs to the cash office for me. Leaving me with a desk full of leaflets

Staying Mentally Healthy Following Redundancy

"Wake Up To Local Learning In Your Community"

Are you worried about your mortgage? Get advice now

Inspire Your magazine from Jobcentre Plus Summer 2009

I was quite grateful when she came back with exactly £6.30 and £6.50. Her desk was pretty depressing.

When I pay for the tickets, I've got to keep the receipts, so that they can be stapled to the form that's waiting for them with my signing in sheet, in the signing in box.

Yep. Got that.

I visited the recruitment agencies to remind them I'm still breathing. Yep. They're all looking out for me and as soon as something comes in, they'll let me know. Every one of them.

I went into Interecruitment and got an email address from Julie. I've sent her my CV so if something comes in she'll let me know.

Great.

There it is again......that weird sense of impending doom

I went to Molineux House to ask about the Travel To Interview Scheme.

If you've applied for a job and it's outside the area one could reasonably expect to travel to then you apply to the TTIS for money.

However, I soon learned that Wolverhampton to Birmingham IS reasonable.

But.

Two days of interviews in Birmingham is the best part of £13. When I'm trying to save every penny I can and I'm only on £128.60 a fortnight, £13 is A LOT of money.

I made an appointment to see an Advisor on Monday about the Discretionary Fund.

The doomy feeling was brought about by the final payment from my employer.

THE. FINAL. PAYMENT.

I felt bad the first couple of days after I was made redundant but now this feels worse.

From now on, I'm on my own.

Now watch me screw this up

Yesssssssssssssssss!

Today in rapid succession I received three invitations to job interviews.

One Thursday 5th November at 9am in Birmingham City Centre

One Monday 9th November at Selly Oak Hospital and

Another on Monday 9th November at Heartlands Hospital.

Now, I do not interview well. I probably won't get the first job because it'll be my first interview in a long while and I'll blow it completely.

The second interview MAY go well but it's for a data entry role which I'm not really keen on. My lack of enthusiasm will more than likely show and they will probably reject me because I don't seem very keen.

The third interview will be the second of the day, is for a cool and well paid lab job (which I REALLY REALLY want) and I'll probably blow it as I'll appear too desperate.

Ah well. I'll give it a go.

You learn something new every day......

Today I signed on and brought up the notion of training and such.

The guy who signed me on showed me upstairs and I evenually spoke with a young guy. He told me about Rapid Response Fund for the redundant like me, which will pay for any training (within reason) I might need to get back into a job and the Advisor Discretionary Fund.

The ADF is a secret little pot of money which will pay for interview clothes, work clothes (steel toe caps, hivi vests etc) if you ask politely enough, are needy enough and the Advisor likes you enough.

While I was waiting to see him, I met Julie. She was waiting for a client who was late turning up. All the while I was chatting to her like we were old friends, I couldn't quite place her.

As we chatted about how we came to be at the JobCentre, my mind was rolling back the mists of my poor memory for faces and trying to work out who she was.

Then it struck me. I hadn't seen her since she fired me. She let me go after David Wilson Homes were taken over by Barratts and the recruitment freeze was over. Then the Sales Office were relocated to Coventry and some were themselves let go Julie included.

She was now a Six Month Advisor, dealing with people who had become long term unemployed. She recommended the internet

Yep. Got that.

The NHS website.

Yep. It's on my list of Favourites.

The local council.

Yep. Wolverhampton Council Jobs Page is one of my Favourites

I reminded her of a job for a Clerical Officer being advertised.

She wished me luck and jokingly told me she didn't want to see me again as she went back to her desk to wait for her client.

He showed up shortly afterwards. Only 20 minutes late.

After finding out about money. I did a job search on the Job Centre computers - again Sales, Engineering and Carers with cars. That's all that's needed.

I checked, no the Rapid Relief Fund will NOT pay for ordinary driving lessons.

I went home. I checked the internet again and found two jobs to apply for.

So far, that's 35 jobs applied for in total.

Now THAT's an inspiring boss

I know tough circumstances can breed tough people. Extreme circumstances can bring out the best in people but, frankly, I really could do without becoming as tough as this guy was.

On the other hand, he must have been some boss to work for.

Home! Home! Land of my father! Home!

I'm exhausted.

I've been down to London to stay with Dad for a few days.

Good grief.

There was all the vacuuming, the washing, the shopping, the tidying up and the chivvying and the drugs and and and and........

Dad's tablets are in a little box set that's all set up for Morning, Afternoon, Evening, Night.

He gets confused by even that and often holds the box upside down or takes them from the next column along so either the Night tablets are taken in the morning or Tuesday mornings tablets follow Monday mornings tablets so he gets double the dose from them and can't understand why he doesn't feel very well and falls over.

Of course, he insists that he's taken them correctly and he will hear no criticism.

Brilliant.

Saturday, I came down to find that the ticket machines in Victoria Station now do Oyster cards so I don't have to join the scrum outside - much less stressful.

And Sunday, Monday and Tuesday were spent trekking back and forth looking for things Dad can't see (that'll be nearly everything, then), opening the door to the fill-in carers who don't know about the key safe, opening the door to the district nurses who had a whale of a time on Monday trying to remove a cannula from Dad's arm.

He was in such a hurry to leave the hospital, that he left the hospital with the cannula still in his arm. With his levels of hygiene it was imperative to remove it ASAP. The district nurse (a giant African guy with a thick accent) was not happy at all and was threatening to complain to the hospital about it.

Good luck with that.

All the while, Dad cursed and tottered around repeatedly claiming "I'm not a fucking invalid!".

Riiiiiiiiiight.

I still haven't told him I was made redundant.

Hopefully, I won't have to.

I got back late this evening and the first thing I did was start trawling the internet. I've found two more jobs to apply for on the NHS website.

Like I say. If it does all go belly up, it won't be for the want of trying.

Yes. No. Maybe.

I called in to Proactive. The girl there told me that no one sent by Proactive had got the job. I sneaked a peek at her notes and saw Brook Street.

I told her about Dad and she welcomed the news and told me that she'd keep an eye out for me.

I thanked her and went back home. The postman had been and left the letter from the DWP stating that I was entitled to Contributions Based Job Seekers Allowance.

Yessssssssss. I could sort out my Council Tax claim.

I packed a CV, my passport, proof of address, the letter and popped into Brook Street on the way to the Council House.

Abigail acted pleased to see me and updated my details onto the Brook Street system. She photocopied the passport, took the CV and asked if I could email it as well so she could have it on the computer.

Yep. No problem.

Assuring me that there would be no problem placing me, she wished me luck and I carried on to the Council House.

Once there, I was not happy to find that as well as the Job Seekers Allowance letter, which was scanned onto the system, the council also wanted bank statements for both bank accounts for the last two months.

I went home.

I found the statements and went back.

I saw the same lady again, she scanned the statements and wished me luck finding work.

I checked my bank account.

There was still no benefit payment even though I now had the letter stating that I was entitled.

Hmmmmmmnnnnn.

I called the JSA bunch again. They told me I hadn't received any benefits as I hadn't signed on.

Um. Yeah. I had signed on. I signed on on Monday morning at 11:15 at Molineux House. I could even remember the doddery blonde I spoke to.

Well. There was no record of me signing on on Monday morning. Althooooooooough......

Yes?

A lot of new staff had been taken on lately and mistakes like this seem to be happening quite a bit.

Great.

I would have to call the Job Centre where I signed on and take it up with them. Until the computer is updated, there is nothing that can be done.

I called Molineux House. I was finally transferred to someone who had access to the signing on sheets. I gave all my details again from the back of my Job Seekers Allowance booklet.

They confirmed that I HAD signed on but the computer had not been updated - he could do that and payment would be received on Wednesday at the latest.

That's great.

Although, I won't hold my breath.

I only just remembered to send my CVs (techy and admin) to Abigail.

Not a good day

I called HR and it was confirmed what I already knew. The guy driving the car past me yesterday morning got the job.

Reed called and told me that although they had done their best to "big me up", the manager took one look at my CV and assumed that the no brainer work would be too mundane for me.

I got a call from my Kid Brother. Dad has been taken into hospital with another suspected heart attack. His heart was racing, he had collapsed and they were trying to stabilise him. He was at work as there wasn't much for him to do at the hospital (Dad had told him to fuck off) and he would check in on him later.

I spent a large portion of the day suppressing a panic attack.

So. No pressure for the interview for this afternoon then, eh?

I spent most of the day torturing myself with worst case scenarios which usually finished with me losing my house before killing myself (pills, mainly, washed down with a little booze).

I'm depressed, okay? Thoughts about killing myself tend to be fairly routine. Taking steps towards killing myself, like hoarding pills that's when I go see the doctor.

That reminds me. I need more sleeping tablets.

Kidding. I'm only kidding. In a depressed, deadpan kind of way.

The interview went okay. Not brilliant. Not perfect. Okay. On arrival, I was left waiting in the area where people sat waiting to register a death.

Luckily, with my dark interview clothes and miserable face, I blended right in.

After the interview, I called in on Proactive on the way home and they told me that they'd got some feedback already.

Oh, yes?

I seemed very stressed.

I told her about the shitty day I'd had and that I was still waiting for news about my Dad being hospitalised.

She sympathised and said it was surprising that I didn't cancel.

No. I needed the money too badly.

She gave a nervous laugh and wished me luck.

I went home and sat on the phone.

Kid Brother called and told me that Dad had probably mixed up his medicines and his blood pressure had plummeted. His medicines were being rejigged and he wasn't going to be let out until tomorrow morning.

Phew! No need for me to go back to London, bankrupting myself and losing my house. Yet.

One more online job application making twenty three in total.