First of all I had a 'Back To Work' session at the Job Centre. Now, having worked almost continually for the better part of ten years in several different countries and for scores of different companies, I thought I knew how to land myself employment. Not true, according to the Job Centre. No, I needed to be told that there was employment advice on THE INTERNET! The Interwhat? What the fucking Hell is that? I've never heard of that before! Not only this, BUT you can find jobs in the FUCKING LOCAL PAPER! It even has a JOB SECTION! Holy fucking shit! I was overcome with this wealth of information. My brain couldn't compute the amount of knowledge that was being thrown at it. For an hour I was pounded with enlightenment on gateways to help me get back to work. I was beaten into submission by Job-Seekers wisdom. Dazed and confused I stumbled out of the upstairs office of the Job Centre clutching a printed list of today's latest jobs. It was only the timely intervention of Danny, Bennett and the pub that helped me to come down from such an unparalleled high.
Covert photograph of Rotherham Job Centre. You don't know pain until you step inside one of these places...
In reality these courses are designed by the Job Centre to stop people doing fiddle jobs, ie, signing on and working for cash in hand. It breaks up the working week for them and they lose money. I know how to get back to work. I just ring around the various archaeological companies for work. I know what a CV is and I keep mine updated every time I finish a job. I have been using the Internet as a gateway resource for work since 2001, back when it was all in black and white. I have a network of colleagues who keep me informed of potential work. I don't need to be patronised by Phil and Phil, both of whom were in our situations two years ago, until they got work at the Job Centre where they now condescend the great unwashed about how to get a job. I should have been teaching the fucking class.
Which brings me rather neatly to another adventure with Timmy Teacake which I had on Monday. I have been asked by Sheffield University Archaeology Society to give them an archaeological drawing class (seamless, fucking seamless segue there). I racked my brains for ages for a place this could take place, then I remembered Tim was bumbling his way through a PhD covering Prehistoric South Yorkshire. He'd been doing some work up on Broomhead Moor and knew of some Tumuli that could be drawn with ease. Early (well, early for me, anything before 11.30 is early for me these days.) on Monday I picked the lad up and we preceded with great haste into the wild. Tim actually wanted to finish off a walk over survey he'd done a few weeks before Christ's Mass so we tied to two things in. Previously he'd sent me a picture of a small bridge he'd recorded (he thought we could use it in the drawing class) and we paused at it and observed it. The conversation went like this, I shit you not.
Me: What age is this? Maybe 18/19th century?
Him: Yeah, I think so.
Me: Well, that gatepost reused a as lintel gives it away...
Him: Oh shit! I didn't notice that!
Me: What? You took a photo of it! There's two massive Iron brackets sticking out of it!
Him: I never noticed them either!
Hello! Operator, I think I'm lost! Can you tell me where I am?
After this sojourn into Tim's mind and some willful archaeological damage to ancient structures we travelled down the ICY ROAD OF DEATH to Redmires Reservoir and had a look at the Great War Training Trenches there. This is where Tim came into his own as a scale for my photo:
Stop leaping about, stand still!
Right, that's it for a bit, I'm off darn sarf tomorrow for a trip to Brighton, Southampton and Bovington for the TANK MUSEUM, so you'll get to hear all about that in due course.
