The Best Of A Bad Job

I got drunk last night. REALLY drunk. The whole job thing was upsetting me and making me feel low, so I fought back the best way I know how – with gluttony. Four tubes of Pringles took the edge off, but I was still simmering with anger so I blew £25 on a Meal-For-Three Special from the Taj. Then to wash it down I guzzled six cans of Stella and some sherry.
Am I destined to be my mother’s son??
I woke up at three to a thumping, banging, unnatural sound and thought “Someone’s downstairs.. Shit – we’re being burgled”
It turned out to be my stomach..
This morning I felt turgid, but better mentally.
Not getting the job was a blessing in disguise really. That store was so far beneath me I’m embarrassed I ever considered it. At least it got me back on the horse though – now I’ve had a dry run at writing a CV and letter and performed well in an interview, I can step up and find myself something really worthy. Something like one of the following..
Rory’s List Of Dream Jobs:
Croupier
Food taster
Porn film editor
Playing the fat bloke in the Harry Potter films
Jennifer Aniston’s knickers.

I got an e-mail from ex-belle Melissa this evening, by the way. She misses my counsel and friendship, and could we be ‘cyber-mates’ again in a non-romantic setting? I told her I’d rather enter into correspondence with a rapist.
I’m not expecting a reply.

RC 21-9-08
1650 BST