Moving, Just Keep Moving...

Two months ago we had a flat which overlooked the Thames, in one of the busiest cities in the World. Now, I'm in Hythe with a distant view of the sea, and in one of the most old fashioned towns in the country. The shops still all shut on a Sunday, and the only danger is being run over by a blind old lady pushing a shopping trolley.

We've now been in our quaint little flat for nearly three weeks, but there was a point when I thought we would never find somewhere to live. In London, we were lucky and the flat we lived in was the first flat we liked and saw. Down here, we saw four, but liked many more. The 'experience' was full of disappointment, as well as meeting many letting agents who were Satan's children, and a couple who were lovely. It took six weeks, but we finally got a place we could live.

But then the next issue was that we had no furniture. Thus, too much money was spent. And then, too much time was spent by me putting it all together. I was in flat pack hell. I like putting things together more than most, but that was just a week-long binge of different shades of oak. However, by some divine intervention, not a thing was broken and nothing was missing. Even if I made a few silly mistakes...

And we had spent a week laying on a multitude of beds, in a variety of shops, watched by an array of shop assistants, who seemed to always have one hand on my wallet. The whole time, you sound like a spoilt Goldilocks going "This bed's very soft… Oh, this one is far too hard for my liking… This is just right… HOW MUCH?" Then, when you finally settle on a bed you can live with, which is only a little above your budget, you're told it's a month's wait. At which point, I would thank the man for his time, and walk out.

In the end, we gave up and brought a bed from Argos which we couldn't try on for size, just for the sheer convenience of not having to lay awkwardly on beds in public view. And you know what? It was the best decision possible, and it was cheaper. And it was the exact same process for our sofa too. You know what children? Internet shopping is the future.

The problem then though, is that you have to sit by the window for a week, waiting for the two minutes when the delivery man comes, dumps a load of cardboard by the front door, and leaves you carry a box containing an unassembled dining table and four chairs, indoors all by yourself. Two weeks on and my big toe is still bruised. And once everything was assembled, we were left with a mountain of boxes in the hallway. Stepping on the wrong floorboard could easily result in an avalanche.

Thankfully, we have a small garden we can retreat too. Well, I had to spend two days chopping my way through brambles and other weeds, and being covered in scratches so deep one could be forgiven for thinking I had started a new job as a lion tamer, and was awful at it.

Speaking of which, I am still unemployed. If one forgets the fact I'm spending money, when I have none coming in, I'm a little bit thankful for that. Imagine the stress of starting a new job amongst all of that? The dining table would probably still be on the doorstep, brambles would be smashing their way through the windows, and we'd be sleeping on cardboard boxes.

However, now that's all done, I need to need to get a job so I don't become too attached to our brilliant YouView box, and don't put too much of a dent in our sofa. I've never had Sky channels before, and I'm still not over the novelty of Simpson episodes that aren't at least 10 years old; I watched one from 2013 yesterday! This truly a beautiful time to be alive.

I have learnt over the past few months, that unemployment doesn't mean you have to sit watching people who have been subjected to bad dentistry, shout at each other on Jeremy Kyle. I have done something every day. Today is the first for a good few weeks where I've actually had the time to write a blog post. I can't remember the last time I even took a photograph. It's not only because I've been busy making this flat a home, but because I'm using the time to help those closest to me. Partly to be a decent human being, but also in a bid to fight off boredom.

I'm about to make an observation which is enlightening, positive and a cliché, for which I apologise for. Normal misanthropy will resume shortly, I'm sure… But life is what you make it. If you've sat in your bedroom who two years solely playing video games, then you must have the mental capacity of a peanut. Getting a job isn't as easy as most people think it is, but it doesn't mean you have to do nothing. Put some clothes on, stop hibernating and go and do something in the big, beautiful world. Not having a job doesn't mean you don't have a life. You're a disgrace to humanity; and peanuts.

P.S. A Misathrope's Guide to Folkestone and Hythe... Is that to be the sequel of A Misathrope's Guide to London?

I'm the Cockney Chameleon without a Job

Over three years ago I wrote a blog announcing that I would soon be moving to London, where I would be attending the University of East London to study Journalism and Creative and Professional Writing. I spoke mostly about how worried I was about having to endure the local language, and how I was fearful of catching Cockney, and becaming alll Landan like. I now write this blog post, having completed my degree and moved out of our outrageously-priced South London flat that overlooked the Thames.

I confidently stipulated that I was 'not worried about picking up the accent and the slang however, because I'm very hard to influence.' Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to have been the case. Many people have been noting that I have a slight Landan twang. Luckily, I don't think it's critical, and I should be able to recover; in time at least.

However, I have become somewhat of a chameleon, being able to assume a persona which is similar to those around me. Back home in Kent, I am a bumbling, slightly posh-sounding lad. Should a Cockney gas engineer enter our flat, my language and personality change; partly in a foolish attempt to sound more manly and in a desperate attempt to be accepted. "Alright mate? How's traffic get'in 'ere? Bin busy? You still got your motors?" And so on.

A drawing for A Misanthrope's Guide to London, by Chris Parsons.
(Click to enlarge)

Our flat was very nice; apart from the constant presence of gas engineers having to resuscitate our boiler back into life. Oh, and apart from the numerous water leaks; all those magical evenings spent mopping up water from under the now bowed laminate flooring. Mind you, that's made up for by the evenings I spent watching the woman across the road get naked with her blinds still open; until she noticed. Those memories will remain with me for a long time. However, not as long as the dent left in my savings by paying nearly £1,000 a month for a flat. We could have never afforded that place if it wasn't for our generous student loans.

It's a cliché I've heard an innumerable amount of times, but those three years at University really did fly past. It doesn't seem that long ago since myself, my other half and a box of half-eaten pizza, were abandoned in Landon by my parents and left to endure the next chapter of our lives. Well, that chapter is finished, and it ended with us getting 2:1s, so yes, thank you for your congratulation. However, my grade is still a sore point. I was less than 1% away from a 1st. 0.4% more would have given me a 1st. And you know what? I can pinpoint the exact mistake in my dissertation that lost me that higher grade. If I had just italicised the words A Misanthrope's Guide to London, in the handful of times I wrote them together, I think I would have gotten a 1st. FOR FU...

Anyway, it was a mixed three years. I met lots of, as everyone says, awesome and amazing people who were mostly all far more talented than I. Some modules I loved and excelled at, and others I hated and just about scraped through. There is something about Sociology that makes me look and feel like I've just had a lobotomy. The next time someone talks me about the similarity between Adorno's theory of the Culture Industry and Marxism, I think I'll go into a coma from which I'll never awaken.

The Creative and Professional Writing side of my degree has proved invaluable, and despite feeling trepidation about what it would entail, I absolutely loved almost every minute. It made me read books I never would have, and yet enjoyed. It pushed me to constantly improve my writing, which having read some of my old stuff, is glaringly obvious. It has even made me look at my own writing very differently, and I have produced pieces I could not be prouder of. My dissertation project A Misanthrope's Guide to London, is one such example where I have really honed my style of writing. That is in no little part thanks to the teaching on the course.

At the start, I was most looking forward to the Journalism side of my studies, and I did very well and learnt a great deal. However, towards the end I dreaded Journalism modules. That was, in the most part, because I felt a great deal of resentment towards the fact that no matter how well I did, I would still not be qualified to be a Journalist, and would still find it immensely hard to get into a profession where experienced journalists are being culled, rather than new ones being hired. By the end, I had lost my desire to be a journalist; for now at least. Unfortunately, that in part also falls on the below-par teaching for journalism my University offers.

So, the bit of paper has now finally arrived confirming my attainment of a 2:1, and three months after finishing University, I am the stereotypical graduate who is failing to get any sort of job. Currently, the past few years look to have all been a delaying tactic for going on Job Seeker's Allowance. There are various reasons for this, such the little experience I hold, and trying to get a career in a specific sector. However, a large reason for this is because there has been a major push in apprenticeships by the Government. It means jobs that might have once gone to the likes of people like me, are now going to younger people who can be hired for a criminally low wage for a couple of years, whilst getting on-the-job training. If I was 18 years old now, and looking at what to do, I think I would be looking at being an apprentice too.

However, I keep sending out CVs in all directions (probably approaching a figure of around 40), and only getting responses from a few. Two job interviews in three months. The sad and depressing life of a graduate. Maybe it's because of my accent which has become tapestrised. Or the fact my University is at the bottom of the league tables; despite being a great place. It could be because of the economy, or that fact I am part of, what the media keeps calling 'the lost generation'. Possibly it is due to so many hundreds of thousands of young adults having a degree, it has become a worthless piece of paper. It could be because I have about as much professional experience as a foetus, and being stuck in the paradox of needing experience to get a job, but not being able to get the necessary experience. Who knows?

Regardless, if you're an employer looking for a marketing assistant/junior (or something not too dissimilar) somewhere in Kent, who's ideal candidate is a misanthropic, yet slightly amusing and committed individual, then I'm your guy!

P.S. I know prospective employers are reading this blog, because I put it on my CV, so why not beg? If you don't ask, you don't get… I am highly skilled after all.

P.P.S. I am aware that I'm applying for jobs that are not marketing related, and that plea might be off putting to other jobs; but I'm versatile and not as picky as perhaps I might have sounded. I'll do anything... apart from telesales anyway.