JanDim

You have to love the anonimity of a blog that doesn't have your name on it. In situations like the one I find myself in now, it offers one an opportunity to talk about things that need to be talked about, but to nobody in particular. In fact, parhaps, to nobody at all.

I recently broke up with my girlfriend. Or should I say she broke up with me. This has made me very sad. I understand the reasons why its happened, in fact, I actually agree with most of them, which I suppose makes it even worse. In this case, rationalising seems to make it even more painful.

It was a long distance relationship, meaning it was doomed from the start, but was one of those relationships that starts at a full sprint and feels good every step of the way. The risk is, however, that the momentum of the whole thing sweeps you up and carries it with you, gathering its own pace and speed that far outweighs the sum of the people involved.

She always said, from the beginning, that she didn't want a relationship. Not in the traditional sense anyway. We simply enjoyed each other's company, had fantastic sex, engaged and connected on a level that allowed us to communicate as a couple should. She is incredibly attractive, has an absolutely gorgeous personality, speaks with the sexiest Welsh accent I've ever heard, and was, I thought, the one for me.

Things tend to change with the gift of hindsight.

Turns out, after 5 months of being together, that things strayed too far into the realm of relationship, when realistically I should have kept things much more casual - simply enjoying one another's company rather than trying to pressurise us both into conforming with the expected behaviours of an actual couple. I expected too much from her, became distant and non-communicative when she didn't respond the way I wanted her to, when she didn't show enough interest in the things going on in my life.

I also tainted her with my negative attitude and grumpiness toward the world. I hate to admit it, but she's opened my eyes to the true extent to which I'm just a miserable c*nt sometimes. She is such a positive person, in all aspects, and rightfully she just didn't want me bringing her down. Now we've been apart for a few weeks, I completely understand and agree with her decision. I don't want to poison and infect her positive attitude with my negativity. Would I have been able to change? Maybe, a little, over time. Not completely though, and she deserves better than that.

Also, when I met her she'd not long come out of a 5 year relationship, and that didn't exactly end well. The guy she was with is a complete tool (in my opinion of course) and didn't treat her very well at all. She seemed to be in a position where her future was mapped out - marriage, homemaker, kids etc. and that scared her to the point where she ran and left. All power to her. What it means for me though, is that she's still at the point where she's establishing her independence and showing (to herself more than anyone else I think) that she can go it alone. Being with me puts her right back at square one on that front and I think she still needs to spend time doing her own thing. Again, all power to her.

I still miss her though. It still makes my chest ache when I think about her. It still leaves me with this vaccuous empty feeling when I think back to her smiling at me in the morning when she'd just woken up, hair all over the place and no make up on. that was when she was at her most beautiful. I miss her laugh, I miss the way she makes me feel. On a purely physical note I'm going to miss the sex, because if I think about it (which I hate doing) it was the best I've ever had and I doubt I'll have as good again.

I just miss her.

I've been convincing myself it never would have worked anyway - we're too far away, the distance would have beaten us, we're too incompatible, we don't share many interests, blah blah blah. I'm just trying to keep my sanity. Can't help torturing myself over it though. Its my fault this has happened, and I didn't actually do anything other than be myself. I just wasn't good enough. Story of my life.

So here I am, wallowing in self pity and self loathing and creating a sensation in anyone who actually reads this (i.e no-one) similar to wanting to vomit at any moment. Shut up you whiny little bastard, etc etc.

I just miss her.

Ah well, life moves on. Just wanted to get that off my chest.

But its especially good when its winter...

Has anyone else noticed it getting a little chilly in the air of late? Of course, this probably only applies to local readers, that being of the British pursuasion. Should imagine anyone reading this from, say, Thailand, is finding it swelteringly hot, so you might want to ignore the following:

Beards. beards are brilliant. I love beards, especially when they're growing on my face. I find it upsetting that during the summer months I can only really start to grow a modicum of stubble before 80% of my body's moisture starts to leave via the pores in an emotional protest at me generating unneccesary body heat. Therefore, when it starts to gert cold out, as mentioned above (hello again Thailand), I like to start experimantally letting the stubble grow just that little bit more.

Of course, there's the inevitable itching phase whereby you feel like you need to peel your face off rather than actually keep the wiry fuzz carpet growing out of your skin - but you have to persist and fight through the pain to get to the glorious beardage beyond.

You can play and experiment with the shape of your new beard. Do you go for the full 'Afghani', or do you trim and clip and maintain that perfect plumage reserved mostly for people called Roger? Do you have a chinstrap, or a....nother type of beard? I personally like to link my massive sideburns to a kind of Lemmy-from-Motorhead tash, much like the one sported by the character 'McTavish' in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. I mean, there was actual emotional attachment to that beard.

The beard will keep you warm. well, it'll keep your face warm, but who likes a cold face? Eh??!

The absolute beast part of having a beard though, are the strokey beard moments. They're amazing. When you want to stare out into space and ponder some deep and strange philosophy, and all you need to complete this wonderfully perfect moment is something to stroke when... wait, I can stroke my beard! And oh does it feel good! I could stroke it for hours and just stare at nothing in particular until they fill me with lithium and cart me away to the farm.

I love beards.

My girlfriend hates beards. She hates me having a beard. She says it makes me look creepy and gives her face a rash when I kiss her. Apparently its all scratchy and weird. Weird! She even threatened to remove sex from the relationship if I insist on growing it! I mean, what is the world coming to? That's just beardist!

Personally I won't be manipulated in such a way. I'm happy to sacrifice my needs in the bedroom for my needs in the beard. I will sit there happily, one hand stroking my beard, the other stroking my...er...cat. I will ponder and stroke and kiss my girlfriend until her face is all red and splotchy and angry with my beard.

Its only a few months a year. All summer long she gets to have my unadorned, smooth and beardless cheeks all to herself. How about I have the winter bit to beard up and actually have a warm face for a change?

Am I right fellas?? Lets make a stand! Like Kevin Smith, or Abraham Lincoln or Jesus!

All hail the beard, and the pleasure and warmth it giveth

Amen

JP

I was at Notting Hill Carnival this weekend, and I am glad to report it was mental!

The second largest street festival in the world, and I fitted the bill of a tourist in every single capacity. Somewhat upsetting as I live in London, but I embraced my stature with humility and proud acceptance as I danced my way through one of London’s wildest weekends.

With one love, free weed and jerk chicken pumping through my veins I melted into the crowd as a 6 foot whistle blowing loon sucking on a bottle of Wren and McKay’s finest. (alright I'm 5-11 whatever!!) This was rewarded by a complimentary communal joint, a random girls head attire and a healthy squeeze of my rhythmless ever dancing arse!

Yes I was drinking rum and dancing like ... well a white person drinking rum dancing to a base fuelled remix of Bob Marley's lively up your self... I am however glad to say this was reasonably well received. The measure of this was me guiding a gaggle of girls in a chain through the heart of Portabelow rd. Hand in hand the lead behind me had attached her well manicured plastic talons to my ass. With a vice like grip that could only be outdone by Jeff Wode, my new companion hung on like pitbull with lockjaw! Fortunately this was her only similarity with the mighty Jeff and K9 species, which lead me to inaudible conversation sliced with extremely loud, continual requests for a puff on that joint, all fuelled in a rum soaked utopia

As we quickly realised we couldn't skin up whilst marching and dancing with thousands of people trampling all over us (get with carnival spirit I say.. but no!) and all available nooks and crannies being filled with on looking suspicious day and half pay guzzling bemused bobbies, my return to the world of weed was sadly only to last the hour. This hedonistic union was unfortunately very quickly replaced by another random equally taloned carni lover.. a toothy weedless creature from Lewisham, who I slipped away from in hunt of more bud, red stripe and yet more random head attire from yet more random people.

As I took this journey alone I was more than pleased with my work, and filled to the brim with elation and communal spirit!

I then finally found my friend who I had initially meant to set out with. Sighing she rolled her eyes and shook her head as I gibbered inane babble of weed, talons and my arse, bringing her mood to what can only be described as mild annoyance... this however was swiftly cured with an inordinately large bottle of pepsi half filled with Captain Morgan. We were now both on the same page!

As the mood started to lift I got back to my dancing, which quickly turned to staggering through the broken glass, joint butts and heavy baselines, the night leading us arm in arm in every direction the police would allow us. We sampled an array of random meat cooked on makeshift grills, each served with a nuclear hot sauce that made me slightly schizophrenic, partially deaf and scream to until I was blind.

As I guzzled tins of red stripe to stem the bleeding of my throat and tongue, No 3 in our carnival crew, (my friends 8 foot companion) started on a campaign which made the life threatening danger of the recently consumed jerk chicken seem like a trip to mothercare. Her aim.. to scare?/chat up some of the hardest looking hoodies I have ever seen in my life. (to paint the picture we were accompanied by a man eating, voice of a bear 8 footer with ginger hair!!)

As the rum gladly started to destroy any sense of up or down, I took a last ditched attempt to keep with reality and listen to not so gentle Ben's conversation. It was then I quickly realised her chat up line was simple, to ask for directions. To where we didn't seem to care.. as either did some of the people giving them out.. Bear woman wanted to party and that was the end of it! This thankfully gave answer to the question of why I was being dragged in all manner of directions by my belt, shirt and at one point my hair, but did however start to raise a few worrying thoughts. As my internal compass continued to spin, it became clearer and clearer that direction was not the order of the evening. My ever building concerns were about to be realised.

We had staggered upon our umpteenth dozen group of wide eyed party animals, dizzy rascal wanna be's and horn blowing madmen, with the well versed question, .. where’s the real Notting Hill party.. ? (There’s a 6 foot fella blowing a horn in your face, ave a look !!!) However all was well with the world as our king size Kodiak viewed each man as mating salmon swimming upstream. Not put off however, people were glad to chat, laugh, scream and talk even when they were incapable.

Things were going well for our friend, and I was happily being dragged form pillar to post with a smile on my face, and still for whatever reason continuing to sample the array of plutonium based meat snacks. Whilst wandering in endless circles I looked up from the mind blowing complexity of rolling a cigarette to realise the mood had changed. We were now faced with Dizzy's psychotic elder siblings. This crowd didn't seem as sociable!

Mustering every strength I had to focus, I wiped the chilli induced tears from my eyes to look across the group and sum up the situation. With each looking more menacing than the next, I took stock of their facial expressions, and watched as they started to form a circle. If I wasn’t so concerned with my life or the horror that I might actually see the gang rape of a bear, I would have found the line up quite comical. As I switched from face to face the expressions got meaner, more outrageous, and effortlessly sinister. Each it seemed wanted to outdo the other in the gurning stakes. Gold flashed in every tooth, chains rattled, and loud eruptions of noise exploded over whispers and jeers from the dark depths of their deep cavernous hoods.

Not to be outdone, I thought it best to make all concerned of my own gangster status. With an equally stern face I raised a finger to push my lip above my gum, and bark “gnaarr you’re good kid real good .. but while I’m around you’ll be second best see .. gnaarrr”

Gangster!!

This performance was halted by the continual vibration of their quicker than light speed twitching and a crack induced scratch and itch. After being presented with the question of the night, each looked at one another and smiled. "Yeah follow us.. we'll take you to where the party is" This was accompanied with some shuffling and low level laughter. It was at this moment it occurred to me they might want to mug us! (call me cynical!?) It seemed my 1920's gangster voice wasn't gonna get us out of this one.

Fortunately our female grizzly's mere presence and concrete shattering laugh was enough to shake the "9" from any mortals hands, and bend a knife like Uri Gellar. This coupled with the sheer enthusiasm at which she threw herself into the crowd not only unsettled the most hardened gang star of the pack but downright terrified the group as a whole. As they retreated deeper and deeper into their hoods murmering and conteplating, it became clear the magnitude of bringing down such a beast was one kill not even this pack could handle.

As they ran screaming for their lives, the recently arrived police smiled on, tho keeping thier distance in equal fear. I turned with my lip slipping back down over my teeth and continued to stagger now in the direction of what I hoped to be a tube station.

Reminiscing over the evening spent with some of London’s finest and worst, I arrived at the tube with my phone, wallet and life in good working order. In fairness the wallet was empty and the phone had no signal. As for my life, this was in the balance from yellow jaundice, but everything was in its right place as I headed east with an open heart, slit red eyes and the remnants of jerk sauce in my beard.

Findings? Carnival! Genius! I advise all to attend, however, this should only be done whilst taking the well placed advice of Ranger Smith, don’t feed the bears!

why is it that us Brits get clobbered with the most moan-worthy weather in Europe?

For 95% of the year we complain that the weather isn't nice enough for us, that its too overcast or cold or raining or whatever the adverse weather condition may be, and that we would much prefer it if it were very, very hot and sunny.

When we do get that coveted hot weather, usually lasting 6 or 7 days a year, then we find ourselves woefully unprepared for it.

Because its so cold all the time, we harden ourselves against it, develop thick skin and build thick, insulating walls. Therefore when the sun does come out and we experience temperatures above, say 27 degrees celcius, we find ourselves baking in our home made clay ovens. Take today for instance - its around 28 degrees and I'm sitting in my office sweating and generally feeling very, very uncomfortable. The building I am in is being described as a sweat box by everyone that's in it. We don't have air conditioning, we're not allowed to wear shorts. Its insane.

The other problem is that we have to be in offices in the first place. If I was sat outside right now next to a swimming pool and drinking cold Chang then I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here moaning about the heat - I'd be basking in it instead.

Countries like Spain have it better - they're better prepared for extreme heat and they get to have a snooze in the middle of the day. Brilliant.

I propose a complete cultural overhaul in Britain - I say, when the sun's actually out, we all stop going to work and start going to the beach; no one ever gets anything done in this heat anyway.

So there, another excuse for Britain to moan about the weather, and another reason to step up teh pace on this global warming nonsense - if we heat up the globe at least we might get more consistent weather. Bah, humbug.

Dear Mr. Clarkson,

I believe it is my duty as a Top Gear fan to write this letter to you, having recently witnessed an appalling advert on the telly for some retail establishment or other (one of the budget ones that sells beans for less than their carrier bags) - starring none other than your very own Richard Hammond. Have you seen it? Mr. Hammond appears to be pushing a trolley around the supermarket, and yet through the power of camera jiggery-pokery and modern day special effects we then see him and said trolley in such delightful and amusing scenarios as flying in a glider or perching atop bails of hay that are being dragged around by a tractor. It really is wonderful and wholesome and uncommonly cheesy. Why should you not have your lamb chops cut just the way you like them Richard, why not indeed.

So, I believe it is your place, nay, your responsibility, to sufficiently mock Mr. Hammond for his soggy “just how you like it” performance in this advertisment the next time you are filming Top Gear. He can’t possibly get away with it scott free, though I suppose from his perspective he probably gets more money for advertising the stores than he does from opening them…

I leave it to you Mr. Clarkson, do us proud.

On another note, I have an idea for a Top Gear challenge – perhaps something for Top Gear Stuntman to attempt? Anyway, the trick goes like this: You know how a formula 1 car has so much downforce thanks to its cleverly engineered bodywork and spoilers and whatnot that it sticks to the road like a formula 1 car? Well, what if you were to drive it upside down? Bear with me. I think the speed you would need to go for it to have enough downforce (or upforce) to make it stick to the ceiling is about 90mph. What if some cleverly engineered structure were built whereby a ramp twists until it is upside down, stays that way for a bit, then twists back to flat again. Try to keep up with the technical terminology.

It would be like James’s attempt at that famous Bond stunt a few weeks ago, only better (probably worth getting an actual maths person to work out the sums this time though). You would have to hit the ramp at a fair old speed, and keep it stable whilst twisting, and then keep the speed up so it stayed upside down for a prolonged period, and then get down again without being obliterated into a million tiny exploding pieces, so I’m not saying it would be easy, or safe, but how cool would that be??? Of course if it did go wrong not only would you need to find a new Top Gear Stuntman, but you’d have to explain to whoever’s formula 1 car it was why you’ve flattened it. Perhaps you could find one that belongs to an American? High risks, high rewards – just like the glory days eh Jeremy?!

So there you go, you can have that one for free. I’ve also attached a picture of a road sign in fitting with your current campaign, though I’m not entirely convinced its real. May I suggest all Welsh road signs as unnecessary and in many ways dangerous: how many motorists have lost their lives trying to work out the anagrams at the bottom of the signs underneath the real words? All those jumbled up letters must baffle and distract drivers to the point where they just give up and drive off the road voluntarily.

While I have your attention: Can I have a go round your track*? Can I be a presenter on the show*? Can I be The Stig*? Can I just hang around the studio playing with the cars*? Any chance of some free tickets to the show*? (just getting the obvious questions out of the way)

Big fan of the show etc.

Jim

(* assume to be the universal symbol of pleading/grovelling)

Making the most of it

Buying in qualified, warm data can be a great way to generate new business – you can tailor it to your own business model, choose where you want to target businesses, build rapport with your customers from an early stage and measure your return on investment with clarity and ease. However, you need to make sure you’re getting a good return from it.

Here at Logic we don’t assume to know more than anyone when it comes to selling mobile phones, so we are not going to attempt to teach you how to do it. However, for the last three years we have been using our database to book thousands of qualified appointments for B2B mobile dealers - and we’re getting pretty good at it. We book hundreds of appointments every month, supplying over 30 dealers nationwide and so far have generated new business opportunities to the equivalent of over 190,000 connections.

Based on our experiences we have written this brief guide to help you make the most of any data you purchase from us, and maximize your return on investment – after all, if you’re making money from our data then its likely you’ll buy more.

Building an effective pipeline

When buying data, the first thing we suggest is to look at your long term pipeline and buy data further in advance then you might normally, especially with the larger companies. We appreciate that you may want businesses that are renewing within the next 3 months so that you can get a quick turnaround on the deals and get those commissions in, however, you will have a much higher conversion rate if you get your foot in the door a little earlier.

By this we mean buying data with expiry dates as far as 6 months in advance. By doing this you can start calling companies long before the competition or the networks do, start building rapport, maybe even sell them some smaller products like data cards or car kits to warm up the relationship. By the time it comes to them looking to renew their mobile contract you’re already a company they are aware of and you’re more likely to win their business. This will involve more work from your sales guys making more calls, and it will take longer to see a ROI from your data, but your conversion rate from it will be much higher.

To compliment this, we can also sell you a proportion of data with expiry dates sooner, just so that you have some deals to close quickly and create a shorter term pipeline. For these we recommend smaller companies that are less likely to have been approached by other dealers or by the networks and are more likely to make a quick decision.

Testing the water

We’re always happy to do trials with our data so that you can test the accuracy and how profitable it is before you commit to larger numbers. We do have some suggestions for how you go about this:

Firstly, trialing anything less than 100 records is a complete waste of time – you just won’t get a good impression of how the data will work for you. You need to see what percentage of the leads you are going to turn into appointments or into sales, so the more data you test the better.

Second, when you do test the data you need to give it to your best sales people so that they can set the benchmark for what’s achievable.

Thirdly, if a percentage of the companies have already renewed their contracts then that isn’t the end of the world – let us know and we will work with you to replace a certain amount of that data with expiry dates further down the line.

A data trial is all about tweaking what we generate for you to make it as effective as possible.

What to buy

We understand that most dealers will have an ideal range of connections they like to deal with; some will want to target the smaller companies (e.g. 3 -50 connections), some the larger (e.g. 50-500 connections). However, if you put these restrictions on the data we provide then it is going to be more expensive to buy.

This is because we only sell data once, giving you complete exclusivity, and so if you buy the ‘cream’, then we still have to find a dealer willing to buy what you don’t, and we have to make our money from somewhere. If you will accept the whole range of data (3+ connections) then we can give you a much better price. We can also bring the price down if you are willing to buy large volumes, in a wide range of areas and are willing to commit to a contracted length of 3, 6 or 12 months.

Buying the whole range will allow you to build a balanced pipeline of short, medium and long term prospects – the smaller companies will give you a quick turnaround, while the larger companies will take longer to close but will yield greater profits. If you can get in to these companies early enough then you can give yourself a much stronger chance of competing with the networks based on the rapport you have built with the company from an early stage.

Statistically we estimate that around 70-80% of the data will be in the 5-50 handset bracket anyway.

Carrying on from my last blog, I will continue with the work theme.

As we know I work for a rather liberal and very well respected newspaper. As such I am endlessly supported with group activities that help nurcher, invigorate and energise me as an employee.

One of these tasks I gladly took up yesterday, was a day in a think tank! My enthusiasm was somewhat marred as this was disappointingly not a tank I can control with my mind and use to invade France, but a day discussing the future of the company and how we as individuals can realise its potential, make our lives richer, happier, whilst practicing good work life balance (photo copier v.s muesli consumption) in the process.

Sitting back in the large circle of chairs, faced with an array of my fellow sandal wearing, comb dodging yogurt knitting colleagues, I settled into my Wednesday with high hopes and unbridled enthusiasm of the tasks ahead! Being already well versed in such proceedings, I knew my day would consist of massaging and motivating a host of lovely liberal leftie ideas, ideals, and inspirations! I was in my element! We discussed the impending doom of recession, how we could save the economy with a hard and fast Yoga work out.. why Gordon is fucked.. who the MD would invite to dinner, dead, alive or fictional, And then, we got down to the good stuff!

Our illustrious leader raised from his chair to tell us “right we are now going to discuss Hot spots” at which with the lightening speed of a tourette stricken Barrymore, I blurted out.. “what’s a hot spot not” which received the loving reply from the group.. “a good spot” this was a good start.

From here we were tasked to come up with ideas. Not just any ideas but ideas from the very depths of our biodegradable, recyclable, allotment loving souls! The following is an idea that I was actually a part of, and one of which I am extremely proud to call myself a tiny cog of, and to think of as a large world changing machine!

We were split into small groups, divided and conquered with the view to get down and dirty in the understanding of the fluffy underbelly of a mountain goat world that makes up the fabric of our organisation. The title of our task was quite simple “Imagine if!!” After much debate, and me being told to shut up about marketing my show, we stretched ourselves into the ether, and pushed into the hot humid afternoon with hope radiating from our hearts, a glint in our eye and thoughts being transmitted from our hair as if they were aerials! Our auras were startling!!

The title of our response was earth shattering! “I child.. I learn” It was becoming increasing clear that some of my colleagues had been smoking far too many josh sticks over lunch which meant our take on “I think therefore I am” had come out a little squew wiff, but none the less the incense high had left them with a view to saving the world, starting with its children!! I was inspired!

The plan being that every child in the world gets a laptop (now just stop and think of the scale of such a task!!! China for instance fair few kiddie winks over there!!) each lap top would hold my companies learning programme which would be updated be downloadable, and probably at some point involve bookface.(Its actually a very comprehensive package which I can't write too much about) enabling us to teach the future of tomorrow!! We very nearly stood up and sang “we are the world.. we are the children” .. it was a tear jerking moment.

As the rest of the larger group imagined what it would be like if everyone made mini allotments in their hair and provided underprivileged children its fruit and carrots in place of turkey twizzlers for school dinners, my group prepared to announce our plans of world domination! Flip chats flipped, marker pens marked, and then we delivered!! Needless to say the entire company loved it, and we rode high on the intoxicating rush of saving the world through well thought out heartfelt gibberish

(there was also something about us launching a TV channel, which in fairness was actually a sensible idea, but I wasn't a part of that so have snubbed it from my mind)

As the dust settles and Thursday draws into the afternoon comedown, I am rather pleased that I can sit in my comfy, well positioned, health and safety conscious, back supporting chair and realise the dream / vision, that soon the entire world's children will be gently brainwashed/shampooed by my lovely liberal organisation, much like a piper in long slippers dancing his way across the globe peddling his liberal thoughts of excellence, with a chain of children dancing in earnest.

I have requested we start in Romford!

Buy stocks in sandals People!! The revolution is coming!!

I’m in a position at work where I get sent lots and lots of CV’s from people who see one of our adverts for remote telemarketing work online, i.e. people who want to work from home. I get about 30 a day come through by e-mail, and so get to see a wide variety of people with mixed levels of experience applying. Some candidates put a very convincing case across – a short and to the point cover e-mail with a well presented and punchy CV attached containing easily absorbed and relevant information about their education and work experience. Some people, however, write pages and pages about how much this role means to them and about how I would be making the right decision by employing them because they have good time keeping skills and once worked in a petrol garage. Its hilarious what some of these people write. I’m actually looking at a few CV’s now that I’ve received within the last 5 minutes, and in one of them a young lady named Charlotte has listed “powering up and closing down PC’s” under “Technical Skills”. Brilliant.

My favourite part is the personal statement that leads into the document - some of the nonsense people write about themselves is sometimes breathtaking. Talk about flowering up your language to make yourself sound more impressive. People are always enthusiastic, professional, dynamic, hard working, outgoing, friendly, adaptable, conscientious, practical, identical and ambitious. They are quick to grasp new ideas and concepts, to develop innovative and creative solutions to problems, and to use their intelligence and initiative to meet the tightest of deadlines. They have good administrative and organizational skills, they can work independently or as part of a team and cannot be killed by conventional weapons. Some of them make no sense at all: “I’m the kind of person who like to leave people happy also reliable, correspondent to time of work” or my personal favourite “Team skills in group communication and working, which helped me to prepare organizing and motivation a job for my future position”. Utter gibberish.

I love the work experience section as well, you can always tell when someone’s got fuck all work experience because they’ll put anything and everything down under their responsibilities. Things like using the fax, sending e-mails or switching on the computer. People who work in shops always list working at the counter as an admirable skill, as well as stock distribution and good customer service. Everyone seems to think that they are the single greatest customer service representative since Arkwright. I’ll give you some examples and let you make your own minds up:

9th July 2007- 14th July 2007
Wire Belt Company: Administrator
 Document filling
 Phone calls to customer
 Using fax
 Sending emails
 Franking
 Producing documents for the company
 Doing health checks
 Internal/external post
 Making tea and coffees
 Working together
 Meeting new people

‘Meeting new people’ is always a desperate scrabble for content. Here’s a cover letter I was sent:
“Today I have read a fantastic advert on ** from ** Ltd for sales savvy people and I am one the sales savvy looking for right opportunity at present time in telesales - direct sales. Having more than 2 years of telesales(direct sales) experience makes me suitable for this telemarketing role in your organisation so why not I should take an opportunity to apply for the same post. Well for more details about strong work experience in sales please find a detailed CV here in Ms-word. I am confident to grab the movement of personal interview and rest will be done to explore my skills and experience which are relevant for this role.”
Why not indeed. I’m loving this, I’ll let the CV’s speak for themselves from now on. Here’s a great description of someone’s technical skills:

"Technical. Gained most wide of range of using different kind of opportunities for my course BTEC in Business Management and continued to get for my Business degree in Southampton Solent University, for my par time position in Marketing company, where I could achievement very big progress, working super warmly environment even these short academic period temporary position."

Someone else on teamwork:

“According to previous work experience got good inter-personal co-ordination skill. Having good communications skill to communicate within team and top management. Previous experience improved work efficiency to work under pressure and complete given task within deadlines. I feel that these experiences have enabled me to provide the level of work efficiency on various backgrounds”

The hobbies/other interests section is always fun:

“In my spare time I enjoy reading and socializing. I love singing and dancing. when I’m older I would like to become an magazine editor, I read books such as “don’t tell mummy”. I like using the computer and creating documents and playing games.”

However, as much fun as the CV itself is, the all time greatest communication I have ever received was from an unfortunate young man named Saqib from Karachi, Pakistan, who would later expect us to pay for his travel and visa so he could be a telemarketer here in the UK, but first, we got the following introduction letter:

Attn: Human Resource Department.
To: Manager HR/ Admin Dept

Dear Sir,
I am inviting your kind attention to the following few lines for consideration. I have come to know that some posts are vacant relevant to my experience and qualification. I have 4 years of working experience and I am young , energetic and achievement oriented person. I am ready to accept the challenges of the practical life. So; I hope you will allow me a chance to serve your prestigious organization.

My Resume is enclosed for your kind perusal. As per ritual of your prestigious organization, I believe you will respond positively to me soon . I am available on ***, to answer any query and provide further information.

Looking forward to a positive response
Your contribution in my career will be highly valued.
Yours truly,

Personally I’ve never thought of my organisation as particularly prestigious, but its nice to hear from time to time. Anyway, I’ve amused myself at the expense of these poor, stupid people for long enough I think, I should really draw a close to all this wanton mockery. Hope you’ve enjoyed this little cross section of the joy I experience every day, and I’d even go so far as to suggest making up a job, putting it on gumtree and telling people to e-mail you their CV’s so you can have a jolly good laugh at them – its really good fun.

Later peeps

J

Don’t you just love snacks? When you’re that special kind of hungry that doesn’t necessarily require a full meal, not that you could be bothered to make a whole meal anyway, but you still want to stuff your face with something quick, easy and satisfying – snacks are where we usual turn. Everyone has their favourite snack as well; some prefer chocolate, some prefer crisps, in some cultures they even snack on deep fried, crispy insects to take the edge of mid-morning. Personally, my favourite is the humble scotch egg - a perfect balance of meat and egg and breadcrumb. I’d love to meet the person that came up with the idea – a crazed Scotsman with an insatiable need for protein for whom a hard boiled egg just wouldn’t cut the mustard any more:

“Agnus…Agnus! This egg is missin’ somethin’, bring me over some of tha’ meat!!”

Genius*. And so, thanks to ingenuity we now have access to a meat based snack that’s nutritious, affordable and just the right size to satisfy even the most hearty appetite. Or is it? See this is an argument I was having with an old work colleague recently. Is the standard scotch egg…big enough? No, no it isn’t. But it can’t be much bigger because of the restrictions in the size of the egg which forms its core, you couldn’t just keep adding meat until you have something twice the size, that would be ludicrous and top heavy and would spoil the delicate balance perfected by that protein hungry Scot so many years ago. To create a large scotch egg, you’d need a larger egg. Stands to reason. So that’s what we did, we bought the biggest egg we could find.

I say the biggest egg we could find, but it wasn’t in fairness. The largest edible egg (that isn’t going to kill you or make you feel nauseous for the rest of your life) is an Ostrich egg. If you live on another planet, or in America, and you don’t know what an Ostrich is, then go and look it up on the internet you lazy and uneducated cretin! Moving on. Unfortunately, due to a cruel twist of fate, I couldn’t procure an ostrich egg in time for the event to come, so I had to settle for a Rhea egg, which is still pretty fucking massive. And no, it didn’t come out of Chris Rhea’s ‘Road to Hell’, before you ask.

As you may have guessed, at this point we’d decided to charge headlong into the challenge of the large scotch egg and thought it would be ever so funny to make an absolutely massive one. And so we set to the task. I bought two rhea eggs (just in case one rolled off the table or something equally as unfortunate), 5lb of sausage meet from the local organic butcher down the road, a tub of breadcrumbs, 6 cans of premium lager and some Skittles. Although I was tempted to create the world’s first sweet/savoury/alcoholic scotch egg out of all the ingredients I’d purchased, I finally conceded that it was probably a little ambitious for our first attempt and drank the beer instead of putting it in the mixture and threw the Skittles at nearby chavs because they are wrong.

Our day began around 2pm when Dave decided to drag his still drunk from the night before arse out of bed and get to my house. We had everything we needed and we cracked on fairly sharpishly, first getting the eggs on the boil in a huge cauldron like pan. From what we’d read we figured the rhea eggs would need between 60 and 90 minutes boiling time, so they went in first. We also thought it might be an idea to have a trial run with some normal eggs seeing as we’d never attempted to make a scotch egg before, let alone the world’s biggest (not yet official). Our first attempt didn’t go well – we undercooked the eggs and when we tried to peel them they went gushing out everywhere and made a mess. We tried again, this time boiling for 12 minutes instead of 7 and this went much better. Lessen learned – boil the big ones for longer to be safe. We made scotch eggs out of the small eggs (I’d write the recipe but then I’d have to kill everyone who reads this, but I don’t know who’s read it so I’d probably have to kill everyone that uses the internet just to be sure, which might be construed as antisocial) and they went remarkably well, in fact they were the tastiest scotch eggs I’d ever eaten, possible the greatest snack I’d ever eaten. Things were looking good.

The big eggs were going to be a little trickier. We’d used a small handful of meat for the little fellas – for the big ones we’d need a pound and a half of meat. The process went: peel the shell off the eggs after cracking it with a hammer, wash the peeled egg, flatten the sausage meat into a pattie sort of thing, coat in flour, put egg on meat, roll meat around egg, coat outer layer in beaten egg, coat in breadcrumbs, cool for an hour, bake for 45 minutes, eat. The thing came out like a massive, meaty, baked football and smelled like a butcher’s dream. It took four of us to eat half of it.

The texture of the egg was remarkably similar to that of a normal egg, just that the white was a bit creamier. The yolk was exactly the same as a normal hen’s egg. If you got a good mouthful with all three combined it was, surprisingly, just like eating a normal scotch egg! The problem we found though, is that the humble scotch egg you find in deli counters and supermarkets is small for reasons beyond the size of its ingredients, its small because it creates the perfect mouthful. Its balanced and well proportioned, whereas the monster we made was just that, a monster. You had to either eat it with a knife and fork or have the mouth of a 50 year old prostitute from Leeds.

So there you have it people, the story of the massive scotch egg. It was a highly amusing idea, packed with novelty value, but when it came to finding the perfect meat and egg based snack, I think we already had it right under our noses.

Peas

*(unfortunately I’ve recently discovered that the scotch egg was in fact invented in London, at the convenience store of Fortnum and Mason in 1738, not by an angry, hungry Scot. Disappointing news but thank you anyway Wikipedia)

Firstly may I congratulate my esteemed colleague in setting up what will hopefully be an outlet of general rambelings.. ideas.. and stuff.

Marvellous..

Now, after a somewhat hectic evening of darts, beer, cocaine and extremely wide essex talking, (saying the same word twice for some reason.. ie, "comon son, let’s get on the darts, the darts son" dya wanna beer fella, a beer... ???) The beauty of forming line while they form a queue, gibbering until the early hours about the wonder of space time and distant galaxies, whether we could actually make celebrity blood sausage work, (black pudding made from famous people) and who would win in a fight between Brian Blessed and a well armed cow. I have awoken to suffer what can only be a brief glimpse of purgatory.

I work for a rather well know and very left wing paper, where people mainly discuss the benefits of anti oxidants, the future of lint as ever renewable energy source and the hilarity of anything chav. All whilst sitting in groups, knitting yogurt and wearing shoes made entirely out of bark chewed and moulded into shape by a recently found untouched tribe of papua new guineaians in return for mars bars and MTV.

Its good.. however! Me, my swollen bulging eyes, gibbering brain and screaming hangover are finding it hard to deal with work today. I'm finding it especially hard to keep up the pretence that everything is "amazing".. Cracks are starting to appear in my world..

Peoples voices are high pitched shrieks and shrills.. that have reduced me to hide behind my chair throwing a hole punch or stapler, lap top if needed at anyone that might want to converse.. Life is challenging to say the least. Whilst not hiding I'm slumped at my desk with my chin on the spacebar dribbling into the bottom row of my quirky keyboard.

People are complaining of a low level deep rumbling sound, which has so far been blamed on the air conditioning, in fact this me growling and moaning at the fact that I am alive, and not been given the relief of death. Normally I can handle a hangover, but today I'm hanging to the point of a near stroke... the reason for this hangover to be harder to deal with than most follows.

You see to add to my horror, I am forced to listen to a creature that projects the worst noise I could bear... unbridled middle/upper-class uppity snobby babble! If you were to listen to the back chatter of my little office, well mainly the desk directly behind me, you would hear that everything is amazing in this fluffy rabbits tail of this silly individuals post private school wonderland...

I have come to find there is a certain noise this small demographic makes, an accent exactly the same no matter where they grew up. In keeping with the correct image, this one most especially has infinite amount of opinions, and happily glares down its inordinately long nose at anyone that that could possibly be considered close to working class.

My favourite quote to-date... "Oh god you know, I'm talking about scumbags.. filth.. people that live on council estates and work on market stalls"... sigh!

Its unfortunately noises like this that will be followed by.. "oh come on .. I'm only saying what your all thinking" cue high pitched giggle and self congratulatory smile at the braveness of such outspoken hilarity.

At the moment this particular individual has just been given a cup of tea... which as you guessed is "amazing" I believe it is made out of nettles!!? Seriously were you not stung as a child?? I was blotchy and covered in calamine lotion from the age 3 to 13! A horrific experience that has left me more than jaded and somewhat of a recluse when it comes to the nettle, as for making tea out of the fucker?? NO I'm afraid not!

The amazing list doesn't stop there mind.. No no.. the most amazing thing at the moment, everything from the 80's!

Now growing up in the 80's I am slightly inclined to agree.. The A team "drink milk fool.. Pain!!" Madness, “the heavy heavy munster sound”, Pamela Andersons tits, Maguiver stuck in a tree managing to fashion a rudimentary rocket propelled grenade from a paper clip, the sun, and a small squirrel. Maggie Thatcher nicking my milk.. well that was a low... but mainly these are the bastions of my youth. However!!! large plastic glasses.. dressing like your auditioning for a spoof of fame.. (thankfully no one lives forever.. let alone you!) and the bizarre practice of adopting the fashion of Timmy mallet on crack, is all starting make my head spin!

I unfortunately suffered the 80s the first time round, and am glad to say I had enough sense come the 90's to put Timmy mallet.. big plastic glasses, neon clothing and the relax don't do it t-shirts in a bag and down to the river. An action I may well take up with the next person who tells me "oh my god... my new leg warmers are amazing.

So sat at my desk with my brain throbbing from not only my hangover but the inane white noise that shrieks, shrills and spouts its opinions, I find myself somewhat at the end of my tether!

My work is suffering, I'm reduced to fending off e-mails by thrusting a swivel chair at my screen and whipping the lead of my mouse at the floor, in the hope of pushing back the constant requests for me to do anything other than cringe and stare longingly at the sky for sweet release. My brain simply can't compete with the ear splitting sound of high pitched nonsense and deal with the incoming bombardment of e-mails. The outcome ..I find myself slumped at my desk like a stroke victim reeling from the onslaught of inane babble and the continual pounding of my head. I long for the days when work was fun, and a killer hangover would be your only challenge... this new level of torture is just too much to bare.

My only answer so far is to place a landmine under its keyboard. But where do you get a landmine during your lunch break in the middle of Farringdon?? Perhaps i’ll try woolies.. JML section!

So suffering in relative silence.. other than the rumbling groan, I eagerly wait in anticipation of 530.. When in all fairness I will be drinking with the remaining work lot, who I thankfully along with, in the search of the only cure, a hair of the dog. Hopefully this won't be marred by the back ground noise of headbands being "so the new thing"

This rather ironically will probably lead me back to my less than makeshift wanna be Gordon Gecko pad to watch some 80’s trash as I fall a kip.

What can I say .. life’s “AMAZING”

This may be the first and last entry for a while as I feel a Ferris coming on....

Beauler..... beauler.....!

Next Blog to be nowhere near as jaded!