Not quite living up to your hero

It's probably not entirely normal to say this, but Samuel Pepys is my hero.

I have a deep and abiding fascination with Restoration London, perhaps in no small part to his descriptions... but then, perhaps I have the interest in Pepys because he happened to be there are a fascinating time in history. I have yet to work this part out. Either way, when I moved to London I was delighted to find out my workplace was within easy wandering distance of a lot of the places he lived and worked, and I have spent quite a few happy lunch hours wandering around, looking at St Brides and Seething Lane and St Pauls. It has, if anything, possibly heightened my interest in Pepys.

I would like to be like Pepys, except perhaps without the copious extra-marital affairs or that time he was locked in the Tower. I identify with him, too – he came from a humble background, got a leg up due to cleverness honed with education, and was a skilled and talented administrator. I'd like to be like that, ideally with some of the massive success that is due at about this age, actually.

One of reasons Pepys and I differ, however, is that Pepys was an amazing diarist. We all know this. The plaque on the site of his birth saddens me, as I don't think that's now he would want to be remembered, but his skills of observation are unsurpassed. I'm managing to blog about twice a month, although my excuse is that Pepys didn't have interesting stuff to watch on the telly to distract him.

Anyway, Pepys would often go and have a nosey at interesting sights on London streets. Imagine my opportunity when they announced the route for Thatcher's funeral going more or less past my work? I could blog about that!

In the end, though,I didn't watch the funeral. There are two reasons for that: firstly, I had no desire to actually get involved in the thing, as I dislike the woman thoroughly and didn't want to be seen praising her, but I also had no desire to get involved in the protesting as I do think it was a little distasteful. Also, it was my turn to look after the switchboard.

Instead, on my walk to work from the Tube, I took a detour along some of the route. I lost count of police at 52, and to my secret gratification I saw Jon Snow, although not in a jolly tie for obvious reasons. More confusing was the large amount of quite jolly people out, taking the day as another cheery day in London, posing for foreign reporters. It all contrasted a little with the scary signs of the state -all of the Boris bikes were gone, no traffic on normally busy roads, police everywhere, and vehicle blocking equipment down every side street. It was quite good to get into work, in the end.

Where I sit in work I have no view of the main streets, but I could hear the noise in the backgrounds. Military bands played, and more ominously the helicopters roared over constantly for a good few hours. BBC News 24 was on the office TV and it was weird to see the streets we worked on full of all the fanfare. (A waste of public money, might I add.)

On my lunch, after the funeral was over, I had a wander up to St Pauls. The streets were still very busy, and I was mystified by the amount of people with sandwiches and little folding chairs. This was the funeral of someone who was – at the end of the day and indeed her life – a public citizen. It shouldn't have been a national event, and I'm a little bemused that it was. Still, at St Pauls I was pleased to see someone giving a lecture that sounded a lot like one of the lectures from The Ragged Trousered Philanthropist. More alarming was all of the police going off duty in the direction of Old Bailey – I have literally never seen so many in one place.

It was, basically, a weird day. In the end I went out for a drink after work – and why not? It was remarkably quiet, given the amount of office workers who had the day off. That's a fair indictment of Thatcher right there – given I work in one of the few areas she wasn't having a good go at crushing, it's ironic a lot of us got some time off, therefore reducing productivity.

This write up has mostly convinced me that I am no Pepys – so now to bedd, for my head is aking.

Graduate recruitment: trainee vurglesplatters needed!

So, in a hilarious turn for the weird, in my new job one of my responsibilities in graduate recruitment.

“Do you know anything about graduate issues?” they asked me, and I sort of burbled a bit and then got afraid they'd seen my blog. (IF SO: HI GUYS.)

I actually really enjoy my job. People are still nice, I'm getting more responsibilities, I don't have horrible jaggy days where I hate myself and my job so much I just want to cry or burn down the office or possibly both. Okay, I still occasionally think 'Is this it?' and the Circle line is the bane of my life, but things are on the up.

My job has also opened my eyes about graduate recruitment. Now, I've actually been part of several recruitment drives before, and I've also a few years now of HR and employment law and all that stuff. All the things I've said previously remain valid. However, never before had I seen specific graduate recruitment. Sure, I've seen the other side of it as an applicant, but this is new to me.

And finally! it means I have something relevant for blogging about. My reflections on London, whilst fascinating to myself, are a wee bit off message, and a lot of the other stuff is difficult to write about in a sufficiently anonymous way.

So, for future reference, I work in a company that specialises in providing vurglesplat experts to the wider world. What's vurglesplat, you say. Well, bluntly, it's a small industry full of nerds and I'm not being specific. Crucially, I work in the HR department. The technological people may as well be doing vurglesplat for all I understand of it. It makes for an entertaining night at the pub, where they talk about their projects and then look at me expectedly.

Anyway, we are now looking for junior vurglesplatters. Vurglesplat is something you can study at uni in modules and in specific postgrad courses, and even if your interest is only peripheral then it's okay, because lots of training is provided. Good degree in something vaguely relevant – business! maths! IT! engineering! all elements towards vurglesplat! - and perhaps some work in the field, ish, and that's all we're asking.

Stupidly, I thought this would be easy.

Here are some of the reasons why graduate recruitment is harder than it needs to be.

1. Vurglesplatters are really, really bad at explaining their job. You have no idea how long it took to come up with a job advertisement. “No,” I had to keep on gently saying, “two years industry experience is not a reasonably request.”

2. Once that's done, have you ANY IDEA how terrible university job centre websites are? UNIMAGINABLY AWFUL that's what. As all sensible students and graduates now, they are a great resource for looking up jobs that are specifically hiring from their particular institution. I did hours of research about universities that offered vurglesplat and did a good course using similar vurglesplat theories. I looked up league tables. Careers Centre, I want to hire YOUR students. WHY OH WHY do you have websites that are nigh on impossible to use and why do you staff not reply to emails?

(Although I'd like to take a moment to big up my alma mater St Andrews for its swift response within 20 minutes to my query. Knew I could trust you, guys! Some other institutions, that will remain nameless, have stayed quiet for a WEEK now.)

In all seriousness, a job that should have taken perhaps an afternoon at best – simply uploaded a job specification to 25+ institutions, how hard can that be? - took me three days. I do have other work to do, you know.

3. Yes, yes, it's probably easier to advertise on Milkround and Prospects. They cost a lot of money, did you know that?

So, all of those things are an issue and a barrier between graduates and soon-to-be gradautes getting a job.

I can't talk much about the process, because it's only just got started. However, we have started to get some applications through. We don't have an application form with lots of silly questions, because no one wants to write it, bluntly. All we ask for is a CV. Here are The Disorientated Graduate's hints and tips to get through the screening process (i.e., er, me):

1. We are asking for people to be vurglesplatters. Sure, trainee vurglesplatters, but it's still a specific role. DO NOT tell me about how much you're enjoying training to be an English teacher. Seriously, though, did you even read the job specification? DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK TO UPLOAD IT TO YOUR INSTITUTION?

2. Grammar and spelling are your friend! So, it must be said, is a covering letter. They're not essential, but it's a good way of listing your 'soft skills'.

3. You may not have relevant industry experience. When I left uni, my industry experience was to be a cleaner, a care home assistant or a shop worker. So I sympathise with you, particularly if you have a good academic background and have passed the first two stages of my checklist. So, as a hint, turn your part time job into an example of how good you are at the world of work based on the job specification. Does the job want good time management? Well, you need that if you work in a shop because of the different tasks that need doing WHILST still being able to drop everything and serve a customer! Teamwork? Well, being a waiter involves being part of a chain of people involved in one single aim! Think outside of the box, a bit. Personally I'm deeply sympathetic but there's only so much I can to make other people look at your CV.

4. To return to point 1, seriously, do look at the job you're applying for though, yes? I am fed up of logging POINTLESS applications.

That's the only experience I have thus far. We've barely started shifting through applications, let alone interviewing and that. Still, it's interesting and also GOOD BLOG MATERIAL.

Now if you'll excuse me I have a stinking cold and need to return to curling up in a blanket.

Dealing with weird hobbies

I used to work in a relatively small workplace with what I now realise was a reasonably homogeneous workplace. As long as you could talk about the football you were generally okay – we all came from roughly the same place and the same background. Hell, three of us had history degrees. On one notable afternoon we discussed Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. We discussed minor character plot points. This was considered normal.

I now work in a significantly bigger workplace which is a bit of a surprise and has a lot of stuff I wasn't quite expecting. I was prepared for the fact there would be people from a wider variety of cultures, and I'm enjoying that. I'm not the only northerner but I'm the only recent one, so I quite enjoyed telling the sales team what the term 'reet' meant. (Translation: “Right” or in context “Alright,” so you might say in response to a query “Nah, I'm reet ta!” which is a sentence that really puzzles my Scottish inlaws.) People bring in food on national festivals, for example, so whilst I am getting fatter I am at least becoming more enlightened. All of that is good.

No, the real surprise is what a wide variety of people I work with and trying to find common ground. I am a fairly quiet geeky sort. I work in a geeky, male-dominated industry so I assumed that I would fit right in with a bit of Star Trek, but this doesn't appear to be the case thus far.

Firstly, I appear to have arrived in the middle of a baby boom. I am mildly childphobic, or at least in term of actually sprogging up myself, so to be constantly surrounded by people who are pregnant/have partners who are pregnant/be just back from maternity/paternity leave is a very bizarre experience. I'm fairly good at expressing interest in other people's kids. My cheery excuse of “I live in a one bedroom flat in Walthamstow!” means that I can put off the 'when are you going to have kids?' question for now, but I do idly wonder how I will deal with the same question in my thirties.

Also, other people's hobbies are really weird. I'm quite good at deflecting football questions, but I have no idea how to discuss one colleague's deep and abiding interest in Rolls Royces. That said, no one appears to share my passion for London restoration architecture – I got very excited about a Wren church near my work and everyone else was baffled.

Also, I would be posting more often but I must confess to being sort of constantly exhausted at the moment. I have lots of fascinating stuff to write about, but finding the time to do so is a little tricky. When you spend all day learning about classic cars (despite your personal inclinations of 'you're a nice guy, but I really don't care, please be quiet') I think the brain shuts down a little. 

Alas, no one in my work practises extreme ironing. I think.

Shock: you deserve to not hate your job

One of the really weird things about my new job is that I don't hate it.

Now, that might sound like boasting, but it's mostly given me so much-needed perspective about my old job, my first real 'graduate' job. I was there for three years, and it's very weird the awful, awful things you start to take as being both normal and entirely acceptable. It wasn't quite full on Stockholm Syndrome, but there was an element of pushing things to the back of my mind and pretending that they were a-okay.

You see – and I speak for a lot of graduates, I think, of the last five years or so – is that we have been made to feel quietly worthless. Not being NEETs, generally speaking being childless, having a public perception (whether true or not) that we have parents to fall back on and not having mortgages, etc, there was a sense that we were constantly at the back of the queue. We're all useless, with our silly degrees and no hard experience, expecting to walk into an amazing job. We should be grateful for any kind of paid employment we should have because we deserve no better.

Which has led to some employers, frankly, taking the piss.

I'm not going to go too far into details, mostly because my old employer is litigation-happy and liable to withhold references, but basically I put up with a long list of crap. I casually mentioned in my newest job that there was CCTV at my old work, which took in our computers and the boss would occasionally watch it on his laptop at home if he was running late. Stunned horror met this statement. I... sort of didn't realise that wasn't normal? There's CCTV in many workplaces, I realise that, but in an office was that strictly necessary?

That's just one example, and a rather specific and non-graduate one at that. The point is that I was willing to put up with everything, despite the fact that I was deeply unhappy and often fantasised about somehow crashing my car in a non-fatal way in order to miss work that day.

Graduates, you will have to put up with some crap in your working lives. My last job had some good things about it, and got me some much-needed office experience, but in the end I was too scared by the economy to move on.

Let's get some things straight: my new job isn't perfect by a long stretch. New people are scary, and these are a lot of new people in a very technical field that I mostly don't understand yet. Some of the work is a bit monotonous. The Tube is still a challenge most day, and the day is a significantly longer one. I don't look good in proper office clothes, either. But I don't wake up unhappy, and I've remembered that actually I am a rather intelligent human being, I have worked hard, and I deserve a job where I can proudly say: “I've earned this.”

Graduates: you will almost certainly have to put up with crappy jobs, but don't stay with them forever because you think you should, because you think you're no better, because you're scared. My new job is not a perfect job, but it's a damn sight better and life feels like a better place.

Most of the above is not particularly enthralling blog material, which is why it's been a few weeks to put together. However, I think I may be getting some more material together soon, and you can always rely on the government to say some face-gnawingly stupid things before too long. So there's something to look forward to.

New job

When I left university, I assumed that I would have a job in a busy city, striding through crowds wearing a business suit and clutching a Starbucks on the way to an important meeting type thing. This rather failed to materialise. My first job post university was working in a trendy-yet-casual clothes shop so I used to sit amongst the commuters in jeans and a hoodie, and nip for a MacDonalds breakfast when I was trying to bribe some of the younger members of staff. (Management tip of the day for you, there.)

Anyway. Now, to my amazement, I am in fact battling through business crowds whilst wearing a smart suit. I'm not holding Starbucks, because I dislike coffee and Starbucks is just as evil as we always suspected. My first day, as I proudly strode through (and by 'strode' I mean battled in a sort of nervous, 'oh god I'm so short' way) the crowd, I felt sort of proud.

Then I realised that I was totally hopeless at this.

The reason there's been such a long hiatus is because 'Disorientated Graduate' is something that came about when I used to be able to walk to work, and I wondered at what point in my university life it came about I was only suited to work in an office on a farm in the arse end of nowhere. So yelling in an overjoyed way 'LOOK! I HAVE A JOB I DON'T ACTUALLY LOATHE!' was a little cruel to my readers, all three of you.

Yet the last fortnight has proven to me that university has failed to get me used to just about anything. I have stopped internally screaming on the Tube (at one point, even emitting a faint squeak when I realised that yes, yet more people really were going to join our train, let's talk about the Circle line at some point in the future), but gosh, this is a new world. I have no idea how to behave, not really.

One thing I have learnt, though: big offices are <i>weird</i>. More anon.

Moving house (a hiatus)

A query: what, exactly, does everyone else do with their old university work? I have carried it, in the manner of a demanted pack rat, around several houses now and it's currently sat in shiny new boxes (yes, plural) waiting to be moved to the new house tomorrow. Mr DG has managed to get everything into two folders.

I have no idea if this is weird. From one perspective, my mum still has all her college work in boxes in the attic. From another perspective, she actually has an attic, a house she owns, and no intention to move house until she leaves this one in a wooden box. (Her words, not mine.) My university folders are a thing of beauty, preceding my love of filing in a professional manner. I don't want to get rid of them!

Anyway, whilst you all ponder these issues (tell me what you do in the comments!) this is a wee hiatus announcement. Tomorrow, I am moving to London. Today, I am mostly going to and from the recycling centre (I can get rid of, you know, other stuff, I just have a block on uni stuff), packing up the kitchen and trying not to freak out. I'm only writing this post as part of my magnificent ability to procrastinate. After moving, there will be no internet for about a week or so, resulting in some quietness from me.

A bit of consideration, people

As we all probably know, it's currently an employers market when it comes to jobs. I was staying in London with a family friend for a set of interviews, and he wondered if they still reimbursed you for travelling to interviews. I laughed uproariously. I do dimly remember a time, back just before I graduated, when job applications had dire messages telling you that they couldn't reimburse for travel. So clearly, it used to happen. Not any more.

I have become used to not having results from job applications. It's got to the point where getting a rejection letter is actually rather enjoyable, because at least SOMEONE has read the application.

You know what's really bloody rude though? When you've been for an interview and they still don't get in contact with you. One interview I went to – three weeks ago! - told me I'd hear back within 24 hours. After a week, I sent a polite e-mail enquiring about when I might hear a response. At the start of the next week, they told me. It is only today that they've rejected me. And not just a rejection, oh no. They told me that they'd 'decided not to recruit for the role'. So you've dragged me down to London and now you've decided the job doesn't exist? Are you fucking KIDDING me?

There's a bright side to all this, and it's that I've actually been offered a job. Yeehaw! They also didn't get back to me within the predicted timeframe, but I did get a message saying there would be a delay. It takes two minutes to send an e-mail like that, employers. It's not hard. The job I've got is the one I wanted more than the rest by quite a large margin, but I needed work for my move to London.

There is also the very real possibilities of what happens if you wait a long time to let someone know the results. I am, it must be said, enjoying telling people that since my interview I have interviewed for, been offered and accepted another job.

One of the elements of my new job? Sending feedback to candidates who have interviewed for the company, successful or otherwise. Having this element of respect for people who don't even work for the company is a very good sign, in my eyes. Also, no poverty for Christmas. Wheeee!

Just... have some respect, employers. Someone has taken the time to apply to your company, travel to the interview, iron the interview suit, go through the preparation and the nerves. Even if they're no good, it takes a tiny amount of time to let people know how they've got on. We may be the faceless mass of desperate people to you, but one day you might be the same boat. Think about it.

Interview preparation, and possibly how not to do it

Job interviews are HARD. I go in intending to have the self confidence and general awesomeness of this:

What actually happens is this:

The only bright side to my current round of interviews is that my current employer knows they're happening, which means at least I don't have to come up with an increasingly large roster of dead relatives and hospital appointments. This is about the only good side.

I haven't done any interviews for a long while, and I haven't done a successful interview for even longer, so to say I'm out of practice would be an understatement. Before we even get to the interview itself, there's all the stuff around it. In my case, this has involved buying an interview suit that actually fits, wearing in a new pair of shoes, and remembering where I had put all of my see-through piercing gauges. (I am aware I am getting too old to be as heavily pierced as I am, but there we go.) This is more difficult than I remembered, although that said I've never been very good at shopping.

After that, there's the travel arrangements. I'm quite good at negotiating my way around public transport systems – if you can work out Salzburg, you can do anything – but getting to London in time for an interview without re-mortgaging your house is a difficult task. I don't even have a house to re-mortgage. That's just depressing. Plus, you have to find the interview location itself. One recent interview gave me a map to their office from the train station. Like a fool, I trusted it, which led to me wandering in circles around a suburban Surrey town for forty five minutes last week. NEVER AGAIN.

Then you have to prepare for the interview. Now, there's a fair amount of research you can do using the internet and a bit of nous, but there are a great deal of unknowns. You have to put together a question to ask,which is nigh on impossible, and try to remember your own work history and how it links in with the company and the job description. Chances are your application was some time in the distant past, so you also have to remember the spin you put on it as well.

I haven't heard anything back from any of the interviews I've had thus far, so I have no idea just how badly I crashed and burned in any of them, or if indeed the preparation listed above was any use. All the preparation in the world doesn't make a damn difference, because you can't control how well you do or do not get on with someone. Or indeed, my tendency to babble a little. 

I have another interview next week too, hence the fact I'm typing this rather than actually doing said preparation. Fingers crossed at least one of them comes back with something positive, and I can get on with everything else to do with moving across the whole country, i.e. freaking out about the sheer amount of stuff we own and making some fairly random donations to the various charity shops in my local area.

Job hunting part the first

So, since I'm job hunting in common with many millions of people – a big chunk of whom are graduates – I feel it's worthwhile using these experiences to blog about. In job seeking terms, this is maximising the potential of a situation to improve myself as a person.

The first thing I'm going to talk about is how wonderfully kind people are. Yeah, that's a surprise, isn't it? Looking for work is HARD, and it's easy to focus on the sensation that you and your multiple applications are basically pissing in the wind, with the only responses being cheery automated messages thanking you for your application and then nothing but deadly silence.

The thing is, though, friends and family are wonderfully kind and well-meaning. I've only been looking for work for three weeks, and I've lost count of the amount of e-mails sending over job openings, people letting me know about agencies that have worked for them, and even putting good words in for me with their workplaces. It's made me remember that the world isn't full of horrible people. There is an element of 'all in this together', storing up good karma. The job market is a horrible and uncertain place, and it feels like everyone has experienced this feeling of pissing into the wind.

I tell you what though, applying for jobs via nepotism is just weird. The jobs that friends send over in their organisations are jobs that I actually want to do and feel capable of doing. So I apply to them, but then there's that weird moment where you think – do I mention the friend or not? Sometimes you have to, as part of the application form, but other times it's weird, wondering if its worth name-dropping in the application form. Then there's the terrifying moment when you ponder if your application is wrong for the job, and if you have name-dropped the member of staff will you embarrass them?

OH GOD THE TENSION.

The thing is, I'm still glad that everyone is sending over the job openings. I have no idea if they will lead to anything, but more applications the merrier. I'm being vague because if any future employers are reading this I don't want to give anything away, but one minor bit of nepotism has got me an interview which may or may not lead to a job. I've also had some leads in terms of things that aren't nepotism, so we'll just have to see what happens.

Still, it's an interesting process, and one I can look on with some objectivity as obviously I'm still in my current job so I'm not scrabbling for money, just yet. It's an interesting process. We'll see how it continues, and I will keep on squirrelling blog posts away in an attempt not to wail too loudly about how much I seem to suck at telephone interviews.

London! Yay?

So, after years in a small town in the North of England, I am taking the well worn graduate path and moving down to London.

I would like to pretend this is because I have a shiny new job, but actually it's because my husband has a shiny new job and I am so ready for a change. When I was a student, I sort of assumed I'd end up moving to a large city, drinking lattes and using public transport. I ended back up in a small town I grew up in, managing to move all of ten miles down the road to the coast 18 months ago to a marginally larger town. I'll admit, there's a stonking pub here but that's about it.

As such, I am wildly excited. We're moving towards the end of next month. I remain excited until you ask me the following questions:

1. Where are you going to live?

2. What are you going to do for a living?

3. How do you plan to move that monstrosity you call a sofa down the stairs, anyway?

Then I sort of crumble and have to try to resist the urge to have a little cry.

Now, we are sort of coping with part 1 via going flat hunting at the weekend, and part 3 has been solved with the grim resolve of spending a large amount of money on a moving firm. I am proud of our large amount of mismatching but sturdy furniture, and I simply can't face going furniture shopping in the near future. Logically, the best thing to do is schlep it all down to London, and to prevent Mr DG and I divorcing with less than a year under our belt we may as well avoid the arguments that our mutual attempts to move furniture cause.

Part 2 is one filled with fear and horror and a grim sense of denial. Do I have a job lined up yet? No. Do I have a plan? Only if wildly flailing counts.

Still, I suppose it's more relevant to a graduate blog as we discuss my wild scrabbles through the world of jub hunting. I'm still in my current job at the moment, but desperately trying to persuade employers that I am really very good at administration and should be taken on for the specialist administration roles I'm applying for. OR EVEN A WRITING JOB TO ANYONE READING THIS. Yes, I actually do enjoy administration work, or to be precise I rather prefer getting paid and administration is the quickest way to do it. Quietly I hope I'm going to use this move to find paid employment writing stuff – are you reading this, employers? I can create content for PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING, you should see my portfolio, ASK TO SEE MY PORTFOLIO PLEASE?! However, I enjoy eating and paying rent more than I want to be a starving artist, so now it's a desperate scrabble for a job.

Still, a small and dirty part of me thinks that at least this will be stonking blogging material. Between the job hunt and the move and the new place, I am set up for MONTHS to come, before we even get to the whole bitter Northerner issue.

Plus, bonus Kermit gif.

Feeling slightly left behind (this time, avoiding libel!)

I had a very weird experience in work the other day. We have Radio 1 on in work, despite all being way too old for the demographic. (I want Radio 6, other staff want Radio 5, some losers want Magic, weirdly on that list Radio 1 is the middle ground. We all like Scott Mills.) Anyway, it chirps along in the background, excluding occasionally howling abuse at Fern Cotton. No one really listens to it, but it keeps the office from weird silence.

No, really, I'm going somewhere with this.

Anyway, the radio was chirping away, and I was vaguely aware of Fern Cotton and another female presenter talking cheerfully about a hot new boyband, and how the lead singer was the only one worth looking at. Christina, my desk buddy, suddenly gave a shriek.

“Disorientated Graduate! That bloke they're talking about! You went to school with him!”

[n.b. Christina went to a different high school, but in the same small town – the crossover of people known is fairly high.]

Anyway, I listened properly and gave out a small shriek myself. “OH MY GOD, I DID!”

He's the closest thing from my school year that constitutes a celebrity, obviously excluding my upcoming fame as a writer. He was on a popular talent show, albeit without getting through to the live shows or having too much TV time, and dated a famous female singer for quite a long time. Then they broke up, and an ex-colleague of mine, who lives opposite the chap in question's parents, informed me she broke up with him because he 'didn't earn enough money, and she wanted a man to earn more money than she did'. I am, as such, failing to name any of the people involved so I'm not sued for libel. (DISCLAIMER: I would also like to point in that I have no idea if the aforementioned story is true, and is probably just slightly malicious gossip. Amusing, though.)

Anyway, I did some googling and was highly amused to see that the chap in question is in fact the lead singer of an up and coming boyband of whom even I've heard of, although he's got a lot of fake tan and a bit of a perm involved.

Then I felt a bit depressed, and a little bit old as well. Or possibly that I'm getting left behind, a little bit, mostly because one of my dearest friends just had a baby and has now made a lovely little family. One of my fondest (and fuzziest) memories of aforementioned friend is in our first year at university when we got legless at a Rocky Horror themed night at the union, and I think we're still on the Union website in our underwear, convinced we look sexy. Now she's a mother, and a radiant one at that. And someone I still remember singing in the Year 3 Christmas play has a song on Radio 1.

I am aware that I'm pretty awesome, honestly. I'm doing well in my life, and at a party this weekend a group of us celebrated the genuine leaps ahead we've made in the last twelve months in our lives. One of the problems of being a graduate – and perhaps, simply being this age – is that occasionally I'm blown away by the achievements on my peers, and I feel a little behind. I know I'm not, and goodness knows I don't want to be a pop star or indeed a mother; still, it's a strange feeling.

Labels

One of the main problems of being a graduate type is that when you graduate and don't fall into your dream job (or indeed any job at all), it leads to a strangely existential crisis. You see, for years and years you were just 'a student'. Okay, not just a student, but the studying was essential to your understanding on yourself. Student discount, student politics, student feminism, student geek, student historian. They come with their own assumptions and values, which can often be negative but have positive connotations for the student themselves. My sister thinks students are lazy scum, but I rather like students.

So the crisis when you leave university and lose the label is something of a traumatic thing. Having been defined for so long by your full-time life, it's horrible having to be 'Second Accounts Assistant' or 'Retail Assistant' because quite simply it's not as snappy a title. Even those in their dream jobs are generally struggling a little, as many titles don't trip off the tongue. And 'job seeker' just doesn't sound good, even if it's not a negative thing in itself.

Tackling it is difficult. I take the self-deprecation route, myself, and go for 'Office Monkey' or 'Admin Bitch' depending on my mood. Or I lie at parties, which is morally wrong but I like to see what I can get away with. It was a moment of some distress when I got married and filled in a census in a twelve-month period and realised that I would, historically speaking, forever be tarred as 'Administration Clerk' for the rest of my life. Hell, I put down 'clerk' instead of 'assistant' just to sound a bit more historical. I wanted to put astronaut, but the council office were pretty insistent that was illegal. I wonder if on <i>Who Do You Think You Are 2150</i> some descendent will look at me and just think I was boring based on the records. I hope not.

My trick, these days, is to look at the other things in my life, and create a series of labels that aren't based around my job. Yes, I'm an office monkey, and that is a big part of my life. I'm also a writer. I'm a feminist. I'm a geek. I'm lots of things that are separate to me as a worker, and it's with that I keep my happiness and my sanity.

- -

Another label I can take on for the next fortnight is 'traveller'. Having managed to get my laptop back, I'm on the road as of Friday, finally getting to go on honeymoon. As I only have a year left to be classed as a 'young person' (another label!) according to Interrail standards, I'm off around Europe for two weeks with Mr DG and probably too much beer. As such, this is another hiatus announcement, but things should settle down when I'm back. Probably.

Greetings from the North!

Greeting, visitors to Britain! You are probably here for the Olympics, which I'm probably not allowed to talk about, being as I'm not an official sponsor. Before Logoc comes to break my fingers, allow me to express warm felicitations from the North of the country. You know, not London. No, Watford doesn't count.

I hope you're enjoying the warm weather! According to the weather lady on Breakfast (is the lack of adverts confusing you yet, by the way?) she'll cheerfully tell you that 'the UK is getting sunshine today!' This isn't strictly true, as she'll go to mention '… except for Scotland, Northern Ireland, the North and some areas of Wales'. It's okay! We're just sacrificing our sunshine for athletes from hotter climes. We're really enjoying having humid yet grim days, and being consistently reminded of how lovely it is down South, like we don't matter. HONESTLY, WE'RE NOT RESENTFUL. NOT AT ALL.

If you enjoy driving, I entreat you to come and visit us up here. We have exactly the same traffic as we always have, not having half of the place shut. I wouldn't advise getting public transport up here, though. Just trust me.

Please also come and see our industrious attitude to work! Unlike our capital, we're all working through the Games, and that's including anyone in cities that are having events, such as Manchester and Edinburgh. When I say 'working' I mean 'signing on', a quaint custom from the 1970s and 1980s that our Government has been working tirelessly to bring back to our cities. Those of us who are not (yet) indulging in this historic tradition may occasionally be found muttering about the difficulty in doing any business south of Birmingham, as for various reasons our economy still swirls around supply there. Still, we're managing to power through the next two weeks, unless the economy drops any more. The excitement, for many of us, is just too much to bear!

You will also be astonished to hear our quirky accents. You won't have heard us on TV before, and no doubt you'll have prepared to cope with London accents via Dick Van Dyke and Audrey Hepburn. Still, if you do take a jaunt up here then try not to look too surprised at our very different approach to the language. “Fookin' cockney twat” is a charming term, we assure you, and please try it on any locals you may find in the East End of the London! They will be amazed at your attempts to take on the language of the entire country. That said, they probably haven't heard it either, as many are of the believe that above Watford simply reads 'Here Be Dragons'.

(We have no dragons. That's Wales.)

Try not to be alarmed at the food prices in the Olympic parks! Come to the North, we can do you double fish and chips with mushy peas for the price you'd pay in the Olympic parks. If you are also alarmed by the security in Heathrow, we can assure you that it's all for your own good. In Manchester airport, it's possible for an eleven year old to wander through without a passport, possibly because the North has also given up all of its Border Agency staff. We do this for your safety, Olympic visitors!

Enjoy the Olympics, and if you have the time, do try to think of the North of the country, and allow us to assure you that we have nothing but warm feelings towards London and our fine and mighty Government!

The author of this piece is in no way bitter and cold about the whole matter, and hasn't just had a surprising and worrying letter at work from some suppliers and contractors about logistics in London, messing up the whole month of plans. Nor does she find the mascots the most frightening thing she's seen in some time. The only sport she's honestly looking forward definitely isn't just keirin. She's overwhelmed with excitement. Honest.

Summer holidays

Most, if not all, schools, colleges and universities have Broken Up For The Summer (excluding you poor buggars doing nursing, who I am aware don't get to have holidays either). Although the weather has yet to show much sign of improving, it's officially summer time. Ergo, it's time to talk about holidays.

I took all of one summer holiday while in university, three glorious weeks backpacking around Italy. (I came back with a deep and spiritual need for tea, mostly.) Other than that, I spent all of my holiday time working, and used to think I was a pretty hardcore and awesome human being, working all through my A-Levels and then my degree. Take your internships and stick 'em up your arse, I thought quietly, I'm going to spend the summer cleaning the toilets.

What I didn't realise was that a change is as good as a rest, and essentially nine months studying and working and then three months working and, er, mostly drinking was sort of like going on holiday. It was a change to the routine, and I was desperate to get back to uni by the end of it.

Now I have, in essence, four weeks of holiday a year. My employer chooses to give us the legal minimum of holidays, and being office based this includes our mandatory shut down periods which eats up a week of leave. As such, four weeks off a year. Last year I hoarded them like a miser in order to take off all of March, and coped with it reasonably well, I thought. This year I am struggling, somewhat.

A week off last week ended in a surprise trip to Venice (surprising to me, Mr DG and probably also Venice) which was wonderful, but the flatness on the return to work was fairly awful. After four days in I headed out again for a long weekend, and now I know that I'm in (including two six day weeks) until September, when I get two weeks off. Weirdly, I'm dreading that (or at least, the bit after it) the most, because then I only have four days of annual leave left to play with.

This is possibly the ultimate first world problem: middle-class Western girl whinges that she doesn't get enough paid time off. BOO HOO. I think, though, that I don't necessarily just want the time off, although a day off midweek here and there would be handy for doing stuff like 'going to the post office'. What I miss is the change from the routine, one long enough to make you grateful for the return to the routine. I'm also aware that I'm going to have the same amount of holidays pretty much for my entire working career.

Honestly, it's enough to make you go into teaching. Then I remember that if I did that I'd have to, you know, actually teach children, so perhaps I can cope without the holidays.

Anyone after some work?

Any graduates looking for work? I hear that G4S are getting a bit desperate...

Joking aside, I actually do think that on one level this is a graduate issue. This sort of temporary work is the kind of thing that unemployed graduates flock towards, and it's crap, let's not put too fine a point on it. Not the work itself, I hasten to point out, but the conditions. G4S waited until the last minute to hire staff because as far as it was concerned, temporary workers are disposable scum who you can always get more of. You can hire and fire at will, and not give them decent working conditions and training because who will they complain to? Put off the recruitment process – after all, you can even get them for free and make them sleep under a bridge. 

Then again, if you've been out of work for a little while and are desperate for a job, even without the prestige of the Olympics, you'll take anything, and you will put up with these conditions. That's the point. Things like this have been going on for years now, but it took a multinational event and a massive cock-up to give them a spotlight.

There will always be a need and a market for temporary workers, and there are some temporary workers and agencies that are undoubtedly treated very well. I just hope that this makes the government think twice about outsourcing to companies that don't seem to have done their homework, particularly when it makes Britain and it's industry look like complete dicks on the world stage.

Oh, and for the love of whatever it is you believe in, Nick Buckles, please prepare the next time you're hauled in for a Parliamentary enquiry hearing. And give back the management fee, because this mess-up isn't management by any definition.

More learning?

So being a graduate sort of person, you're probably reasonably intelligent and not too bad at this whole 'learning' schtick. Plus, your career may be moving somewhat slower than you were hoping, and the general sensation of ennui leads to a feeling that perhaps you should be doing Further Training.

Getting another degree is somewhat tricky, and daunting considering the amount of debt you're already in. The same with postgraduate work, or specialist training. It's a big commitment, particularly if you're not entirely sure what direction to go in, though.

So when the little notice goes up in the staff canteen, advertising training courses, you sign up like a bolt. Apart from anything else they may also herald a few days out of the office and paid expenses. They look great on the CV, and you don't have to pay for them. Score!

Which, a few weeks later, is how you find yourself in a room full of strangers learning how to perform CPR on co-workers. Remembering what your co-workers look like and how they spend their spare time, you suddenly realise this is the worst idea you've ever had.

… or to be put it the other way, I am now a fully qualified first-aider for my workplace. Oh dear. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The course itself was quite interesting, I must admit, but the people on the course didn't, perhaps, share my enthusiasm for learning. This makes me sound like a cow, I realise, but a degree does seem to give you a kick up the arse when it comes to retaining information; the younger ones on the course, like myself, were taking notes and doing the prep work we were asked to do overnight; older ex-dockyard workers rocked up and hoped for the best.

Will this course help me at all in my future career? Or even better, give me a slight payrise? Not entirely sure yet, mostly because I did the course and then went on a week's leave, which is nearly over now and more on anon. I hope it does, mostly because I still have my head that learning=success (a narrative we frankly should have learnt is a lie by now, but there we go).

How To Definitely Get A Job After Graduation

… okay, that title is a lie. Sorry. There's no set way for anyone, at all. This entry is more a vague set of tips about what to do in the search for an elusive job post-graduation. A survival guide, if you will.

As dissertations reach and completions and exams start to look like something that might go away soon, many soon-to-be graduates are looking into the maw of employment and wondering what on earth they're going to do with their lives. You may well have a plan, or a job-related degree. Best of luck, teachers, doctors and accountants! I am aware that everyone has trouble with first jobs, but at least if you have a direction then you know where to start looking.

But what of those of us who are cast into the ether without any clear direction, what should we do? It's all very well to beat our chests and rent our clothes and bewail that we didn't take the time to visit the Careers Centre, but alas, for some of us the Careers Centre is too far away now. These are some very vague tips for anyone who is currently resembling a headless chicken and have no idea how to go about even starting to look for a job:

1. If you want to go the graduate scheme route, go nuts – they're designed for graduates. Milkround and Prospects are both good websites, and I managed to get a few interviews/assessment centre places with them.

2. Apply for everything that takes your fancy, but tailor your applications. A general CV is a boring CV. Why do you want to do that job? More importantly, what unique thing can you bring for that particular role?

3. “£25,000 OTE!” means 'Slightly above minimum wage unless you're really, really good at sales'. If you're really, really good at sales then hooray for you! If you're not, though, a sales job will probably make you unhappy. Sorry.

4. If you don't understand some of the job terms used, then that's fine! If you don't understand the whole advert, then there's only so much you can blag.

5. “This job is below me!” No, it's not. Get out of that mindset right now. Work is a good thing to be in. The job may be hell, and you may not enjoy it, but the job you're doing now? The waitressing, the call centre, the data inputting? Some people do that for their whole life. Work is a good thing to have, and that McJob will keep you with some money, some self-esteem and if you're clever, will help give you a leg up into the job you want to do.

5a. Did you have a student job? Can it be transferred or made full time in some way? That's what I did, and within two weeks of transferring to a different store in a different region (translation: I moved back in with my parents) I got promoted to supervisor. Okay, I left that job, but it means I have MANAGEMENT EXPERIENCE which is, on a technical level, gold dust.

6. Don't buy an interview suit until you have an interview. It's soul-crushing to look at it, unworn, swinging gently in the wardrobe.

7. Beware the recruitment agencies. They will lure you in with a job title and it turns out they just want you on the books. I am on more recruitment agencies books than I can shake a stick at, and I've never got a single interview out of them, let alone a job. Recruitment agencies, unfortunately, also advertise very real and current jobs. Read the adverts carefully and ask about their client for this role. If they have a specific client, it's probably a real job. If it's vague, they don't.

8. Lastly, keep in contact with friends. Not for networking, you mercenary bastards, but just to keep in contact with people you may have moved away from during the job search. Frankly, it's good for the soul.

Summer time, and the weather is fine (finally)

Now that we are officially on the first hot week of the summer, I am going to explain to you the advantages of being a graduate in the summer!

Er...

Well...

I am perhaps feeling a little stung about this at the moment, as the first two lovely days of May have been Monday and Tuesday, i.e. working days. This means a lot of looking out of the window and sighing, and thinking longingly of the pub beer garden. It's day like this when being a graduate really sucks. Remember long, hot summers? With no work to do? Oh, the happier days of being a student. You don't even need money to sit in a park!

As such, I am physically forcing myself to think through these statements logically. The vast majority of students work during their summer holidays. I did. I used to think longingly of beer gardens then, too. Okay, it did have the massive advantage of being part-time work, therefore increasing my drinking time, but I lived at home and my mother can be quite judgemental when you roll through the front door smelling of rosè wine. If I didn't work, I would have no money for drinking. This is logical.

Plus, exams are still ongoing for many people. I spent seven years of my life doing summer time exams. NINE. Okay, the lure of the beer garden wasn't quite so strong during my GCSEs, but the longing to be outside and enjoying the sun was still as strong. I can come home and not revise. I've spent three years not revising, and I am 100% happy with this as a fact. It's probably the best bit about being a graduate during the summer time.

And the weekends still exist, after all. I can sit in a park during the weekend, with a book, and relax as much as I want. Okay, I have to walk to the park which involves putting on slightly neater clothes than going into the garden at my parent's house, but, well, it's still a day, isn't it?

…

Okay, I give up. I'm grasping at straws. Being a graduate on a hot sunny day when you have to spend all day in work and are generally too tired in the evening to go out sucks, particularly when you have to think about student days through rose (or indeed, rosè) tinted glasses.

Strawberry jam on toast

We all have a story about the job that got away. As graduates start to come out of the universities, ashen-faced and stumbling into the merry-go-round from hell that is job-seeking and rounds and interviews, you find yourself getting a little attached to The Job Of Your Dreams.

Then, as a rule, it rejects you.

Living with my parents again, and doing a part-time job in order to have a little disposable income and keep a little self-esteem, I applied for Jobs I Wanted To Do. Unfortunately, these jobs very rarely felt the same towards me. Getting an interview would be INSANELY EXCITING! Except it would be a telephone interview, or a recruitment agency looking to exploit graduates to swell their books. Look out for them, they're sharks.

I applied for a graduate scheme and was surprised on my lunch break by a telephone interview, which ended up taking place surreptitiously in the kitchen of my job. She enthused about my cover letter, my experience. A day later I was invited to an interview in London, which I truly tripped off for, staying overnight in a Richard Curtis film with My Successful Godfather in London.

I left his beautiful Islington house to catch the Tube, wearing a business suit and using an Oyster card, and found myself lured into fitting in with this world, as I emerged from the train into a world with the Gherkin towering over it, and people flitting around drinking coffee and clutching free newspapers. Do you know how hypnotic that is, to someone who spent four years being told that this was her destiny, and instead folded clothes in a shopping centre? You don't see the poverty that you know is lurking just around the corner, you don't smell the pollution or sense the stress – the glamour just temporarily oozes out, mixing with the nerves of the interview to make a heady cocktail of desire and hopes.

I spent the day in an office block overlooking the river, completing tasks and an exam, and got chatty with my fellow applicants. There were sixteen of us, and four jobs going. There were only three people for my stream – good odds, by my reckoning. They told us that over 3,000 had initially applied. As I left, and headed back on the train, I hoped and prayed I had the job. I felt good, positive. I wanted that job more than burning. I knew it would be hard, but it would work. They told us we'd know in a week.

By 5pm a week later, I had heard nothing. At all.

Two days later, I sent in an e-mail querying if they'd had the time to make a decision,and I was told they'd tell me soon. Three days later, in the middle of a shift at work, they did. I hadn't got it. No, there wasn't any real feedback – I was just as good as the other candidate, but they'd decided to go for him instead. I thanked them for the time, went back to work, and managed not to cry all day. I went to to a yoga class that night, and half way through just started bawling like a child. It wasn't my best possible moment. My parents were working late that night, I remember, and they came home to me snuffling on the sofa and hugging a bottle of wine and tearfully telling them there'd been a terrible mistake and I was stupid and shouldn't be allowed out of the house again ever.

The next day I got another call for an interview, for a different company. My mood improved exponentially, and people kept on telling me this was proof I was awesome. Duly I went for the interview, and worked out that by the end of the thing that I might well swing this one, but it wasn't a job I desperately wanted. The move to Scotland would have been worth it, but the job would have been crap. I was cool with not getting it, I thought. I would get more interviews, I thought.

I didn't get the job, which I still say is for the best. I was cool with it when I got the phonecall. I continued with my day. I got home from work. I put some toast on, planning to go to the gym for a few hours but needed a snack before I went. I buttered the toast, and put on a generous amount of strawberry jam. Mum came into the kitchen. “Did you get it?” she breathlessly asked me as I took a bite of the toast.

“Oh, Mum,” I said, and then cried all over her. I still can't eat strawberry jam.

–

I may sound like a drama queen here, but everyone has one of these stories. Looking for work is soul-destroying, as you analyse yourself, open yourself for judgement, and more often than not come up negative. I tell this story occasionally, and people always pipe up with their own equivalent. “I didn't get into the Civil Service scheme because I DRANK WATER TOO NOISILY,” a friend will always indignantly tell me. As many graduates try head into the world of work, hopefully things will fall into place for people and prospective interviewees won't have to feel like this, but I think its inevitable, sometimes.

I'm going to try and post in the next few weeks some more practical tips on job-hunting for the new graduate, and how to dodge through the scams that exist out there, but with the econmoy officially in double-dip recession I felt like I had to write the bad stuff first, before getting to the positive stuff. There is positive stuff, though. I promise.

Work appropriate clothing vs the zombie apocalypse

Work appropriate clothing is a funny thing.

I am very pleased that my life no longer involves uniforms, staff clothing allowances, or the need to wear clothes that you don't mind if bleach splashes against it. This may not sound like much to you, but it's important to hold onto the little things when it comes to a new job.

There are probably jobs out there where you can wear exactly what you want 24/7, but I don't have one of them. This is mostly because on a day to day basis I have been known to wear naught but pajamas, or a replica Star Trek uniform. Both of these are probably not great for my slightly customer-facing role. Besides, it's nice to have a 'work' side to the wardrobe. It means that I don't have to think too much about what I'm going to wear that day, know that I look appropriate for my role, and also be reasonably comfortable. The culture of my office is one less of smart-casual and more of smart-comfortable, simply because there is a manufacturing element to the business I work for and sometimes you need to head into an industrial area and sensible shoes and high-visibility jackets are the order of the day.

See that woman up there? That's what I assumed I would be wearing in my graduate life. Instead it might well be a blouse like that, but with jeans, or smart trousers with a jumper. Still, I keep on thinking that one day I will be a Professional. My interview suit – jacket and trousers and yes, it's from Marks and Spencer – hangs forlornly in my wardrobe, and the other day I went mad in Primark and bought a pencil skirt.

Imagine, then, my delight, when I found myself selecting for a Very Important Meeting outside of the office. Okay, not that delighted, but still – I could wear my new skirt! On the morning of the meeting I shuffled myself into skirt, heels and strode out into the morning before promptly failing to get into my car with any dignity of grace. This experience continued throughout the day, particularly when I attempted to get up stairs. Hilarity ensued for my colleagues. Less so for me. A pencil skirt, for those not in the know, creates a sleek silhouette, with a higher waistline and lower hemline, with a tightening towards the knees. In practical terms, it means you can't move particularly fast.

One day I would still like to have a role where I get to wear Office Clothes, but I think I need more practice at the business suit thing. Apart from anything else, I always feel it's important to be able to run away as fast as possible when the zombie apocalypse comes and the only way I would have been doing that would have been to do that would have been to strip first, which frankly no one needs to see at the end of the world.

In conclusion: business suits take a ridiculous amount of practice. Who knew?

(On the bright side, the meeting went very well and I only fell over once in the car park. Success!)