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.

Milk snatcher

Margaret Thatcher died today.

Let's get a few things out of the way: I feel sorry for her family's loss, and also a lingering set of twilight years with dementia followed by a stroke is an unpleasant way to go. And yes, she was the first female Prime Minister.

Right. Now we have said that, let's say some other things.

I will not mourn the end of a woman who is responsible for some fucking awful things in our country, and is still responsible now. I don't have a full set of all the awful things she did, but during her time as Prime Minister the working classes of this country were ground down into worklessness, entire communities made into poverty-ridden ghost towns. Those cities haven't recovered yey. Those cities in the north, in Scotland, in Wales, may never recover because the poisonous politics that started with her still tell them that they're wastrels, that they're not worth anything. The problems we have now still continue, and her political descendents are destroying what is left in some of those communities.

I will not mourn Section 28, a legacy I was still dealing with when I was in comprehensive education, a time when queer kids and adults were given no support by public funds. By 'no support' this meant no protection of homophobic bullying, amongst a raft of other things. This still continues.

I will not mourn someone who supported apartheid in South Africa.

I will not mourn someone who sank the Belgrano when it was retreating.

I will not mourn privatisation of vital services. I will not mourn the idea that it's somehow okay for people to make profit off the back of heating, light and clean water.

I will not mourn someone who kickstarted the excesses of our financial markets.

I am the daughter of working class parents. I grew up on the edge of one of those decimated communities. So you'll forgive me, right now, if I am having a drink. I'm not doing it to celebrate her death, but I am doing it to remember all of the tragedy and horror she caused, and her legacy is still causing.

Over dramatic? Yeah, probably. Depending on when the funeral is, though, it may well block my ability to get into work as the cortege will be going very near my offices. I have a long weekend coming up, but unless the funeral is on Friday or Monday it will directly affect my ability to get into work. Whether I want to or not, it's being put directly in my way.

Those are my thoughts. I appreciate you may have different ones. I don't pretend to understand them, if I'm honest.

“Poundland ruling 'blows big hole' through government work schemes”

It's been a good news sort of two weeks, with Gove u-turning on his bloody stupid Ebacc scheme and now this.

I've said before and I've said again that everything in the world is wrong with the government work experience schemes, taking paid jobs out of the economy and forcing people to work with ridiculous penalties. Good, I say. This ruling is not on moral issues, but simply on legal ones, but if this makes this stupid scheme go away and be properly rethought then I say that this is a good day for all out of work people – in particular, graduates.

I wrote about this in rather more details about a year ago: "Flaws in government work experience" My feelings are the same nowas they were then, with a sense of cheerful contentment I have been proved right.

Richard III

I blog and I did a history degree (half medieval and half modern history, fact fans) so I think I am morally obligated to comment on the Richard III news story.

First: from a historical perspective, this isn't big news. It fills in a little information on Richard III in terms of where he was buried, and some more details on his death and his scoliosis, but that's really it. We learn nothing about the society of the time from it, and attention on kings and queens takes away from the real unexplored avenues of history.

Now that the boring bit is over - and can I just say that I am a terrible history student because I have always found biographical history fascinting and my love for Charles II knows no bounds - I would like it to be known that this is a really, really cool news story. I very quietly read a liveblog on my phone for the announcement yesterday.

And if it means that a few more people pick history to study, a little more funding goes towards archeology and medieval history studies then I say hurrah for Richard III.

Finally: if you would like more information on Richard III (and if I see the phrase 'Tudor propaganda' again I will scream, what a TERRIBLE anachronism and don't get me started) then please see this helpful and informative video:

(Ignore the bit about his not having a curved spine, turns out that was true.)

Police Commissioner Elections: sadly free of costumed vigilantes

As you're probably not aware, the Police Commissioner elections are taking place this Thursday. I know, I know, it's been a real hotbed of political discussion over these elections and I'm sure you're all desperate to cast your vote.

After some discussion and thought, I have decided that I will vote for one of these options:

1. Anyone by the name of 'Gordon'.

1a. I will also accept anyone campaigning under a slogan of “Tough on costumed super-villains, tough on the causes of costumed super-villainy.”

2. Anyone who promises to give all of their salary to a police widows charity and to not do any work, instead letting the police do their work without any bullshit needless political stuff.

Unfortunately, I can't find any candidates who fulfil any of the above criteria. The UKIP lady in our area, Merseyside, looks a bit like Gary Oldman but that's as close as I can get.

Not actually the UKIP candidate for Merseyside Police Commissioner. Maybe.

 So now I'm torn between voting Labour in an attempt to keep out the UKIP/English Democrat lot, or spoiling my ballot paper. I'm rather tempted to go for the latter. I'm going to note, no matter what happens, because if I think about not voting I hear my ancestors screaming at me. So like many people, I'm now mostly trying to think of the funniest way to spoil my ballot paper, mostly via trying to think of good quotes from The Thick of It.

I do genuinely disagree with these elections, because we don't need Police Commissioners. I have yet to hear a convincing reason why we should, or frankly any reasons whatsoever. I've heard nothing from any candidates, or from the government explaining this new role, or any reason why we're wasting million of pounds on an election we don't need and can't afford.

I'm thinking 'FUCKING OMNISHAMBLES' wouldn't be a bad start.

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.

Beep beep

So, car insurance.

I am no longer a Young Person according to official statistics. The other day I had to fill in a form and it was with great melancholy I ticked the '25-34' box. As such, today's news stories about the car insurance industry technically don't affect me, as I am theoretically skipping into the world of 25+ married person car insurance. In theory I am stability itself.

So why, exactly, my premiums have gone up is a puzzle.

Cars are essential in today's world. I wish they weren't. I would love to get rid of my car and not have it as a necessity. Unfortunately, this would involve living in an area with decent public transport links, or indeed not working in the countryside. Both of these things are facts in my life, so I pootle on with my car. Mr DG cannot drive, so it's very definitely my car and my bills for petrol, for insurance, for car tax, and for repairs. Weirdly, I found these things slightly easier to afford when I was a student. All of the above bills have shot up exponentially in the seven years since I passed my test.

I have had very few jobs where didn't need my car to get too and from work, starting from pretty much as soon as I passed my test, which I passed about a month before my eighteenth birthday. I have a feeling that every 'group' of friends needs at least one person with a car, which has pretty much consistently been me. It makes finding work easier, it gives you a bigger list of places to live. I would feel a bit lost without my car, now.

I worry about people who have to jump straight into the new world of driving, and how they'll cope with the bills as they rise steadily. I can still afford to keep my car going, although that said my fan belt sounds like it's on the fritz and if it goes before the end of the month I'm going to have to sacrifice a pair of tights and make do. Hell, I can't afford to not keep my car going – there's no way to get to my work by public transport, and the walk would take about six hours on a good day.

I don't know if there's a point to this post, per se, other than to ponder if car insurance firms don't put out daft ideas like 'Make new drivers only drive during the day!' (so sucks to be 20 and work night shifts, then) to try and distract the rest of us from the fact that it's getting more difficult by the year to still run a car. I'm no Jeremy Clarkson, bleating on about my civil rights to drive cars at whatever speed I wish. I'm thoroughly aware of the environmental impact of cars, which if I walk and take public transport everywhere I can. But in this country, if you live outside a major city, a car is a grim necessity.

I wonder.

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.

Guide to Freshers Week?

It's Freshers Week across the country for many students, or alternatively it's about to start. I've been reading the various 'Guide to Freshers Week' in papers with a sense of arch irony, wondering if many of the articles are in fact writing for graduates who chortle at the stereotypes and remember their own Freshers Week fondly. After all, no student is reading the paper, right?

It was at about this point I remembered my first day at university. I moved into university owned housing, a self-catering house for six girls, and on the first day three of us sort of awkwardly banded together and desperately tried to make tea for the others. We all had biscuits, too. I felt very cunning, because I'd read the UCAS guide to making friends and it was very emphatic that making tea was a great way to make friends. The only downside is that Frances managed to make a round of tea, first.

About a week later, more comfortable in each other's presence and with a few vodkas in us, Frances mentioned that she didn't actually like tea. She'd only made it and drank it because that was what she'd read in the UCAS guide. I gasped. So did Sandra. Turned out we'd all tried the same cunning trick.

(True story: Frances really doesn't like tea. I've seen her drink it once since, when she was desperately trying to work out what her pregnancy cravings were. Turns out that it wasn't tea, but she felt it was a fair guess.)

My own Freshers Week was an awfully long time ago, but I do know that Freshers Week is a lot more fun when you're not a Fresher. Still, it's the start of a great time. Plus, in what feels like an eternity away, you'll be sat on the internet and reading Freshers Week guides and feeling horribly nostalgic, particularly as you have to be up early for work tomorrow. Alas.

A-Level results day

Good grief, it's A-Level results day tomorrow. How the time flies. It's been EIGHT YEARS since I did that. Best of luck with that to anyone reading to whom the luck still applies.

To all graduates currently feeling very, very old - man, I feel your pain.

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.

Shock realisation: we are governed by morons

David Cameron says he 'may' call a referendum on the E.U.

I have come to the conclusion, spurred on by this final news story, that David Cameron just doesn't care any more and is spurting whatever daft opinion the1922 Committee has come with this time. No more benefits for anyone, particularly not those scum who are under 25! Let's leave the EU and go to war with France again for good measure! Schools abolished for poor people!

I'm being deliberately facetious there, but this week it's felt a little like that. It's that or he's deliberately winding up the left with a series of daft proposals in order to get the headlines away from Jimmy Carr and corrupt banks, possibly because he doesn't want to rock that boat too tightly. (Is Jimmy Carr finally paying his tax the reason for the freeze of fuel duty? Doubt it.)

I really dislike the right using the E.U. as catnip for the crazier fringe, trying to bring in the nastier elements and probably nark off the Lib Dems at that. Genuine worries about sovereignity always seem to be taken over by frothing xenophobes, who classify the E.U. as a sort of Gomorrah of liberal ideas/fascist removal of sovereign rights AT THE SAME TIME, despite the fact that all countries seem to send over a contingent of equally bizarre people who reckon that standing for the European parliament is totally the best way to remove themselves from it.

I feel a little fatigued with the news at the moment. When it's a graduate specific story, it's a little easier to comment on it in the spirit of the blog, but stuff like this just keeps me so utterly flabbergasted that I'm unable to rebut them. It's a bit like being asked to explain why falling in a pit of spikes is a bad idea – it's so patently a bad idea that it's hard to know where to start, as it includes stuff that you assume a rational human being would know instinctively.

Possibly assuming that we are governed by rational human beings is where I've been going wrong.

Disorientated Graduate: news edition!

I would like to have to measured, considered thoughts on the news, but mostly I am just baffled by it. Let's start with one of the major stories, according to the BBC, of the last few days:

Church of England claims that gay marriage will de-stabilise the country.

They also seem to be of the opinion that allowing two ladies or two gents to get married will ruin marriage forever. Unlike, say, divorce. It's perhaps worth pointing out at this point that whilst Jesus was quite vocal on the issue of divorce (i.e. bad) he was surprisingly quiet about homosexuality. This is odd, considering the obsession some modern Christians have with the latter rather than the former.

Look, I can't add anything to this debate that's particularly fresh. I am a lady who is married to a dude and we got married in a church which we were lucky enough to be able to do. If the church doesn't want to marry two people, that's their decision. It's got nothing to do with how the state chooses to define marriage. If anything, extending gay marriage is an inherently small-c conservative thing to do, bigging up the idea of stable relationships in an old-fashioned mould. I don't think marriage is for every relationship, or indeed every person, and that's fine by me. I also happen to think that civil partnerships are ace ideas for people that don't want to be defined as in a marriage. Let everyone get married to whomever they wish, or civil partnerships.

Government, stop pussyfooting around the issue and pandering to the bishops in the House of Lords who you should have thrown out years ago. Let straight couples get a civil partnership, and let gay couples get married. And if a religious organisation chooses to marry gay people – the Quakers and Unitarians very much wish to do this – then let them do that. Don't be dictated to be a church that was, from one perspective, set up in order to allow Henry VIII to get his end away.

Now we're done with equal rights, let us move onto the economy:

FTSE bosses' pay rose by 11% last year.

Really? Ah, good, we must be out of recession then, because surely everyone would get that pay rise, right, down to the cleaning staff and the lady that pushes the tea trolley? No, wait, that doesn't happen? And share prices are down? And the economy is still fucked? And yet, these people are getting obscenely richer whilst the masses struggle?

THIS SORT OF CAPITALISM ISN'T WORKING, PEOPLE. IT IS TIME TO NOTICE THIS.

Now, to something about the alma matar!

It's a little early for the students of St Andrews at the 7am torch relay.

YES. THREE MONTHS TOO EARLY. IT IS THE SUMMER HOLIDAYS. I can't believe I've had to crack out the Sisko picture AGAIN.

I'm not even in St Andrews anymore and it makes me want to die as a statement for sheer fucking stupidity. Also, Harry Potter and Gin Society? I'm not saying that it doesn't exist, but I was president of the Doctor Who Society for two years and I drank like a fish, so if that society slipped under the radar then it must have been a little low on the whole publicity issue.

But yes. SUMMER HOLIDAYS PEOPLE.

That's enough ranting for now, I think.

Musings on patriotism

I'm not especially proud to be British. I'm pleased to be British. I'm pleased at being a small part of a historic nation. I like the Union, and would rather be British than English. I'm happy that I have the benefits of being British; I am aware of my national global privilege, but I like that I have free and fair elections in my country, that I have reasonable freedoms and all that good stuff. Proud, though? That's like being proud to have size 5 feet. I like that size 5 feet generally makes shoe shopping more straight forward, and I think they look nice and in proportion on the end of my legs, but I'm not proud of them.

I'm musing on patriotism at the moment, as the Union flag (fun fact: only the Union Jack when at sea!) has exploded everywhere, a bit like spores on moss. The Queen is having a diamond jubilee, something about which I am deeply ambivalent about. There is going to be a pageant of boats across the Thames. Last time this happened it was to welcome Catherine of Braganza to the country in 1662. I have no issue with Catherine of Braganza – seemed like a nice lady! - but she failed to have any children by Charles II, and unlike Hency VIII this probably was her fault, given that Charles had something like 35 acknowledged bastards by seventeen other women. This led to a major constitutional crisis and quite a lot of bad times for the monarchy. You know, just after Charles I had his head chopped off.

I'm just saying.

Anyway, the diamond jubilee is a thing that is happening at the moment. I am delighted to have a day off work, in much the same way I was delighted to have a day off for the last royal wedding. And I sort of respect the Queen, mostly for still being alive, even if she and her family are a set of parasitic leeches on society. So is my Aunty Phyllis and her brood, mind you, and I don't know if I want anyone to chop her head off. Then again, I'm not being encouraged to have street parties for Aunty Phyllis, either.

One thing that makes me quite skeezy, though, is the Jubilee song.

I am basically an emotional sponge and am fairly easy to start blubbing. I have been known to get a little bit weepy at adverts, and DIY SOS. To throw Gary Barlow at me (I love Take That with the passion that only someone who liked them the first time around can muster), Andrew Lloyd Webber (yes, I am an awful person) and then put in a bit of Gareth Malone is basically designed to make me weep like a child. It's a reasonably stirring song with vague lyrics.

And yet, the whole thing makes me uneasy, possibly because it reminds me what the monarchy really is. The Military Wives are defined by their relationships to men, not what they do as a living, and it says that we are a country at war, a country nearly always at war, and one that has belligerently pushed around big chunks of the world via a militaristic power, where those who are signed up and those who are left behind are made to feel Like It Really Matters. Lots of shots of angelic African children singing away are beautiful, yes, but how relevant is a tiny little British woman with a big hat to Kenyans? She was on the throne during the Mau-Mau Uprising, for goodness sake, there is not always good history there. The Commonwealth has made some good strides forwards, but there's an uncomfortable colonial history there that this song just blithely brushes under the carpet, and I don't know that's the right thing to do.

It's easy to get caught up in the excitement of a crowd, to be blown away by the spectacle and pageantry, and I might find myself watching that Jubilee concert tonight. But then, the pageantry is a show designed to hide the cold steel that lies behind the history of monarchy, the sense that if the Queen is in her God-given place then so are us underlings. That's a concept I'm really not comfortable with.

I'm enjoying my long weekend, although to be honest I spent the weekend catching up with some friends and have spent today watching so much Game of Thrones I think my eyes are going to fall out. That's probably as close as I'm getting to royalty today.

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.

Undergraduates: stop panicking! A bit!

Many final year students are heading into the pre-graduation depression phase. Jobs and further study courses all seem hopeless, dissertation deadlines are looming, and the issue of where to live next year seems like it will never be resolved. You have to start getting out of bed early soon and NOTHING FUN WILL EVER HAPPEN AGAIN.

The only reason I'm not calling this part a graduate myth is because it mostly concerns undergraduates and there's only so much I can calm your nerves, given this blog is called the Disorientated Graduate. Look, being a graduate, on balance, isn't as fun as being a student. You have to pay council tax, for a start. And this time of year is a bloody horrible one. Here are some survival tips and hopefully some slightly encouraging words. (I'll try to keep council tax discussions for a minimum.)

1. You have to finish your degree first! This is important! You have worked for several years towards the degree, and now is the time to buckle down. Yes, it's as much fun as a brick to the head, but it's a very satisfying feeling to hand in a fully bound dissertation, and finishing exams is a sweet, sweet day. I got so drunk in the afternoon after my last exam (with lecturers, natch) that I forgot how to get home to the house I'd lived in for two years. (I found it in the end, but had a very peaceful twenty minutes sat on a kerb trying to work stuff out.)

Seriously, though, you've spent years at the place, you might as well try to come out with a degree. Logically you're reasonably intelligent and worked hard to get into the place to begin with, so you may as well not have all those years wasted.

2. You may not have a job yet, or have heard back from the post-graduate course. You may not have bothered applying. This was an unwise move, but there we go. Get your head down and start applying right now. Speak to your careers advisers. You probably still not find something, but having applications in is a good feeling, and filling out those deadly dull forms is good experience. No, really, it is.

N.B. If you have a job lined up, or a post-graduate role, than congratulations! You are awesome, and be proud of your achievement! Don't be a dick about it though. I know someone who got onto a successful graduate scheme and is now complaining to anyone that will listen that 'they're too good' for accountancy. Fuck that noise. If you don't want the job, don't apply for it. Don't turn it down because buddy, unemployment is a lot less fun. Also all of your friends hate you now. If you hate the job after doing some time in it, that's a different kettle of fish, but don't wipe it off straight away. Also, as a recent graduate, you're not too good for ANYTHING just yet. You've seen the youth unemployment figures, right?

3. Don't worry right now if employers and universities haven't got back to you. This application is the most important thing in the world to you, but not to them. They will get back in due course. Send a polite e-mail, perhaps, but don't nag and don't waste hours fretting.

4. This is no way cancels out the first point, but do try to find time for socialising. Graduate life doesn't have that sense of student camaraderie, or not as often. Enjoy it!

5. Try not to worry too much. At some point things will start falling into place, at least a bit. Don't listen to everyone who tells you that things will be magically amazing when you graduate, because that's a lie. You will have to work, and work hard, but it isn't all council tax and bleak unremitting horror. You can put the heating on, and go on holiday occasionally, and that really is all quite exciting when you think about it.

Now try and ignore my blog for a bit, because you need to believe in point 5 to get you through the last bits of university and I suspect that I may be more bitter than usual until the kids in the flat upstairs start sleeping through the night, or the mad busy seasonal work in my office lays off a bit. One or the other would be a relief.

The Budget, weeks after everyone else got there first

Bloody hell, George Osbourne, that was a hell of a Budget to go and sneak up on us.

I appreciate that the Budget happens at the same time every year, and that the political analysis has been done to death, and everyone else has already said their bit on it and moved on, but, well, it happened while I was getting married and I've only just twigged in the last week or so that perhaps the wider world might not have given a toss.

(That said: I did have a piece published by Offbeat Bride on How To Handle The Bride which is probably the most well-read thing I've ever written. I wrote it as a venting exercise, not expecting it to be featured in any way, so it's even under my jokey pen-name that I use for other internet stuff. Ah, the irony. Still, that's what I was up to in my time away.)

However, I still feel it's worth commenting on this Budget because in a nasty and shameful little way, it was a really good one for me. I am now paying less tax. Because if there's anything that able-bodied young people with no children need, it's to have a tax break paid for by less tax credits for young families, right?

I am aware of some sort of logic behind this tax break, in a twisted and horrible way. Basically, people in their twenties, not on a great deal of money, need some more disposable income. We're most likely to spend it, or even better shove it on one of the magical new 5% deposit mortgages the government appear to be promising. (The thought of even having that 5% deposit is hilarity making to everyone I know, but that's an aside.) Besides, we're all being so comprehensively screwed in terms of extra money on booze, fags, pasties, petrol, everything, that surely all the books balance out, right?

I don't want to pay more tax. That's the sad truth of it. I recently received a bonus in work, and spent three days howling with incandescent rage at how much money had gone on tax and on student loan repayments. I wouldn't dodge tax, and I am aware of my social obligations surrounding it, but my goodness, tax going out is a bit of a pinch.

I'm not all Tea Party about this, wilfully refusing to understand that without tax we wouldn't have any of the formal structures of government. And I'm pleased that my tax provides the safety net of the welfare state, which I have used before now and will hopefully still be there for me if I need it again. What worries me is that there are tax breaks being found for the individual, i.e. me, and yet still swinging cuts to services.

One or the other please, Mr Osbourne. One or the other. Both almost makes me begin to think that the cuts are ideologically driven as well as economically driven, and we can't have that, surely?

The flaws in the government work experience scheme

I've strongly suspected for a long time that the work experience program being pushed upon job seekers by the government is basically evil. The first hint was when a friend who works in Argos cheerfully referred to the woman on the scheme in his store as 'slave'. (“My manager started it. It's true, really.”) I think I realised it really was evil when I saw that Tesco had withdrawn from the scheme.

A few weeks shadowing a relevant industry, certainly, is not bad thing. Unpaid internships are a lot more morally shaky. But working for Tescos? In the stores? For free?

Before we all cheerfully jump in and tell me that I am a snob/class traitor/etc, allow me to enlighten you on a few facts. I've worked in retail, and Mr Disorientated Graduate still does. A large portion of my job involves e-commerce, which is retail but at least I can put the phone down on the customer. There is nothing wrong with a retail job, or any of the other jobs available through this scheme. In fact, I think it's admirable that people volunteered. There is currently no evidence on how many of these individuals have been able to get a job out of these schemes, but work experience is valuable. I've talked about this before.

There are major problems with a steady stream of people working full time for weeks on end at these jobs. Look, these are not the best jobs in the world. They are jobs you can take pride in, but nevertheless, people don't dream of working in Tesco. That doesn't make them bad or unworthy jobs. I'm also a firm believer in the importance of work as a lifestyle issue as well. It gives you routine, pride in yourself, and independence. However, most importantly they give you a wage. That's why you put up with the bad aspects. Without the pull of a wage, all you do is get the godawful bits of it without the internal chant of 'need to pay the rent, need to pay the rent...'. Trust me, a big gas bill has kept me from swearing or throwing mop buckets at employers before now.

Aha, you might say here. People on these schemes still get benefits, right? And they're voluntary? Yes and yes. (Although the Back to Work schemes for people taken off DLA are a different kettle of fish, I can only deal with those seperately.) As such, they should stay on the scheme until it's over.

AT WHAT POINT DOES MY TAXPAYER MONEY HAVE TO PAY FOR MAJOR CORPORATIONS TO DO WORK EXPERIENCE SCHEMES?!

That might sound a little right-wing, but hell, I don't care if it is. I pay my taxes to support a welfare state I may well need one day. I have no inclination to pay the 'wages' of someone doing work experience, i.e. a job, at a major corporation. This hurts everyone. A job that Argos should pay for is being done by someone unpaid. This means that Argos, essentially, saves on the wages bill. In the meanwhile, the job market crisis grows deeper and more people end up in this scheme. You tell me that's economically viable and I will eat my hat.

Work experience shouldn't be a real job, not if its unpaid. Shadowing someone for experience is fine, and I applaud that, although an eight-week stint at work isn't realistically going to help anyone's CV.

There aren't enough jobs around, and I know that isn't all the fault of the government. I also know they need to be seen doing something, which is why they're throwing money at shady companies like A4E, and setting up work experience schemes and telling people like me not to be sniffy at the type of work offered. As someone who's employer is looking very seriously at this scheme to 'cover the busy months and keep the wage bill down' I know directly that it hurts people. A job in my office that would previously have been covered by a paid member of staff will instead go to someone desperate for office experience, and the government will fork out the bill. Meanwhile, the job market contracts by one more job.

This scheme, although well-intended, looks like it was worked out on the bag of a fag packet in the pub. Go back and think again, government.

(It should be noted that since the time of starting this piece, many employers have pulled out of the scheme or are further evaluating it. When I have more, I'll post more.)

A moment of your time, please

Today I'm telling you about Mike. He has buggar all to do with being a graduate; he and I were colleagues at my first post-graduate job, but that's about it.

Mike would like to go to America. He's been a few times, in fact, but despite constant good timekeeping in terms of return dates and an emphatic desire not to emigrate, just visit, the USA will not let Mike back in. You see, Mike is going to America to visit his boyfriend.

I'll let him tell you about it.



This blog is not my place to comment on American politics, because lots of other people do that better than me. I like America. I like the culture, I like the geography, and so help me I even like the food. I do not like the politics. I do not like the current exciting disregard that most of the lawmakers seem to have for women's health, or indeed for human rights.

I respect a country's right to maintain it's borders, but excluding someone based on their sexuality is wrong. If you also think this is wrong, there is a petition to the White House here.

I don't really know Mike. The last time I saw him we were in Reflex in Liverpool on my leavers do for that, when we danced to the Ghostbusters theme. We're facebook acquaintances, but I have no other compulsion to help him except for the fact that discrimination is wrong, and I know that Mike is a nice guy. No one deserves to be kept apart by borders. That's all I can say, really; I encourage you to sign the petition.

Thanks all.