Out And About On Friday

This morning I had to fill in a job application form.
Yep, got to get off my arse and do something.
My ‘retirement’ is wreaking havoc with my health and bank balance. Fucking interest rate thingy bastards!
I only got the form yesterday so it was a bit of a rush job. I hadn’t had enough tea or fags to think about being eloquent so I went with Brutally Honest as an eye-catching approach.

“Reason for leaving last job?” I put,
Artistic Differences. They went for Performing Arts status, I was indifferent.
“How many days off in the last year?” I went with,
Ask the Head at Mayhem, he’ll tell you I was never there.
“Reason why you would be good in this position?” I wrote,
I have a thick skin and a good sense of humour.
I’m not offended by the word “Fuck” in all it’s various uses.
I can think on my feet and adapt quickly, flying chairs, books and pens have honed these skills.
Personal remarks, threats of violence, constant nit picking and being ignored no longer bother me.
I’m pretty good with ‘challenging’ kids too.
Also, I could do the job stood on my head.

I then had an, “Oh Fuck it! What’s the point moment” and wasn’t going to bother handing it in.
Sassy kindly talked me down!

As I entered the school’s front door I was greeted by the receptionist shouting,
“…. because you NEED a note” at some bewildered boy.
Sadly, I thought,
‘Yep. This is what I do..’

Delivering the form caused me to walk up a street I’m usually driven up.
So I paid more attention than usual.
It’s totally different to Albert Road.
There are no restaurants but loads of Take Aways.
Shops that sell products for Afro-Caribbean hair. Wigs and weaves hang in the window.
Places selling second hand furniture and if you are getting any of that ‘Second’ I’d be fucking amazed!
Large, predominantly bald, men stand outside these shops. Looking weather beaten, usually leaning on a fridge, smoking.
You can buy Halal meat, all things Chinese, cheap booze and get keys cut.
There are shops that sell Rizla on a roll, you can get tattooed, have your nails painted and your nipples pierced.
Or vice versa.

It was during this walk I came to the conclusion that my health is suffering.
I got fucking Shin Splints!
A searing pain in the muscle down the front of the shins that makes your feet flop around like you’re breaking them in for someone else.
It also gives you the gait of a Thunderbird puppet.
I fell in behind some old dear with a trolley and tried to look as if she had me trapped there.
The ipod, which had tried to fuck with me earlier by refusing to work, was blaring Primal Scream’s Country Girls directly in to my head and I started to enjoy my day.
I contemplated getting my hair cut and set about choosing a criterion.
I went with looking through the window, seeing who was free and deciding whether I wanted them running their fingers through my hair.
I still have huge hair and possibly, a couple of police complaints!
I bumped in to a one night stand who, scarily, remembered every detail about me.
I had no recollection of her whatsoever, or we would never have been in a 'bumping in to' situation, but I think I fronted it out pretty well.