The Day After The Weekend...

Is Tuesday. So it's back to the job hunt. I've applied for one in Brighton which, despite the fact I actually live somewhere within the confines of zone 5, is between 33 and 58 minutes travel from my residence. As the agreement I have with the people of the Social Security states that I'm to look for work within an hour of my place. This does rather open up a number of hitherto unforeseen possibilities. Amongst which are Horsham and Hayward’s Heath which are, according to my growing up in Sussex days, what we call the middle of nowhere. Why anyone would actually want to live, let alone work in either of these places has always been rather beyond me. Having said that, both have grown into pretty substantial places in the past few years but I cannot image living or working in a place filled with the kind of people who wash their cars on a Sunday. It's all a bit too "Sound Of The Suburbs" for me. Mind you, so is Purley.

As you can see I've decided to start the week with something a little more upbeat than usual. That said there is even less than the usual next-to-fuck-all listings on the job front. I receive daily e-mails from Reed and totaljobs advising me of vacancies that fit my selected job criteria. It's worth bearing in mind that I've a background in training so Reed's offer of "1 new vacancy matching your search criteria" today was more a realisation that they'd scraped clean through the bottom of the barrel. What I know about being a nursery manager couldn't really be counted on the fingers of one finger.

So I'm sitting here thinking about all the things I've done this week and hoping that I've actually done enough to satisfy the man at the job centre who has to check to see that I'm actually making an effort to find work. Trouble is Bank Holidays really bugger things up. Half the world takes an extra day although the ones who took today instead of Friday will probably be ruing their rather poor choice. It's gone all grey. Hence the fact I'm sitting here trying to put something down here, plan for signing on tomorrow, and sipping tea.

I've rediscovered my yellow teapot and the joys of not fishing the teabag out of the cup before pouring in the milk. Now it goes in first and feels deliciously sophisticated. It was one of the things that got lost in the sheer mass of things I had in my old flat so it's nice to find it again. I find it is something which signifies having time. A teabag in a mug indicates to me that I'm busy and really don't have time to fuss around with putting things into a pot which I will only have to wash up anyways. Now I have the time the tea seems to taste better. Mind you, that's also down to the water filter which really does seem to eradicate the film of goodness knows what I used to have to contend with. It's only real purpose being to make a total mess of the cup and require more effort with the washing up.

The yellow teapot is one of those things I was given by my mother. Visiting her would always involve a certain amount of trepidation. Usually during a conversation you would have with her on the phone there would be a revelation that my impending visit would be welcome as she would "have something for you". Upon arrival you would be presented with said item, and a puzzled look would not be remiss. At this point you would be forced to ask where said item came from. To which one of 3 answers would cover it:

a) We won it in a raffle - if you don't want it we're off to a barn dance next week so we'll just donate it to their raffle.

b) I found it in a charity shop (this usually meant she had been on a spree and my father had disapproved of the purchase so the only option was to get rid of it by claiming it was purchased for one of her children. No option but to take said item was offered in these cases). They were also regularly used as extra Christmas presents although the minute you opened them my mother would confess they'd come from a charity shop before you could even say if you liked them or not.

c) It was something your father got in the post for sending off for some offer. These could range from a set of coasters to a compendium of travel games.
If my mother had been a doyenne of the charity shop, then my father remains the only person who actually keeps and uses a number of the free gifts you get for returning the coupon with your name and address on it. Not only that he isn't one for ticking boxes to ensure "other interested parties can inform you of offers which may be of interest" can't spew forth catalogues galore full of things no one really wants, but my father buys.

The teapot is, I think, one of his "gifts" and, I have to say, it's perfect for me. It makes exactly one and a half cups of tea (or two cups if you use the matching lurid yellow cup and saucer). That's just enough tea for me to enjoy. I'm one of those who tends to think I'd like more tea once I've had one cup but then finds the second one almost too much tea to bear so this is the perfect compromise.
Time to head off and cook up something for supper. Tonight I've the dilemma solved as to what to do with the lump of mozzarella I've got left over from Sunday's pizza. I'm making bacon, cheese, and onion pie. It's basically mashed potato with fried onions and bacon mixed in, topped with mozzarella and baked until the cheese bubbles. It's a rather cheating recipe but it's a proper guilty pleasure too. I've got a few baby tomatoes and mushrooms to use up so the likelihood is that they'll end up in their too. Yummy. There, I promised you cooking...