Unconfirmed Reports

“Between jobs.”

I almost told someone last night that I am “between jobs”, but then I corrected myself, and said that I am out of work.

The world is a grey mass, a miasma. The only structure is the ticking detonator of my bank balance, ticking away day by day. When it gets to zero I will start my brand new life as a vagrant and disreputable travelling entertainer.

I am spending hours and hours vaguing out on the internet. I end up investigating an ad for a “free clown loach fish”, but it’s pickup only, from somewhere in the midwestern United States.

Technically, being unemployed should be not unlike a holiday. You should seize the day, go out and explore the city, make new friends. But you can’t, because there is this constant background pressure: the need to find work, a source of money. You want to be free, but in the end you find that you are just another free clown loach fish.

I have been doing constructive things though. I have developed a collection of images of shopfronts in Nag’s Head (actually one is in Camden).

Michael’s High Class Fish Bar. Prestige dining at its best.

Holy Chinese Food to Take Away. And while collecting your sacrament, why not drop in to the Booze Nest next door?

Booty Wine. Unfathomable.

Worker’s Cafe - there are lots of these around - not as a franchise, I don’t think, but simply a common name for egg’n'bacon “cafs” in London.