"What's that in the flowerbed, Mummy?"

Started my newest day-job today. I turned up to find the reception office empty and the guy who was supposed to be showing me the ropes incommunicado. I spent about half an hour running around and trying to find someone to tell me what the funge I was supposed to be doing before having to go home and ring my agency because nobody at the company who'd hired me knew anything about the booking. In all it took me two hours to sort out.

The job consists of litterpicking and general cleaning round a tiny and very very expensive housing estate. Apparently it used to be a really dodgy area till they bulldozed it and slung up a pile of yuppie-bait flats with turquiose uPVC window frames. Now it's a yuppie area fringed with a strange incongruous rim of dodgyness: huge shiny people-carriers with metallic paintwork parked yards away from burnt-out, boarded-up flats. My job is to prevent the intrusion of any dodgyness into their turquiose uPVC lives, by fishing Macdonald's wrapping and used prophylactics out of the begonias. Oh, and checking that the punters at a nearby dodgy pub haven't chucked used syringes into the kids' play area. Scumbunnies.

'Course, if I decide I don't like this job I can always get another, e.g.: You shall live in the evil toilet. Your job shall be to smack guilty clocks.

(Job generator from Lukelog)