All right, then.

Here! Here's your damned update, you pack of ravening jackals! I hope it chokes you.

I've spent the last few days trying (and mostly failing) to find work. Got a qualification in electronics? You've got two choices: move to Germany or pick up a mop. God help me, I actually found myself reading ads for the Army in a receptive, speculative frame of mind.

In the two weeks since my last booking finished, I have had four (4) hours' work: cleaning, in a bail hostel. And if any of you middle-class superplonk socialists plan to start telling me how there's no shame in honest labour and quoting bits of Fight Club, you'd better have spent at least a few hours of your life scrubbing junkie c**p off of bog seats or batting away the flies as you scrape four inches of green hairy take-away food out of someone else's bin.

That they have had in their room.

Next to their bed.

For weeks on end.

In the middle of summer.

It's not that I don't appreciate the comparative advantages afforded by my decadent Western background, it's just that I'd quite like a job that didn't involve the continual suppression of my gag reflex.

Anyway... the agency have found me work for Monday. I don't know what it is, I don't know how much it pays, and I'm not sure of the hours. I didn't even ask; I just took it. Whatever. I mean, who cares, right? There's only one thing I'm okay at (electronics) and there's only one thing I'm really good at (writing); and apparently you can't get paid for those. Rent's due in a couple of weeks, so pass the bog-brush.