Tuesday, February 19, 2008


So, i've got a couple of hours a week at my Big Break Job. To make this viable i am also doing supply in education.
Yesterday i got assigned another Pupil Referral Unit. One of the kids started off the day by systematically working his way along a row of windows and ripping the handle mechanism backwards until it cracked. By 10.30 he was going ballistic and was in the cooling off room. They asked me to take over door duty from a male member of staff: this involved holding the door handle to the room so that he could not move it up or down. In order to hold the handle securely i had to brace myself against the door. The kid was alternating between booting the door from the other side and yanking the handle up and down. The pane in the door was boarded to head height, so i could not see inside. Above that the remainder of the pane was reinforced plastic. At one point he put his hands up to the clear plastic and started peeling off a layer of glue from round the edges. His hands look like baby hands (he is after all only twelve years old). Then he went back to yanking the handle.
"Let go of the fucking door or i swear i'm going to fucking kill you when i get out."
I had already decided it was best to keep quiet. With both hands i could just about keep the handle horizontal.
"Your mum's a fucking prostitute. Your mum's a fucking prostitute on fucking prostitute street. Get off the fucking door you slag."
He stops pulling the handle and there's quiet for a minute. Then a glob of spit hits the plastic pane and slides slowly to the bottom. And then another.
"Will you get my taxi for me, I want to go home."

When i'm back home at the end of the day, i ring a second recruitment agency i have joined, to see if they have got any work for the rest of the week. The consultant is patronising in that fake-friendly way that recruitment consultants do best. She says that they are really quiet at the moment and tells me she's got a day teaching Urdu if i think i can do that. I can't work out if this is a joke or not.
"I'm not being funny but....", my most despised piece of contemporary bullshit, "your CV.'s a bit boring."
I wonder how much she gets paid - probably twice as much as i have ever earned per annum- and i think: but she's got the key. She's the woman who knows just how to condense a person's life and work into one or two sides of A4 in order to snare that all elusive prize of the average UK salary.
I reply in my best fake-friendly voice, that of course i will email it to her ASAP, and thanks for that, speak to you soon, yeah. I'm sure she can feel the insincerity and probably even the expression on my face.
And then i think: Fuck you. I wouldn't rewrite my CV for you if you were the keeper of the last job on earth.

Monday, February 11, 2008


Recently, i have strongly felt the presence of my future love.

I have seen the tiny hotel that we will stay in one weekend in my favourite area of Yorkshire.
Some weeks ago i truly experienced the absolute certainty of how it feels to be held and to know that this person will be with you always.
Yesterday as i turned around, i was convinced that he would be standing right behind me.
And today at the Turkish Baths, i knew he would want to come with me next time.
This evening i felt him groove around my kitchen to the The Flaming Lips.

He is so close, i have the taste of him on my lips, he is almost within touching distance, and i meet him in my dreams.