DRIVING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

The Gallo Wines thing never really happened. I was supposed to go back to the Krypton Factor for the rest of the week but I had to cancel. I have got what some people might call flu, but is probably a very bad cold with aching bones and a thick head.

I’m closing down for the festive season. Due to lack of funds, there will be no company Christmas Party this year. Ba humbug and all that.
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ATCHOOOOOOOOO!

I’m working in Liverpool Street for a few days. I feel absolutely terrible. I am on the verge of catching the cold/flu/sickness/man flu thing that’s been going round. I was sneezed on at the Library and I was sneezed on at the Krypton Factor. It was only a matter of time.

The work didn’t come in today. The client put the meeting back at the last minute so I read up on Gallo Wines on their website. I felt too lousy to do any real research such as drink some, but I managed a half hearted browse round Spitalfields Market. I’m definately ill as I didn’t buy anything.
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LESS OF YOUR WINE-ING

An old friend phoned and asked if I was free for 2 – 3 days next week to work at his agency on a pitch for Gallo Wines.

“Right up your street” he said.

He’s got me so wrong. I much prefer the European stuff.
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JO'S GONE TO ICELAND (AGAIN)

I went shopping at Iceland again today. Had a look at their Top Ten Freezer Pleasers, but none of them pleased me very much so I just got some frozen peas, fish fingers a couple of tins of Branston Beans (they are WAY better than Heinz – try them), and some cheese. Another fiver well spent.
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THE SKY'S THE LIMIT

Back at the Krypton Factor again this week. I now have my own temporary security pass which makes things a whole lot easier. Well, easier until you try and buy lunch with it.

I decided to brave the canteen on my own today. There’s only so many Tesco layered cheese salads I can take. I really think Tesco are missing a trick. Their sarnies and salads are not a patch on Sainsbury’s. They need to introduce a salad bar and rethink their takeaway options.

There was a bloke outside the canteen roasting chestnuts on an open fire whilst someone played the bagpipes. It reminded me of Paris Hilton. Totally pointless.

Somewhere between filling my tray up and getting to the till to pay for it, I lost my security card. I had the holder in my hand, but the actual card had slipped out. I cannot begin to explain how serious this is. Almost as serious as misplacing the crown jewels.

After scouring the floor in the canteen with no joy, I had to report the missing card to security. Not just any old security, but the security on the ground floor, turn left, go through the double doors, keep walking, turn right, through the door, go to the hatch, ring the bell. Of course this was easier said than done as I couldn’t get through any doors without a security pass. Honestly - I just felt like getting in my car and driving home. But I couldn’t get to my car because I couldn’t get to it without a security pass.

It’s back to Tesco tomorrow, salad bar or no salad bar.
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ALL IS WELL

I’m back at the library this week (the nice local agency). Hurray! How I’ve missed Jeni Barnet and her righteous, mummsy banter on LBC at lunchtime.

I’m covering someone’s two week holiday so back next week too. 
I cancelled my dole application as things seem to be picking up.
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DOES ANYONE HAVE A HELICOPTER I CAN BORROW?

I wish lorries would stop breaking down on the M25. I thought it was just bad luck yesterday, but oh no. There was another traffic stopping lorry incident today. There’s never any evidence of these lorries when you do get moving. They’re an unexplained phenomena – like Pete Burns.

I’m averaging an hour late a day by the time I get to my desk and I refuse to leave home earlier than 7.30. It’s a 9.30 start and two hours is more than enough to be travelling either end of the working day. I’ve gone from 5 minutes walk to work, to two hours every which way but cruise.

Moaning aside, the work is nice and so are the people. It doesn’t seem that busy though. I’m wondering if I might be surplus to requirements but am doing my best to pretend otherwise.

I tried the canteen at lunchtime. It was amazing. Like a top notch restaurant with too much choice. I had fish & chips for £2.50. You could get seriously fat if you worked here full time.

The library called me today to ask if I’m available next week to cover someone’s holiday. I said yes immediately and thanked god for quiet offices, short journeys and parking spaces.
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IS THIS THE ROAD TO HELL?

There’s no way I was enduring the public transport ordeal again 
today so I decided to drive. It had to be quicker, plus the lovely 
Terry Wogan could keep me company.

The traffic was flowing like a dream on the M25. Until I got round the corner where it came to an abrupt standstill for no apparent reason. We crawled a bit, then stopped again. Crawled a bit, then stopped. Then Terry’s traffic woman said a lorry had broken down on the M25 near Heathrow airport.

I was only half an hour late but I couldn’t park. It was hard enough getting myself through security, but a car! No chance. I had to dump it in Tesco’s 
car park and phone the agency to tell them to phone the client and say 
I was running late (again).

Just one more hurdle to get through until I could begin the day’s work – Security. I heard they were bringing the Krypton Factor back. Maybe this could be one of the challenges: Navigate yourself to said destination on time and without going mental.
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CAN SOMEBODY CALL SECURITY

I wasn’t sure of the best way to get to Middlesex where I’m working for the next few days, so I got up really early and got the train, then the tube for 19 stops, then a bus. I was still 20 minutes late.

When I finally got to my destination, the place was enormous and I didn’t have a clue which area I was supposed to be in so I went to the main security gate and queued behind a group of bemused foreigners. When I got to the desk I gave the contact name I’d been given.

“Ain’t on de list” said the guard. I wasn’t sure if he meant me or the guy I was trying to report to.

“Stension number?”

“Pardon”

“Ex-ten-sion number”

This went on for sometime before it became apparent I was in the wrong building. When I eventually got to the right one I had to repeat the process with security. I wasn’t allowed through the gate without someone coming to collect me, or an official pass.

I called the recruitment agency to tell them how well it was going and to ask if they’d call the person I was supposed to be working for and get them to retrieve me from the security box.

Finally, I saw someone come out of the building, so I legged it like I was escaping from Guantanamo Bay and yelled “Do you know Pete Davies?

“Yeah – he sits in there. I’ll take you through” said the nice man as he nodded at the security guard.

When I finally got to the right room, it was empty. There was about 25 macs playing various screen savers but no people. I half expected Jeremy Beadle to appear at this point, but then I remembered he was no longer with us (god rest his soul).

Half an hour later some people appeared and pointed me in the direction of a free mac. I sat there checking my emails and looking busy until someone came over and introduced themselves. Turned out she was a freelance artworker and did I want a cup of tea? Later she’d show me where the canteen was. Apparently most people there are freelance, which explains the complete lack of direction.

It was almost 12.30 by now and I finally met the person in charge. Well - his PA who apologised profusely for all the confusion and suggested it would be a good idea for me to go to lunch now. The project managers were still getting their arses in gear and there would be some work this afternoon. No sooner was I in and established at a mac, I now had to get out again. There was no way I was going to navigate the canteen so I borrowed someone’s security card and found the nearest shop – a massive Tesco. 
If only it was a Sainsbury’s. There’d be a salad bar and everything would 
be OK.

I did eventually get a couple of hours work done before the 2 hour journey home. And it was nice work. Content for a TV ad.

Think I’ll try driving tomorrow
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EVEN SMALLER WORLD

The internet is still down!

Someone sourced some images at home last night and emailed them to me, but I couldn’t log into my email to retrieve them as the internet is down.

Luckily an illustrator came in today to do the boards. And even more luckily, 
I knew him from my years at Tequila. We’ve worked together lots of times. He’s great and together we got it all done.

Off into the unknown again tomorrow.
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SMALL WORLD

I’m staying with my best mate Claire in her studio flat in London. The next two days work is just up the road. It’s lucky we’ve known each other all our lives as we’re sharing a bed in a very small space. When we were kids, skipping through the daisies in the countryside, we never envisaged this is where we’d be at almost 40. 
But times are hard. And when times are hard, we laugh.

Work today was a challenge. The internet and email were down all day and 
I didn’t realise how much I rely on it. I needed reference images of various things and I needed them quickly. I couldn’t get them and I can’t draw from memory so I was stuck. What did people do before? Go to the library? Look through stock shot books? Yes they did. I remember. But no one has stock shot books anymore, and there’s no time to go to the library.

It’s a small world. I know the account director I’m working with from my 
ex-job where she was freelancing. And the client’s familiar as well. I had 
a chat with the boss at lunch time. He too knows my ex place of work.

“Isn’t that where people go to die?” he said.

Maybe I had a lucky escape.
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SAVED BY THE BELL

I had two calls from two different recruitment agencies today. One for 2 days concept development at a London marketing agency (Monday & Tuesday), and the other for a weeks creative/design work at a large media company in Middlesex.

I didn’t want to say no to either, since beggars can’t be choosers, so I managed to negotiate with the second one to do Wednesday, Thursday 
and Friday. Brilliant.
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LEST WE FORGET

It occurred to me this morning that my appointment at the dole office is on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. I never thought I’d be wearing my poppy and observing a two minute silence in the dole queue.

My appointment was 40 minutes late. I thought about legging it. Surely some work would come up soon? Did I really need to be here?

I listened to the interview taking place in front of me. The man in the shell suit was an out of work hairdresser apparently. There were several hairdressing jobs coming up on the system, but he didn’t do colour so they were no good.

Finally it was my turn. The nice lady took down my particulars and asked me what I’d been doing about looking for work. I filled her in on all the agencies I’ve signed up with and all the emails I’ve sent, plus the fact that I’d had some freelance work.

“Lets have a look if we have anything on our system for you”, she said as she logged on to what looked like an early 1970’s prototype.

“Here we go. Cad operator at a printing company in Shepherds Bush”.

“Errmm... that’s not quite what I do” I replied, not wishing to sound unwilling.

She printed the job spec out anyway and told me to call them. I also had to make a diary of everything I do to find work in the next 2 weeks and bring it to my next appointment. I’ll get about £60 a week, paid every 2 weeks.

Let’s hope the phone rings soon.
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IN THE DOLE-DRUMS

I’ve been considering signing on for sometime. I’ve never done it before 
and I don’t want to do it now, but I’ve decided I’m going to have to swallow 
my pride. It’s been 6 weeks now, and apart from a few days, work is not forthcoming. Although you wouldn’t know it looking at some of the 
recruitment sites.

I put my hoody on and went to the dole office this morning. It was full of middle class city types in the same situation as me. Not what I expected.

They gave me a phone number. I had to go home and call it to make an appointment. After answering a barrage of questions on my status and ability to work, I now have the dubious honour of an appointment on Tuesday morning at 11am to sign on. Lovely.
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AMERICA HAS DECIDED

Barack Obama is the new President of America and the world. Or at least he will be soon. They don’t half like to string these things out over there. This news spawned worldwide relief and one of the funniest ads I've ever seen.

Meanwhile, I’m setting up a limited company to cope with all this freelance work I’m not getting.
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AMERICA DECIDES

The world is waiting in anticipation while America goes to the polls to decide it’s next president. Let’s hope they count the votes properly this time.

I’m at the library designing a new year campaign for a health club.
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IT'S LIKE BUSES

One of the recruitment agencies called this morning about some work next week at Canary Wharf. Then another one called and asked me to go in and register with them. Then the library called. They want me Monday and Tuesday next week. What to do?

I juggled for a while but I needn’t have worried. Canary Wharf fell through so it’s yes to the library and the other one can wait.
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JO'S GONE TO ICELAND

I haven’t worked for over a week despite calling the recruitment agencies begging for freelance every other day. Most of them are “on the other line” every time I call. In fact there’s only one that has the decency to actually take my calls. She's a major player in the business.

I watched the news. Apparently we’re not officially in a recession yet, but Flash Gordon is going to reduce VAT from 17.5% to 15%. That means a medium salad from Sainsbury’s salad bar will be £1.94 instead of £1.99.
x
Crack open the champers.
x
To celebrate the news, I decided to make like Kerry Katona and head to my nearest Iceland. There’s one round the corner from my house. I’ve been there before to buy milk and frozen peas. I decided that since I don’t know when I’ll next work, and I didn’t receive any redundancy pay (wasn’t entitled), I’d better tighten my belt and stock up on prawn rings and the like.

I was very pleasantly surprised. I bought 6 bottles of water, a packet of super noodles, two salmon fillets, a bag of frozen peas and some cottage cheese and it came to a fiver. Five quid and not a frozen pork faggot in sight.

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DISASTER

There was no Coronation Chicken at the Sainsbury’s salad bar today. I’d been looking forward to it all morning. I asked the girl behind the counter if they had any more and she disappeared for 20 minutes and came back with 
a large tub of chicken & ham pasta. I nearly cried.

I consoled myself with a look around the Cancer Research shop and bought 
a Joseph dress for a fiver.

No news on the pitch back at the library. And they don’t need me next week.
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QUIET PLEASE

I’m back at the library this week. It’s nice work and the people are lovely. Heads down and get on with it.

I’ve developed an addiction to Sainsbury’s salad bar. There’s not much choice in the way of eateries round here and I don’t like supermarket sarnies. My first trip to Sainsbury’s salad bar was for want of something better to eat. Now I can’t stop. The coronation chicken is amazing, as is the pesto pasta and the mixed nut sprinkle. I have it all together in a medium sized pot and eat it whilst listening to Jeni Barnet on LBC in my car.

I think I may have lived on my own for too long.
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PITCH-TASTIC

I worked today at the local agency. It’s in the next town – about 20 minutes drive. I didn’t know what to expect as these non-London agencies can be a bit ‘different’ as I've discovered.

I needn’t have worried. The pitch they were working on was familiar. 
We’d pitched for it at my last place just before my departure but didn’t win it. These guys were down to the last two and had to produce more work.

They were all very nice. There was a distinct air of serenity and non-panic. 
I have never known such cool-headed calmness in the face of a pitch. Normally you’re still waiting for the brief at 6pm and you know it’s gonna be pizza for tea. I’m not sure if the lack of music contributed to this peaceful vibe, but I can only liken it to working on a pitch in a library.
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SKINNY JEANS AND PUMPS

I went into London today to register with the two recruitment agencies. I’ve got cramp in my right hand from filling in forms. So many forms. Forms with questions like:

“On a scale of 1 - 10, how do you rate your Microsoft Word skills?”

Despite my lack of Microsoft Word skills, they liked what they saw and were positive about getting me work. On the way home, the creative director from the local agency phoned and asked if I was free to work on Friday. Forget showing my book – they’re busy. There’s a pitch on and they need me next week too.
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I SEE A LIGHT

Two recruitment companies called and said they liked my work, my CV was great, and could I go and meet them.

“Of course” I said.

I’m going in to the Big Smoke tomorrow to register properly. I have to take my passport. They need a copy of it to make sure I’m not an illegal immigrant. 
Do I look like an illegal immigrant?

Also, one of the local marketing agencies got back to me. I’m going in to show them my book on Friday.
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TODAY I AM MOSTLY... WAITING FOR THE PHONE TO RING

The phone is silent and my inbox is empty, apart from friends being nice 
and a load of junk mail. I feel terrible.
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SHOCK, HORROR... THOUGHT YOU WERE REALLY BUSY?

Everyone is shocked at my sudden change of circumstances. They’ve all been most helpful, sending me loads of contacts and the names of the best recruitment websites and agencies.

Today I registered online with several agencies. Judging by their websites they all have creative jobs in abundance and are crying out for freelancers. 
I emailed all my friends in advertising, joined Creative Pool and signed up for job alerts. I applied for about 10 jobs on Brand Republic and did a search for local marketing companies. There’s quite a few in the home counties, although I’ll probably have to go back into London. Need to get my head around that one. Might have to have hypnotherapy to deal with the train.

A friend came round from ex-work and I burst in to tears again at the unfairness of it all. By the end of the night I looked like Bea Smith from 
Cell Block H.
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SOCIAL NETWORKING IS GOOD

I spoke to the guy at the recruitment agency that got me the ex-job yesterday. He couldn’t believe it either. Feedback had been good and he knew they were busy as he had a long term freelancer placed there (you know – Laurel).

He got back to me today after he’d spoken to Hardy, who had spoken highly of me but said I need to concentrate on one area, rather than art directing, writing, desiging etc, and that my mac skills were not up to scratch so unfortunately they couldn’t offer me a job elsewhere in the company!!!!!!

Had I been in a different frame if mind I would have pissed myself laughing. Instead I was extremely angry at this blatant bullshit and referred him to my letter of redundancy which stated it was ‘nothing to do with my skills which were excellent”.

He told me to leave it behind and move on, but I was furious. I emailed Hardy and asked him to rethink his words when speaking to recruitment people. No response so far.

How does one go about getting a new job? I kind of stumbled upon my last one on a website. I thought it was serendipity since it was 5 minutes from my house (which I’d only just moved to from London) and I wasn’t even looking to change jobs. Obviously I thought wrong. Time to contact 175 of my 200 friends on Facebook.

Jo is... unemployed. Help!

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DAZED & CONFUSED

I'm still trying to get my head around the fact that I have no job. It’s never happened to me before. Apart from when I decided stuffing handbags in Australia wasn’t for me.

My former boss (Hardy) had seemed concerned on Friday when he took me for a large glass of cheap wine after he escorted me from the building in a tearful mess. He said he’d fought against the decision to make me redundant. He didn’t agree with it and wasn’t happy that he’d had no choice in the matter. 
He was treated like a child, had no say in how his department was run and he would do everything possible to help me find another job. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his 30 year career (must say I'm honoured to be the first person ever to be made redundant under his creative directorship). 
He was very, very sorry.

I just heard his freelance mate (Laurel) has moved into my desk and rearranged 
the furniture.
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YOU'RE FIRED!

:

Despite no warning or inkling, I knew what was going to happen when I was called to the boardroom. I’d only been in the job nine months. Before that I was at Tequila for nine years and only left because a senior designer role came up closer to home. No Thameslink and no northern line. Bliss.

So I threw away Soho for Sleepy Hollow. Except it wasn’t sleepy. “By the way – we’re going to call you ‘art director’ because we can’t afford both”. 
I was told upon my arrival. I didn’t mind. I can direct art as well as design. Plus, I enjoy variety and I like being busy. And busy I was, Pitch after pitch. Promotion after promotion...

“... Oh good you can write copy too – please write a press release for this by next week”. (Better keep her sweet – she’s the boss. Well, not my boss. My boss is the creative “director”. She just owns the company.) What about that client deadline? Still got to take a photo of Dave doing something crazy for the website. Had I come up with a new colour scheme for the walls yet and chosen a swatch for the curtains? Why were there no handles on the new cupboards in the toilet? (errrm.... ask me another). Had I taken photo’s of my last visit to the supermarket and put them on the system? If not why not? Everyone must take pictures whenever they stock up on bog roll. Where are the designs for the meeting? Need to write the copy for Nat's presentation. I promised I’d look at it even though it’s not on the schedule. Why are the walls bare in reception? Hang pictures ASAP. No hooks. Go to Homebase at lunchtime. I’ll start the days work once boss(y) woman’s gone home. Wonder what mood she’ll be in tomorrow. Will she like me or hate me? Either way she’ll probably have a new pashmina.

.............................................................................
To: All Staff
From: Boss(y) Woman
This office is a disgrace. Everybody tidy your areas this 
afternoon because if I come in tomorrow and this place
 is still a mess heads will role. (sic)
.............................................................................

I enjoyed the variety that comes with a small company. Designer, art director, copy writer, interior designer, handy man, art buyer, cleaner. It was fun. 
Jack of all trades – master of none (apparently).

“Our clients have changing needs, therefore we’re making your role redundant”.

It wasn’t my boss, the creative director that told me (AKA Hardy for the sake of this blog). It was Boss(y) woman’s right hand woman – deliverer of bad tidings and bollockings. A kind of Ann Robinson type but without the facelift. Shock and horror swept over me and I burst into tears. I hadn’t seen it coming at all. I’d been too busy, My role was being made redundant.

What was my role again? I’d forgotten.
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