YOU WIN SOME, YOU LOSE SOME

Much excitement today when I answered the phone to hear I'd been selected to receive £15,000 worth of home improvements due to the recession. I haven't been so lucky since I won a holiday to Barbados in the same way, which somehow turned into be a packet of seeds.

While I pondered this news, the lovely Ronnie explained that his company had managed to save so much money by not advertising in the media, that they had surplus stocks - hence my lucky selection today. Since I had a break in my non-hectic schedule I decided to play 'Beat the Salesman'.

"If you were to go ahead with these improvements, what would you spend the money on? How about new windows? How old are your windows?" he asked.
"Brand new" I told him.
What about your front door"
"Brand new. Freshly painted in Farrow & Ball French Grey".
"Conservatory?"
"No thanks".
By now I realised the 'surplus stocks' were anything made of UPVC and he was rapidly running out of options.
"How about a porch? Have you got a porch?" he ventured.
"No - I've got a Ford Ka" I said.

With that he muttered something about a 'waste of time' and put the phone down. Probably not going to win Salesman of the Year, but it's a tough job and someone's got to do it.
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ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST

I've just been to the shops wearing no make-up, a pair of leggings, socks and Birkenstocks. I look like a proper drop-out. Where's my sense of pride gone? Is it slowly ebbing away with my job prospects?

Oh well. At least I haven't got Swine Flu.
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NOTHING GOING ON BUT THE RENT (and the car tax, MOT, insurance...)

No work this week. Just loads of expense. After careful consideration about whether or not to sell my car, I decided not to. I need it for my fun adventures on the M25. And besides, I like my little roller skate on wheels.

But this month is car month. Tax, MOT, and insurance are all due by the end of the month and as we all know, you can't get one without the other. So I took it round to the garage and ended up having a long chat with the nice man. He asked me what I do for a living and I ended up telling him all about being made redundant, looking for work, trying to freelance, the difficulties of it all and he said what most people say - "have you thought about doing something else".

I explained that I like what I do and I don't want to do anything else. Having said that, I wouldn't mind being an MP. All that sleaze and free money. Plus you only have to turn up a few days a year, disagree with what the other side say and fall asleep. Garage man sympathised but it didn't reduce the bill at all.
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JUST CALL ME MAX CLIFFORD

I've been on the phone to a reporter at the News of the World today. Being skint does funny things to your morals. That, coupled with a woman scorned is a seriously bad combination. Let me explain...

My friend Claire got involved with one of her clients about a year ago. Not the most professional thing to do but they got on, he wooed her by text and phone calls and the next thing I know she's in love with someone she's never met. An unexplained phenomena that I can relate to. Turns out he's a Z list celebrity. Possibly even Y. He's a member of a very successful 80's band who are still around today. Consequently he's loaded.

He flew to London to meet Claire, and despite the fact he has a serious height defect (slightly taller than Jimmy Krankie), they embarked upon a relationship. He flew her up and down the country, they stayed in 5-star hotels and he showered her with gifts. Some months later she got a call one morning from an irate woman professing to be his wife (turned out it wasn't his wife - just his girlfriend of 2 years that he'd omitted to mention).

Claire was heart-broken. She managed to maintain a professional relationship with him but was devastated by the deceit. The harassment and phone calls from the girlfriend went on, whilst the tiny pop star continued his declarations of undying love for Claire. A few months later she got a call from the tiny pop star's best friend (a woman) telling her he was beside himself, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him and if only he could turn back time (it wasn't Cher).

Then he contacted her. She listened to what he had to say. About how he couldn't stand losing her (it's not Sting), how it had been the worst few months of his life, how the girlfriend was history and how he'd never met anyone like Claire and realised what a terrible mistake he'd made. He'd do anything to win her love but he didn't have a clue (it's not Lionel Ritchie either). There was no going back for Claire and she told him as much, but wanted no ill feeling. A week later the nutty girlfriend was back on the blower telling Claire to stay away from her (tiny) boyfriend or else. Turned out he still hadn't found it in his heart to dump her - especially since she now had a terrible illness. Tradgedy. And no - it wasn't one of the Bee Gees. Or Steps.

So Claire is a woman scorned not once, but twice and that's how I found myself on the phone to the the News of the World. She wants revenge. I want a holiday. We have evidence in bucketloads. But they only offered 5 grand in the end. Not worth losing your job over, or indeed your integrity. Selling a story on someone to the papers is not a cool thing to do. I don't think Claire would have gone ahead with it for any amount of money. And I wouldn't usually have encouraged it, but to cut a long story short, I lost my mind. (Nope - not Spandau Ballet either).

I'm going to have to think of another way to make a fast buck. I don't think Claire has heard the last of him though. I feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes.
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ANARCHY ON THE M25

As the world leaders met for a crisis summit in London and anarchists waited for photographers to turn up before throwing a computer through an RBS window, I was en-route to leafy Godalming for two days work.

I left my house at 7.15am and it only took four and a half hours to complete the 50 mile journey. FOUR AND A HALF HOURS!!! I had spectacularly underestimated the power of the M25. As I sat there helpless, I was engulfed with the stress of letting my friend down (creative director of the agency I was trying to get to) and overwhelmed with frustration to the point of screaming. A complete waste of energy and it didn't make me feel any better.

When I eventually got to Godalming it occurred to me that it would have been quicker to fly to north Africa. The things I do to earn a crust. Next time I'll book into the local Travelodge. Do they have Travelodge's in prosperous Godalming? Probably not but I think I saw a Premier Inn.
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FLASHING IN WESTMINSTER

The Flash course was good. I have now learned how to make things move. Tweening as they say in the trade. Watch out for some Jo Elliott designed annoying banner ads popping up on a web page near you soon.
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THIS WEEK, I HAVE BEEN MOSTLY WORKING. WOOHOO!

I had started some quantative easing of my own by selling a few things on ebay when a friend from my ex-job gave me a tip off about a small agency half an hour away. I sent them my details along with a bit of brown-nosing about how much I liked their website. The next thing I knew I had a weeks work. My first whole weeks work of 2009. Just in time for this years council tax bill.

It's been a nice antidote to the woes of the previous week in which I had 3 potential freelance bookings cancelled because the budgets were pulled at the last minute, along with applying for 17 jobs and not hearing so much as a "thanks but no thanks" from any of them.

I've booked myself onto a 2 day intensive Flash course Thursday and Friday. It seems I need to know how to build websites as well as design them to stand any chance of getting a job these days. The course is not cheap. I also need to invest in Creative Suite 4* – a snip at just over 2 grand. Flash is very different on CS4 apparently, and the course I'm doing is the CS4 version. I'll have to flog a few more pairs of jeans on ebay.

*For anyone that doesn't know what I'm talking about, Flash is a web animation programme, part of the Adobe Creative Suite software package which modern day designers and artworkers use instead of potato's and letraset. Adobe bring a new version out every couple of years and change things so much that you HAVE to upgrade. Also known as daylight robbery.
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SACK THE AD AGENCY

I saw this ad in a building society window today. Talk about clutching at straws. Surely times have changed so drastically since they 'opened over 5,000 savings accounts every day last year' that even the lowest common denominator thickie wouldn't buy that line.

Time to embrace the zeitgeist. How about:

We're just as untrustworthy as all the others.
No wonder no one has opened a savings account with us this year. If you have any spare money, why not treat yourself to a holiday or try your luck with Ernie.
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IT'S ALL IN THE JEANS

Apparently the government is introducing free therapy at job centres as so many people are experiencing depression and mental illness due to the recession. I wonder if that includes retail therapy?

As I walked back from signing on the other day, I couldn't help but notice that my favorite shop had a sale on. 80% off some items. Still totally unaffordable for me, but although I tried to walk past, my legs just veered to the left of their own accord and the next thing I know, I'm entering the changing room with three pairs of jeans. None of them fitted me thank god, but before I could escape the sales assistant appeared with a beautiful pair of Seven jeans from the new collection.

Of course, they fitted me like a glove. They were perfect and lovely and felt amazing. They were also £150. Under normal circumstances I'd put them on my card and have a word with myself later. It didn't help that the sales woman was going on about how great they looked. I paced up and down the changing area for ages. If I sold all my things on ebay I could buy them. If I saved up my dole money for a month and didn't eat, I could buy them.

For the first time in my life (since I didn't get a pony), I had to walk away from the all consuming desire I was feeling. It was a lesson in acceptance. I'm not sure if I've learned it or not. I went back and touched them today.
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SO SUE ME

I cried all the way down the M1. No work, no money and I just found out the bloke that owns the house next door is threatening me with legal action for blocking a redundant right of way in my garden. He doesn't even live there.

If I don't remove the decking within 28 days I'll be served with 'injunctive proceedings', whatever they are. "All costs associated with any action will be claimed from you".

Good luck with that one.
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EVERY DAY'S LIKE SUNDAY

It's five months today since I got made redundant and to celebrate this anniversary I bought a 6-pack of Tennants Super, 20 Regal and didn't bother getting dressed.

Not really. I'm doing my best not to become a sterotypical doleite, but as the days merge into months it's difficult to remain optimistic. Every day's the same. Sunday's aren't special any more because they're the same as every other day. And despite all the news about the thousands of people in the same boat as me, I don't know one other person who's been made redundant.

I'm at my parents at the moment in Northamptonshire. Staring at their 4 walls instead of mine. Wallpaper instead of Farrow & Ball Elephant's Breath. I came up here to meet the creative director at the company I've applied for a job with, but I just found out they've pulled the budget and there's no longer a job. Typical. I've still got my fingers crossed for the one in Dubai but haven't heard any more. No doubt that's gone tits-up too.
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PESSIMISM PORN ADDICT

Having successfully fought the car crash TV addiction so far, I have another problem. I'm addicted to the news. The bad news. The doom and gloom coming from BBC News 24 all day, every day as I sit here looking for work.

It can't be good for the soul. If it's not redundancies and company's going bust (Barratts shoes yesterday – where will I buy my winkle pickers now?), it's natural disasters like the tragic bush fires in Australia. And I can't turn it off.

I haven't mentioned this to anyone before because it seems kind of perverse. I should be listening to something more uplifting surely? But it's not just me. I read in a magazine that it's becomming an epidemic. Someone in New York has identified this and named it Pessimism Porn.

Gordon Brown and all those bankers – porn stars. Who'd have thought it?

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A PRICEY TRIP TO THE CINEMA

One of the agencies phoned on Friday evening with a potential brief for this week. I kept everything crossed all weekend but by 4pm on Monday I still hadn't heard anything. Desperate to get out of the house, I'd gone into town to meet Claire for lunch. She had the day off and had just bought half of Topshop with her 15 year old niece.

After lunch we had some time to kill and not much money to spend so we decided to take advantage of the off-peak cinema ticket and see Jennifer Aniston's new film, 'He's Just Not That into You'. I'm not generally a cinema fan but I like a film I can relate to (!), so off we went to the horribly Blackpool-esque Trocadero near Picadilly Circus for a couple of hours of switch off your brain (and your phone) girly movie fun.

It was the most expensive film I'd ever seen because when I came out 2 hours later and switched my phone back on, I had 4 messages and a couple of texts trying to confirm me for the rest of the week at an agency in Farringdon. By the time I got back to them it was too late. They'd found someone else. I wouldn't mind but it's the first time my phones been off all year.

Lesson learned: Mobile phone's have silent/vibrate mode for a reason. Use it.
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I THINK I'M QUACKING UP

I signed on today. The woman was very friendly. It occurred to me that it was the first face to face conversation I've had with anyone this week. How depressing.

Afterwards I went on my daily trip to the park. Running makes me feel better. When I’d got round the lake today I felt so much better I heard myself say hello to a duck. Yes - I actually acknowledged a duck by saying hello to it. Not “hello me duck” or anything like that. Just a cheery “hello” and a wave.
X

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TEA & BISCUITS

While I wait for the imminent lottery win, I popped into Iceland for some teabags. I couldn’t help noticing the 5-pack of 4-finger KitKats for £1. I don’t even eat chocolate but at that price I might start.

The work situation is so dire I’ve been casting my net a bit wider. Every day I look through Brand Republic, Guardian Jobs and all the others. I’ve been hitting ‘apply’ to creative vacancies everywhere. Two recruitment agencies have phoned regarding permanent jobs. One in Northampton, the other in Dubai. I grew up in Northamptonshire and I’ve been to Dubai a few times. Two of the most undesirable places to live in my book, but I guess if I have to up sticks and leave my home, it may as well be sunny. Fingers crossed for Dubai then.
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THE SECRET

The three days work last week were good. It was great being back in town and working for a grown up agency (although I did hear someone use the word ‘fandabidozee’).

No more work on the horizon though. I phoned round all the recruitment agencies again today. It was the usual story. No one answered apart from one, who asked me why I sounded so despondent.

Someone recommended that I read a book called 'The Secret'. I’ve heard of it before. It’s about manifesting what you want in life. Once only known by an elite few scholars who were unwilling to share their knowledge of ‘the secret’ to obtaining anything you desire, this woman has discovered it and is now kindly revealing it to all and sundry in the form of a book that costs 12 quid.

Although it’s not a very long book, it’s 12 quid well spent because it’s so easy. All you have to do is think about what you want. Think about it hard and REALLY believe that you’re going to get it. Picture yourself with all that you desire and really believe in it. Keep doing this for a while and apparently the universe will give it to you. Simple as that.

Bloody brilliant. Forget the job. I REALLY believe I’m going to win the lottery.
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WADIN' UP WEST IN ME WELLIES

I managed to get into town on Tuesday. The snow was really deep. I’ve never seen anything like it in London. It reminded me of when I went to New York at Christmas. Apart from the lack of snow ploughs clearing it.

There were four trains an hour but the tubes were still chaos so I walked to Tottenham Court Road in the snow. I’ve had three days work now, filling in for someone who’s on holiday. Designing, artworking, eating Hula Hoops – whatever needs doing. It’s nice to feel human again.
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SNOWED UNDER

I couldn’t believe it.

My first day’s work this year and I’m snowed in. This is the scene that greeted me at the station this morning. The whole country has ground to a halt.

Apparently it’s not the wrong kind of snow this time. There’s just too much of it.
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A POEM

The phone rang today – it was my good friend Pippy.

She asked me to work Monday and I said YIPEEE!!!

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A LESSON LEARNED

I spoke to my friend Lucy today. She’s been working on Super Yachts for a couple of years. In the Med in the summer, and the Caribbean in our winter.

I went on her yacht a couple of times last summer. Once in Cannes and once in Majorca when there were no guests on board – just the 16 crew. It seemed like a great life. Fun people and eternal sunshine.

It got me thinking at the time, and I’ve been thinking about it more while 
I’m sitting here staring at a silent phone and listening to doom and gloom on the news. So I emailed Lucy to see if she could get me a job on the yacht. Cleaning, doing the laundry – I don’t care what. It’s good money and it’s 
tax free.

But she phoned today to say she’d lost her job. It seems the credit crunch is even affecting the super rich yachting fraternity. She had two weeks notice and had to get off in St Maarten, where she’s now hanging out, looking for another job.

I'm in the home counties, freezing my proverbials off looking forward to hitting the dole queue tomorrow. No prizes for guessing where I’d rather be out of work. If only I’d spent less time investing in Topshop and The Crown & Two Chairmen, and more time investing in ISA’s when I had the chance, I too could be unemployed in St Maarten.
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TEQUILA

Oh Tequila, Tequila. Lovely Tequila. Why did I ever leave you?!!

I worked there for almost 10 years. In that building in Dean Street, Soho, 
with it’s own bar and brilliant location. The friends, the laughs, the parties, 
the cheesy Wotsits. We even did some work. What ever possessed 
me to leave it all behind for a pantomime in the provinces, only to be made redundant 9 months later.

I went to the Tequila Bar last night for a leaving do. I’ve been back a lot since I left and it always feels so familiar and nice. I had a chat with the powers that be. No freelancers allowed at the moment – credit crunch and all that. No full timers needed either.

Today I just feel angry. Angry that I left a good agency for a not so great agency with a total disregard for anything other than the next pack flash.

I rang the dole. Apparently I can do a rapid reclaim.
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PILE-UP TV

X

I’ve tried to keep a sense of humour throughout this ordeal, but I’m afraid it’s beginning to wane. I haven’t worked for over a month (OK - there was Christmas in the middle) and I feel I’m in danger of saying “balls to it”, turning on the telly and watching Jeremy Vile.

It’s bad enough that I’ve become addicted to Celebrity Big Brother. Last week, the highlight of my week was watching a drunken dwarf crash a scooter into 
a door and declare his feelings for the helium voiced La Toya Jackson. 
If only I had some cash in the attic.

I fear I’m on the slippery slope to car crash TV addiction. I’m fighting this fear with a daily outing to my local park. I walk to the lake, run round it and try and guess if other people on their own are credit crunch casualties. I live in an affluent town which has been hit hard by this recession. There’s a lot of unemployed commuters here.
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WHAT A LOAD OF KAKA

Still no sign of any work. I sent several emails today and made more calls to remind people I’m available. I’ve pretty much exhausted all avenues.

According to the news, I’m not alone. They described it as carnage. 2000 jobs have been axed at Barclays, 450 at Jaguar Land Rover and 300 at Zavvi amongst others.

Meanwhile, Manchester City have bid 100 million quid for some bloke called Kaka. They’re offering him half a million a week in wages. If that’s not twisted, I don’t know what is.
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PARLAY VOO LANGUAGES?

Every day I get about 20 job alert emails from Creative Pool. These alerts for suitable jobs are automatically sent based on the criteria I filled in on their website. Here’s a selection of job titles I received today:

Multi-Lingual Artworker: Greater London – TBC
Junior Artworker for Transport Co – Central London: 20k
Cantonese Speaking Typesetter – Central London – Excellent pay

I must log on and check my details. I’m sure I didn’t add languages as one of my skills. Unless I got confused and thought I was signing up for a dating site, in which case I speak Cantonese, Afrikaans and Urdu.
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CALLING ALL AGENCIES

As suspected, no joy with the agencies. Only one answered and was highly optimistic about all the briefs they’ll be getting in the next few weeks (the first week in January is always dead apparently). The others simply don’t take my calls. The worst culprits are the ones that are ‘not a colour’. I haven’t even spoken to the guy since I went in and registered in October. And it’s not for lack of trying. This is how the conversation goes:

“Hi. Can I speak to Trevor please?”
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s Jo Elliott.”
“What’s it regarding”
“Errrrrrm... work.”
“Are you available for work?”
“Yes. But can I speak to Trevor please?”
“I’ll just try his line for you”

[I hold for a while].

“I’m sorry. He’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?”
“No it’s OK. I’ll try AGAIN later”.

Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh
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NEW YEAR, NEW START?

Christmas came and went. And so did New Years Eve. Usually I go somewhere exotic but this year I hibernated in rural Northamptonshire, licking my wounds from the previous year and wondering what this one will bring. This – the year when I’ll be 40. I should probably be settled down with a couple of kids by now. Passing my time baking cakes and meeting my new friends from the NCT class to slag off our husbands over a skinny latté.

But I’m not. And I have to find some work.

I thought I’d give the agencies a few days to settle back in before I start sending them emails to ignore, or calling them when they’re in a meeting.
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