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Der Fuehrer Sez Jump!

I was talking to mom about this New Deal stuff earlier, and in particular having a moan about how I felt misled, i.e. that this work placement would be waged, etc. She said: ‘Well, they’ll do anything to get you on these things. They’re just doing what Mein Fuehrer says.’

(Mein Fuehrer probably meant Tony Blair. I didn’t bother asking.)
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Same Old Deal

The New Deal appointment I had today didn’t go terribly well, really. The person I saw seemed intent on using the word ‘mandatory’ every other sentence and underlining every single point with the clear threat of benefit cessation.

Who trains these people? Are they given any hints whatsoever about basic psychology? Or are they so used to dealing with half-witted, apathetic zombots that someone with an individual point of view is an alien concept? What is the purpose of emphasising all the negative aspects of this wretched system instead of trying to create the impression that something positive can come out of it? I might actually respond to positivity—I certainly won’t respond to browbeating, implicit threats or horribly negative words like ‘mandatory.’
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A Career Move

The flat-viewing was today. I had a New Deal appointment, so I couldn’t go, but mom gave me a detailed report. We’re both in a state of uncertainty, I guess. Mom has reservations about the patio door—she forgot to check if it was double-glazed or not (not double-glazed = easily smashed). [Note added later: the estate agent specs state it is double-glazed.] My reservation is where the flat is. I just don’t like the place. The flat sounds great overall, but the location sucks as far as I’m concerned. I’m trying to figure out if I can bear to spend the next x-number of years there.

I really don’t know. We need to move badly. That badly? Maybe.
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The Meaning of Life: Part 364

I had my fifth ‘mentoring’ session at the Jobcentre yesterday. The first one was back on March 19th.

At my previous appointment, two weeks ago, my mentor had been delving into ambition in a general sense. He told me he felt I was very intelligent and had a lot to offer (although, exactly what, he couldn’t specify). At one point he said, ‘Maybe you’d just like to meet Mr. Right, get married and have babies.’ (He added, ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’) This comment amused me, really, and yet it did have something—I really don’t think I am all that ambitious per se. I’ve only genuinely realised that in the last couple of years.
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The New Real Deal

Countdown to war. What a surprise that Saddam showed no interest in the Bush ultimatum. This is really the kind of ‘history’ I have no desire to live through… but who gets to choose?

My Jobcentre appointment today didn’t go that badly, really, in spite of my being awfully uncooperative.
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Comic Relief

I’ve rather annoyingly got interested in that Comic Relief Does Fame Academy thing. Generally, anything to do with Comic Relief is anathema to me—this has nothing to do with the cause, which is terrific, so much as the second-rate standard of the shows. But there has been a compelling, macabre kind of fascination generated by Ruby Wax’s performances, and Kwame (the black bloke out of Casualty) has a damn fine voice, actually. He looks damn fine too. You won’t get great odds on him being the winner.

The Comic Relief night itself looks to be the typical banal lineup. Lenny Henry doing Michael Jackson, presumably on serious steroids, promises to be as funny as herpes. The Martin Bashir interview literally defies parody, in any case.
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