Jobhunters

TWO months in and we both remain unemployed. Husband is off for intervew number three at the same firm for more interrogation in the morning while I stroll to school with the children in the autumn sunshine.

I say 'stroll to school' in the broadest sense - the school is within spitting distance of the house - if you're a good spitter that is - and the boys now like to walk in by themselves. Getting into true Aussie lingo, they say they look like 'dorks' when either one of us parents escorts them into their classrooms!

So, by the end of this week, we'll know whether the tradesman of the household has been successful in any one of the countless jobs he's applied for.
If I wore a hat, I'd take it off to him. While I peruse the 'sits vac' columns of the local newspaper with half interested eyes, he's down at the job centre applying for litter picking jobs and even jobs down the copper mines.

The job I thought was coming up at the local cop shop was, after closer inspection, non-existent and the bobby who told me of it was obviously talking through his truncheon. I've spoken to two senior sergeants about the possibility of employment in their offices but there's nothing going ... allegedly.

So woe is me. I need some sort of normality and routine in my life and by being in work again will cut the mustard. It's here where I'll get myself some chums to bounce off and work up some sort of social circle again.

If anybody in the south-western suburbs of Melbourne wants to take on a naughty-forty-office-tea-girl, just shout yeah...?