That is not because I have been so over-run with freelance work that I haven't had time to keep up with my blogging activities. Nor is it because I have finally (and in due time), been offered that all important first job.
It's because I've been working as a full time Jobseeker. I even get paid. And so I should think so, because it's the most difficult job I've ever had to do.
I'm receiving benefits of £47 a week to cover my £77 a-week rent plus living expenses. So I've taken a part time job at, of all places, a call centre. Where many of my 16-year-old cousin's friends work. I have to phone people from 8am-3.30pm and ask them to complete a survey about something they don't give a crap about, and it takes about 20mins. I feel my two degrees are being slightly wasted.
In the last month, I've filled out more tax forms than I care to mention, spent endless hours on the phone to the bank, the job centre, various radio stations who owe me money and the Inland Revenue.
I've begged, borrowed and stolen money from Bank of Scotland, Bank of Dad and Bank of Boyfriend.
I have done a grand total of one day's journalism work, unpaid, for the BBC.
The next person who tells me that my current benefit-taking status makes me a tax hoarding, money stealing coach potato is going to get a square punch in the face.
