Friday's Child

So like I was saying, I went to a headhunter/job agency last Friday. I got there on time, in a suit and eager...to be eager. After hanging around in reception for quarter of an hour, some kid in an I Love Rome t-shirt came out to see me. I assumed he was going to take me to his dad's office. But in a squeaky voice he assured me I was there to see him.

Mr T-shirt took me to a cramped meeting room in a basement. It was hot and stuffy in there, so he put a fan on and angled it so that it was just blowing on him. For the next hour and a half, with an occasional glance at my CV and a quick hand through his wind-swept hair, we focused on him him him him.

He told me about his mother and then his first visit to Asia. He segued into his theory about water being the cause of the next world war, how to affect long-lasting change in UK Government policy, and an old teacher of his who is an - as yet unrecognized - expert in one of the things I do. Then we had his opinions about when women should have children, and (I wish I was making this up) his ideas about how to get rid of AIDS in Africa. Then we did Westminster again: my further theories by T-shirt boy aged 13. Occasionally he scribbled wrongly spelt notes on my CV, which I noticed - with some irrational anger - he had printed off on his organisation's headed paper.

I was civil (my wife does not believe me). I stole a minute in the conversation when he paused to breath and told him that I can do stuff like write and read and not turn up to work stoned. He said "that's really interesting" for which read "that reminds me of another cracking story about me".

After a whole load more stories and anecdotes, he wrote down three very different daily rates for what he thought I should be paid, circled all of them for emphasis, and told me it was a "pooey" time to be looking for work. He gave me the names of two other agencies I should contact. I took the names, feeling like the man who has just been dismissed by the last lawyer in town who might have saved him from death row.

I left that basement meeting room feeling hollow. In my dazed state I managed to get lost in a city I have lived in for 29 years. I eventually made it to my gym and had a long cleansing swim. Master Pooey says he will be in touch in a week or so. I assume he's had his summer break already. It would go some - very very small - way to justifying his t-shirt.

This is all in direct contrast to a really good meeting I had a few weeks ago with another agency where a nice woman made me feel that I might just exist in the real world rather than just in my rattling househusbandnot vacuum. She ignored the self-pity and mild fabrications, and just got on with talking about what I should be doing in the future and how she was going to help me to do it. Us stateless individuals - house husbands,Martians, blonde women, people who work in John Lewis - need all the validation we can get. Master Pooey has undone some of this good work, but I am sure he felt our meeting went well.

Last night to celebrate all the work that has been done in the kitchen, I set up itunes on my laptop on one of the new kitchen work tops and hit shuffle. I had no idea I owned quite so many acres of Kruder and Dorfmeister.