If the shoe fits

Well I had another interview last night. I was prepared with some fairly exhaustive research on the company and their website, plus their competitors. I made sure I was tanked up to the gills with coffee so that I was a whizzing cog of knowledge full of useful views and anecdotes.

It went okay. The person interviewing talked about themselves for 95% of the time and then asked a load of stupid questions. While they were whiffling on I had another look at the job specification that prepared and it dawned on me that it was mostly nonsense. In short, this person was a bit of a berk.

It wasn't that I didn't like them, more that after a 30 minute phone interview I didn't want to work for them. This feeling wasn't just based on the fact they used synergy two dozen times or that they kept using technical terms in the wrong way. This was something else. It was more that I could already tell that they are the sort of person who doesn't really 'get' what they are doing. This isn't such a huge problem, I suppose a reason to get me in is to deal with that sort of thing it's more that she was gauging the success of their company on something that had nothing to do with success.

So for example, instead of measuring a shoe shop on how many shoes it sells she would measure it on if one random person said they liked their shoes. Which measuring system is most likely to get a true indication of the success of the shop?

That wasn't a perfect analogy but I think it gets across the point. It's not a shoe company by the way, or anything to do with fashion.

I am looking for a job very hard, and it seems morally wrong to say no to something but I don't know if I want to be working for that sort of person. I have had experience of this before and it was a nightmare. It's a bit of a shame though, as the money was excellent.

Text dating

The following text messages are a conversation between myself and a friend. The one who is a madam who I went out with a million years ago.

Her - Hi Louche babes, have ya been?

Me - Jolly good, how the Dickens are you? What is new in your world?

Her - Lots going on. I missed you at the party on Friday, there was a girl there who would have been perfect for you.

Me - Sorry about the party, I was away. Tell me about the girl.

Her - Maria she is stunning only thing is she has children and has been to prison for fighting before.

Me - What sort of fighting? You really do know the best sorts of people.

Her - I know, just defending herself against a guy who started on her. She used a shoe and a knife.


A shoe and a knife, I think I'll pass on this one.

Lovely boots and Mr Lyttleton

Today I picked up new boots. It was a lovely day so I ambled over to the big bike shop in Vauxhall to have a look at Triumphs and drool. After a bit I realised that if I didn't leave right away I would do something very bad involving my credit cards. So scampered off and I went onto my favourite bike accessories shop to pick up my boots. My very armoured boots.

Piqued says you shouldn't try and cut corners when it comes to your helmet (stop sniggering) or your boots so I ended up getting some pretty flashy shoes with all sort of armour plating and things. I've not been so pleased with an item of footwear since I was about eight years old and I managed to persuade my mother to buy me some shoes that left footprints that looked like a dinosaur. These new boots should last me a while and it's been really enjoyable slowly building up my biker gear piece by piece with lots of careful thought. I could wait and do it all in one go but where would be the fun in that?

It was a jolly pleasant stroll through town with the sun shining and even the football fans chanting outside the pubs and shouting at people as they walked by couldn't spoil the mood. I listened to a few old editions of I'm sorry I haven't a clue on my Mp3 player while I walked around as per usual.

I heard about the sad demise of Mr Lyttleton when I was walking back from the party. I hope that it wasn't a painful death and that he realised how much joy and pleasure he brought to so many people with his naughty quips.

Foiled by feet

As I was feeling a bit blue I decided to do some shopping. Not just any sort of shopping, oh no. Shopping for bike paraphernalia. The next on my hit list were some stout boots. After a chat with Piqued about the sort of boots I should get and the minimum I should spend I set off to the bike gear shop. The proper bike shop, not one of the silly scooter places.

This is normally a pleasant enough amble through the streets of Putney, Fulham then Chelsea but as I appear to have a mild case of man flu it wasn't as agreeable as I had hoped. By the time I arrived I was in a bit of a state so I had to pause for a while on a nearby bench to catch my breath. Going for a walk didn't seems so wise.

Once inside the shop I got down to the business of buying serious footwear. The nice chap in the shop with the beard soon worked out the sort of boots I needed and I asked to try a pair on. Sadly this wasn't possible because my joke-sized feet were outside the sizing range they have in the shop. So I have had to order a pair in which isn't nearly as healing but they will arrive on Thursday so it's not too bad and I suppose that is another part of my biking uniform sorted.

Now I'm just going to retire to my bedroom with my mild temperature and try not to die of man flu.

Hazard perception and winkle pickers

The bike (and car) tests have got rather involved, now one has to take a theory test and a hazard perception test as well as the practical test we all know and hate.

The theory test doesn't bother me too much, I'm quite good at memorising useless facts and so knowing the stopping distance in ice when you are travelling at 70mph isn't presenting much of a problem. I brought a practice DVD anyway and I've managed to get to the point where don't have much to worry about.

The second part is the bit that troubles me. The Hazard Perception test involves watching a series of clips from a drivers view and and clicking the mouse when you see a developing hazard. I'm not completely sure what their definition of the hazard is. Buses turning right is a hazard, but a chap pulling a wheelie on his bicycle was gleefully ignored. Anyway I've brought a DVD and now I'm spending hours watching videos and clicking frantically when something even mildly threatening appears.

The other problem is I keep getting distracted by the other people in the videos just strolling along the side of the road. There was a lady who really shouldn't have been wearing winkle pickers with those trousers (click). A very ill-thought out mullet (click), a puffa jacket combined with shorts (click) and we shall not speak of the denim top and bottom combination that as far as I am concerned is definitely a hazard (click, click, clickity-click).

So I've had to take a break and look at something else for a while. All this hazard spotting is very tiring. I do wonder though, who ever actually picked some winkles in winkle pickers? Or creeped across a brothel in brothel creepers?

I can't really talk, I've never smoked a cigarette in my life but I've got a plethora of smoking jackets.

Lucy Porter, Dangerous perfumes and holidays

Last night I didn't go to the party as planned. Just as I was about to scamper out of the door I got a call from The Urban Woo asking if I'd like to do a gig tonight at her friend's comedy club.

I said yes, because I'm of the opinion that when opportunity knocks you don't just grab it with both hands but also ask it in for a nice cup of tea. So I quickly re-jiggled my evening plans and sprinted towards the tube. Just managing to arrive in time, a little warm under the collar but acceptable.

Lucy Porter, the proper professional comedian was there that night, as the first act which was one of the reasons I said yes. Just by appearing in the same show as her would mean I've shared the bill with someone who actually makes a living out of comedy and thus it will probably be the peak of my comedy career.

She was utterly lovely with amazing hair and we talked for a bit before the show started. My previous plans for the evening had affected my choice of fragrance so I was wearing the extremely effective scent that worked so well on my friends P.R. agent before. It was having it's now usual effect and even Lucy was caught up in the spell, not to the point of kissing of course, she is a professional but still.

I'm starting to get a bit worried by this scent, I'm not sure I'm ready for the level of responsibily of having it. It's only a matter of time before it gets a girl riled up too much and then what will I do? Luckily (depending on your view point of course) Lucy only asked to have a couple of sniffs and nothing more.

Sadly my scent was not designed to make people laugh, the audence were a strange crowd. While they would clap loudly at the end of the act the guffawing seemed to be only be happening when they couldn't stop themselves and the rest of the time they sat with their arms folded across their bodies looking at you like you were trying to give a presentation on why children should be eaten or something like that.

Lucy's act (I love how I'm pretending we are chums now), ahem Ms Porter's act amused the audence but not as much as it should. I mean really, it wasn't like it was a bad crowd but perhaps they just weren't in a very funny mood.

After Lucy ran off (I offered to walk her imaginary dog, which I think is a new low for me) there was a short break and then the rest of the acts went on. I had a couple of people appear before me both of whom have excellent sets and I've seen the very same routines get absolute peels of laughter on other normal nights but this time it felt like the only time anyone laughed was when they absolutely couldn't hold it in.

The time for me to amble on stage occured and I went through my usual routine which went down okay, and them gambled and did a whole extra section on writing letters to friends in prison. I'd only invented it on the tube over so it wasn't as polished as it should have been but it only got minimal laughs which I think is a shame as I think it could be good.

I must admit I'm not so sure about the comedy thing anymore, being a writer is hard enough and comedy is far more cut-throat and demanding. I'm of the opinion that your hobbies should balance out what is missing from your day to day life. So perhaps I need a hobby with a lot of responsibilty and a management structure.

Anyway on to the subject of leisure time. I appear to be collecting holidays. Especially ones that involve taking another person but sharing a bed with them. This presents a bit of an issue, while I have quite a few friends I know I'd have a great time on holiday I don't really want to be sharing a bed with them.

It was suggested to me last night that I just pull my socks up and jolly well find a girl to take with me. I suppose it could work, I've got the overnight stay in the hotel suite that I won so that could be like a test and then if that works I've got a week in a villa in Tuscany that I have to go on. Perhaps a personal advert would work?

'Wanted female chum to take on holidays, must have own luggage and not mind sharing a bed with a raffish type who thinks about shoes and waistcoats too much.'

If that doesn't work, I can always bring out the scent, I've probably got just enough of it to keep a girl intoxicated long enough for a flight to Italy.

Tom Cruise

I've always though Tom Cruise is an okay actor. I've never been a massive fan, or avoided a film because he was in it. I'd say I'm neutral on the chap.

I like Mission Impossible 1 & 3 and because I was once a small boy Top Gun made me want to emigrate and join the military but apart from that he is just someone who gets paid a lot of cash for making expressions in front of camera. Well done him.

I say this because on Saturday night I met a proper Tom Cruise fan. We were in a bar, and this girl managed to relate almost any conversation back to how wonderful Tom Cruise was. It was a little bit alarming, but then it was quite fun to see how she would bring Tom Cruise into a conversation about shoes, horses or cocktails.

After a bit of consideration I decided it was probably best not to ask for her number and just politely said goodbye to rejoin my friends. I'm all for people having interests but I don't think I want to be in a love triangle with Tom Cruise.

It's a new dawn of a new day...

Today feels a bit like spring. It's still jolly cold but the light has a lovely clean quality of the sort that makes artist go all weak at the knees and other chaps go and check their picnic gear to see if it is still in working order.

I tend to picnic a bit too soon in the season because I get so excited by the prospect of eating outside, so when the proper picnic weather arrives I've had enough and I'll do anything to avoid a glass of Pimms and a cucumber sandwich. Perhaps this year I'll learn to pace myself.

A plan has already been formulated for a picnic with my flatmate. it will be 'jolly spiffing' the likes of which hasn't been seen since Gatsby was last spotted hosting a bash on the West Egg. Boaters or Trilbies will be a requirement for chaps, ladies must have a parasol. I just hope that is enough of a temptation to lure people south of the river.

I've got a pleasantly busy day ahead of me. I'll spend my usual morning in the library frowning but in the afternoon I'm going to go into one of the places I work in Soho. I've not been in for what seems like an age so this will be very pleasant to catch up on the nonsense going on.

The evening will be absorbed by meeting up with the editor who gives me most of my work. So I need to be on my best behavior. Actually not just my best behavior but the sort of behavior that says 'You should get a regular column talking about shoes and girls as well as your usual nonsense.'

Speaking of nonsense this afternoon I'll find out if I managed to get the phrase 'feckless popinjay' into the paper or not. If I have succeeded my next challenge will be to get embonpoint into print.

A Velvet suit, Google and the feminist republic of Brightonia

When you break up with someone, move house, end a job or change something important like your opinion on tight trousers you should get some new clothes. This is to mark this historic occasion and help kick start a new period.

As it was the time of new beginnings I went on my usual pilgrimage to the Real McCoy. For those who don't know about this wondrous place it is a shop that sells clothes from the 1870s to the 1970s. The male selection is rather limited but it does occasionally throw up a real treasure.

I like to think that the show rewards me for getting through something tricky by giving me a lovely item of clothing. I think it's luck because finding something I like and that fits me in what is basically a specialised second hand shop is tricky. When I visited my dad on my own I was gifted with a fitted tweed number that I adore, telling A I was going to have no-more of her nonsense was a surprised to find a lovely smoking jacket.

On this visit I found a brown velvet suit that fitted me like a glove. I wasn't sure about it until I tried it on and the fit, and amusing lack of trouser pockets completely bowled me over. It is the perfect thing to wear on New Year's Eve in Brighton with a load of feminists.

Of course a brown suit is an easy item to get wrong, too flashy a shirt and you look like a failed magician, too conservative and you will be more akin to a geography teacher. Not that either are bad people, but that's just not my look. I've settled on a faintly stripy pink number and combined it with some very sharp shoes which I think gets the balance right.

I will soon be entering the world of dating so I Googled myself today as people do that when they meet you and want to find out more. I'm not even close to the top search of my own name. I can't believe that. I've got a moderately unusual name and people from the 1800s on genealogy websites appear above me. I can't decide if this is a good thing or not, I toyed with the idea of setting up some fake websites about how I saved some nuns from a fire or taught dolphins to read so that people searching for me would hear good (fictional) things. Maybe not for now.

I must dash now, I've got to pack up my waistcoats and get things ready for my trip to Brighton to stay with some outrageous feminist friends for NYE. I can't wait, seeing them is always a joy and their misadventures are the stuff of legend. Just the ticket when a chap is starting something new.

On the range

I learnt to be a cowboy today, it was lovely.

There are some very important parts of being a cowboy that you need to get the look right before you can even get on a horse. The first of these is your wardrobe, anything less than a 1 inch heel on at least a faintly ridiculous boot is just wrong, next is the trousers. Jeans are where it is at, in a classic blue. I favour a flared boot-cut leg but it's down to personal taste.

Shirts can be a tricky one, I don't have anything with tassels but an extremely rugged shooting shirt that is made of some sort of cloth-iron hybrid completed the look.

Once you have your look sorted you need to start thinking about your swagger, and relaxed pose. Western Riding is about slouching in the saddle looking as bored as possible, sort of like the Fonzie in chaps. You also need to think about a 1000 yard stare, because you never know when you will spot a marauding wolf or cattle rustlers.

When you have mastered this you can think about additional affections, some people like to chew gum, tobacco or even a blade of grass but it's really up to personal taste.

With the tricky stuff like that out of the way the messing around on horses part is easy.

Jungle Journalism

Today my first proper bit of journalism will appear in a newspaper. Proper journalism with hard-hitting facts and things, not just nonsense about ladies and shoes. Okay so it's mostly nonsense about tanks but it feels more grown up.

I can't wait to get hold of a copy, it doesn't come out to later and this day is going so very slowly it hurts.

*UPDATE*

It was yesterday, I didn't post this because I spent the first half of the day nervously biting my nails and the second half getting hold of as many copies as I could.

Flying shoes and relationships

This weekend was a strange limbo, I was supposed to be moving flat but that has been put on hold due to woes with the bank, so many woes.

I cleaned my room, read the serious papers over the weekend (A friend knows someone on them so I'm furiously trying to think of things to write about) and went to see a film with T.P.

Just before the film started I asked T.P. a hypothetical question.

"What would happen, hypthetically speaking if your shoe fell off and flew to the back of the cinema?"

Her expression after I asked this made me laugh more than the film.

It also made me think about what relationships are about, you know really about. People say things like companionship and the such. I think it's about having someone to mildly annoy and buy flowers.

On Sunday evening T.P. wanted to have a go on my laptop but I said she had to sing the Louch National Atheme before she could, she ended up having to sing it three times as she wasn't singing with much conviction the first time and the second time she wasn't standing to attention. Girls eh?