Last week, I had my first proper job interview. As readers may know, my life has been:
Happy childhood in Belfast, then Edinburgh; teenage years idyll on Islay; Arts Student at Glasgow University; wrecked by ME in my 20's and 30's; amazing recovery in my 40's....just in time to fall into full-time motherhood .
So, I've done intermittent volunteer jobs and a bit of writing, but the career ladder has escaped me. And now I'm looking for part-time work to fit around 'being there' for the weans. When I got an interview for an entry-level, social care job, I thought, great, here we go...
Or not. I thought I did well at interview and when the woman phoned, I was sure she was going to offer me the job. That'll teach me. Instead she told me, (in consolation?) that there were ninety applicants. Ninety?! For near minimum wage. And she had asked if I was prepared to work with potentially violent and do personal (incontinence) care - neither of which had appeared in the job description.
For the first time, I felt like a living statistic in Recession Britain, where people were expected to work for free in Poundland for 'work experience'.
The world seems so skewed when bankers get paid millions for moving money around, and the grafters and carers get so little.
Ah, well, we'll see what next year brings.