If you write a blog, you’ll know all too well how some days you just cannot write. It needn’t necessarily be the case that you have nothing to say: sometimes there can be a wealth of happenings to document, but a complete absence of the ability to articulate.
Well, this sort of thing precisely translates to filling out job applications. For about five days now I’ve blankly stared at an application form, occasionally typing away, only to delete the clumsy monosyllabic prose moments later. I found I could drift from room to room for hours without achieving anything, but justifying it all to myself by telling myself I was “staying in to work on that application”. Even Eastenders seemed a mildly appealing attraction at times (for all of five minutes at least).
One evening, the biographical fog lifted for a moment, and I heartily set to work, crafting beautifully worded paragraphs which captured the greatness of Huw without seeming overly fustian and magniloquent or, indeed, making me sound like too much of a smug prick. As I finished my concluding passage with a flourish, I looked at the clock and saw that it was late, and pressed save.
Only I didn’t quite. I somehow saved all my work to a temporary internet folder, which promptly emptied itself as soon as the computer was switched off.
The next day, after I had realised my error, and the stamping and hissed obscenities (interposed with lying on sofas and moaning) had been worked out of my system, I sat down once more, in an attempt to recapture the eloquence that had flowed so freely the previous evening, before they escaped out of the temporary internet folder of my brain.
“I am good at organisation, and like to meet challenges.”
I then checked the Radio Times, to see when Eastenders was next on.
4 weeks ago