Tag Archives: writing

Assertiveness Training – Part 2


Soar means Situation, Objective, Action, Result, Reflection. There are too many Rs for this to work properly but no one minds.

Lunch. This morning I made the decision that today was the first day of the rest of my life and so instead of having Greggs for my lunch I have packed an elaborate meal of salmon and broccoli and wholewheat noodles. Because we only have half an hour and we are all the way up on the 11th floor we have to stay where we are or we won’t have time to eat. By now I am tired and a little grumpy and I wish today wasn’t the first day of the rest of my life because then I could have a steak bake and a fondant donut.

As I am the most popular people immediately flock towards my table where I am sitting, leaving the only other available table for the less popular people. I have been hoisted by own petard because though I crave solitude I now have to spend my half hour of lunch talking to everyone. When I open my lunchbox everyone makes impressed noises like, ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaahh’ and I tell them what it is and how today is the first day of the rest of my life. I am glad they got to see that I am Eating Well because unless people actually see you eating this stuff you may as well not bother.

They ask about my book and I tell them about it. Irene – who does not need an assertiveness workshop and we don’t know why she is here – tells me if it isn’t any good in five pages she won’t even bother. Irene tells me I need to make it free to read on Kindle or she won’t bother reading it. I tell Irene that I am Poor and there will be no freebies until I can afford it. When everyone laughs I tell them, There will be no ‘lending’ or ‘borrowing’ of Red River until I am rich! And we all laugh again, except Irene who now has to find a new way to subtly undermine my achievement.

But I am tired and my food tastes horrible even though I’ve told them all how Really Nice it is. Luke is eating a Kit Kat and I want to slap it out of his hand and eat it from the floor. I am sick of talking about myself and so I ask everyone what books they like or what TV they enjoy but everyone is shy and says only the bare minimum. It turns out we have very little in common except for that we are all pushovers (not including Irene).

Luke talks about Game of Thrones and I make the obligatory joke that there are a lot of boobies in it and we all laugh until Irene says (quite inexplicably), I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE TALK ABOUT SEX SCENES IN GAME OF THRONES AND I AM LIKE NO, NO, IT IS A RAPE SCENE NOT A SEX SCENE.

We sit quietly until it is time to go back to the classroom.


An eagle soaring confidently.

Sunita separates us in to groups for more role playing. This time we are given a scenario and must act it out, taking it turns to be the one who needs to be more assertive. For our group we need to ask our boss for time off in lieu because they’ve made us come in over the weekend. It is my turn first and I am the employee and I am reasonable and assertive and do a good job. When I’ve finished someone gives me feedback and says, I just didn’t feel like you were invested enough. I nod and agree although feel this feedback is more about my acting skills than the content of my answer. Next, Luke is the employee and he goes from 0-100 and immediately starts threatening his boss with official complaints about his incompetency and selfishness. I say, Okay this was good but maybe you need to be a little less defensive? Luke agrees and has the look of someone dazed, as if he doesn’t know what came over himself. The woman who told me that I wasn’t invested enough praises his performance.

Finally, it is the turn of the quietest person I have ever met to be the mean boss and I think, Ugh this’ll be tough. But she surprises us all by suddenly becoming a total bitch and we all make noises like we are a Jerry Springer audience when she says things about being a team player and saying, Well you did ask me for more responsibility but now that you have it you’re asking for time off! It is a remarkable performance and when it’s over I tell her that she is a Secret Bitch and hides it well. We all clap.

The classroom is now hot and stuffy and there is a brief Palaver when we try to work out the air-conditioning and fail. A man from the office below is summoned to switch it on and then we all complain that it is too loud and the air is too cold. We are tired and don’t want to be here any more. Sunita asks two people she identified as the Best at the role playing exercise to show the class how it’s done. At first I think, Whatever, this will be totally boring. But it turns out they really are good at it and in turns I laugh and become angry and feel great pity for the one playing the employee. It is so good that it goes on for ages and we could all watch them for a long time but Sunita tells us we must get back to work.

I am given a piece of paper with a Feelings Wheel on it and we are asked to identify how we feel in the situations where we need to be more assertive. It feels like the kind of exercise they might give to children who have violent outbursts in classrooms. Nevertheless, I obediently write my situation down on my notepaper and consult my Feelings Wheel to choose my emotions when I’m in that situation (Anxious > Insecure). Then, we choose alternate feelings that we aspire to in that situation. I choose, Happy > Confident and we write down a way to get to those feelings by acting differently.


We are all desperate to leave and cannot remember what it felt like to have the wind in our hair and the rain on our skin. All we know is the whir and clunk of an aged air conditioner and the smell of Nescafe on each other’s breath. We have already played so many roles today that we have forgotten who we are and why we are here. Am I a mean boss or am I an overworked employee? Did I just dream that I was an author?

A girl next to me opens a can of Coke and I whisper, Where did you get that? Is there a vending machine? And she tells me, No I brought it with me. My heart sinks. I sip the lukewarm water from the broken water cooler and remind myself that we can finish at 4 because we only had a half hour lunch. At least, I think, the role playing is over with.
Sunita claps her hands together once, There is just ONE more exercise I want to do today, she says, and we all die a little inside. This time, we must be interviewers and interviewees. We must use a technique with the acronym SOAR(R) when we give our answers to the interview questions.

Exhausted, our group dutifully interviews one another and provides feedback. This group is lovely and we all lavish one another with praise even though by now none of us give a shit. But when someone finishes speaking we all say WOW! You are SO GOOD. I can’t believe how good that was! And it’s so sweet and kind that I am buoyed for a while by the generosity of human spirit we are all showing. However, we all decide we can’t be bothered when we have ten minutes left and instead we just sit there and talk about our jobs and how stupid job interviews are. Sunita comes in and expresses disappointment that we have given up on the task but I tell her, We are tired, We have pushed ourselves all day and now we have nothing left to give.

So she gathers everyone back to their desks and starts to round up the day. I am so excited to leave that I can barely understand what she’s saying. Only ten minutes left, only six minutes left, only four minutes left, only one minute left!! Okay, I think, we have overrun by two minutes now. Five minutes. Has she forgotten her promise? If we had a half hour lunch, she said, we could leave at four. But now it is twelve minutes past and we’re still here. Quarter past. Twenty past! By now I am apoplectic. I have not refreshed my email for several hours and this is something I like to do at least every 3 minutes if possible. I think of that blissful few seconds between refreshing and loading where there is a possibility of a new email with exciting news before the disappointment of seeing that there’s no email or only junk email and it is like actual drugs to me. I am jonesing for a refresh and Sunita has lied in order to con us out of half an hour of our precious lives and none of us are saying anything because we are all total pushovers and the whole day has been completely useless! Is this another one of her Derren Brown mind experiments or is she just pure evil?

Soon it is 16:34 and she is handing us more pieces of paper and everyone is shifting in their seats and when I am about to scream she finally says, Thanks everyone! Have a lovely evening and when you get a chance please fill out the online questionnaire that I’ve emailed to you all!

Chairs are pushed back and everyone crams their handouts in to bags and says goodbye even though we all get stuck in the lift together anyway and have to make small talk all the way down eleven floors. There is no signal and I cannot refresh my email. When I am finally outside I have to put up my umbrella because the drizzle is turning to heavy rain. We all say goodbye and I enjoy the fresh air, taking big gulps and remembering what it is like to be a real person again. I look at my phone: no new email. If I was to check my feelings on the Feelings Wheel I would say I was Happy > Cheerful.

Assertiveness Training – Part 1


Write on indeed. Yes, I am holding a pen.

It is the other week now and a rainy morning and I am on the eleventh floor of a building that is eleven floors high. I am holding a flat white and I am feeling grumpy because I have been made to go on an all day assertiveness training course. This is because when I am on the desk and people ask for things that they are not allowed to do, I say, No, and if they ask again I say, Oh go on then, because it easier than arguing with them.
The view out of the window is quite good and in the distance I can see the building where I used to work and I think about how I miss it but also how I am glad I don’t work there any more because it was a Nightmare. There are already six other people in the room but no one is talking and it is eerily quiet. At the front a woman who looks like she should be the Sexy One on The Apprentice is writing things in felt pen on a flipchart.

In order to get to a seat I have to scooch behind people and as I do this I say, Sorry, and they say, Sorry, and I say, Sorry, and they say, Sorry and I think, Ugh, a whole day with people like me. This will be unbearable.

Like me, everyone has brought their own pens and notebooks. In the quiet we all smile sheepishly at one another, and slowly more people start to enter the room, apologising as they scooch, and sit in silence.
Eventually the quiet becomes too much for me and I say, Isn’t this weather awful? And this makes everyone giggle in relief because someone has finally spoken and a woman (we are almost all women in here) starts to reply when The Apprentice lady says, Right! And we know it is about to begin.

At this point I get a few butterflies because I have been on other training courses and this is when the trainer asks us all to introduce ourselves. This is my opportunity to say, Hello, I am Amy and I work part-time here and outside of work I am a writer and my book is coming out in January. People are impressed at this point and so they will ask me what it’s called or how I ‘got in to that’ and I will tell them, It’s called Red River and I won the Daily Mail First Novel Competition. This is great because it means that I am the Centre of Attention and that’s the best part of the day.

But instead, this lady asks us to write down our first impressions of the person opposite us.

Well, this is terrible. I may not get to mention my book AT ALL today!
I glare at the nice man opposite me and I write down:

Smartly dressed
Brought own pen

Then I wait while everyone else finishes their own lists. There is some confusion as to who is opposite whom because of the way the desks are laid out and so it is some time before everyone has put their pens down.

The Apprentice woman introduces herself as Sunita. She tells us she is a Business Psychologist and I think that is pretty much perfect. As she talks she paces back and forth and I am distracted by how well her hair stays where it is supposed to. She says, Now when we got in here you were all very quiet and I was waiting to see who would speak first and I believe it was you, (here she points at me and I feel like the person being chosen to assist a magician at a children’s birthday party), who said something about the weather? Well, she continues, I stopped you there and had you all do this exercise because I didn’t want you to get too comfortable with each other.

What is this Derren Brown nonsense? I think to myself. I will be on edge for the whole of the day now, wondering what is a test and what isn’t.

Sunita tells us about the day ahead and promises us that if we only take half an hour for lunch instead of one hour then we can leave half an hour earlier. I cling to this as I write my name in colourful felt tip pen on a white label and stick it to my chest.

Then she asks who would like to be the first to read out their first impressions of the person opposite. Predictably, not one of us raises our hands and I think again of what a long day this will be. Eventually, Sunita resorts to picking people and when they read out their first impressions I realise that I have done it wrong. They are saying things like, Her body language suggests that she’s an introvert but I can tell from her eyes that she’s kind.
I cross out ‘Smartly dressed’ and ‘Brought own pen’ and write, Looks approachable but not as though he would readily approach people. Seems well organised (has his own pen). Why am I so obsessed with him having a pen? I wonder. I have sweat on my brow. I decide it would be better to get this over with and so I raise my hand to speak next. I find myself babbling a little because I feel like I haven’t said enough and need to fill the silence. People laugh when I say things that are supposed to be funny and so I only act up more and then I am overexcited and find it hard to listen to other people when they speak.

It comes to the person opposite me, Asif, who says, When I first saw Amy I put down that she seemed friendly and shy but now that she’s spoken-

He thinks I’m horrible! I say and everyone laughs.

No, he says, Now I don’t think you’re shy.

I am a terrible show off, I think to myself, but it is too late because now I am everybody’s favourite and I cannot let them down.

The morning continues with various exercises. We are asked to rate ourselves on a scale of 0 – 10, 0 being passive and 10 being aggressive. Most of us have written ‘3’. We are asked what we believe ‘being confident’ is and everyone has a very hard time describing it including me. The best I can come up with is, Not being nervous and sweaty all the time.

At break I look at my phone and out of the window and I think about what freedom feels like and I feel strung out as the adrenaline from being Centre of Attention wears off.
Now, Sunita says, We are going to do some role playing. Everyone in the room goes red and tries to turn invisible. She continues, I know you’re all introverts and this will be like drawing blood from a stone but these exercises are fantastic for building your confidence.

I wonder if I would die instantly if I jumped from the eleventh floor or if it would be slow and painful.

Sunita tells us all what an Elevator Pitch is and then says we will be Speed Networking


Picture of an elevator with words ‘elevator pitch’.

for five minutes at a time. Then she becomes distracted and asks us all if we’ve ever seen the Amy Cuddy TED Talk. No, we say. Or rather we all shake our heads and silently mouth the word No because none of us want to commit to anything unless we know the whole group is saying the same thing. Stand up, Sunita says. She explains the concept, about body language and influencing the way we feel by using poses. How does Wonder Woman stand? She asks so I cross my arms like it’s the X-Factor until I realise everyone else is standing with their hands on their hips and apparently that is the right answer so I quickly change my position.
She makes us hold this for a long time until we feel sufficiently powerful enough to start our role playing exercises. I am still DREADING this and have noted the windows do not open just in case people throw themselves out. Touche, architect.
What I’m going to ask you to do, she says, Is talk to the person opposite you for three minutes about what your greatest strength is and give us examples of how you’ve used this strength, how you’ve succeeded with it.

I perk up. Until now, there hasn’t been an organic way to mention my book and how great it is but now…yes. Yes this might work very well for me.

When the time starts I say, Hello, I’m Amy and my greatest strength is my creativity. In 2016 I won the Daily Mail First Novel Competition…

My monologue continues for three blissful uninterrupted minutes. The person opposite me makes impressed noises and their face does all the things I want it to. At the end they are allowed to give me feedback on my pitch and they say they want to know more and they can’t believe how great it all is.

I have perfectly masked my extreme narcissism with enough modesty that they tell me I should be MORE PROUD of my achievements and not diminish them. Ha-ha, I think, but I am proud! In fact I think I am SO great and even more great because you fell for the fact I don’t think I’m totally great!

The best part of this is that after our time is up and I have listened to their pitch (we will skip that bit here as it’s not as fun for me to recall) I get to do it ALL OVER AGAIN. I get to do it about 5 times but at the end of the exercise there are still 9 people in the room who do not know about me and Red River and this bothers me until Sunita says, Now did you all hear what Amy said? And asks me to repeat it for the whole class. I pretend like this is slightly embarrassing but that I am rising to the challenge in spite of my great humility. People gasp and say how wonderful it is. I say, It is a dream come true.


Evolution in three simple images. Man expressing my thoughts exactly.

Part 2. Of Hamster Parties, Robot Cars and Tony bloody Blair.

Yes. I have decided to Beyonce this blog. My phone has been ringing off the hook with people wanting to know what’s about to happen next! Well stop harassing me, this is the conclusion.

For those who can’t remember as far back as Tuesday I will recap.

When we last saw each other it was 1991 and Tony Blair had just done me over by awarding the poetry competition to someone else. I insinuated this was someone VERY BAD because that was a good cliffhanger and that makes people want to read the next bit.

Let us see what that’s all about…



Once, I had a hamster called Jerry. He was a good guy. He went bald. We were firm friends. I even attended a hamster party, and he came with me in his little ball and met the hamsters who were friends with my friends.


Me with Jerry (far left) at a hamster party. I am looking deep in thought, probably about another brilliant story.

One day, after a long and stressful life and several months of ailing health, Jerry died unexpectedly.

I was very saddened. This was even worse than when PJ and Duncan, my fish, died. (I do not remember the timescales. Perhaps Tony Blair and PJ and Duncan did not exist until later, or maybe this all happened earlier, I just don’t know. These are artistic choices, please stop being fussy).

There was a girl at school. We will call her Blonna to protect her identity as what she did was very mean and I wouldn’t want her to get hate mail for it now many years later. Blonna told me she was glad Jerry died.

This was the culmination of some long running feud. We had both said things, done things, we didn’t mean. But this? This was a step too far. My friends with hamsters understood and they told Blonna she was mean and she shouldn’t say things like this, and we all said we would not talk to her any more. At this point we all simultaneously flicked our hair and walked off.

The next morning, long before our daily assembly, a woman I did not recognise came into the classroom. She asked me if I was Amy. I said, Um, yes? because she was so scary I wasn’t sure if I was me. She had a glass eye (this is not an artistic choice, it is the truth) it was fixed and scary and her eyelid didn’t blink. Her other eye narrowed in anger, she pointed a finger in my face. She said, If you’re ever mean to Blonna again! Don’t you dare talk to my daughter again! I don’t remember her real words, I only remember the eye and the loudness and being very confused. My teacher was furious, she told her to go away, she hugged me all the way through assembly and even then I didn’t stop crying.


Tony Blair is handing Blonna the little chair. She has done an acrostic using the word DAFFODIL. There is a massive daffodil drawn in the empty bit of the page. It is very pedestrian. Not her, I think, my eyes filling with tears. She is smiling, she holds the little chair above her head, my heart is a concrete block.

At home I tell my mother. Tony Blair! she says, missing the point. She’s talking about the parents who gathered at the gates, Why do they care, they’re all Tories anyway. I do not know what this means but my mum is clever and she is a good person so I know she is right. Whatever it means, it helps me feel better, they really are tories. Ha ha ha.

It would be many, many years before I entered another competition. It would be 2016, in fact. Welcome to 2016! This is a dark future. All the celebrities are dying, it turns out Tony Blair was a baddie all along and we are trying to teach robot cars to make complex ethical choices, like if they should sacrifice themselves to avoid hitting a group of orphans. Phew, it’s all so heavy these days, so as you’d expect the stakes for my own writing also much higher.

I have written nearly a whole book. On this particular day, sometime in late March, I am feeling okay about it. Better than okay, today I think it is brilliant and probably one of the most fun books ever. It is on this day that my boyfriend Rhys sends me a text. (He often send me texts but I mean he sends me a specific one). It is a Daily Mail competition for a first time novelist. The prize is really good, it’s way better than the play set and the little chair combined! But even better, something like this would prove for sure that I am good at writing.

The deadline for the competition is April 16th and I have a lot of work to do so [montage] I knuckle down, editing day and night, I print it off and read it aloud while I walk around the living room with a pencil tucked behind my ear (I don’t but it looks good for the purposes of this montage, otherwise it’d just be me sitting there typing on my lap much as I am now) I shake my head and I throw it all away and start again. I show it to Rhys, he gives me a double thumbs up! (We can’t use dialogue, there’s music playing, so we need visual cues.) I put it all in a large brown envelope and I hold it to my chest and close my eyes for a moment before putting it in the post box. [end montage]

Not much happens for a while that is relevant to this story. I had a really good time in Disney World and we can maybe put in another montage of me enjoying rollercoasters but then we might have too many montages in a row.


The mouse in the spaceship story, met with critical acclaim.

Wow, time has gone so fast! Much like a rollercoaster (you see what I did) there have been ups and downs but now, finally, I am answering a telephone call. My hand is shaking because I have been waiting for this call since I have been told I was shortlisted. I am in work, in the corridor, pacing. The person does not waste any time, they are telling me, You won!

Take that Tony Blair, I think. I am happy. This is everything I have ever wanted. I am thinking I won’t ever be sad ever again probably and then


I am thinking they’ve probably made a mistake picking me because I am actually not a very good writer at all.


Perhaps this is not a very inspiring end to this story but it is the truth, and it is important to tell the truth because then other people will know that a lot of us are like this. We never think we are very good at anything and we think we need other people to tell us we are good but we don’t. It isn’t Blonna or Brother word processors or Tony Blair standing in the way of our happiness, it is only ourselves. Silly us.

So maybe from now on, when we are feeling worried that we aren’t good after all, we shouldn’t look out there for support, but in here (I am pointing to my heart).


Of Nuns, Time Travel and Tony Blair


A squirrel eating a really big mushroom.

Hi. I haven’t seen you in a while. This is because I have been busy. For the past year I have been writing my book, which takes most of my time and especially my thoughts. I don’t know if you know this but writing a book takes even longer than reading one. But it is worth it because sometimes you will look at the book and you will think, This is exactly the type of book I wanted to read and I am the one who wrote it. That feeling is the best one I think I’ve ever had in the whole of my life. It is weird though, because other days you will look at it and you will think, Oh dear. This is not a very good book at all. How embarrassing.
I can’t explain why you will feel both these things but you will and this is okay because after looking into it, it seems everyone who ever wrote a book also felt like that.
Now someone else is looking at my book and so I have a little time while they work out how to help me mend its broken bits.It has given me some time to think of how I got here, to where I have written an actual book, because it has not been a straight path for me.
Take my hand and travel with me. We are going back. The year is 1990 or something. It is definitely around that time. Perhaps even earlier. I can’t remember. It is the scenery that is important. We are in a Roman Catholic primary school, the teachers are nuns, like Whoopi Goldberg. They have organised a writing competition. First prize is something, I don’t know what, because it isn’t important. It is more important that I am told I am a good writer.
I dictate the story to my mother, who types it on our Brother word processor. Here we can take a moment to smile and shake our heads, What were we like! Huh! We thought this was the height of technology and now it looks so dumb. Yes, we have come very far since then (hey, 1990 Amy, we have new five pound notes now and they are so weird) but this isn’t the point of the story, please try not to get distracted. No, the point is a young mind is being let loose creatively and it is as close to magical as we will ever know! Let us not worry that the young girl is infringing on many of the artistic properties of the St. Trinian’s series. This is not important either. No, she is having fun and she thinks this is possibly the most fun thing she’s ever done.


A pen (you can write with these).

It is days until we are gathered in the assembly hall to find out the results of the competition. Because we are artists we have experienced a lot of self doubt in those days, we have said, Maybe I shouldn’t have entered! What if that bit with the frog isn’t as funny as I thought? But because we are artists we also daydream of winning the prize. Right now I think the prize might have been a colourful play set, simple block-like figures with permanent smiles and clip-on hats, but stop distracting me because the prize wasn’t what mattered most. I wanted to know, Am I good at this?
They call third prize, it isn’t me. Phew, I think. Second prize isn’t me either. I think, Oh good, I have come first. First prize is called…it is not me. We are clapping but we are confused, This isn’t a nice story at all! This is not cheering me up. This is very sad. What if this little person never writes again?
The nun – not Whoopi Goldberg – now she is saying something else. Something about a story that was so good it deserves a special mention. It is my name. I am given a colouring book. The nun explains, If this had been a competition for writing stories this would have done very well, but this was a handwriting competition.
I was ahead of my time. I would never use a Brother word processing computer ever again! (No, 1990 Amy, you won’t, because soon every home will have a Windows computer and something called The Internet, I will explain when we meet again.)
This incident was a confusing blow to my confidence as a young writer. It would be a long time until I felt able to enter another competition. And next time, I swore, I would read the terms and conditions very carefully.
The year is 1994, I have changed schools as the Roman Catholic primary school went bust. It is a shame but we are settling nicely in the new school now. I am reading my story to the headmistress, it is a story about a mouse who falls asleep in a space suit and ends up going to space. There is some minor peril but otherwise it is a very positive story and the mouse has a lovely time. They give me a sticker because they think it’s such a wonderful story.
On the way back to the classroom I pass a poster on the wall. POETRY COMPETITION. It is for the Eisteddfod. Whoever wins gets a small wooden chair. Well, I think, I don’t know about the chair but I would like to officially be the best writer in this school. (Note: this is an artistic choice. I did not actually see a poster at this time. I think entrance in the competition was compulsory. But it is better if I tell you it happened like this because it is a better story.)
So I set to work. Traditionally I was a writer of prose, so this was outside my comfort zone. I tried many times, I screwed up the pieces of paper and threw them over my shoulder. My pencil was blunt from effort.
Finally, I knew it was done. I drew a massive leek on the empty side of the page, as it looked a little sparse, and I entered it in the competition.
The school was abuzz. There would be a special guest presenting the prize. A young and new politician by the name of Tony Blair. We do not know who he is, so don’t start going, Yeah yeah, he is a war criminal because no one knows this, in fact we don’t understand politics at all right now because we are about 9 or something.
All we know is that on that day lots of parents gather at the school gates and they clap and shake his hand as he comes in. It is like he’s a pop star but not that good looking. It doesn’t matter. Our motivation is not the politician, nor the tiny chair, but the recognition we crave for our efforts, even if it is poetry and we don’t really see what the fuss is about there.
Anyway. It is Tony Blair holding a tiny chair and we are unable to sit still. Come on Tony Blair, get on with it! Say who won! But he is smiling and he has loads of teeth and he won’t stop talking.
Eventually he says that he is going to say who has won. We are nervous because we hate standing in front of lots of people. We are shaking. We feel sick. It will be hard to collect the prize and the tiny chair will shake in our hands but we- what? Who?
Oh no.
Not her. Anybody but her.


…Unless the reaction to this blog post is very positive, in which case I will Beyoncé it and drop it unannounced in the meantime.

Kill the Poor

Who’s got two thumbs and watches tons of poornography? This guy! No, I haven’t made a typographical error, I meant to say that. What is it? It’s a word I made up to describe television shows including but not limited to: Benefits Britain: Life on the Dole, BritaIMG_3533in’s Benefits Tenants, Benefits Street and Benefits Estate. Others have called it Poverty Porn but I believe mine is better, even if it does require a little more explanation than Poverty Porn. To avoid confusion, emphasise the oo, Poooornography. I will let you practice saying it out loud a few times now so you can tell your friends about it later.

I watch a lot of poornography. There’s an influx of it lately because we are supposed to hate them for stealing all the money and living the Life of Riley while we all slug away on zero hour contracts for a pittance until we’re eighty years old. Well, you do anyway, as I am temporarily unemployed. I’m still allowed to feel superior, though, because I’m not Claiming Taxpayers’ Money. Only my mum’s. However, I don’t watch them to feel superior. I like to have the television on all the time, so there’s noise. It helps because sometimes, as you’re job hunting, you may think you value your happiness too much to apply for an outbound sales job in a call centre; but when you see the abject poverty in which some people live you feel like you should probably just do anything and be grateful for it and all.

I wonder why people think they’re living the Life of Riley when it always looks like they’re having a terrible time. It isn’t fun to not have a job. You look at things and you think, Ooh that’s nice, and that’s the part where you’d normally buy the thing but you can’t because you have to buy food instead. You apply for jobs and more often than not you don’t even hear anything back. It is a bit like screaming into an abyss, if you can find one. It is thankless. Interviews aren’t fun at all. And afterwards they tell you that you are the Reserve Candidate, Well done! But this is a bit rubbish to be honest and you think it would be good if the other person could get abducted by aliens or win the lottery. Then you think well if we’re wishing for people to win the lottery why don’t we wish to win it ourselves? You probably didn’t think that right away because your dreams have gone smaller because getting even an entry level office job seems so far away.

It is important to keep a routine. This is where many people will struggle. Do not sleep in, you must get out of bed and say, Today is going to be an Okay day! Remember that daytime television is a sinkhole. They will distract you with people who say Silly Things to get you wound up. Don’t let them derail you, instead look at all the jobs you could do. You might start to feel a bit, What is the point? and do a lot of big sighs, but try to hold yourself up like you are the person you always wanted to be because the Fuck Its aren’t conducive to job-getting.

When things seem unfair it is because they often are. If you think about it too much you might feel crushed by the weight of the unfairness and stay in your pyjamas all day eating biscuits, I wouldn’t blame you. Best not to think about it at all, if you can help it. Just put your head down and write another cover letter. Say, This could be the one! before you send it off and imagine yourself walking from the train station in the morning with a Brand Name coffee in your hand and a nice suit from Next. Try not to think about how Next won’t pay a living wage, it will depress you again.

Appreciate the things you’d miss if you were at work. Take an afternoon walk and say Hello to the other people on their afternoon walk. Pay attention to the way everything looks on a Tuesday afternoon so you can think of it when you can’t see it any more. Watch your cats sunbathing in the neighbour’s garden and break up a fight between two magpies on the street. Save a dog from running into the road and imagine your unemployment has a Purpose because you’ve watched too many films.

Do things you Love. Do writing. Do painting. Do exercise. You might forget what you like about yourself if you don’t. Try to imagine you are the beginning of your movie, the bit where everything is bad, and you have to have this bit so your character is Relatable. Then imagine the rest of your movie, when your book is published to much acclaim and your boyfriend Ryan Gosling is on about what an inspiration you are. Smile to yourself. He is handsome.