Where do I go from here?

I have serious concerns about my future. Ever since G-Day, more than a decade ago, I’ve been drifting from one job to the next, never staying in one place for more than two years. My CV looks like once of those old patchwork quilts and I don’t have any professional qualifications, apart from a TEFL certificate. Most jobs I’ve done were temporary, whilst others I quit because I felt trapped, lonely and miserable.

TV for victory

Have you ever noticed how news reporters always wish us a good evening, then give us a dozen reasons why it isn’t? We’ve had nothing but grim tidings this year: Europe lurches from one crisis to another, the possibility (or is it probability?) of recession hangs over our heads like the Sword of Damocles, those pesky Iranians are up to their old tricks again and Janet Devlin has been booted off ‘X-Factor’ (someone get me a violin!).

Chapter 3: the road to Edgeharrow

It began to dawn on Arthur that this journey might take considerably longer than he had anticipated. In his head, he had pictured himself making swift work of the motorway, followed by a carefree jaunt through rural England. He had lazily assumed he’d be on his third pint in an Edgeharrow pub by six o’clock. It was now past five and for the life of him, Arthur could not get his bearings.

Quarter four projections

Many thanks to those of you who gave me such positive feedback on my poetry; it’s always nice to be appreciated! Most of those poems were composed during my adolescence, the final creative burst occurring in my first year at university. I haven’t included three love poems which I sent anonymously to a girl in my halls of residence, though I was sorely tempted to do so. She was a pretty thing, all right, but in truth I felt no genuine affection for her, only a sense of mild frustration that she never expressed a desire to share my bed. So why did I write them?

A poem about ecstasy

Down the dark and winding lane
We walk, we walk, but not in vain
Briskly, we pace through cold night air
Without a reason, without a care

A poem about alcoholism

Our eyes meet across the street

My heart, it flutters, my knees grow weak

Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!

A sad poem

Gather round, children, and listen ye well

For I have many a story to tell

Of heartbreak and vengeance, hate and despair

Of truth that is hidden, but found everywhere.

A poem about silence

Silence is golden

Silence will leave the noise behind

Silence activates the mind

Silence is deaf where love is blind

Silence is beautiful

The Children of Cain

Work’s been quiet lately, as it always is at this time of year. I ought to make the most of the August lull and get on with something useful, like applying for a proper job, learning a language or reading that new George R. R. Martin book that came out recently. Instead, I’ve been trawling the news pages on the Web, gauging the opinions of others and pondering the issues of the moment. Right now, there’s only one thing to talk about if you’re a good citizen of Albion.

A poem about a faraway place

Welcome to Seventh Heaven, where nothing is quite what it seems

Here my fantasies come alive, fulfilment of my dreams

Come, come, see my city of gold, with its towers of glittering glory

Fantastical entities throng the streets, where there is much to see