For anyone who's wondering what I've been up to since my redundancy, or about my plans for the future, here's the answer...
I've become the world's first official Word Wrestler! A freelance copywriter. A self-employed copywriter, proofreader and social networking expert. My business is very much in its infancy and I'm sure to make mistakes so I'd appreciate all the feedback I can get. If you have time to take a look at my copywriting website and want to offer any helpful, constructive advice then either leave a comment here (I've disabled comments on the site itself) or send me an email. It's a scary step, but also a very exciting one, and I'm determined to find my way in this brave new world.
In other news, I'll be appearing live this weekend along with Paul Rainey, Rob Wells and Steve Miller at the Comics - On The Ration panel at this year's Caption Comics Festival in Oxford. The C-OTR panel is on Sunday afternoon but I'll be there most of the weekend, with copies of PJANG for sale and free Too Much Sex & Violence postcards for anyone who wants one. If you're coming along, do pop over and introduce yourself. I'll be modelling some of the outfits from my recent What I'm Wearing Today post, so you shouldn't be able to miss me.
Lee Mavers and co. recorded one album in 1990, promptly disowned it, then spent the following 21 years "on hiatus". Talk about "difficult second album syndrome".
All my life goes by in Doledrum I'll see ninety-five in Doledrum
Treasure this moment, it's probably the first, last and only time you'll ever see a Simply Red song in one of my mixtapes.
Here, Mick Hucknall has been laid off from work, his kids all need shoes, and the bank don't want to know. I might sympathise... if he wasn't Mick Hucknall.
Billy and co. update this traditional folk song, dedicating it to unemployed farmers across the country...
Time was, I could sell what I grew in the shop. Then Tesco's turned up all of that had to stop. Now I can't make a living out of my crop. Singing, oh, the hard times of old England, In old England very hard times.
And things were even harder for the unemployed before the days of the welfare state...
I mined in your mines and I gathered in your corn I been working, mister, since the day I was born Now I worry all the time like I never did before 'Cause I ain't got no home in this world anymore
Not the Morrissey classic about winning yourself a cheap tray... but an ode to unemployment from a bunch of slackers... who you'd probably expect to enjoy unemployment a little more than they do.
Everyday is Sunday When you're unemployed Sounds pretty good man I should be overjoyed
Every day is Sunday Every day is Sunday Every day is Sunday Friday never comes
Do you think I should write a novel? Maybe write some songs? I'll show you I'm the genius You thought I was all along
More farmers forced to sell their farms when the bank forecloses, from another artist who owes his entire career to Woody Guthrie. And, as so often in these stories, it all ends with rain on the scarecrow... and blood on the plough.
The irony being that by the time the second Kenickie album hit the shops, most of the band were on the dole. At least Lauren Laverne went on to find alternative employment.
I got hired but I got tired of draining the pool for you. I got tired but not so blue, To see the cracks in you. I got hired against my wish, With better prospects, after this.
I can think of worse resignation letters you could write... this should probably have made last week's list though.
If ever there was a rock star who epitomised what we might call "dole scum chic", it's Pete Doherty. This song was named after the Walter Greenwood novel, adapted into a film in 1941 starring Deborah Kerr as Waynetta Slob.
Adrian reminded me of this one after last week's Top Ten 'I Quit!' Songs. Do you want to make tea at the BBC? (Hint: it'll probably be more fulfilling than making the tea at ILR.)
Was there ever a more accurate description of what it feels like to be laid off...?
Watch out world, I’m a man at ease Free to do whatever when I want Lonely heathland here I come Deathless, useless bracken underfoot
There’s people who can’t spell ‘weird’ right Driving round with thousands in the bank But I get by, got a lot on my mind I get by, got allotments on my mind
Unlike a lot of the people on this list, Fred Jones is actually sad to be losing his job...
Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark There's an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall He's cleared all his things and he's put them in boxes Things that remind him: 'Life has been good' Twenty-five years He's worked at the paper A man's here to take him downstairs And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones It's time
The perils of living with an unemployed girlfriend or girlfriend, along with typically blunt advice on how to deal with them. At least the video gave temporary employment to an entire small town.
Nina ain't got no home, no shoes, no money, no skirts and no sweater. She does have her tongue, her chin, her neck and her boobies though. I'm not entirely sure what alternate career path she's advising here...
Yes, the most misunderstood song in the history of rock is actually the story of a disgruntled GI returning from Vietnam to find nobody will give him a job.
Come back home to the refinery Hiring man says, "son, if it were up to me..." Went down to see my VA man, He says, "son, don't you understand?"
Probably not the song you expected to top this chart (if you've ever even heard of it), but this is one of my favourites from Everclear. It never fails to make me smile.
Ever been chatted up down the Job Centre?
Blimey - 25 songs about unemployment. But which omissions made me fail the interview?
Specially for Lee at Quit Your Day Job... and anyone who might be considering packing it all in and joining me on the scrap heap / glorious golden road to success and riches (delete as applicable).
If you're thinking of taking the plunge, Elvis advises caution. Don't jump till you've got somewhere to jump to...
Well, I quit my job down at the car wash I left my momma a goodbye note By sundown I'd left Kingston With my guitar under my coat I hitchhiked all the way down to Memphis Got a room at the YMCA For the next three weeks I went hunting them nightclubs Looking for a place to play Well, I thought my pickin' would set 'em on fire But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man
You think your job's bad? You could be loading sixteen tons of coal a day with nothing to show for it but being "another day older and deeper in debt".
The Johnny Cash version is also worth a mention. The Johnny Cash version is always worth a mention.
I'm so sick, sick, sick and tired Of working just to be retired I don't want to get that far I don't want your company car Promotions aint my thing Name badges are not interesting It's much easier for me see To stay at home with Richard and Judy
Fans of The Jam (see below) may answer that it sounds a little too familiar...
Well, yes, but there's no need to swear, is there? I'm trying really hard to clean up the language round this blog these days...
Workin' this job is a kick in the pants Workin' this job is like a knife in the back It ain't gettin' me further than the dump I live in It ain't gettin' me further than the next paycheck
Who'd ever have imagined Paul Weller and Alan Jackson would be singing from the same hymn sheet? I guess hating the 9 to 5 really is universal. Hell, just ask Dolly Parton!
It seems a constant struggle just to exist Scrimping and saving and crossing off lists From this window I`ve seen the whole world pass From dawn to dusk I`ve heard the last laugh laughed I`ve seen enough tears to wash away this street I`ve heard wedding bells chime and a funeral march When as one life finishes the other one starts
Alright then love so I`ll be off now It`s back to the lunchbox and worker management rows There`s gotta be more to this old life than this Scrimping and saving and crossing off lists
Considering Morrissey famously sang "I was looking for a job and then I found a job - and heaven knows I'm miserable now", it's no surprise he'd end up writing another song about hating the boss of his record company (Geoff Travis - who apparently did write bloody awful poetry).
Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held It pays my way but it corrodes my soul...
I want to leave You will not miss me I want to go down in musical history
Who wouldn't feel more fulfilled making Christmas cards for the mentally ill?
Still Mr. Travis might console himself with the knowledge that Morrissey could probably have written the same lyrics about any of the many, many record company bosses he's encountered since leaving Rough Trade. Well, when you go in with that kind of attitude...
There were a lot of country songs on this list, even for a good old boy such as myself, but jacking in your job is obviously a recurring theme in that genre - probably more so than any other. And there's none more direct than this old classic from the aptly named Johnny Paycheck... can you think of anything better to sing as you're walking out the door?
If you can, leave it with your keys in the comments...
After 23 years working for the same company, 15 of them on staff as a copywriter, I have been made redundant. I won't bore you with the whys and wherefores, the ins and outs, the tears and souvenirs of it all. It's not in my interest to talk about it and I doubt it'd be of interest to you. The fact is, I'm redundant...
Or am I?
It's a weird word, redundant. What does it really mean... and does it really mean me?
Let's ask the dictionary for a few definitions...
1. surplus to requirements; unnecessary or superfluous
Am I surplus to requirements? My former employers obviously think so. Others might (and hopefully will) disagree. I can't see anything wrong in being superfluous - you're one half super, to start with it. I'd always rather be 50% super than 60% shite.
2. verbose or tautological
I'll happily admit to the former - if you've ever read this blog, I can't really deny it. As to the latter, the secondary point, the issue of tautology described within... never.
3. deprived of one's job because it is no longer necessary for efficient operation: he has been made redundant
That would seem apparent.
4. being in excess; exceeding what is usual or natural: a redundant part.
You mean... like a mutant? Cool!
(Oh, stop being such a whinger, Cyclops. So you lost your job - big deal! Man up!)
5. characterized by verbosity or unnecessary repetition in expressing ideas; prolix: a redundant style.
Didn't we cover this already?
6. having some unusual or extra part or feature.
You mean, like six fingers or a vestigial tail? Again: cool. Can I have angel wings too?
But wait, let's look at the Latin derivation...
7. from Latin redundans - overflowing, from redundāre - to run back, stream over
Right at this moment, of all the definitions on offer, this is the one which feels most appropriate. Overflowing, streaming over... unable to contain my joy.
Yes, joy.
The truth is, I'm looking on this as, potentially, one of the most exciting things that's ever happened to me. The possibilities are endless, and I fully intend to seize every one of them by the throat or the balls or any other soft and vulnerable part within easy reach. The future's so bright...
...you know the rest.
(Only the 80s could give us a video like that. I do feel bad for the donkey though.)
Yesterday, as part of my working day, I had an awkward meeting with a client. I won't divulge their occupation, but for the purpose of this post, let's just call them a Successful Person. Someone who has worked hard in their chosen field to rise to a level of achievement that would be respected by others. A professional.
I take such meetings from time to time, and it's no big deal. I may have a chip the size of a King Edward on my shoulder about having achieved Sweet Fanny Adam in my own career, but I try not to let it show. This time was different. The Successful Person in question was a former High School classmate. I didn't know that going in, but I recognised her immediately. I'm pretty sure she recognised me too (the name is memorable if nothing else), but neither of us acknowledged it. We treated each other as complete strangers: it was easier that way.
Afterwards, I was reminded of the post I wrote a couple of weeks back about why I don't do school reunions. About not wanting to explain myself to a bunch of people who'd made something of their lives. Am I that insecure about my position in the world? Do I really care so much what other people think? Or am I being too hard - and projecting that self-criticism onto others?
Louise says that whenever she tells people what I do for a living, they always think it's fascinating. From the outside, working in the media always seems that way. And I'm under no illusions that - as much as I hate this job - there are far worse things I could be doing to bring in a wage. But at the end of the day, I don't really care what other people think - I care what I think. And I think that I've failed. There are millions of people in the world who don't have the job they want, who haven't achieved the goals they set them themselves in their youth, who feel they've let themselves down. And I dare say a good proportion of them have far more to complain about than I do. I just never thought I'd be one of them.
But the world needs losers. We play an important role in society. If nothing else, we remind the winners exactly what they've won. I hope they appreciate it.
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