Oh damn, still in this dream.

About to go to pay Christmas visit to Glamorous  Ex  (who's back in the country for the holiday).
Glam Ex's Mama is getting on a bit, but still working as actor in long-running soap (and quite frankly, is the stand out performer in aforementioned serial), and understandably needs folk to help deal with day to day stuff, as her workload is pretty punishing. When Glam Ex is in the country, she takes over lots of this stuff, to ease the burden. (See what I mean about a 'good sort'.)

Ah well, no duties until this evening when I have to go and see Steve K, his Missus, and two daughters.
Have books for my godchildren.
Oxford Companion to Classical Literature - Harvey
Oxford Dictionary of Quotations
Collins Biographical Dictionary of English Literature
Should help 'em with school work, at the least, and also broaden minds and horizons, which is more important.
Will have to replace them in my library, but will do so when I find them, rather than search over the web.

I now need to find myself a job, work, paying occupation, whatever.
I reckon I need about £800 pcm minimum, which is not a lot, but I have few overheads in comparison to others (no mortgage or rent, just bills). I could earn almost double that stacking shelves, but somehow feel I'm not exactly suited to the rigorous demands of the job.
This is the problem when you leave school at seventeen to follow some rock 'n' roll dream. When you hit forty and you aren't a graduate you become effectively unemployable in the real world. The difference between ones person and ones academic accomplishments is such that interviews become something of a minefield.
Ones musical CV doesn't count for much in the world of wage-slavery, neither does ones published work in music, prose, or poetry. And having applied for a shelf-filling position, when it comes to interview, they don't expect someone like me (though the Latin must give 'em a bit of an indication).
The other problem is I'm blessed (or cursed, more like) with an accent that can only be described as Patrician. My musician chums have gotten used to it, & most of my schoolfriends and other old chums sound similar, but ordinary folk tend to look askance the minute I open my gob.
I did work in computers in the early 90's, but doubt I could pick up the threads of the thing now.
I could teach guitar privately (as I have done on and off for more than twenty years).
I could beg some sinecure from a chum (which has been offered without me even asking, but I'm a proud man and I'd rather starve or eat my own shoes).
Or I could bite the bullet and retrain, but as what?

45 yr old man with compulsive reading disorder needs work. Can do almost nothing very well, but showed a remarkable aptitude at an early age, especially when it came to tying shoelaces. Has spent too long in the music business and acquired all sorts of bad habits, and is insubordinate to boot, especially when instructed by morons. Worse, he's worked with folk of whom you've heard and bought the albums; has had a string of beautiful girlfriends, most of whom he's still chums with; and hobnobs with the upper classes despite extreme left wing history, since repudiated. Once owned a record company that went bust due to inattention and bad business decisions. Published as a critic and poet, but very rarely. Voice sounds too posh to live and is a positive invitation to revolution and the guillotine.

Can't see it drawing in the employers somehow.

Perhaps it is time to do like Petronius, but being cowardly, I'll put it off for the time being. I shall tape two bits of paper to a coin. On one side will be written 'Day-gig' and on the other side 'suicide'.
Heads
Heads
Heads
Hades...
I jest of course, a real job's far worse than killing yourself.