Chris's job log: 9
Chris Illingworth
- January 2010.
The story so far… Chris graduated this year with a degree in archaeology from Leicester University. He has huge debts, a little freelance writing work and no clear idea about his future.
Just like you imagined
Earth 2010. Sounds like science fiction, doesn’t it, where we widen to reveal spaceships docking at Moonbase Alpha, a gang of astronauts swirling helplessly in the blurry middle-distance, not quite in control of their marshmallow suits.
But that didn’t happen, and we’re still living in a world where getting a mortgage is the final frontier.
A decade ago, Martin Landau didn’t take the moon on a joyride around the galaxy, fighting pieces of cardboard and deadly foil at every space-turn. Nor did Bill Shatner get to date that splendid green woman.
TV has been optimistic, and now we’re all a bit disappointed. Earth 2010, ladies and gentlemen; not quite as advanced as Space 1999.
Hullabaloo
In Doncaster, the erstwhile capital of nothing at all, the streets are white, and rather treacherous. The cold air came for our fingers in the middle of December, and it’s been snowing ever since.
Santa came and went, wearing much the same suit as last year. But then, the holidays are always the same, aren’t they? The department stores slap the glitter on in September; my neighbours put the radioactive lights up at the end of October, and by November, good cheer is picking moss from its fingers and toes.
Yet, we all love the pomp and circumstance, and I love day-old sausage rolls and £3.99 red wine. But two Sundays and four bank holidays later, I’m starting to miss the hullabaloo of real life - the driving rain, and the pretty postwoman that brings me all those ironic love letters, asking for money.
Of course, there are a few hundred workdays lined up in front of us - a whole New Year of sunny days, in fact. We’ll all be crying into our mince pies by the end of January, mourning Santa and his jaded little smile.
Modern Man
I tried my best to concentrate on personal projects over the holidays, emptying my computer of the half-baked ideas and nonsense notes I’ve accumulated over the years, and writing up the good stuff as best I could. It was a productive, albeit quiet, few weeks.
But then I found a magazine piece that would challenge everything I knew about the world around me.
It was written by an alpha female, and told the tale of a mysterious modern man - the twenty-something who still lives with his parents. He had my sympathy, but not the author’s, who felt that he ought to be cast into the eternal fires of hell, where he would be sucked to death by koala bears.
Now, I’m a twenty-something who still lives at home, but I’m trading my independence for a decent job, and a shot at something infinitely grander than airport news; or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Uncertain
It occurs that all my eggs are in one basket, guarded by an aging hen who doesn’t give a cluck about my career. I graduated six months ago, and I’m still qualified for nothing but entry-level copywriting. The future is uncertain, to say the least.
So, being that it’s both a new month and a new decade, I’ll tell you my resolutions for the coming year - one; find another writing job, however small and infrequent. Two; pay my library fines so that I can get my degree certificate. I also have a novel that I want to finish writing within the next few months.
Until then, I’ll leave you to ponder my newfound independence, while I go see if my mum has ironed my shirt.
Read my previous blogs
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