As of this week, I have resolutely turned my thoughts to paid work.  Two nice four letter words unlike 'cash poor' which is what I am and 'fuck-all" which is what everyone thinks I do all day.  It is definitely time to set the record straight and finally release my inner capitalist tiger that has been caged for far too long.

So, on Monday I scoured the ads for gameful employ.   And I scoured.  And I scoured.  And I scoured.

By Tuesday I had come to realise that was really nothing out there aside from sitting at a reception desk from the hours of 20h00-06h00  in a two star hotel in St Malo for the months of July and August.  Kind of grim but a job.  And it is a job I could do if I forgot that I had children and that I have already held that position and fluctated between being referred to as "Benson the doorman" (from the series 'Soap') and 'The Letch on Receptch'.  Mmm. And then again, perhaps not.

Nevertheless on Wednesday I typed my CV.

On Thursday I finished, read through it and immediately plunged into a trough of despair.  Who cares that I have qualifications and experience?  The bottom line is I am not in my 20s anymore and almost out of my 30s; I am old.  I have reached an age when my fellow employees will be wondering how I am still alive, let alone allowed to work and be around other people.  Oh and when they are huddled around the photocopier, snickering, I will know that they'll be discussing what I am wearing or the something that I've said that morning and they'll think that I won't know they're doing it. Because I am, in their eyes, old.  Oh yes.  I'll know alright.  I was guilty of doing just that when I was last worked.  Just the once, but I did it nevertheless.  To my shame.

But today, Friday,  I have dried my eyes and seen sense.  There is one workplace left where I already take comfort in knowing that they would be helpless without me: One which will nuture, support and encourage me into being someone who can earn some money and a greater sense of self-worth; one where the AGMs are far from 'boardroom style' (pens, pads, mints and mineral waters, as defined by the Hilton group of hotels); and one that I could do the whole damn day through in my pyjamas and no-one would bat an eyelid.  Yep.   Chez nous.  Two nice four letter words.

Must dash.