Barrowboy

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I am once again officially unemployed. Or "looking for work" as the bureaucrats say. The whole process took only two hours of waiting and five minutes of box ticking.

They provided one job to apply for - administrator for a military college with no history or description...except a central office in Cardiff.

Yes, that's right. It's Torchwood.

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I went to a party last night, got drunk with a nice gay boy, and went home cheesy.

Okay, it was one of those frightfully polite finger buffets and socialisation opportunities for the local community. How local? The inhabitants of one street.

It was so polite no one wanted to be seen to eat too much of the mountain of food provided. So I did the decent thing and ate it. And everyone was too polite to tell me I was being a pig.

I may be in spitting distance of forty, but I was the second youngest there. The youngest...I see you're there ahead of me. He was there with his boyfriend - and the three of us talked computers in a corner, drinking the red wine that may (or may not) have been intended as a raffle prize.

The whole thing ended at ten thirty, when the over seventies, saying it was way past their bedtime, left to sleep, unsteadily full of wine. Leaving behind half a dozen unopened packets of extremely strong buffet cheese.

And that's why all my next week's meals will feature gorgonzola.

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I must develop some secrets so I can post them on PostSecret. That's the easy bit - the hard bit will be in not linking to them from here. Which would kind of miss the whole point.

Besides, I'd also have to become unhappy, as opposed to just exasperated.

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This is post number 992. I should think up something a bit special for 1000.

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