A Weird Day

It started off quite simply. I sent out applications to several jobs, including one as personal assistant for a writer-cum-reviewer of Adult guidebooks. I'm quite broadminded, and assumed this meant strip-clubs and so on. I wasn't going to go googling for details on Dad's PC, anyway. Anyway, this writer is rather more, um, into the scene than I had assumed. I've an interview tomorrow morning about which I'm a bit conflicted. My every encounter with sex-workers heretofore has been the sort of stuff you might see Hugh Grant pulling in one of those gentle romantic comedies he does so well. Do note that none of my encounters with such ladies has been the sort of thing you might hear of Hugh Grant doing in real life. No, it's all been repressed middle-class shock and polite refusals of their offers of business like the characters he portrays, not, ah, meeting with young ladies in motor-vehicles like the real Mr Grant.

I need a job because I need money. Nobody wants to employ a guy who hasn't worked since the start of 2006. Beggars can't be choosers. Er, I should say at this point that I've only told the family that it's a post as a PA to a writer of guidebooks. If any of my readers are going to speak to Mum, please bear that in mind! Anyway, I am understandably conflicted about this. I do need a job, even if it's only a poorly-paid one, as this is. Moreover, this is the only application I have sent off so far which has so much as yielded an offer of an interview. On the other hand, I seem to be driving at high speed into a moral morass, or even crevasse. Well, I cannot imagine it would be dull work, but nor do I think I will be able to tell anyone at church what I do in the working week.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.......................hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm........