The Little Birds Fly

Down to the Calico Sea

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In the green, grassy (albeit it grey) peninsula of Cornwall, it has been trying to snow.  For 'snow', read 'sleet with ambitions above its station', which has now decided to fall as pitiless grey rain.  Bingley was perched on Prodigal 2's windowsill, like a little grey cat-sicle, catawauling that he was underfed and homeless, even though he had access through the backdoor and therefore to his well-stocked food dish.  I have resolutely shut my curtains on it all and am drifting from one job site to another.  First thing I have noticed is a lot of nursing and security staff wanted - and precious little else.  Not a lot then for quirky former uni grad, but on I plod, hoping that there is something out there for me.

Tonight, I am helping Hubby redo his CV so it is up to date - basically not only getting to wag his tail, but also wag the tail of any company that might employ him.  Joy.

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Heh, great cartoon. :D

I hope you will find something soon. You have to wonder about turn over in those fields.

The problem is that it is a small place, with high unemployment. I live down the bottom of Cornwall, which is largely rural, so there aren't large towns and big cities. Beautiful to look at, but expensive to keep.

I've heard that of more than one small town there. I remember my mum being desperate that I get out of our small town. she was afraid I'd take a dead end job and never leave. She was probably right.

It tried vaguely to snow here, but didn't settle. I go to meet the new boss tomorrow: job is 2 days a week mat cover, but it's a foot in the door!

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