And all my friends and all their jobs and all the bloody waste

Interview yesterday at CUP (for the position of Development Editor: Humanities and Social Sciences) went okay -- I don't have high hopes for it, but it wasn't as dreadful as some other interviews I've had. And the "short test" they'd threatened turned out to be quite fun; they said "Here's the proposal for a book [it was a Political Philosophy textbook], here's the first chapter and some notes from the author; write the blurb, 200 words max." This is the sort of thing that an English degree is for, goddamnit: blatant bullshitting and spurious soundbiting. (And also alliteration, and assonance.)

Skiving off work early for the interview meant that I got home earlier than usual, so I had a while to play with Patricia before it got dark (mostly just cleaning her windows, having decided it'd be nice to be able to see out of them). I was going to clean the spark plugs but they're so tightly wedged on that I couldn't budge them. :-( Will have to get somebody stronger to do them and then NOT TIGHTEN THEM SO MUCH.

(Checked the radiator and it seemed to be more full than it had been at the weekend. Surely this can't be possible? Or does this mean something else is leaking into it somewhere?)

...

Work today has been pretty depressing on the whole. I have got some work done, but only markup, which is tedious and unrewarding and, quite frankly, the sort of thing they could probably train chimps to do. On the other hand, we did get email telling us that we'll get a 2.5% bonus ... which is good, in that it might put my current account back into the black; but at the same time I can't help feeling that I've done nothing to deserve it, that it's just as meaningless as everything else.

( Musings on money and dreams )

Your poetry is broken, please fix it

A bug appeared in our tracking database the other day:

Title: Poem text is jumbled.
Description: Peter Reading's "And Now, a Quick Look at the Morning Papers".

Here's the full text of the (actually rather good) poem in question:

1 lled in
2 ar smas
3 e freed b
4 iremen from the wreckage of his Ren
5 fter both had been in collision wit
6 hrysler Avenger. The A49 was blocke
7 en to cut both drivers from their v
8 dition of the other driver as 'sati
9 rsday---the day after his fiftiet
10 or alcohol proved positive, a p
11 juries to his head and left l
12 mproving' said a hospital o
13 lso certified dead was Do
14 eaves a wife and two chi
15 aid 'He just drove ou
16 othing I could do.'
17 Parochial Church
18 early retire
19 any year
20 fini
21 ha

I spent the next 10 minutes alternating between re-reading the poem and trying to think of a tactful way of saying "It's meant to look like that, you philistine."

Future bugs expected include "Poem entitled 'Sonnet' has extra line"; "'Four Quartets' is missing 8 violins, 4 violas and 4 cellos" ...

Amused me, anyway, so I thought I'd post something amusing to counterbalance the previous miserable entry. Although, of course, the "amusing" post contains a more serious poem... does the comedy frame the tragedy, or vice versa? Half empty. Half full. Half past six, and time to go home.