Years ago the music business seemed like some magical lottery. I suppose in a way it was, though in fairness it's also a ruthless business as any other and even after decades of popular music, we still see the same headlines in the tabloids about the disillusionment and disaster of becoming famous. As if that ever put anyone off. I made my own stab at at it, and Red Jasper's guitar player is still out there twenty years on, trying to become the next guitar hero. That's free publicity there, Robin, so don't sneer.

Back then the cassette tape was the key to fame and fortune. There must have been countless bands recording and sending these things through the post hoping a record company would discover their talent. As if. Most A&R men simply through the cassette onto the pile of others over their shoulder. The grim reality was that they never got listened to.

The key, which in our starry-eyed innocence was beyond our understanding, was to connect with these people on a business footing. It's all abouit money. In a way I'm right back in the same sort of situation, sending off applications and CV's in the hope that doors will open. That's why the internet is such a useful too, both for music and employment. Your work is right there, on the screen or in their headphones in a matter of seconds.

Except for one particular recruitment agency. I come across their vacancies sometimes on jobsites, click on apply, fill in the details, and click on submit. Another application away, and another entry in my job search record. Usually you get either a rejection email in response, or perhaps just gather dust and cobwebs waiting for one. This particular recruitment agency sends me an email saying they can't open the CV file.

Pardon? It's tried and tested. It opens in a variety of Microsoft and Microsoft compatible programs. It's available for download on a number of sites. Employers have accessed the file. I know it works. But I'll send it again.

Then I get an email telling me the file is corrupt. No, I don't accept that. My anglo-saxon blood is beginning to boil. I know, I'll visit their office in Swindon and hand them a printed copy. That way I know they have the information.

When I got there, the office was bare. An empty premises, devoid of carpets, desks, computers, and blonde ladies. I went next door to an estate agent who kindly pointed me to where they'd moved to. When I got there, a premises filled with all the expected contents a recruitment agency should have. Unfortunately, none of the blonde ladies were impressed enough with my appearance (nor my fuming demeanour I suspect) so I got some fuzzy haired bloke in a shirt and tie, who apologised with a wicked smile, but informed me I'd come to the wrong place. They couldn't help.

Oh all right. I admit. I threatened to throw a tantrum. The office clerk realised he was in imminent danger of being mauled and provided me with the correct address. So I left, he breathed again, and my CV got sent by post so that this morning a a disgruntled recruitment agent now has to transfer all the information manually. Sometimes sending cassette tapes worked. You just had to make them listen.

Sand Between The Toes

What is going on? There's fine sand all over the pavement down the bottom of the hill. Is this some council scheme to improve the area? Or is this the first sign of a beach forming in our new ice cap deficient world? We've had seagulls for decades. Now the seaside really is coming to Swindon. The poster said it all. I just didn't listen. Darn... I've got nowhere to build a wooden aircraft carrier to the amusement of all those disbelievers in my area...