Once again I trudge despondently into my local Job Centre. The security guard spotted me crossing the foyer and asked "You know your way, Sir?"

Funnily enough, I do. The office catacombs upstairs are well explored by veteran jobseekers like me. I nodded, and he went back to sleep. Once there I was prevented from going to sleep myself by a crafty claims advisor, whose machiavellian tactic was to wear a flourescent yellow jumper. I don't know if such apparel is legal in Job Centres, but at least he won't be run over by reversing trucks.

As part of my daily routine, the claims advisor does a search of his vacancy database and points out the various opportunities for me. With various redevelopment projects waiting in the wings I wasn't suprised to see a lot of building vacancies. Come to think of it, the old college site is due for demolition later this year. I had noticed a ladder being lifted against the abandoned building today. Quite why they need to clean the windows is beyond me. Most of the glass is already well ventilated by now.

But I digress. There's a yellow jumper destroying my eyesight, and I must focus attention on the multicoloured screen displaying lots and lots of jobs I'm not qualified for. Like a Spanish Translator for instance. I was drawn to this vacancy because the pay was given as