When you gonna go out and shine ?

It’s finally happened; I’ve started dreaming about my old places of work. The dreams usually go like this: I have managed to get my old job back and everything is back to how it was, even the shit things that made me want to leave, but I’m happy to be back because a job is a job. My brain is obviously still coming to terms with me not working. It’s now five months since I was made redundant, I need something soon or my head just might explode one night while I’m sleeping.

West Cumbria is a beautiful place to live, but it’s a crap place to look for work. Most of the manufacturing industry has been killed off, mines were closed years ago, and the steel works has just been fucked up the arse in favour of Scarborough. That leaves the chemical and nuclear industries. I think the secret handshake brigade pretty much run things round here, aprons have never suited me, so looks like I’ll be a doley for a while yet.

I need to find a big suitcase full of cash. I’d be a brilliant millionaire; I’ve loads of ideas for lazing about. None of this “I’m going to carry on working” for me. Anyone who says they would be bored if they had no job has a distinct lack of imagination in my opinion. There wouldn’t be enough hours in the fucking day for me to use, and that’s just a quick list off the top of my head. If I really thought about it I could come up with enough stuff to last a lifetime. The problem is, when you start thinking like that you soon get fed up because the chances of me becoming a millionaire are slim to none…….and slim just……sorry.

I must stop using clichés.
I must stop using clichés.
I must stop using clichés.
I must stop using clichés.
I must stop using clichés.

What I need is a get rich quick scheme; I wonder if some unsuspecting Far East businessman would buy Workington off me, I own it…..honest. If he gave me £30 for it (well above market value) I could put thirty lines on this week’s lotto. I’m bound to win.

This time next year…….