Blowpipe

Yes I know it’s an odd title, but that was the first image that entered my head when the phone rang today. This woman introduced herself and then said, “I’m a headhunter.” Visions of little loin-clothed blokes in Borneo skulking round the bushes ready to gob a poisoned dart in my direction.

I haven’t been headhunted in ever such a long time. Someone actively seeking me out to apply for a job. I’m not kidding myself that I’m the only one she spoke to, but it’s flattering nonetheless.

She emailed me the job description etc so I need to do a bit of swotting up over the weekend. The company is a big one and the job is in their new health division. They seemed pretty flexible about relocation: the job could be based at their HQ (not too faraway) or from home, although it would involve lots of travelling within England and Wales

Tempting. I’ll probably send in my cv, assuming I can find it, last seen on my motherboardless PC. That engineer had better turn up on Monday.

If that wasn’t enough on Friday 13th, I got a letter today saying I have a £127 tax refund heading my way. Last year I got a similar amount and blew it on a Christmas prezzie for Mrs P. Okay, so not exactly the Pink Panther, but it worked for me.

Then the really exciting bit of news, an email from someone I don’t know. My nerdy hobby is family history, something I’ve been at for the last seven years or so. Out of the blue, a lost relative born 1821 who I assumed had died young who in fact had headed for the north east while the rest of the family went from Yorkshire to Cheshire. Pure gold.

So perhaps I should have taken Alice’s advice and got myself a Lotto ticket for the £70 million rollover tonight. But hey, I’d only have squandered it.

Nobody’s prefect. If you find any spelling mistakes or other errors in this post, please let me know by highlighting the text and pressing Ctrl+Enter.

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