who do we think we are?: 2005-09-11

hungry heart

A mixed bag of a few days.

Jobwise the hunt continues. Interview count for the week stands at Pete 5 Courtney 4. Not bad considering we were at the society wedding till Wednesday. And all for proper jobs, not pointless workouts with recruitment consultants eager to try out their training... 'so Pete, tell me 10 things that your friends would say about you...' ffs...

The real tragedy lies not in my dying career, but in AJ's injury away at Reading on Tuesday night. The kids on the internet chatrooms are undecided on how serious it is, but England's number #10 is destined for at least a few weeks on the sidelines. Which just leaves us President Clinton and wee John Mackem. Oh, and of course, who let the doug out?

darkness on the edge of town

Wedding action this week. The wedding of the St Tropez stag weekend. A posh do all round. One of the guests even arrived and left in a helicopter ffs.. (not us though, we relied on The Landlord changing roles and becoming The Chauffeur for 2 days).

Held at Babington House (trendy country retreat of the stars and setting for FatBoySlim's wedding a few years back), there was rich irony in the wedding falling on the most important day for English cricket in many years especially as the groom is probably the biggest cricket fan I've ever met. Still, the right result, even if we missed watching most of the action. Much mention of cricket all day long during proceedings, even by the minister during the sevice. The dinner tables were even named after famous England cricketers.

The wedding itself? Well, the usual drunken behaviour from most people, including last minute substitute guest Courtney Middleton. And a full hour of quite incredible live cabaret singing. What more would you expect from the wedding of London's top nightclub impressario?

Elsewhere the job hunt continues. Continuing my quest to have interviews at companies highly likely to annoy my brother, last week's target was News International. Luckily the job sounded awful so that one went no further, which at least means not having to look at the huge framed portrait of a certain Mr Murdoch, proudly hanging in reception, everyday.