I should be somewhere else.

I mean somewhere else in London at this precise time.

Not somewhere else in the world.

Although I would love to be hanging in Seattle with Gus. I've always wanted to go to Seattle. Since 1991, anyway. It just seems like my kind of town.

No, I should be eating a steak sandwich at home or in North London or something, not blogging right now. Nevermind.

Yesterday was great. Monday was hell. Today was somewhere in between.

I nearly walked out on the job several times today. Besides sheer dumb pride and a reluctance to get on my Agency's bad side, two thing stopped me:

Number one: I've decided that for every week I can stick it out, I'm going to do something really nice for myself. Whereas if I punk out now, not only will I not have the excuse to treat myself, I'll also have to watch my resources much closer.

Number two: Farrah the Solicitor was in again today, and she seems to be really nice. Whether she is nice to everyone or whether she saves those big blue eyes just for me is open to debate. But she did tell me that I was doing a great job calling the list, when it was clear that the opposite was true. And I did catch her look around for me when she stepped out of the courtroom after presenting her case (her client non-appearing). Okay, it might be sheer vanity to think that she was looking around for me, but she was looking for someone. It might as well be me.

(I saw her throught the window of a guard booth, but I was unable to get her attention because I was stuck doing Tannoy Announcements.)

Anyways, I still need to build up a proper rhythm of greeting people, handing them an advocate slip, placing them in order etc.

Chris went home early, apparently because he only had two hours sleep the night before because of some situation or other.

Funny. I spent most of the first week falling asleep on my feet. No matter.

I really should take better care of myself. I can see this all having terrible health consequences really soon.

Probably the most memorable thing to happen today was that some kid was sent down over a Grievous Bodily Harm count. I saw the photos of what he did to a Sixteen Year Old's face (slashed from ear to mouth).

When the judge announce that he was going to prison, he spat the dummy completely. From the secure dock it took three very strong jailers to drag him down to the cells.

Elaine ordered the Courtroom to clear while order was restored, and the judge brought contempt charges against the guy. Meanwhile I felt my heartrate soar.

I hate violence. I later told the Jailers that I haven't seen anything like that since I left home. I think they misinterpreted what I meant, and I didn't care to clarify the point.

I get better at this job. But the question is how soon will I be good enough to carry it by myself? Bearing in mind that the job requires things that are essentially alien to my basic character.

The worst thing was that at times I felt like snapping. Just throwing down the clipboard and walking out. The main thing that stopped me from doing that was realizing that I would have to get my timesheet signed for the work I had done already this week.

Still, I hate drunks, I hate thugs, I hate violence and I especially hate being patronized by anyone and everyone, whether they are a District Judge or just a very good List Caller.

As soon as I have a minute spare, I'm writing a new resume and sending it to every bookshop I can think of.

If I'm going to be making £6.50 an hour I at least want to be significantly less stressed than I am now.

I acknowledge that it isn't a bad job per se, it is just a very hard job that requires much more training and focus than I have.

Having said that, I observe that possibly the weirdest thing about this particular job (and I think that Chris has noticed this too) is that me and Chris, being two peas in a pod, provide some kind of counterbalance to each other. If one was to quit, the other would probably go soon after. Hence neither one is likely to quite just yet.

Anyways, I'm going home.

Over and out.

J