Thank God for Fridays

Yes, I realise it is Monday, but my god I enjoyed Friday. A fantastic serving of homemade leek & potato soup, a silver standard show of curling and the fact it didn’t rain brought a productive week to a very neat conclusion. As the offices emptied around the country at 5pm, I honestly thought that was my fill. Trains would be filling, motorways would be jamming and the Northern line would be unbearable. It’s at this time on a Friday that I routinely put down my laptop and end my weekly job-hunt; reluctantly assuming that my inbox will remain dormant during the weekend.

This week, however, my usual pattern was interrupted. As I bundled together the ingredients to impress my Mum with my homemade Piri Piri Chicken I, at first, missed an extraordinarily rare sensation.  My phone, left to one side as I focused on the task at hand, had begun vibrating at quite an impressive rate. Not once, not twice, not even thrice. Six times my phone gently buzzed during my dinner preparations and when I finally twigged what was going on I was surprised with some brilliant news. No, my long lost university friends had not finally got in touch with me after months of distant ignorance. No, there wasn’t a family emergency in need of my help. And no, there wasn’t even an inbox full of junk email. Friday night was a blessing. Friday night was a good news night!

Originally, this week held no exciting promise for my job hunt. No meetings were scheduled and no deadlines needed to be hit. I was going into the week with a free calendar. For a man in the peak of his career this would be the best news ever. Yet, for a man with no career, this is the worst news possible. Friday, however, changed all of this. In the passing of 1 hour appointments and interviews suddenly swamped my empty diary. The usual void of activity that comes with rush hour at the end of the week was gone and in it’s place came more plans than I could shake my employment stick at. 3 separate talks, 1 written task and a final confirmation from The Clearing will now fill my 9-5’s this week transforming my original five lazy days into five of the most proactive possible.

As of Wednesday I shall be bounding out of my home once more, boarding a train and heading south to the hustle and bustle of the city. My indent in the sofa will soften as I energetically meet with several professionals from Shoreditch to Paddington. It must be said that this can only be seen as a good thing. The experience and knowledge I’ve learnt at every interview so far has only helped me in my quest for employment. Meeting professionals in the industry, learning how they operate and understanding what they are looking for in their ‘perfect candidate’ gives you a real insight into how these people think. My fingers are crossed that this week I shall be the aforementioned ‘perfect’ man.

Each role this week is focused on my writing. A copywriter role, a social media position and a communications and content intern are the opportunities that my carefully scripted enquiries have opened up to me. It’s beginning to become obvious that agencies prefer the personal and friendly tone that I have regularly chosen to approach them with. Last week, for example, the Creative Director at Leo Burnett happily responded to my advances with compliments, deeming my ‘determination’ and ‘enthusiasm’ as a good enough reason for me to go in and meet him in the near future.

Overall, I don’t really see the point in placing the same old stereotypical, politically correct phrases and anecdotes in your emails and cover letters. This isn’t going to set you apart, it’s not going to make you jump off the page, and as I found out early on in this process, it’s not going to help you get very far. I’m not going to get a job because ‘I know I have the correct skillset to hit every challenge head on.’ I’m going to get a job because I can use that skillset to do something more with the first challenge that sits in front of any unemployed graduate; getting someone’s attention.

Friday’s flurry of responses is testament to my adoption of a new method. For the last month the repeated clichés have slipped out of my vocabulary, being replaced with words and ideas that I actually formulate in my own head. Yes, I still write in a common black, size 12 Cambria font, but hopefully the words I type have the ability to do a little more in the head of an interviewer than send them off to sleep. I know that I’m an interesting guy and it’s clear that other people are starting to think that too. The only thing to master now is the interview and show that I am the graduate that the words on the paper suggest I am.

Dining out on Steak

The wait goes on. Like a transatlantic flight or the longwinded run up to Christmas, the hours are starting to drag, the anxiety is getting all too much and frustration is seeping in like a Thames Valley flood. While companies mull over their decisions and carry on with their days, a graduate awaits a decision that may change life as they know it. Watching the rain patter against my skylight is my very own paint-drying scenario. Unemployment sure is a merry little plight.

Wednesday’s used to hold so much promise. Football, half days and £1 pints at the beloved Sugarhouse; life was perfect as I hit the midpoint of the week. Now, however, the day that I adored so much has drifted out of the window and far, far away. Dull, bleary and cold, the longest named day of the week has recently come to disappoint. The day I so preciously held on to has brought me only pain. It’s no doubt sitting with Monday on a beach, sipping mojitos, having a rather hearty laugh at my current situation. Such a fickle bitch.

My Wednesday delight is gone, so I realistically ask myself, should I just give up? Should I forget the thought of finding a meaningful profession and progressing in life and just take up my mantle as the Crazy Cat Prince of Essex? The thought has crossed my mind many a time as I snuggle in with my puss’ come 8pm, and yet something deep in my cranium tells me ‘No’. Something pushes me on. Somewhere deep inside I crave a job, I hanker for a life away from my cottage in a damp field, and I long to fulfill my potential. Wednesday may have given up on me, but I have not given up on it.

Therefore, when I awoke this morning, I opened my laptop, found my chosen websites and searched once more for job after job, opportunity on top of opportunity, and internship… well, you get the picture. Why wait, when you can carry on hunting? Yes, you might have a job offer slowly simmering in the perfect London office, but that prize steak isn’t on your plate just yet. I still have time to discover another company, another interview and perhaps another rump slab of beef that could get slapped down in front of me. Please excuse the meat metaphors, but oddly they fit.

Outrageously by lunch I’d already applied for another 5 jobs. Internship applications, executive position submissions and speculative writing enquiries have begun flying from my inbox as I take precautionary action should the worst scenario prevail. I see nothing wrong with looking into other companies and positions that look like they could interest me. While I’m extremely passionate about the jobs I have interviewed for, there is always a chance there may be more opportunities for a graduate in my position. Some would say I’m putting my eggs in too many baskets. I’m saying that I have a firm grip over all my eggs and see perfect sense in strategically placing them where I see best. One can only hope I don’t end up with yolk on my face – straight away, I must apologise for that.

From scouring the Internet from top to bottom with a fine toothpick I continue to become fearless of rejection. Yes, I would love all my prospective job offers to come flooding back to me with big green ticks, but if they don’t I will survive. I will be devastated, but I will survive. There are hundreds of companies in this world, and while some may have no interest in what I offer, some will crave every morsel of my existence. Job-hunting isn’t meant to be an easy ride. Heck, I’m sure it’s going to make actual work feel like my very own nirvana. There is no need for panic; there is no need for anxiety. As much as it seems out of a graduate’s control, you should always aim to take the bull by the horns. One day it will pay off, and you will dine on the most valuable steak on the most brilliant of Wednesday nights. Then you can enjoy yourself. Bon appétit, my friends. Bon appétit.

A Waiting Game

Last week was one of the busier in my time as a postgraduate man. By the time I took my train out of London city on Friday afternoon I had met with an outrageously high number of people through six different interviews. Yes, you heard me right. SIX! Dramatically raising my odds for employment I powered through a week of rain, tube strikes and alternating ties with a vigour and enthusiasm that I felt gave me the best chance of landing a job. Generic interview question after generic interview question I battled my way to the more creative interrogation that companies like The Clearing, Havas Media and Freshly Made Content so joyfully revel in. Simplifying text, trying to understand the workings of a media company and telling jokes became part and parcel of my week as I clashed head on with the defining last stage of so many draining recruitment processes.

Today, all that is left for me to do is wait. There could be 4 job offers with my name on waiting for me down the M11 and yet, sadly, there could be none. Until later notice I shall be twiddling my thumbs nervously awaiting the results of my hard work. Like an X Factor bottom two, a FA Cup penalty shootout or an jumpy game of Operation, tension is rife in the Nicklin household as I await the final confirmation. Will I come to be employed or will I finish off the final podium, once again finding myself thrown into the wilderness of the lackluster graduate job market? I wish I had the reassuring Dermot to deliver my results but, for now, only time will tell.

The feeling is similar to that of waiting for those all-important GCSE exam results you so preciously thought would determine your every move in future life. You see, in the days leading up to receiving my final sealed envelope my body began acting a tad odd. Sleepless nights, longwinded days and maximized frustration all spread over the senses as I awaited the string of capital letters that would confirm my fate. I would either be promoted to the dizzy heights of sixth form or expelled me to the deaths of working as a bin man, janitor or, even worse for a part time McDonalds employee, a full time McDonalds employee. The difference between an A and a D was mind-blowing to my young mind and to say I was on edge was an understatement. I crapped my pants for a week leading up to those results. I was a mess. It was embarrassing.

Finding myself at an educated 23, I am today acting a little bit more accordingly, and yet those same feelings still churn in my stomach. Realistically, this decision is all the more pivotal, defining the first step in my career and removing me from all prospective job opportunities that lead with the word ‘graduate.’ I am, of course, nervous but feel that through my interviews I did a good enough job to be at least seriously considered for a role. The openings would all help me progress into a creative position and I can only hope that one of the companies takes pity on a man who so willingly craves those long 9-5 days. I have become accustomed to rejection, no long fearing the disgustingly blunt syllable ‘NO,’ and so can manage negative responses. Right now, however, I know I am ready for something much more positive.

There is nothing I can but wait though. Like the man who needs the toilet during the last 30 minutes of a film, like the lady who so patiently battles through a mother-in-law lecture or the child who dreams of his day at Disneyland; I wait. The Viktor Navorski of Stansted Mountfichet, I await the ‘yes’ that will let me leave my terminal and explore the wonders of the city. Unassuming and apprehensive I have bedded down in my Essex cottage, listening out for the buzz of my email inbox or the ring of a phone call. If you interviewers are out there, please hear my cry and reply as soon as possible. As I have signed so many emails of late, I thank you for your time, and I really cannot wait for you to get back to me.

The Perfect Advertising Touchdown

Yesterday, I was stumped. After hours of racking my brain, looking far and wide for the single-handed best piece of copy I had seen in recent years, I gave up and hoped divine intervention would instead mercifully find me in the night. Sadly, during a very peaceful sleep, it didn’t. No deity fell from above with the sacred answer to Steel’s open-ended question and waking up I realised that I was no closer to the precious answer that would help me progress with my application. With still no idea as to which advertisement nailed the spoken word in the past decade, I gamely ate my Shreddies, dressed and headed back to my second home; the train station.

Another day and another interview. The fields, reservoirs and quaint villages of the Essex countryside soon blurred into the skyscrapers and sirens, I was quickly becoming accustomed to, as my train wound through the London streets and delivered me to the center of the capital. On what seemed like an oddly summery day, my view of the city skyline slowly darkened as I descended upon Liverpool Street through a stream of damp tunnels. With a spring in my step, I bounded across to Tottenham Court Road, on a pleasantly quiet strike-free tube, arriving perfectly on time (brownie points for punctuality) with just enough minutes to browse the card section in John Lewis for upcoming celebrations.

While words may have left my mind the previous night, they soon returned to me once crammed into another conference room receiving a casual pat down from a friendly prospective colleague. One highly engaging and encouraging half an hour later and I was two fifths of my way through the interview week. Freshly Made Content, today’s business, represent the smallest of the operations I’m seeing but are booming quickly and know the importance of reaching as wide an audience as possible. The interview mirrored that and I got the sense I would be in a responsible position from day one and expected to pull my weight in the office. Excellent.

Interviews put a smile on my face. Yes, there are moments when you wish the floor would swallow you up as you ‘um’ and ‘arr’ through a question your mind won’t seem to put together correctly, but that is to be expected under the circumstances. The process gives me the reassurance that I have the skills and abilities to make it in an established business and confirms that I’m not on the wrong hunt all together. This positivity has helped me become less nervous and more relaxed in the situation and I can only hope this will see me prevail in the coming days. They also take my mind off other things in my head, giving my brain a little rest and often turning up thoughts I had completely forgotten.

Today that was the case and, fantastically, the answer to Steel’s straightforward answer satisfyingly wandered into my mind as I made my return journey home. Ironically, the answer had been staring me in the face all week. From the BBC Sport website I browse in the morning to the film trailers that were released this week, the Superbowl annually flies from across the pond for one special week, bringing with it a plethora of advertising gems. From a young Darth Vader realising the potential of the force with VW to Betty White getting bashed about for Snickers, Superbowl ads are a tour de force of an agencies creative strength. My favourite copy, however, comes not from one of these yearlong processed masterpieces but in the shape of one responsive remark during the 2013 electrically flawed NFL grand finale. You see, when the lights in the stadium went out fortunately for one Oreo worker, the most substantial light in his life came on.

Forget the Ravens and the 49ers, there was only one winner on the 3^rd of February 2013; the clever soul who tweeted ‘You can still dunk in the dark’ minutes after an infamous powercut.

The immediacy, relevance and humour of the copy all perfectly define what I like most about the written word in advertising, demonstrating how even the shortest of sentences can reach millions. The prose also perfectly sums up how marketing is evolving in the 21st century and while companies vied for the top spot with million dollar television commercials, one simple tweeted picture outshone them all. It was the perfect advertising touchdown. Simple, effective and with the viral qualities of the dramatic chipmunk, the copy was clear and concise rewarding the risk of one person to tweet when no one else around him did.

Summing this up for Steel I hope they can see why I chose to pick the copy. I will be whittling through the rest of their questions this evening, before hopefully sending it off before I leave home for London once more in the morn. More and more trains are still to be boarded this week, but hopefully one day I will be given the chance to create a 7-word sentence that becomes as popular as Oreo’s individual showstopper. Imagine the happiness that would bring me. Imagine the pay packet. Phwoar.

A Champion of the Written Word

It’s been a hard few months, I’ll be the first to admit that, but positively things are motoring along. This morning I talked to The Clearing, an extremely trendy agency on the borders of Old Street London that successfully deal with the likes of McClaren, Hugo Boss and EuroStar on a daily basis. My first of five interviews this week, it’s become clear that my writing style is starting to hit the mark with some professionals in the industry.

First of all, I was complimented on my enquiring email, before being told that I had made it down to a handful of interviewees from over a hundred applicants. A moral boost for the ages, it’s lovely hearing you have the capability to stand out from a large stack of responses and impress someone. This someone just happened to be the pleasant Director of Brand Language, who I gamely chatted away with for the next 30 minutes on topics ranging from Nike to Waitrose to Adele and everything in between. I enjoyed it all very much, and when leaving, questioned why people dislike interviews to the degree they do.

In between a McDonald’s lunch and a dart for my train, I was rewarded with yet more good news. Opening an email to the words ‘Hello Champion of the Written Word’ gives you feelings I cannot truly express. Having never really been a champion of anything, to now be the titleholder of the scripted word was truly breathtaking. I was in awe of myself for the first time in my life. For minutes, I stared at the black letters that worded my title before intrepidly reading on, on a quest to find out which kind human being had sent me such niceties. The answer was Steel London, who had successfully shortlisted me to complete the next stage of an application to become their shiny, new junior copywriter. Not a king, not yet, but still bloody chuffed, 8 questions now stand between me and a potential hook up with the company behind marketing campaigns for Gregg’s and TalkTalk. That sounds simple, until you see the creative nature of the questions…

From inventing my own fruit to promoting clothes to the female lovers of Debenhams, I have my work cut out to find the perfect answers that will see me battle my way through to an interview. Encouraged by my strong interview earlier in the day, however, I felt compelled to take my sword to the demands as soon as I returned home.

2 hours, and a large amount of sweat, orange juice and chicken sandwiches, later I have compiled 50% of what I want to say. Inventing the Real Chocolate Orange, reconfiguring the brand line ‘A brighter home for everyone’, and promoting Gregg’s new Vegetarian Sausage Roll I have toiled myself into a frenzy finding the right words for the right places. Yet, now, sitting before me, is the most open-ended question I have witnessed in all my months of job hunting; what is your favourite piece of copy in the last few years and why?

You know that moment, when everything in your brain just decides to leave. Well that just occurred. A mind blank more ferocious than the perilous episode that jeopardized my Religious Studies GCSE exam, I have been sat on my bed scratching my head for an outrageously prolonged time. Frozen by the fear of not finding the most amazing copy known to man, my fingers have seized to a halt and flinch every time I reopen the word document. The question is the Goliath to my David, the Vader to my Luke, the Everest to my Edmund Hilary. Out of reach, isolated and (in a galaxy) far, far away I know the words will come to me, and yet as of now I cannot touch them.

Rescinded before I was even anointed, my title as a ‘Champion of the Written Word’ is laughing at me from a distance. Steel is a prize to be taken if I can simply find the sentence that will reign chief amongst all other copy. I have been searching long and hard to remember prose of years gone by, and the search will continue long into the week. For now, I am venturing onto my other questions. Unwillingly retreating, white flag raised, I have been beaten today, but with another interview to attend in the morning I know I have the wherewithal to return a fresh tomorrow.  The week has started off well, and I can sense victory is just upon the horizon.

The Interview Man

Months. Months, I’ve been at this job-hunting malarkey, seeking opportunity after opportunity to find a full time, paid bit of employment. For weeks on end, I’ve been ignored, rejected and ridiculed by a multitude of companies, creatives and even bloody Café Nero’s. I’ve come to realise just what rock bottom is like, and let me tell you it is a cold, chilly place.

Things have slowly been turning around though. Ever since the BJL Creative Director ended his email invitation with the words ‘Onwards and Upwards’ I have slowly been levitating from the deep fall I’ve faced since university. Speaking with many a professional about my plight and being reassured that I’m not alone out here by many a parallel blog, I’ve been swept up in a very positive gale of late. People are getting back to me, I am being occasionally acknowledged and the interview count is picking up in a dramatic fashion.

This time last week, getting one final round interview would have been the best thing in the world, and yet I’m sat here right now with a total of 6 to prepare for in the next week. On top of Tuesday’s confirmation of a meeting with The Clearing and an assessment center with SMG my inbox has continually been buzzing with even more upcoming interviews.

Firstly, came some very humbling news from Havas Media. After my open day with the company on Monday I was quietly confident that I had done enough to impress at least one of the 6 directors that grilled me during the extensive process. Upon hearing back from them, however, came the surprising revelation that I had not just managed to impress one of them, but three. The words ‘high demand’ packed up and moved out of my vocabulary months ago but here they were, in a friendly black font, headlining an email from an actual company. Was there a mistake? Was someone pulling my leg? No? In that case, Havas truly are the defining, out-of-season Christmas miracle makers.

How one Open Day turned into three interviews I shall never know, but it has propelled me to new optimistic heights. What roles will you be competing for, I hear you ask? Well let me tell you. The first interview will be for a Social Media Executive position, the second for an International Client Executive role and the third to be a Television Account Executive. SME, ICE or TAE for those who love a jolly good acronym. Three positions that would all see me start at the bottom of the food chain, but which give me a fantastic opportunity to progress in a huge worldwide business. I don’t often get to blow my own trumpet when writing this blog, but after only playing with a triangle for the past 3 months, I am rightly patting myself on the back for bagging these interviews.

The good news didn’t stop there though. Just as I replied with a big ‘YES’ to Havas, through came yet another piece of news. Freshly Made Content, an online resource for all things media matter, jumped into the party with an invitation to interview for a Digital Campaign Intern position. With the opportunity to write blogs, create videos and design infographics for a living up for grabs, you’ll find me eagerly shuffling along Oxford Street searching for the front door of the business come Tuesday afternoon. I’ve always thought a smaller company might be the best way to craft my trade, so I will be extremely interested to what Freshly Made Content have to say. Hopefully that I’m the perfect applicant, that they are willing to make me SEO with a nifty £70K pay packet. Perhaps just getting a little carried away?

So there we have it; a nice bit of severe employment progression to enter the weekend with. All of these interviews have now been penciled into my diary, leaving this weekend as one of very stern preparation. From now until Sunday night you will catch me in my well-oiled sock washing, shoe polishing, shirt ironing mode, practicing my most meaningful handshakes and refining the perfect answers in my head. It really is true what they say – you wait ages for one bus to come, and two turn up at once. For me, however, 6 are currently waiting at the bus stop; so let’s just see if I can afford to get on one. Wish me luck!

The Early (Twitter) Bird Catches The Worm

It truly is amazing how much you can achieve when you wake up early. Throughout mine, and many others, teenage years there was nothing that quite compared to a day in bed. Waking at 2pm after a sturdy 15-hour bit of shut-eye your day was already half finished as school children walked home and Countdown kicked off on Channel 4. Messing up eating patterns, missing out on daylight and not understanding the concept of breakfast seemed the norm. How I now regret this.

In the hours I spent snuggled up under my duvet I have misspent so many days. I literally believe that I could be fluent in Mandarin if I had studied it for the hours I’ve spent oversleeping. Of course, this is a slight exaggeration and I have actually achieved plenty in my life outside of my bedroom but, the fact remains that, I wish I had got up at 9am everyday. Since leaving university, and starting my job hunt, waking up early has become my new norm and I am reaping the rewards. Not only do your eyes look less bloodshot and your stomach feel filled but you also get to apply for jobs with This Morning on in the background. Easily, one of life’s perfect scenarios.

Today alone I have had 2 phone conversations with companies, received feedback from my successful open day with Havas and contacted a further 15 Creative Directors personally enquiring about any opportunities within their companies. I had done this by 11.30 and feeling so good I rewarded my self with an extra long shower. Blasting out renditions of Adele and Elton John I felt positively fantastic in under the elongated torrent of warm water, only considering my neighbour’s ears as I dripped dried with a bacon sandwich in hand. If this is what getting up early feels like I’m setting an alarm for sunrise from now on.

During my past few early mornings I have also found a brand new job seeking best friend; Twitter. The amount of companies that solely post opportunities over their feed is gradually growing and, today alone, I have already found 3 openings via the social network. By simply typing ‘Copywriter London’ into the search bar I was inundated with numerous advertising and marketing agencies looking for individuals in my exact position. While this isn’t the first time I’ve done this, today has easily seen the most activity. Steel, Isobar and the Ministry of Sound are all looking for Junior Writers and so accordingly my CV and writing examples have all been rushed off to the respective companies.

Who would of thought I could find a job on a site that I usually reserve for pathetically tweeting celebrities and following the sport news? And yet this new-fangled, media age way of applying for roles is actually working. This morning I spoke with The Clearing, a London based brand consultancy company, who advertised a role for a copywriter early last week. Tweeting their need for a creative, witty and talented writer I speculatively applied hoping I fitted the mould. Apparently I did. Invited for an interview early next week and complimented on the originality of this very blog, I am looking forward to meeting a company that gets to work with the likes of McClaren, Hugo Boss and Eurostar. Oh, and they do the copy for Waitrose. Dream. Come. True.

I guess what I’m saying with todays blog is that I wish I could write a letter to my 15 year old self and tell him to wake the hell up and seize the day. Carpe Diem and all that jazz. My advice to all is to use the day before the day is gone. Believe me, I am the guiltiest man on earth of this, but having been employed as a 9-5 job seeker for the past 3 months I’ve come to realise so many benefits of seeing more than 4 hours of sunlight per day. They say the early bird catches the worm. I disagree. The early bird catches way more than a worm. It catches breakfast, Holly Willoughby and, most importantly, jobs!

Assessment Centres, Croissants and Natalie Portman

The Monday morning commute is a miserable place. Grown men snoring on the shoulder of the poor woman to their left, promiscuous school children swigging Coca-Cola down their throats pre-8am and yesterday, for the first time in a long while, me. Snuggled in between the briefcase swinging and coffee drinking, commuting workforce of London I was on my way to the Havas Media Assessment center, on the coldest and wettest of mornings that January could throw up. Eyes stinging from a lack of sleep and tummy rumbling from a rushed breakfast, the jostling carriage did make me wonder why on earth I was so eager to join this merry band of travellers on the 7:50 journey to Tottenham Hale.

As alluded to in my past post, I Don’t Like Mondays, the start of the week is the worst thing in my life, beating out Jessie J and migraines for that coveted top spot and souring my mood as soon as I wake. For the past three years I have watched with bleary-eyed amazement as the fortuitous students, who were granted Monday’s off on their timetable, jubilantly parading around campus as if they were enjoying a long weekend in the Cotswold’s. What I would do to have those few extra hours in bed and for the lazy walk to Gregg’s to represent the only notion of hard work during my day. Yet instead of Monday being my nirvana, my ‘one’, it was my fickle ex wife taking all of my money and leaving me desperately deprived of any happiness. Or, the ‘Bitch’ as many a divorced man, no doubt, terms it. Sadly, yesterday was no different, and as I watched the portly fellow sat opposite me spill his tea down himself for the umpteenth time, I slowly felt my hand rise to my brow in sheer disbelief once more.

In my head, positivity was screaming to prevail, and as I wedged myself into the sardine can of the tube I promised myself that I would make the most of my day.

Poetically, as I rose out of Leicester Square tube station, the grey morning skies had transformed into a brilliant blue, and suddenly everything was a little more cheery. Havas Media, itself, is in an absolute prime London location. Equidistant from both Leicester Square and Covent Garden, and with a Pret perfectly positioned across the road, my prospective workplace was already ticking the right boxes. Entering the office to a wall of awards and television monitors, it was obvious the company was on an upward trajectory. I slipped on my nametag, met the 20 people who were now mentally noted as my ‘competition’, wolfed down 2 croissants and a cupcake, toileted, and took my seat. Game, very much, on.

After a straightforward math test, an exercise in truth telling, and a break consisting of two more cupcakes, it was time to regale the presentations we had produced for the day. This is where everything got a tad dicey. After a weekend that surprisingly consisted of driving 500 miles instead of practicing my speech, I wasn’t feeling the most confident in myself. Then, seeing a folder with 19 PowerPoint presentations lined up against my simple Word document, my heart began to sink. Having been asked to either discuss our favourite media campaign or something we were passionate about, I naturally chose to talk about my love for all things film, reassured it was the prevailing option when putting my personality into the performance. The first 11 people in the group, however, had chosen the complete opposite of me. Game, very much, over?

Or so I thought. As I stepped on to the stage in front of a strong crowd of 50, Powerpoint-less and with only my ugly mug for people to watch, my throat was dry and I was regretting my final French delicacy. Unrehearsed, different and a little odd, my speech may have contrasted from the others but 5 minutes, and one fantastically timed Natalie Portman joke, later I felt a surge in confidence in what I’d just done. While others presented facts and figures about the number of YouTube views their favourite media campaigns had attained, I stuck to personal anecdotes and lifetime achievements that hopefully showed Havas not just what I’m passionate about, but what I’m actually like as a person.

Round robin interviews followed these speeches and after 6 of the shortest discussions of my life with various Account Directors from around the company I feel I have a strong chance of progressing to the next stage of the process. While I’m obviously clinging onto every piece of wood in my room as I type that, but I do feel extremely confident with how the day went. One woman even noted that I must have rehearsed my speech for hours and she was a tiny bit taken back when I told her, with a viable reason, that I’d only looked over it on the train. This, however, brought an end to the day and we were released from the room that we had been held hostage in for the past 6 hours. Stepping back out into the evening rain, I quickly met my girlfriend, and hustled into a local Carluccio’s for some much needed pasta.

It was only as I finally crawled into bed, at a measly 8pm, last night that I realised this Monday had turned out quite alright. Yes, I had a developing headache, I was exhausted and I’d been squashed left, right and center during my 3 hours on public transport, but all in all I had enjoyed a Monday. Bloody hell. Havas had provided us with an extremely laid back approach and I feel that instantly benefited me. I had not felt nerves once during the day, and while I at times doubted the nature of my presentation, everything turned out just fine. Maybe, just maybe, Monday is going to turn it around. Either that, or I’ll be forced to go freelance.

Nobody Likes Their Own Face

Everything has been going so swimmingly. Unemployed, yet positively cheerful, the graduate world was my oyster as I awoke yesterday morning. A swift shower, a nutritious breakfast and a quick piddle on Photoshop and I was up and running on another blue skied Thursday. What could possibly hinder my day? It had got off to such a flying start, there was little I could see that would change that.

By 12, I’d already spoken with three established Creative Directors. Omobono were the first to break my inbox seal and this led the way for a free flowing torrent to pass through. While they politely rejected my advances they sent some wonderful advice that I quickly stored in my conveniently named ‘Friendly Feedback’ folder. Quickly following this came the second coming of London’s own Arc-piloting agency. Like the Biblical character himself, both the Creative Directors of Noah only seem content when offering guidance to the young graduates drowning in the depths beneath them. While I’ve debated teaming up with another lanky alumna to see if they’ll let us in as a pair, for now I’m having to settle with sending in some work for them to get to know me a little better.

Still before lunch and in swarmed BJL, responding to my speculative enquiry with the most positive response yet. Due to the ‘engaging’ and ‘insightful’ words that flow through my blog on a daily basis I have been personally invited for a cup of tea and a friendly chinwag with the Creative Director himself, Tom Richards. Not only was the invitation incredibly nice, the reassurance that the drivel that dribbles from my mouth is actually appreciated by a higher power was astonishing. The Manchester based company, who today announced their plans to set up a new shop in London, seem like an extremely exciting place to work and it would be silly not to go for a cuppa. On my next trip up t’North I’ll be making sure to stop by at their door. With this note diarized, my Word docs saved and my smile beaming, I set off to tackle the most strenuous task of my day; crafting the perfect egg sandwich.

This is when Thursday went horribly wrong…

Not only did I under-boil my eggs and leave myself with a runny egg paste sloshed between my bread, my email inbox did not hold the news I wished on my return.

Having made an enquiry for a copywriting internship I saw advertised earlier in the week, I was being contacted by an ‘Inspiring Intern’ representative who wanted to pursue my probe further. The lovely Danielle told me a simple registration form would see me receive an unlimited bank of possible intern opportunities around London. How fantastic. She, however, was not finished and what she said next split my optimistic spirit in half. ‘Can you please record a minute long clip of yourself describing what you’re like?’ Poor Danielle. If she had been on the phone she would have been greeted by a stonewall silence and a colder shoulder than Adele’s. You see, I don’t just dislike videos of myself; I wholeheartedly despise them.

To be honest, I thought we’d moved past this. The video clip is so 2013, and yet here it was, once again, creeping back into my life. I mean correct me if I’m wrong, but I am absolutely sure that no human on earth enjoys talking to a camera and having to watch the subsequent video production. The realization that you don’t look like Brad Pitt everyday of your waking life is bad enough, but then having to endure the squeaky voice and FA cup ears that prevail after a minute of seeing your own face is downright disastrous. The most ego-bashing process known to man, I reluctantly told Danielle I’d get straight on it, closed my laptop and whimpered into my chest for a strong 10 minutes.

An hour later and I was awkwardly smiling through take 13. The list was getting embarrassingly long. Five of these vile snippets alone contained more profanity than the entirety of The Wolf of Wall Street. Gurning, spluttering and ‘err-ing’ my way through a minute of video seemed impossible. The haberdashery of material that usually clogs my mind had been set alight. My eyes were squinty and dark, my face was as symmetrical as Harvey Dent’s post-skin ravaging fire, and overall my self-esteem was in tatters. All I had to do was make it through one whole scene without stumbling on my words, itching my face or walking out of the room…

It took 2 more hours, and the final take count neared 30. The end result is not something I’m proud of, but something that my girlfriend graciously declared ‘will do.’ Sent off, and deleted shortly afterwards, only unfortunate, little Danielle will have to deal with that monstrosity anymore. I can vouch that she will not be sleeping tonight. Realistically, I can vouch she won’t be sleeping until February, but that’s her problem not mine. After that, I didn’t really know what I expected to happen. Getting a response after 20 minutes, however, wasn’t something I’d read on the cards.

Obviously Danielle had collapsed as the new model, Laura, quickly informed me that she had a glorious opportunity at her disposal. Asking if she could send my details off to a new company, AdBrain, for consideration, the answer was never going to be no. And this, quite pleasantly, brings us to today. While I sit awaiting the response from the digital advertising agency, I also wait with baited breath to see if a video CV is truly a beneficial way of making contact. I’ll be damned if an awkward, spotty 20-something graduate can make a decent impression with a squirming, creepy minute of footage, but if it gets me a job I promise to make my video CV into a feature length film. My god, there’ll be an Oscar for me in there.

The Best Application Yet…

TMP want me to throw a party.

Not just any party however. TMP want me to throw my very own welcome party! Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I haven’t suddenly acquired a job and subtly ascended to the pinnacle of my employment quest. I’ve just merely stumbled across the most creative application to date.

To join the company, as a Junior Copywriter, I must use £3750 to entertain 150 people in the most ingenious way possible. From food and entertainment, to invitations and even a prize giveaway, I must craft the most delicious event I can. What sort of elaborate extravaganza can I pull off on my £25 a head budget? Let’s hope a job winning one.

Initial themes instantly flooded my head; 90’s, film awards, space, Hawaiian, school, 80’s television, Cops and robbers, and yet, painfully, none prevailed. From black tie to Spice girls and latex, my mind spun for 2 hours while I tried to think of an idea I could both logically relate to myself and is incomprehensibly original. I like sport, yet no sport party ever goes well. I really like food, but I need to socialize not eat. I love Breaking Bad but that would only leave me with a blue Slushie machine and copious amounts of discarded goatee’s and bald caps come the end of the night. How does one sum up oneself in the raucous environment of an office party?

And then it hit me. An intrepid traveler much more comfortable spread-eagled on a beach, lost in a night market or jumping off waterfalls, I’d organize a party around my love for traveling. Suddenly all the ideas I needed jumped from a plane high above and skydived to earth around me. Parachutes of endless menus, songs and activities bounded out from around the clouds and dropped pleasantly at my feet. An ‘Around the World in 80 Days’ party would not only show TMP my love for all things foreign, but it logically allow me to create so much under one, huge umbrella.

What other theme can you listen to reggae music while eating sushi? How many times do you get to dress up as Australia while listening to American rock? It was perfect and summed up what my scatterbrain tends to relentlessly daydream about. Obviously, with a budget and an impression to make, my ideas can’t be too dispersed but I still feel the party offers me the chance to be more imaginative then hosting a Golden Globes tuxedo bash. I got straight to work.

4 hours later and my event was up and running, budgeted down to a tee and full of everything I could squeeze into it. From Amazon Drone delivered invites to country specific costumes I am hopeful that ‘Around the “Will” in 80 Days’ will be a sure fire hit. With a market stall feel reminiscent of Hong Kong or Camden, the celebration has the potential to blow the Peruvian knitted socks off everyone in sight. Even if the night itself inadvertently manages to fall flat, then I have one last ditch way to save it stored safely up my sleeve. My pièce de résistance, the cherry on top of my cake, my very own showstopper. Naturally, I can only be talking about the prize giveaway.

Keeping with the exotic nature of the evening, the prize set me back a staggering £80, and yet, was still more than worth the extortionate price. You see, for one lucky future colleague of mine, there shall be an all expenses spared trip to the foreign lands of Scotland up for grabs. Jet-setting off on this thrice in a lifetime opportunity, one blessed coworker will be leaving Euston on the cheap romantic, early 5.47am train to spend a day of people watching and prolonged walking in Edinburgh. If this wasn’t enough I’ll be treating them to one shared main course (excluding ribs) at one of the Scottish capitals rarest gems, TGI Fridays. Washing this down with a McDonalds Latté, the winner will be then grabbing the company’s tent, before heading off on a Polish-pedaled rickshaw to their luxury campsite, located a considerate 40 minutes out of the noisy city center. I, for one, would do anything to get drawn out of the raffle for that one. Here’s hoping there’s a Scottish enthusiast in attendance.

Overall, I can only dream that this trip and the cultured party will be enough to secure me a perfect position at TMP. If not, I can always just stare longingly through the window at the lucky bugger who gets an actual party thrown for him, but nobody really wants that; especially not me, or the police.  Tonight’s mission will be to avoid that scenario at all possible costs so after a filling chili con carne I will buckle down and proof read until my eyes are soar and my words are well spelt. The submission will then float off up into the air and join the legions of enquiries and speculations that I have already began to form tiny clouds out of.

Other than this enjoyable submission, my day has consisted of very little else. A confirmed interview with Bandstand on Friday, a potential meeting with the Creative Director at Saatchi & Saatchi X at the end of the month and far too many packets of Quavers rounded off a very sunny Tuesday. So, while I spend the evening mulling over the error of eating 3 packs of delightfully light crisps in under 10 minutes, hopefully the people at TMP will make headway in ordering an Argentinean dance instructor, (preferably named Diego) 150 national flags and a 15-foot parachute.  Naturally, the most normal shopping list imaginable.