Application pending

I get talking to a copper travelling first class. His field is tracking down child pornographers. "You watch their internet connections, and it's faked to be from some place, London, say, then there's a tiny moment when they disconnect when you see a little flash of their actual location." They have to have plenty of time away from the work: it's so distressing that it can lodge repeated, nightmarish films in even the most hardened detectives' heads.

Today is Day Eleven, in capitals.

In one of those rash self-improvement decisions which I now regret, I vowed to have four weeks off the pop, from one pay day to the next. In as far as I'm perfectly capable of boring and offending people whilst sober, I'm not expecting much change, but it's more a financial experiment, to see how it affects the bottom line come December's payday (on 6th). Already I'm aware that the notes in my wallet last much longer; I'm also sleeping better. The main cost is never having the type of spontaneous, unpredictable conversations with strangers that only happen in a good pub; although muttering to oneself whilst looking at one's glass of beer is also a pleasure.

To use the time freed up, I'm doing a French course which promises to take me from my present CEFL Level B1 to B2 (not in four weeks, obviously). I'm enjoying it, even though, and because, it exposes the errors I have accumulated from my largely self-taught method. I want to be good enough to make the locals I meet on our Breton holidays think twice about replying to me in their own language.

Mel is delighted about my decision, because, like all women I've ever been involved with, she has this naive belief in the ability of men to become better moral characters.

We had a depressing email come round at work yesterday, warning us to expect short-term changes to our roster now that we are two staff short, yet again showing how little Transport that Fails considers the fact that we might have lives outside work.

They've sacked one person for persistent absences, and, to everyone's relief, not made permanent the contract of a them/they who spent her six months at Transport that Fails writing sniping, complaining emails about everyone for such catastrophic derelictions of duty such as failing to empty the coffee machine's grounds.

The other day, I was on the train with the them/they, and, after struggling with one of those little plastic packets of condiment that are designed to burst all over your hands, I gave it to her, who opened it immediately. Intending a compliment, I said "if you want something doing, give it to a woman."

I received a black look which took me a moment to understand. I pretended not to notice it (neither the look nor the person).

At the moment, the state of the escape plan is:

• Trainee Conductor, near my mum up north, applied 8/10/24. "Application under consideration."
• Trainee Guard, somewhat near my home town, applied 30/10/24. Online assessment (a load of mystifying computer games) completed 3/11/24. "Application successfully submitted."
• Customer Service Assistant (i.e., on the barriers), near Trina's, applied 6/11/24. "Shortlisting".

There's also the Bristol trolley dolly job, which would be my first choice by a long stretch. The woman who was appointed (I came second) failed her drugs and alcohol test. I was hoping I might be called up to the position without further ado, but apparently not: "Application pending".