I never knew the Edwardians did their hair exactly the same way that women in the 60s did.

I watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang yesterday. I had not seen it since I was eight or so. It amused me immensely, especially the King (or was it Duke?) of Vulgaria's wife (or possibly mistress--I missed that part), who flailed in much the same way that Steph tends to. I was perplexed as to his repeated violence towards her, though. Missed that part, too.

Watched a documentary with Tony Robinson today, where he said that Edward IV was actually a bastard, which invalidates all British Royalty since and to the present day. He then went on a search for the person who would rightly be the King or Queen of Britain. The man turned out to be a British émigré currently residing in Jerilderie, Australia. He's called Michael (I think... from memory), and he voted Republican in the referendum. What a legend!

I have written another few hundred words of the Shadow Boys tonight, while I did a bodgy redye of my hair (bodgy because I have no money to buy more bleach, so all I could do was layer dye ineffectively on the top). Have I mentioned my plan to get it finished by the end of the year? I'm aiming for at least 300 words a day. That's about one handwritten page. I'm getting close to getting 10 thousand done. Should have passed that mark by the end of the week. And that's approximately a fifth of the way through the book.

I hated Shadow Boys earlier tonight, but then I wrote a little more, and discovered I'm not sick of it like I had thought. I had that great page-turny knot in my stomach, only I'm writing it, so that bit that's making me knotty won't be read for another night or two, when I get up to it.

I still can't wait for the day when it's finished, though.

(no subject)

I'm in a bad mood. My goddam train was a quarter of a frickin' hour late, and the job I applied for (over the phone), wasn't even interested in reading my goddam resume. Apparently having two years of call centre experience doesn't qualify me to work in a call centre. The woman's like, "Sorry, we want telemarketing experience" and hangs up on me.

Well, maybe, JUST MAYBE, you should PUT THAT IN YOUR FUCKING AD. I wouldn't have even applied if I'd known it was going to be goddam telemarketing anyway. Bitch.

Got home to find out that my backup job wasn't viable either. I got my sister (who works at Mrs Field's) to ask her manager about jobs going there, because they're just about to open a new store. He doesn't want me, though. NOOOOOO. He wants 15 year olds.

GODDAMMIT! Is there a fucking job in Melbourne prepared to hire me? I'm sick of starving through the day because I can't afford to buy food, so I have to wait and eat when I get home. I'm sick of not being able to afford to put petrol in my goddam car. I'm sick of going to the pub with friends and either drinking tap water or having to survive off their charity, because I can't afford to buy a goddam soft drink.

I'd better go to bed soon. I can't afford to put petrol in my car, so I'm going to have to catch a bus. The only bus I can catch takes half a fricking hour to get to a station. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to get home again, considering class won't finish until nine, and the buses stop at seven. I'll just have to hope that my parents are prepared to come and pick me up at the station at ten.