End of a job…

Strange (or more accurately, unwelcome) to wake up and find that the first thought on my mind is that of being made redundant. Strange, too, to think of my friends turning up for work in future and carrying on without me. Bless my dainty ego. Though it might be for the best, it’s still a struggle overcoming my nerves about looking for another job. It’s easy to tell everyone I’m approaching this with a positive attitude, but the distance between saying and doing so is a country mile (that ‘country mile’ is, I think, my favourite phrase at the moment). Free with Mojo magazine this month, a CD called The Roots Of Hendrix. There’s some marvellous blues on it and I’m particularly loving the first two tracks, played very loud (am I playing anything quietly at the moment?):

“If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all.”
(Albert King, Born Under A Bad Sun)

MP3: Albert King, Born Under A Bad Sun + Howling Wolf, Killing Floor