I’m finding the whole job-hunting wardrobe thing a bit tricky. Working in Rome for three years means I have a wardrobe skewed towards hot and humid casual or sharp suits. Not a look that really works on Smalltown High Street. I have another problem: meek does not become me. I have been called many things in my time – arrogant and selfish come to mind – but I am not one of those sappy girls who smile dopily at every oaf that crosses my path. My wardrobe has some hard work to do to convince those that hire that I really am a total pushover.

A trip to M&S later and I have a couple of long skirts. I team them with a freshly pressed t-shirt and a sweet little cardigan and I have the most sensible outfit out there. In fact I probably look just what your mum would have said to be a ‘nice girl’. I tie my hair back in a pony tail (as according to Barbara Ehrenreichthis i s the kind of hairstyle most worn by women in menial jobs). Perfect.

Now I have the clothes I need the job to pay for them. I trawl round the town centre yet again, surf the jobs pages, call the agencies and do all the stuff i’m supposed to. But nobody’s hiring. The supermarkets are full of students stacking shelves. The local paper has a fairly empty choice of taxi driving and day labouring. There’s certainly nothing I can do within an hours public transport commute. I guess tomorrow will just have to be another day.