Now I'm a little more systematised and have stopped taking this all to seriously, I attend the back to work meeting to see what I've been doing wrong during the last few weeks of my CV-blitzing tumult.

So here I sit in this fully glazed meeting room with a mini-cross section of contemporary society. No stereotypical slackers or teenage mums in here folks (note to self; must write a letter to right-wing media - sorry, email, showing my age again!).

There's 7 of us and we all are avoiding eye-contact like we're juvenile delinquents in trouble at school and are outside the Headmaster/Principle's office awaiting our fate. One staff member is tucked away in the corner behind an open lap-top computer connected to a projector. The only opaque side to this goldfish bowl is the white wall onto which, I assume, the fruits of their labour are to be displayed for our delectation.

So we sit and wait in silence with our jaws projected in defiance.

Then in walks our saviour. She's replete in school-ma'am glasses which have a neck cord, a skirt made of curtains from the 70s (in fact, I'm mindful of those old bed & breakfast places that had a basin in the bedroom which had a curtain hung from it to conceal the bleach and ant-killer stored below) room and the painted smile of somebody who hates having their photograph taken. Her hair seems to be unconnected to her head - like it just landed there inadvertently whilst she was walking to work that morning.

She introduces herself and her name collectively goes in one of our ears, wanders around for a bit absent-mindedly and falls out of the other and onto the floor adding to the sense of apathy and foreboding. Given the hair, let's call her Medusa; "M" for short.

So I'm sitting next to an old Indian gent who dressed the way my mother now misses ("why don't people dress smart anymore when going to the theatre?" "Dunno Ma") and is using all of his inner strength to keep that stiff upper lip and not roll his eyes. Our eyes, and in turn our minds, meet and are clearly as one.

"Hello, and how are you all today?" (oh, you know, indifferent, apathetic, cynical and ...er...jobless!)

"I'm here to look at what we can do to help you get a job" (oh, so you're in Minister for Trade & Industry then? No, Foreign Minister perhaps..?)

"OK, so give us some ideas of where you can find work" (er, Hyderabad, Mumbai, Shanghai, Jakarta...is that enough?)

We, in fact, mumble collectively (the air of incredulity is at its apex at this point) things like Internet, agencies. Man this is degrading.

"Good" (no not good but obvious you blind dunderhead!)

Now (oh no) she gestures to the still-silent assistant in the corner who then sits up like a kid in a school play who's realised that's their cue. The assistant (let's call her "Z" as she looks the sort of person who could send a glass eye to sleep!) then leans forward, hits the enter button on the lap-top and then slumps back in her chair.

Z's herculean efforts have managed to bring up the first projected slide, at which point I'm thinking that I need to be strapped into this chair because I'm about to tumble headlong back down the food chain.

In front of us is a slide, the centre of which is a big circle with "you" emblazoned on it. Branching out from it (I'm not kidding it is like a 3 year old has done it. Apologies to our nation's infants at this point to whom, Microsoft products are as natural as playing with their own faeces) are several lines leading to such unprecedented options as "newspapers", "Internet", "recruitment agencies" etc etc. She then glances around the room as if we've been witness to something great - like she's translated some hidden message from the Rosetta stone or something.

Oh, so that's how you get a job. I feel such a fool as, hitherto, I just been laying on the sofa watching TV and scratching myself inappropriately. I feel such a fool (no pun intended). Please M, furnish us with more of your wisdom that I may enter society with my head held high. I'm but a lowly sunflower to your Sun, reaching up to glean all of you that I can. My mind is wandering at this point in order banish my raw instinct which is to staple her eyelids open and ask her to have a proper look at our group - taking particular attention to our age demographic! 

I throw a sidelong glance at my Indian colleague who is now looking like Brad Pitt at the end of "Seven" ("oh Goddddd, what's in the boxxxx"). Just take some antacids fella, it's gonna be OK.

We move on (go on Z, give us some of that keyboard magic) Z awakens from her conscious slumber and once again hits the enter button.

Suddenly were hit with a list of things WE must do to in order to remain eligible for benefit. This goes on for some 25 minutes (the whole meeting was 35 minutes long). What? did I fall asleep? Is this another meeting for serial benefit fraudsters? Mummy, need my potty.

It is worth noting that throughout her presentation, ably assisted by her button pressing partner in crime, we're asked increasingly fatuous questions to which only the same person replies out of embarrassment as all the rest of us can do is sit there with unhinged jaws.

"Thank you for you attention and here's some information to help" She then hands out a pallet load of information to us and leaves the room.

Y'know, somebody once said to me "everyday is a school day" which becomes increasingly true the older I get.

Can't wait for our next meeting as we'll probably learn how to do joined up writing for our cover letters!