The World According to Jessie

Chapter One

"...If you think your life is complicated, welcome to mine!"

I had been staring at the screen of my laptop for an hour and that was the only line that had managed to make itself appear. How pathetic is that? I had only been in my new job for a week and I was about to get fired before I had even written my first column. I have even tried starting the column with a question, to try and make myself answer it, but I scrubbed that out and put the above sentence instead. Well done Jessie, you really did it this time didn't you! You begged, stole, borrowed and even considered sleeping with the boss to get this job, even though that was extremelyinappropriate considering your new editor is a female and you can barely slide out a sentence! I slammed the laptop down and slumped down in my chair, letting out a deep and rather loud sigh. I had to have a full one thousand word column done and dusted by the morning otherwise Queen Bitch would be on the rampage, foaming at the mouth with steam and fire coming from her nose and mouth. That is not to say that she was a bad person, but she could turn milk sour if she looked at it long enough!

My head was screaming at me as I reached for my battered coffee cup to drain the remnants of the now cold caffeinated liquid. 'You're a Northerner!' it said, 'why are you trying to be a Londoner, you'll never make it.' Thank you subconscious, you little prat. Remind me to remove you from my thought process later! But as always, it was right. I had moved from the relative sanctuary of my not so little seaside haunt of Blackpool to the bright lights in order to make a name for myself in the newspaper world. Getting the column had been a coup for me and had even impressed my darling, and I use that word loosely, Aunt Lillian, who thought shopping at Primark was a crime considered punishable by firing squad! Despite the fact that we were the same age (apparently she was the result of a drunken Sunday pub crawl!) Lillian and I couldn't have been more different. This wasn't a bad thing; I liked my liver nice and healthy and not drowned in whatever liquor was on offer in the pub on Saturday night. It should have been easy. Write a column about life in general with a bit of personality thrown in was the brief when I took the job. Easy you would think. Yeah, right. It was easier to work out the beginnings of the universe without reading any Stephen Hawking!

Because of this sudden change in my employment status, my poor flat had been neglected in recent days. Well, I say flat, more like a box with a built in window that cost me a small fortune every month to stay in. In fact, it was lovingly named The Box. Ok, so it had the basics, bedroom, kitchen and tiny room masquerading as a lounge but it was my Box and I loved it – well may be love was a bit of a strong word. Maybe like was better. Or even put up with. I got up from the desk (bedside cabinet with a dining chair planted in the front of it) and looked around with hands on hips and lips pursed planning my next move.

'Ok Clarins, now what do we do.' I looked around and surveyed the mess. Work blouses slung over the back of my aged old sofa, dishes stacked in my sink (I still couldn't figure out why I used so many dishes when it was just me) and notes and post it's stuck on every single surface I could think of. I really need to get a proper office, I thought as I picked up a stray black Bic from the floor before it once again turned into a lethal weapon and stabbed me in the foot. I could write about that, I thought once again. Queen Bitch would love that. She didn't like me and didn't want me to have the job in the first place, mainly because she was a class racist and didn't like my broad Lancashire accent. But even she couldn't argue with my First Degree in Journalism and lack of other applicants so she had to give me the job. After a few rather unpleasant thoughts entered my head about my employer, I decided The Box could stay in its state of undress for another few days at least.

To clear my head and try and get the creative juices flowing, I threw on my "comfy cardigan" and headed out the door, leaving my offending laptop staring at me with its one lined page as I closed the door to The Box. A summer in London was winter anywhere else. What should have been a bright June day was instead overcast and slightly colder than it should have been for the time of year. My cardigan did not suffice as a warmth giver, despite the fact that I had pulled it around me so tight, my ribcage was screaming at me to at least try and let some oxygen into my lungs. I didn't actually know which route I was taking, but no doubt it would automatically take me straight to the one person who was no good in a situation like this...