So, how was the interview?

Thanks for asking.

You may recall that I recently applied for a job in Adelaide. I did the interview two weeks ago.

There was a lot riding on the interview. You see, at the start of this year Honey Bear and I decided that we wanted to move to Adelaide. We believed that would be the best place to raise our children. We have a large family network over there, houses within 40km of the CBD are still affordable and the schools are good too.

We started making enquiries in January but our plans went on hold soon after, because Cherub was arriving in May. Plans stayed on hold for a couple of months after he arrived, which was fine too, but since August I have been applying to every organization in Adelaide that could possibly be interested.

Months went by with polite rejection after polite rejection. Meanwhile, my job in Melbourne has been getting increasingly painful. If I didn’t know better I would think that my employer was trying to get rid of me, which would be the logical conclusion to draw from the constant criticism and regular questioning of not only my competence but my honesty, integrity and character in general.

Then, finally, a ray of hope. An organization that I had applied to, and been rejected by, back in February rang me to say they had another position available that would be more suited to me. They invited me to reapply. I did, in slightly less than 4000 words. They called a couple of days later to arrange an interview. The interview went well and everyone on the panel seemed very positive and impressed with my application. At last, I started to believe that there was a way forward, a chance to build the sort of future for my family that Honey Bear and I have dreamed of.

They called yesterday.



I didn’t get the job.




This is not good.


I heard my phone ring about an hour earlier, while I was in a meeting that could not be cut short, I knew instinctively who it was, and I was right. I really believed they would offer me the job, and I spent a very happy hour thinking that this was the day I could finally, finally, resign, and in two weeks the nightmare of this job would be over.

An hour later, it took about ten seconds for the very polite guy to tell me that unfortunately I was not the best candidate, although they were very impressed with me. But I didn’t need him to tell me, as soon as he answered the phone and I told him who was calling I knew that the news would not be good. Suddenly, the lifeline I had been hanging onto, the last hope of getting out of this job this year, was gone.

I very politely thanked my no longer future employer for the opportunity and said all the right things, all on autopilot. I rang Honey Bear, who was as ever endlessly sweet and supportive, despite how hard this was for her too. Then I went back to work and tried to carry on as if I had not just been hit in the head with a large sandbag.

What do I do at a time like this? A few things:

1. Ponder the old saying ‘when life hands you a lemon, reach for the tequila and salt’

2. Decide that a hangover is probably not going to improve the situation

3. Struggle to get some perspective. No one died, I still have a job that pays the rent and feeds the family. Other people I know are going through worst stuff than this.

4. Go home and give my gorgeous wife a big hug and cuddle my two beautiful boys, and remind myself again that I am the luckiest man in the world

5. Open up a Bible and re-read the bit that says this:
I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future

6. Hold on to the last traces of hope so hard I fear my fingers may be bruised by the effort.


I may be too depressed to blog much for a few days or so. I will get back to it, preferably in a rather more entertaining and less emo manner, soonish.


The happy new for the day is that my parents, whom I love dearly, are finally coming home from the USA, where they have lived for the past eight years. They arrive on Sunday. This is very, very good news.