Week 5: letters written, 30. Replies received, four. Interviews, one.

I may be out of work but there are some jobs that are just not worth considering. Taking charge of Welsh rugby springs to mind, as does leading the Conservative Party. The Tories are going to get decimated at the next election. If it's anything like the Canadian election, there are going to be 300 Conservative MPs joining me on the dole. There surely can't be room for all of them in the privatised utilities.

A belated response to my advert in the Situations Wanted column. Alas, it turns out to be an invitation to join a pyramid-selling organisation. For a minimal outlay I can have untold riches. Dream on, suckers.

Maybe it is time to get a new qualification. The local college has a mass of literature about NVQs. I assume that these are courses for people who are Not Very Quick, but reading further it seems they are National Vocational Qualifications. I could become a farrier if I wasn't afraid of horses. Hairdressing courses seem prominent as well, which doesn't surprise me. Like most city centres, ours comprises hairdressers, moneylenders and sports shops in equal proportions.

A depressing article about executive job clubs in one of the colour supplements. All the people mentioned seem to be better qualified than me, but the only work they can find is shelf-filling for pounds 3.86 an hour. Even this type of job requires three interviews.

I have another encounter with "the young" in my local supermarket. It is the season for fresh broad beans, a vegetable of which I am fond. The young lad on the check-out, although he is conversant with yams and okra, has to call a supervisor to find out what these rare and exotic vegetables are. Both the supervisor and I raise our eyes heavenward.

A vacancy as a part-time driver catches my eye in the local press. Despite responding while the paper is still hot, I've been beaten by at least a dozen people. Further in the paper, I come across a job advert that seems tailor-made for me. All the skills I've been boasting about in my CV are required for this position. I'm only slightly too old. I consider knocking 10 years off my age. Does anyone check? In the end I send the CV as it is, and wait with anticipation. Perhaps I won't have to fill shelves after all.

The author lives in Hereford. He worked as a factory production manager before being made redundant. His diary appears every Thursday.