oh sweet vicissitudes of life

Coffee in the White Water Centre with the Bruce and Gwynneth Paltrow, two saintly Dublin prayer group loons of my acquaintance.
The pair are trying to offer me encouragement about my professional journalistic career or lack of one.
Their advice is laced with all the near cosmic compassion, kindness and gormlessness of old Dublin.
It is the most depressing thing I've ever heard.
"There's something out there for you," says the Bruce.
She appears to lack confidence in the proposition she has just proffered.
There is an awkward silence.
Gwen takes a deep breath, summons up her not inconsiderable spiritual resources and nods with great and profound dubiousness.
"James you are very talented," she Dublins heartily. "Think of all your skills. You... You... You've got a great way with animals."
This gem breaks the camel's hump.
"You whey faced galoots," I cry. "You think employers are looking for people with a way with animals? You think I'm going to get a job as a hamster handler? You think the Civil Service are recruiting budgie whisperers? You collossal goons. Those jobs are all taken. It's not what you know. It's who you know. You've got to be in with the head hamster. Or have a cousin who's a budgie. In this country it's all pull."
The two ladies looked suitably shocked at my heart felt peroration but when I'd finished I laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Bold readers, you should know this by now.
Even in the depths of despair, I am my own biggest fan.