The fear is rampant. As I wait on the platform I assess my options, trying to deduce which public transport combination might shave a couple of minutes off my journey time.

How much quicker would it be if we didn’t stop for my fellow Londoners and their non essential travel plans? Clutching at straws, it feels like I’ve grasped insanity.

This desperation can mean only one thing; I’m running late for another job interview.

I’m not entirely sure what it is about these two simple words that, when arranged in this order, scrambles my mind so. 

It starts out innocently enough. Researching all the media organisations and outlets I actually want to work for, before deploying tailored CV’s and covering letters and CV’s on a scale of military precision.

After a few months of playing this particular game with no tangible success on the horizon, my mind begins to play tricks. Did I really complete that application for the BBC? Pretty soon even rejection letters become a cause for celebration, as I rejoice in the knowledge I can trust my short term memory once more.

In today’s fiercely competitive job market, I’ve adjusted my goals and now play a volume game. The idea being sheer weight of numbers will lead to something – anything – even vaguely related to what I want to do.

Every once in a while my endeavours are rewarded with an interview. Usually for something I barely remember applying for, one of the unwelcome side effects of a scattergun approach to finding a career. Still, with the prospect of a better life dangled tantalisingly in front of me, there’s no time to argue.

And that’s when the theatre begins.

It starts out small; fumbling my way through a quick phone conversation with would be suitors whilst

expressing a desire to work for their company as ambiguously as possible. So as not to be rumbled that I have no idea who I’m talking to.

Having arranged a suitable time and date, anticipation takes hold of my faculties. The mind wanders from my temporary existence and I start to imagine how much better my life would be if only I worked for this random company I’d never heard of last month.

Days float by til my interview looms on the horizon. I’ve long since accepted insanity will descend upon me in the morning haze, so try to get as many necessary evils out of the way the night before; picking out clothes, ironing shirts, polishing shoes.

Then I plot my actions of the day and calculate how long I’ll need to get out of the house on time. When I set my alarm I give myself an extra half hour, safe in the knowledge that I’ll stumble upon some tv segment over breakfast I deem fundamental to my development as a human being.

It’s uncanny how my contempt for Strictly Come Dancing featurettes melts away when I need to be somewhere else.

As I leave the house I run through a list in my mind; battered and torn copy of London A – Z? Check. Clean shaven? Pretty much. Suitably attired? Most definitely, in apparel that used to be the exclusive preserve of weddings and funerals.

Is a tuxedo too much for an interview?

Too late now. On arriving at today’s casting call I switch to my most grown up voice and announce my presence to the bored receptionist behind her desk.

And, most importantly, I’ve made it on time.

I even have enough time to sit down and collect my thoughts. This is such a departure from my default setting that it already feels like I’ve won. If I’m on time for this one, self-appointed audition surely I’ll have convinced today’s audience how efficient, organised and punctual I am.

Having faced down my daily battle with time, and emerged victorious, I’m more determined than ever to keep up this façade. To pretend to be everything I assume normal people are. So I can secure that mythical offer of gainful employment and a ticket to a better life.

This is how I used to feel about interviews. In my mind, they represented a one-stop solution to all the problems of my life. Probably because I’ve never got one for something I actually wanted. So whenever one of these opportunities rolled around, I was so desperate to make it happen that I’d pretend to be anything I thought an employer wanted.

Anything except myself.

Round about the eleventh interview, I started to realise that perhaps my amateur dramatics weren’t the main attraction on this peculiar stage.

I remember being interviewed for an editorial position at a prestigious medical association in the city. I’d already been seduced by their brand’s reputation, swanky location and elegant offices and was primed to fall under the spell of the two publishing managers sat opposite me.

Still, seeing as we were all here, I thought I’d keep up the pretence of having alternative options lined up and asked why their position was right for me.

It was a simple question, the reverse of which is a staple any interviewee has come to expect. Curiously though, it left my inquisitors floundering. Eventually they accused me of arrogance, for asking something they hadn’t expected I presume.

Events unravelled from here, to the point where I was asked the same question twice. When I brought this to their attention my interviewers became defensive, maintaining it was actually a different question, and insisted I answer again.

Reluctantly, they admitted to their mistake and confessed they’d been working from a set of questions drafted by their HR department. I can only assume neither of these publishing executives deigned it necessary to perform a cursory read through of their script.

In my oft romanticised notion of interviews, I’d always put those asking the questions up on a pedestal. I wanted to be more like them, to emulate their success.

Now I realise that the people on the other side of the table don’t always have as many answers as you’d think. Some of them aren’t even competent enough to know what they’re asking.

Maybe, like a naive interviewee I used to know, they too are desperately pretending to be something or someone they’re not. As it’s a role I’ve still to be cast in, perhaps they’re just far more adept at playing this particular game than I am.

But it’s a part I no longer want to audition for.