Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Chim Chim Cher-oo

















‘I really think you should go for it! Make your own hours, meet people, niche market.
£50 a pop, 10 jobs on a good day. It’s a no-brainer.’

My nephew Lance had been listening in and his enthusiasm was a little startling. Lance is tall, like his uncle. His large hands were flailing wildly as he spoke and they seemed well within my personal space.

‘Would you do it?’

He stilled his hands.

‘Well no, obviously.’

An interesting array of possible careers has been assembled for me by the well-meaning.

Friends:
Lenny has left his liveried Spectastic bicycle at my disposal. He insists that I wouldn’t even have to knock when delivering glasses: ‘the bags are so well padded, you could play football with them.’  

Family members:
Crawford phoned especially when he had the idea that pizza delivery would be ideal: ‘Sure, the kids would be fast asleep when the pizza trade really gets going. Curry too. Just a thought….’

‘It is a more ‘junior’ role in administration than what you have been doing. But it does have potential.’

‘It’s not so much a ‘junior role’ as an ‘office junior role’. I’m 46.’

‘As I said, it does have potential….’

Today was unusual. Today’s suggestion came from a complete stranger: a tradesman.

‘Seriously, it’s money for old rope. Bit of training, a van, yellow pages listing. You’re laughing. I used to be a nurse. I’m still helping people – but I don’t have to deal with all the backstabbing, politics and public sector gloom.’

I always try and engage tradesman in conversation. I am naturally curious about what it is like to be a plumber, or a kitchen fitter or a damp-proofer. I also believe that ‘it’s nice to be nice’ and cherish the hope that being nice to tradesmen might just result in affordable bills.

Most tradesman tolerate my chat and some even pass the time of day in Tesco.

Today was different. Today I was daunted by how well-received my chat was.

‘You could come out for a day with me any time you like. Just let me know. Get a feel for it.’

These were parting words. Lance was at my shoulder, eyebrows raised in anticipation of my conversion.

‘No Lance, I’m not sure I want to become a chimney sweep any time soon.’


3 comments:

  1. I don't trust those lights--I read a link to breast cancer the other day. If you can find your white stick as you get round to the place where they do mammograms.

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