You may not realise this but you are reading the words of a fashionable, life-saving, super-hero, pot-washer.
Safe to say we have all done our fair share of jobs and in theory, they make us the people we are now so with #Fivejobs trending in Twitter I thought I’d share.
I may be a journalist now but like so many my first job was horrible, paid in fractions of peanuts and requiring long hours and scrubbing of disgusting pots in the smelly back area of a steak restaurant near the bins.
Next up was the remarkably prescient paper-girl gig, which I hated.
It involved dispensing free papers round a dodgy estate for what is now a rival media organisation.
I once found a man, apparently unconscious and stinking of booze in his doorway at 9am but conscientiously stepped over him to deliver his paper.
He opened one bloodshot eye and I ran like the devil was after me.
After that came sales assistant jobs at both Topshop and the late shoe emporium Dolcis.R
But as a competitive swimmer, the obvious money-maker for me as a student was life-guarding which I embarked upon with enthusiasm, unaware of quite how much toilet and squash-court cleaning this would involve.
Not to mention the paper/scissors ritual to pick out who fished out what I will call a ‘floater’ left by a kind swimmer.
I graduated from standard swimming pool, to slides-tastic waves extravaganza to lakeside in boiling hot summer America, becoming a dab hand with a rope rescue and a chase boat.
Yet I never had to attempt resuscitation for real until a child fell in a pond behind a pub after work one day and needed bringing back to life. Fortunately, it worked.
Then a year in Australia meant many jobs, largely awful even though some were in Bondi (silver linings)
They included call-centre worker, bar staff, curry shop assistant and a one-day horror at the Jaffa Cake factory which put me off the spongy orange terrors for life.
But of course the crowning glory of my pre-journalism career was my temp role as super hero.
A Power Ranger to be precise ( was Pink Ninja and Yellow Ninja interchangeably, if you are wondering), shuttled around Oz shopping centres in sweaty stretch costumes.
I felt like a rock star and looked like a complete plonker.
Those were the days.
This first appeared as a newspaper & column in titles including Lancashire Post HERE
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