Thursday, 7 November 2013

When I grow up

When I grow up I would like to be a writer and drink coffee by the cafetierre. I would smoke if it was fashionable, cross my legs and ponder. I would look out of my window which would perhaps be in Tuscany, or Seville, or somewhere remote sounding like the Peak District. I would have a dog who rests at my feet and a couple of cats, we would walk to the local shop to buy bread and I might even go to the pub in the day. I see myself spinning yarns with the locals, seeing stories in the trees, imagining complicated novels while eating olives, to then return to write some fabulous prose. Yes, when I grow up I would like to be a writer.

"But you're already grown up!" whined P when I told her of my aspirations. "Shush...." whispered A  "Mummy doesn't like being told she is old!"

I'm not old A, I'm just ready for my next goal. Or career.

Paper round
Dish washing
Shop assistant
Early years worker
Play scheme play worker
Picture framer
Bar maid
Groom - riding schools, show jumping year, dealing yard, private yards, private schools..
Equine laboratory assistant
Organic gardener
Cold caller
Farm shop and cafe assistant
Project coordinator on a city farm
Community gardener
Antenatal teacher

Because after this crazy C.V it's time for a change.

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