On The Saving Of Bacon

I've finally got a job! I've finally got a full-time, permanent job and my house is safe!! Hurrah!!!

With just two weeks to go before the building society said it would repossess Pither Towers, I have at last found someone who is prepared to employ a "47-YEAR-OLD", who is "A MAN", "WHITE", "ABLE-BODIED" (sort of) and "NOT EASILY BULLIED"! Double hurrah!

Who, I don't hear you ask, has taken this leap of faith and decided that there is life in the old dog yet? Well, it's no-one in the sexist, vacuous, ageist, immoral, talentless, back-stabbing, chip-on-the-shoulder world of PR, that's for sure. I have battled valiantly for two years to make ends meet in that stupid, corporate world and, try as I might, I realised the time had come when I just couldn't overcome the obstacles to employment (glass security doors, I think they are called) - hence my last two months of inactivity.

That's when it dawned on me. Over this last fortnight I redoubled my efforts to find ANY kind of work, ANYWHERE and a wise old owl said to me:

"What is it you actually do, Pither?"

"Well, I was a journalist," said I. "Now I don't really know what I am."

"I don't think you can really stop being a journalist," said he. "It's like stopping being a serial killer. It's kinda in your blood."

"Nice analogy, but I take your point."


So, realising that I should carry on doing what it is that I always used to do, I put in a few phone calls and - da, daaa! - the second daily paper I made contact with said "Come on in Piths, we'd be glad to have you aboard."

I start a week on Monday and will be a newsdesk assistant and head office senior responsible for taking the baby Biro brandishers under my wing. Hurrah! The money isn't brill - that's journalism for you - but I'm back on the pension trail again, working in a lovely part of the country, for a non-Nazi organisation and........well.......doing what I do.

The feeling is good. The feeling is very good. It's almost as good as that feeling you get inside when you see the stony face of some grasping, geriatric, Home Counties type when they are told the chest of drawers they have taken along to the Antiques Roadshow is just tat and only worth about £10.

Grantham shall not have journalism. The people will just have to make do with BBC Breakfast, The Sun and the Daily Mail.

P.S. I am so heartened by this news I shall post a gratuitous, sexist photo, just to cheer me up (and because I can, and because I'm old, and because I still have dreams) - and to remind me about my ultimate career goal and the publication at which I think all of my talents will finally be fully utilised.