Welcome To The Working Week

As I have mentioned in previous posts my social circle has altered this year and taken on a new dynamic. As a result I regularly find myself in situations where I have to make small talk with creative people who enjoy “sexy jobs” and the associated pay cheques.

As you will know, if you’ve read my profile, I am employed in the banking/finance sector. I am not even fortunate enough to enjoy one of the more glamorous roles available in this field. As you can imagine this has led to some uncomfortable silences.

Me: yeah I saw your work at The Tate Gallery.
Him: what did you think?
Me: I liked the way you recycled everyday items and made them take on a whole new purpose forcing the viewer to consider them in a new perspective and question their pre-conceived ideas about functionality.
Him: what is it you do yourself?
Me: I work for a bank
Him: Oh…
Me: (desperately) but I appreciate the aesthetics of your art…

For this reason I have decided to “invent” an alternative occupation for myself to be used during these conversations.

First Dilemma…which job to use? It obviously would have to be something that would not be immediately exposed as being a falsehood yet still sufficiently interesting so as not to kill a conversation stone dead. The falsehood aspect forced me to rule out musician, DJ, sculptor etc. This really only left writing and as this blog could tenuously be considered writing I thought why not?

Second Dilemma…what to write about? Journalism is obviously out as a quick google search would scupper that plan, novels likewise. So after much thought I have decided that I will be a restaurant critic. Most of them work in anonimity. Counting chef as one of my many previous occupations I am confident that I can talk about food in an appropriately obscure way to pull this off. And besides I look like a man who enjoys a good meal.

Third Dilemma…on revealing this as my “occupation” the supplementary question would obviously be who for? Again this requires careful consideration for obvious reasons. I have therefore decided that the only plausible answer to this will be airline in-flight magazines. These are totally disposable, always contain restaurant reviews, are changed on a regular basis and at the end of the day who actually remembers anything they have read in one of these?

So feel free to congratulate me on my new job as tonight I may be dining on...

Ballottine of foie gras marinated in white port, pickled mushrooms, toasted brioche, Cannelloni of courgette with ricotta and pine nuts, pickled girolles and a broccoli purée.

But then again I may have beans on toast.

Bon appetite.

Steal My Sunshine

Tales From Almost Employment.

Another true story. About a year ago I was walking home from the office when I was propositioned by a rather glamorous young lady. Oh aye! I thought…the old boy still has it.

They lady in question duly introduced herself and informed me that she was a casting director on the lookout for faces to appear in an upcoming TV commercial. A business card was proffered as proof/validation that her intentions were sadly honourable. She stated that she was intrigued by my visage and would I be interested in the “part”.

Inside I was screaming pick me! Pick me! But outwardly I elected to play it cool simply stating that I would be willing to assist as she had asked so nicely.

A few minutes later after exchanging details and posing for a couple of polaroids I was informed that she would be in touch.

Now I have always considered myself something of a level headed chap but by now my head was swimming with thoughts of fame, stardom, trips to Cannes etc. I was also imagining what the mystery product I would be advertising was.

In my mind it was obviously something uber-cool. A new bar, a masculine fragrance, maybe a hip band or cool gadget. So somewhat sheepishly I plucked up the courage to ask.

“Oh! Did I not say?” the young lady answered.

“It’s for Dobbies Garden Centre”

And right at that moment another one of my dreams were crushed. I had gone from chisel jawed hero to fucking gnome in about the time it takes to boil a decent egg.

What disappointed me most was that to this lady I looked like someone who gardens.

And she never did call.

Fool's Gold

Further Tales Of Previous Employment

Long ago in a galaxy far far away I was involved in The Arts, proper theatre not some amateur dramatics lark I hasten to add.

One of the most memorable shows that I worked on involved the legendary Wooster Group from NYC. The Wooster Group membership is like a who’s who of avant garde theatre and features/featured, amongst others, such luminaries as Ron Vawter, Spalding Gray, Kate Valk, Peyton Smith & Willem Dafoe.

Anyhoo…As I understand it part of the deal when the contracts for their visit were inked was that we (the hosts) would throw a large party at the end of the run. Being the hospitable lot we were this did not present a problem. We duly hired a ballroom and on the last night of the Company’s stay we threw back the booze and danced the night away.

Ok, I know it’s quite a dull story…I’m getting to the good part.

In order to access the venue we had procured for the evening one had to pass through a public bar (the ballroom was upstairs). On making this journey one of my colleagues spotted a TV producer that was a friend of our venue and their other half enjoying a drink in the bar. When this news was relayed to the party it was decided that we should dispatch someone downstairs to invite the couple to join us for a drink, which we duly did.

About five minutes later the TV producer and spouse appeared. After exchanging pleasantries it was quite apparent that spouse (a minor TV celebrity) was somewhat the worse for wear and to be avoided whenever possible.

A little later Willem Dafoe joined the party and knowing that the majority of eyes in the room were on him took up a position close to the bar with Wooster Group Director Elizabeth LeCompte.

It quickly became apparent that the “tired & emotional” spouse (a minor TV celeb remember) was somewhat starsturck by the attendance of a bona fide star like Mr Dafoe. After several minutes spouse could not contain themself any longer and duly strode across the floor towards Mr Dafoe. By now all eyes were on the unfolding events.

What followed was one of the most embarrassing spectacles I’ve ever witnessed.

Minor TV celebrity duly accosts Willem Dafoe and offers up a hearty handshake with the greeting of “I’m xxxxxxxxxx (name removed to protect the guilty) you may have seen me on the TV”

Now what was obviously lost on the minor TV celeb was that Willem Dafoe is an American and like most Americans lives in the USA. Minor celeb meanwhile could only be seen, at this time, on STV (Scottish Television to those who do not know). How the fuck did minor celeb think that they may have registered on Willem Dafoe’s radar?

A classic example of having no perception of your actual worth.

Should you ever get the chance to see The Wooster Group in action I’d suggest grabbing it with both hands as they rarely disappoint.

More information on the Wooster Group can be found here.

www.thewoostergroup.org/

Diamond Dogs

Memories Of Casual Summer Employment

True Story – half a lifetime ago in the time between high school and university I spent a few weeks working on a building site. The job was to convert an old whisky warehouse into executive apartments which would then be sold for the equivalent of the GDP of a small Central American country.

My task was to run the cables for the TV antennas and the CCTV security system then install the wall sockets and cameras. Easy work and as we had negotiated a daily rate with the contractor speed was not important. As construction work goes this is about as simple as it gets.

The crew consisted of me, another student, the contractor’s son and a gaffer. For two weeks we were all lads together and lurked around the site like “the last gang in town”. Taking extended lunch breaks, heading to the pub when it rained, having a laugh and generally just fucking around trying to spin the job out as long as possible. To this end we would engage other workers in conversation, so much so that an Indian labourer started to seek us out to shoot the breeze.

Anyhoo…this gentleman started to join us at lunch time to enjoy his sandwiches and practice his English. All in all I have to say he was a rather charming and intelligent chap with a nice line in self deprecating humour. The one thing that bothered me though was that he had the nastiest looking and smelling lunch I’ve ever seen.

Eventually I plucked up the courage to address this issue and asked him what it was that he was eating. The gentleman stared at me for a moment then simply said pate.

I thought no more about it until the following day when lunchtime came round again and I found myself in the company of the Indian chap. Again I was overpowered by the scent of his lunch and again I asked what it was. Once more the answer was simply pate.

After a few more days of this one of our crew decided that he fancied pate for lunch instead of the usual cheese and pickle combo that he had in his lunch box. Finally it was lunchtime and again the enigmatic Indian sat down to join us. My colleague enquired as to the identity of the gentleman’s sandwich filling and received the usual answer of pate. This was followed by a couple of minutes of frantic negotiation on a possible exchange between the two with my colleague enthusiastically extolling the virtues of cheese and pickle with the fervour of a TV evangelist.

Reluctantly the Indian gentleman gave over his lunch to my delighted co-worker and settled down to consume the cheese sandwich he had received in return.

Meanwhile my colleague was grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of his tasty delight. He smiled, gave the Indian a big thumbs up and took a huge bite of the pate sandwich.

What followed was a few moments of coughing, retching and much shouting of “what the fuck is this?” “That is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted” and “Pate my arse”

Once the dust had settled the inquest began. It turns out that the sandwiches had not contained pate at all but actually contained dog food. Our Indian friend admitted that he had initially eaten dog food by mistake believing that it was pate. On discovering the truth he was somewhat embarrased but by this time he had decided that he actually quite enjoyed the taste. He then decided that given the relative low cost of the filling that it made economic sense to continue eating it.

I was 17…I had no idea you could be that poor, especially in this country.