When I was a child I was, at first, convinced that when I grew up I was going to work as a space cowboy. It seemed like an ideal life: rounding up space cattle, eating space beans and flying through space on a jet-powered horse called ‘Rosie’. I don’t remember the exact point that life took my dreams and put them through a chundle mixer and told me that was a silly idea but it happened and thus I never got that ranch, those chaps or that hat.
Present day sees me sitting in an office living the giddy life of an office man. I mean I’m not chasing away space thieves trying to steal my space butter yet that doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is that this is not what I should be doing.
An evening in the company of one Kevindo Menendez opened my eyes to the world that is just beyond reach. They say that you never quite know what you’re good at until you give it a try, which obviously means that deep down I have the required skills and expertise to be a washing machine repair man. I already have the small, girlish hands for those tiny electric whatnots and for squeezing into those hard-to-reach areas. I look good in anything that’s not a shirt and tie. I can drive now so even if someone needs a washing machine repaired in New York (not that New York, the one in Tyne and Wear) I can step up to the challenge.
All I need now is some business cards and I’m up and running. They won’t have a picture of a crab on them but, by the beard of Graham Norton, they will announce to the world my real calling in life!