There was a book reviewer at my kitchen table today. He appeared to be the remnant of a particularly heavy night my flat mate had been on the night before. I made him tea and plied him with questions, probably none too welcome questions given his expression which appeared to scream: “shut up, you irritatingly annoying early morning talker. I have drunk my body rate in literary Courvoisier and I feel like a small rodent-like mammal is currently decomposing in my mouth.”
Probably to stop my questions, he asked me what I did. I gave the big sigh I have become accustomed to emitting when faced with this question: “weeelllll, I used to be a lawyer but I gave it all up to sew sequins and dustbin lids onto the clothes of Cheryl Cole”. He didn’t laugh. I later discovered he had left sleeping tablets on the sitting room table, so I shall attribute his impassive expression to the drugs and not to any deficiency in my witty one-liners.
I told him the truth. I am figuring it out but in the meantime I am working at a charity. For free. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realised that I sounded like one of those people who weave their socks out of macro-biotic yogurt and sport a mono-brow.
He turned his bleary eyes to me and asked “Is that because all the people who work for charity look very smug and happy?”
Yes, yes it is.
He makes a good point though; henceforth maybe I should only target jobs where the workers look very smug and happy. This may leave me with limited options, I can think of jobs in which people look smug (bankers, hedge fund managers, BBC Breakfast presenters and new-media dahlings in fluorescent trainers and trilbies)....
smug banker dude
.....or happy (archaeologists always seem quite happy, as do biochemists and the guy who works at Bethnal green tube station and sings soul classics).
happy archaeologist ladies
But rarely are people both at the same time. I have decided this is my aim: happiness with a large spoonful of smug on the side.
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