Always look on the bright side of life...

In a few days time, I will be sitting in a company induction. No doubt my out-of-focus photo ID badge will not be blurry enough to hide the fact that my choice of career - management, not male modelling - was not really a choice at all.

I remember my first 'work experience' role. I was 15 years old and I was placed by my school into the post room of Mackellor County Council. For three days I had to fold envelopes in a windowless office with a bitter middle-aged divorcee, an aging hippie and a rather large-breasted lady with a devious sense of humour - she would make suggestive comments to the 'bitter one' just to watch my ears turn red.

While this did not shape my career aspirations it certainly educated me. I decided there and then that it is far more important to do what you enjoy, rather than settle for just any job....but what sort of job should I try to secure?

My Career's Advisor at Balgowlah Boys High School barely managed to raise her head out of her copy of Woman's Day magazine, to tell me (between mouthfulls of her re-heated lasagne lunch) that I had little hope of ever experiencing a successful and fulfilling career, and that I should go back to the council and beg them to let me back into their post room.

I was offended. I had ambition. I had drive and enthusiasm....I couldn't work for the local council - my outlook on life was too positive! Instead, I went on the dole and started busking at Circular Quay. The road to here has not been paved or straight - but at least I'm still doing what I enjoy.

Back to the future...

I was the recipient of a gratuitis 'comb-over' at the hairdresser today. It really was a trip back into the future for me. As I stared in disbelief into the mirror. The image that looked forlonly back at me was a strange morph of my childhood and old age.

At first I was transported back to my childhood, when my mother used to drench my hair in Brylcream and execute a severe comb-over from one ear to the other - this fashionable hair style used to be accompanied by a pair of large white walk socks, a pair of small blue shorts and a powder blue bottoned shirt - tucked into my shorts, which were pulled up to just below my chin (sadly, I have photographic evidence).

However, as continued I to stare at my reflection, I got an insight into the future. I fear that I will one day wake up an decide that a comb-over really does look good....I've told Virginnia to perform a mercy killing if I start to tuck my crisply ironed shirt into my underwear and begin to wear my trousers proudly above my belly button.

Awwwh, you shouldn't have....no seriously, you shouldn't have.

They've lit up Regent Street, so Christmas can't be more than couple of months away. This year I've decided to do my Christmas shopping online and I have found the ideal website http://www.stupid.com

There are some truly stupid gifts to choose from, such as the Bacon Wallet - actually looks like a slab of breakfast meat. You can also give someone a set of Camo Golf Balls - camoflaged green to make them even harder to find in the rough.

But there are two gifts that have caught my eye. First, the Fidel Castro Action figure (30 centimeters in height) - the promotional blurb says 'Think of the fun you will have recreating the Bay of Pigs invasion or Cuban Missile Crisis! You can oppress your other action figures and nationalise your mother's vegetable patch'.

However, my favourite Christmas gift is the 2007 Dog Poop Calendar. This is a true work of art. A professional photographer has taken a array of spectacular landscapes or tableau with dog shit as the focal point. The depth of field, composition and sympathetic treatment of the subject matter has resulted in a truly inspiring piece of work.

Remember.....it's the thought that counts.

Idiot box...

The first time I saw the two beefy gentlemen sitting at the bar watching Neighbours on the pub television I didn't give it a thought. I considered the second time a coincidence. However, when I turned up at The George for lunch today, there they were again.....on their favourite stools intently watching Toady and co struggling through some lame script.

As the actors laboured through their lines the two would exchange knowing glances and hypothosise on the plot.

'I can't believe she's taken him back', says the larger of the two. Shaking his head in disbelief as he sips on his beer.
'E's a sneaky one, that doctor, inn't he', nods the other.
'While she's been in hospital, his been living the life of Riley (another pause in disbelief) and now he just waltzes back into her life'. He thumps his fist against his thigh in anger.
'The prick!', his friend exclaims.

Suddenly the television bursts into the all too familiar Neighbours theme tune and subtitles replace the actors on the screen.

'Awwwh....we're going to have to wait until tomorrow', sighs the one closest to me.

What on earth are a couple of big boofy blokes deep in the English countryside shedding tears over an Australian soap opera? I didn't want to find out....Virginnia and I stood up and left quietly.

Please mind the gap between the train and platform...

My commute into the city on Southern Rail is usually pretty predictable. As I enter the train carriage and take my seat the conductor informs over the intercom in an inaudible and and heavily accented voice that I am on the (insert best guess in this space and pray your on the right train)......moments later a computer-aided female voice of indiscernible age confirms that I am indeed on the 8:04am trian to London Victoria, stopping at Upper Warlingham, Riddlesdown, Sandstead, East Croydon, Clapham Junction and Victoria Stations.

It's a routine statement that never changes and nearly everyone on the train, after several trips, can recite it verbatim. However, this morning - for some apparant reason - between Upper Warlingham and Riddlesdown the computer-aided female voice cheerfully informed us that 'Sorry, there will be no meal service on this train today'

Stunned by the sudden change in Southern Rail protocol, we all raised our heads in unison and stared at the intercom.....as far as I knew the only meal you're likely to get on the morning train to Victoria is the half eaten McDonalds hash brown left under your seat by the previous passenger.

Imagine a Goth with personality...

You've probably read in one of my earlier blogs that my son is an EMO - if you're over 40 years of age, just imagine a Goth with personality and emotion. I think it's great that he has the confidence to display this creative side. However, he has reached that age in life where the look is far more important than substance.

He spends more time in front of the mirror trying to comb his hair over one eye than both my wife and I spend in the bathroom combined. As I said, I wouldn't dream of inhibiting his personal and social development - despite the fact that his friends look like extras from a horror movie.

However, I think we've reached a family milestone this morning, when he and his 11 year old sister had a fight over a black eye-liner stick...

A change is as good as a holiday...I should know, I've been on one for five months.

Some careers are shorter than others. My stint as a Sales Director was so short that it won't even register on my resume....because I didn't actually start. Instead of working for a little start-up in Holborn I will soon commence in my new role in a large multi-national in London. As a confidentiality clause prevents me from telling you more at present, you will need to check back in a week for the full details. It's strange how things work out in the end...

The Ghost Dog of Titsey Hill...

I was recently driving up Titsey Road, from Limpsfield to Woldingham. It's a winding road that climbs sharply into woodlands, shrouded in low cloud. It's a spooky place even during daylight hours, but at night it's the type of road that you don't want to breakdown on.

'Don't panic if you suddenly see a dog on the road', says my travelling companion.
'What?', I asked. Suddenly touching the breaks lightly - I didn't see anything.
'I've been told that the road is haunted by a ghost dog', she said soberly.
'A ghost dog? - What does it look like? What breed is it?'
'It's a ghost - you can't tell what it looks like', she continues in all seriousness.
'Does it bark?'
'No' she responds, sounding a little annoyed.
'Well how do you know it's a dog? Has it left a ghostly turd on the side of the road?'
'Don't be stupid', she huffs.

There was a pause. 'Oh sorry, I didn't know we were having a sensible conversation'.

From social case to corporate manbag...

It looks like the holiday is over - I've been made a job offer. As with most the jobs I've secured in my life it was neither expected or aggressively sought after....it just sort of happened. I can only assume the fancy new shirt I wore to the final interview must have mesmerised them...I don't remember being particularly engaging or visionary (no more than normal).

I will be (assuming the contract turns up on Monday) the new Sales Director for an online solutions business targeting professional services segments with innovative products and services - however, my business card will most likely just have Sales Director printed on it. I'll be working in Holborn - 5 minutes drive to the station, 37 minutes of contemplation on the train to London and a further 15 minutes of close physical contact on the tube and then a brisk 2 minute walk to the office.

To celebrate my imminent appointment and loss of social freedom, I purchased another fancy business shirt, new leather wallet to put my hard-earned cash into and a brief case, which looks suspiciously like a metrosexual's manbag - but I've been assured that it is actually Hidesign Tiker Sling Across Body Bag, Brown.

If only everything in life was so accurately named...anyway, I'm off to the kitchen to get a Cool Refreshing Liquid, Orange from a Glass Receptical, Transparant - that is stored in my Large Cool Thing that Hums at Night, White.