One of the discussions we had last night was a continuation of the conversation Cheeseboy and I had the other night about the job we would take on given choice. I asked Mrs Cheese if she had any idea of her husbands secret desire to become a tuna fisherman? Cheeseboy guffawed at the question while his wife rolled her eyes an shook her head. She’s used to him, but still gets surprised. Cheeseboy went on to explain in his garbled way how lucrative a profession it is, throwing in there a confused set of references to Key Biscayne, and the Hampton’s, which he thought were in California.
The question went about the table. C said he had always wanted to be a flight attendant, and still wouldn’t mind it. He’s a fastidious perfectionist who would do well at that, but it’s the travel opportunities that he likes.
Mrs Cheese opted for personal trainer – she’s into health and fitness.
When I was asked I had no idea. Finally I popped out the answer that came to me instinctively: foreign correspondent. I was surprised. It made sense in a lot of ways, but where did that come from? Interesting what these exercises expose. A bit like word association, or Rorschach blots.
In any case everyone agreed that it was a suitable job for me and that I’d be good at it. Had I ever considered it? Not really. I would be good at it though, maybe even very good at it. In many ways it’s almost the ideal job for someone like me – well-travelled, resilient, resourceful, an eye for and interest in news and culture, an unflustered nature, and good with words.
Maybe next lifetime.