I was shocked to realise this week that I will soon be coming up to my 20th anniversary as a journalist (although I was practically a child when I started, so don’t get the idea that I’m getting on or I need reading glasses or anything like that. Actually, I can still see quite small print if there is good natural light and the page is held precisely 36 cms from my eyes).
I love my job. I would gladly have killed for the opportunity to do the kind of writing I do now. Having said that, I would like to state on the record that nothing was ever proved regarding the unfortunate demise of former JC columnist Maurice Jacobs on a deserted Hendon street all those years ago.
However, every now and then I wonder what I might have done had I not chosen journalism. Obviously, my mother had a few ideas about what occupation I should have chosen. She urged me to search widely for something that interested me. She would have accepted a wide range of occupations — cardiologist, oncologist, paediatrician or even orthopaedic surgeon — she wasn’t at all fussy. Had I become a top QC, she probably wouldn’t have minded that much either.
But I always knew what I was going to do, right from the day after I was sacked as a recruitment consultant because I was rubbish at it. I was going to be a journalist. This was based on the fact that I was quite good at English at school and I liked reading the papers. It turned out to be an inspired choice.
Still, every now and then I wonder whether I shouldn’t try something else, just for a change. I think it might be a little late to do one of the traditional Jewish things now — I don’t really want to be a lawyer, I lack the numerical skills to be an accountant and to get into medical school I’ve a feeling you might need a science GCSE.
I could still try for one of my boyhood dream occupations, though. I was always a huge Chelsea fan as a boy and set my heart on playing for my favourite team. At that point this seemed like a fairly feasible aspiration. True, I had no great talent for the game but neither did any of the Chelsea players. Now, of course, Chelsea are in a slightly different place, and at 43 it might be considered that I have peaked as an athlete (although by law I don’t think they are allowed to discriminate by age).
I also always wanted to be a pilot. I could retrain but I’m not sure I would enjoy it as much as I once thought I would — mainly because I have developed an acute fear of flying in the intervening years.
I also like driving, so maybe I could make that into a career. I could be a train driver. It might get monotonous. But you are out in the fresh air (if you keep the window open) and the scenery is nice.
Taxi-driving might also be an option, but having seen a repeat of the Jack Rosenthal film The Knowledge recently, I think qualifying as a London cabbie might be too stressful (honestly, why don’t they just use satnav like everyone else?).
Basically, any profession I choose would need to give me the job satisfaction I am getting right now from writing about what job I should do. And you know what? On reflection, I don’t think working for a living actually gets much better than this — particularly since there very few opportunities to drive Routemaster buses any more.