First job, research assistant for an author. An opulent French chateau, 40 miles out of London. Discovering Alfred de Rothschild’s discreet dinners for European ambassadors, to prevent the first World War. And his private circus. Did Alfred entertain his guests, with a high-wire act, or head in lion’s mouth as a warning hors d’oeuvre? Peace reserved for port and cigars.
Second job: Hendon library, researching anarchy. This week’s task for an encyclopaedia partwork. I am paid by the word, and this is worth a few hundred, at least.
First venture: In a 3-star hotel function room with hundreds of others. Promoters of Holiday Magic tell me how easy it is to make my fortune. Just believe in myself and recruit others to recruit others. Marvellous cosmetics by the way.
Second venture: 21 Club, 4pm, drinking single malt with Mick, founder of Discount Services Club in his shiny blue suit; and Peter with his red carnation in the buttonhole of his grey suit, tailored for his slimmer years. Terry, our fourth member, hovers at the table, between other duties. He doesn’t say much, but as chief barman of the 21, he adds our drinks to the tab that’s never paid.
While Mick outlines a deal to be retail agents for a household goods wholesaler, I look over my path since Oxford. Two years down the road, going nowhere, no destination in mind. And no Cuthbert to take me there. Dad sold the red MG Midget while I was on holiday. I can use mum’s Triumph Herald, it has a sunroof.
feeder
designed for small birds
buzz off pigeon
Ah...those post-arts-graduation wilderness years! You recall their arbitrary purposelessness so well, Mike. The surprisingly long wait for parts to arrive before the real journey could begin.
Gathering no moss.