I'm sure I'm not alone in studying the recruitment pages every week. It doesn't mean I'm unhappy at work. It just means I'm utilising my journalistic antennae, carefully studying the ebb and flow of the social structures that bind us together. That sounds reasonably convincing. No, the recruitment pages are a must read for us all. Just like Homemaker actually. You're not moving every week, but you have to look at every property available, every week. Sometimes it's simply to understand the overall market moves. Sometimes it's to mock how some people live. The poor people. Terraced. Say no more. As a young man, I scoured the recruitment ads, enviously examining the fat salaries and glorious perks on offer for some of them. The Executive ones. Two things held me back as a young man. Age and qualifications. The same two inhibitors have held me back all my life. The ads asked for 25-year-olds with great big brains and all that self motivation, drive and ambition nonsense. As a 22-year-old with a bike, I thought I was still in with a chance. Five minutes later, I'm 44, but interestingly still with a bike. And still they ask for 25-year-olds. As I look now at the best jobs, quite simply, I've missed the bus. The options are obvious. Firstly, rigorous and vigorous gambling. It could be me. But only if I buy a ticket. So, I could really step up the lottery stakes, comforted by the fall-back position of consolidating all my debts into one easily manageable loan, and sitting on a yellow settee telling people about it. Secondly, falsify my CV and see if I can blag a good job. I'd love a crack at being a doctor. How hard can it be? I've watched Casualty for years - I reckon I've got most situations covered. Ninety three per cent of appointments end with a sick note for stress. I could do that. The rest, by it's nature, will be a bit more hit and miss, but even if I only got two out of seven right, I'd be 95pc efficient. The last time I recorded those sort of figures was in a cholesterol test. Thirdly, simply settle for what I've got. Try and string out another 20 years. Keep my head down until 2025. Do as little as possible. But just enough. Keep the lowest of profiles. It's certainly an option that I have the core skills to carry out. I can keep my head down with the best of them. I can, over a sustained period of time, not leave a footprint in the sand. And then I saw the job for me. Just as I was planning my war of entrenchment, the light at the end of the tunnel shone like a really bright light in a tunnel. Controller, BBC One. The Controller, the ad says, is the channel's creative leader. This person will help inspire programme makers to deliver their commissioning and scheduling strategies. I haven't a clue what this means. I suspect the person who wrote it will be in the same boat. I've watched television for 40 years. I don't reckon there's many out there who have more experience in the field. I love television. I love my television set, at least as much as my children. If it came to a choice, it would be 50-50, particularly in a World Cup year. The television is always there for me. It doesn't go running off with its mates. It won't go to university, leaving me saddled with debts. It doesn't treat me like an unpaid taxi driver. And it doesn't roll its eyes whenever I speak. In fact, the television and I have the perfect relationship. I switch it on, and it doesn't let me down. I, on rare occasions, switch it off - something that if it was available on a child, would be in high demand. And over the thousands of hours I've spent gazing at my electrical beauty, I've come to know what's what. The ad says the Controller "will be capable of translating audience insight into programme strategy". I hope they don't ask questions on this at the interview. If they do, I'll just tell them how important I think it is to be insightful. And then I'll outline my master plan, which will see live operations on Graham Norton, Jim Davidson having a violently compulsory sex change, EastEnders being made illegal, and the return of Play for Today, It's a Knockout and, most importantly of all, The Love Boat. Wish me luck. Any television thoughts? ********** Relieve us from relief And finally, we face today one of the most distressing occasions of the year. Comic Relief. When the Clear Blue Water Party is elected I promise we will immediately terminate both Comic Relief and Children In Need. We will ensure that charities receive plenty of money - we'll take it from those who didn't vote for us. As well as putting Lenny Henry on the dole, this will also have the additional benefit of preventing a whole series of future horrors. Am I alone in fearing that tonight Esther Rantzen will get her kit off for charity? ********* Bouncing with mirth Last week we discussed who is happy, with plumbers, builders and hairdressers all coming out sickeningly pleased. A straw poll round the office has volunteered other cheery occupations. Newsagents are all naturally ebullient folk, don't you find? Every newsagent I know is the heartiest of fellows, a smile ever present, a little quip never more than a few seconds away, and all this bearing in mind that they have to get up early. I don't know where they get their reservoir of joy from. Teachers are all upbeat as well, aren't they? I think it helps that they're hardly ever at work. Policemen, especially those on football duty, are all Masters Of Mirth. A wink and a nod as you walk past them. Happy to help. Every man jack of them. They love us - that's why they chose the police force. The ones that hate us become bouncers. | 
