Day 55: I Consider My Career Options (Again)

As the weekend draws to a close and everyone else starts packing their satchels for the morning, once again I wonder if I should get a job. I'm still torn between astrophysicist and showjumper, to be honest, but can't be arsed to do the training.

So, bearing in mind that I can't be bothered to do much or use what's left of my brain, I've had a long think (with the help of some mind mapping, SWOT analysis and referral to my 'key skill sets'), and whittled the choice down to:


1. Fashionista
2. Pop commentator
3. Entertainment reporter
4. Member of Liberty X
5. Radio 1 DJ
6. Editor, Heat Magazine
7. TV Presenter
8. Tim Westwood
9. Paul Morley
10. Showbiz reporter
11. Claire Grogan
12. Diva Expert
13. Winner of Pop Idol 2003.

Once I've chosen one of these jobs, astonishingly (and as if by magic), I will suddenly have the unalienable right to have an opinion. I will then be paid to express my opinions about a series false oppositions and questions that are of no import whatsoever. And I'll have to take myself as seriously as I can. As seriously as Christiaan Barnard took telling Mr Washkansky he was going to take his heart out and replace it with someone else's, perhaps.

I'll be able to talk about all kinds of things on the telly and in the papers. (I won't write my opinions down, though; I'll just be quoted a lot.) I'll have comment columns in magazines, and be interviewed at parties. Who's better? Michael Jackson or Duran Duran? Is she too fat? Is she too thin? What are the key trends for Autumn/Winter 2006? Tulip skirts? Pale complexions and mouths? Guillemots? Brave, brave Kylie. Footless tights. It was right in the middle of the whole Britpop/Loaded thing. You can't deny Mick Jagger was a rock star, right in your face. Layered vests have gone down, but grey woollen schoolgirl tights are going up. It's a post-modern* masterpiece. It was very knowing, and also ironic. To be honest, unless you were there, you'll never really understand it. Festivals are full of the middle-classes now; they've lost their way. When the Spice Girls broke onto the scene, pop as we know it was changed forever. You can't underestimate the impact that Talking Heads have had on The Raconteurs. You can buy a frock just like Micha's from Top Shop, and some shoes just like Sadie's from Shoe Express. Usually, the chaps come out when your career's on the skids. I remember when Tracy was selling shares in her work and Jay picked up three for ten pounds apiece. No, but seriously - and this is important - who's better, Bananarama or Cher?

Think of it. I could be paid to talk about Britney Spears. If I changed my name to Eddie Hampton Armani and described myself as a 'Diva Expert', I could find myself on Channel 5 at 10.45 on a Sunday evening saying things like "I think we love Cher because we believe". If I had won Pop Idol 2003, I could be given money to have an opinion about Take That. If I change my name to Paul Morley, I could be paid to have an opinion about anything at all, and if I became Tony Parsons, I could get paid for being a cunt.

And the best bit of all is that I wouldn't have to really do anything. Just read some tabloid newspapers, flick through Heat and Grazia once a week, watch about an hour's worth of telly at 5pm and 1am, put 'Christina Aguilera's chaps' into Google now and then, play some records and, just so I've got a clever opinion in case BBC2 call me in, listen to Woman's Hour on Radio 4 occasionally. Hold up - that's what I do anyway. Anyone know a good agent?

* People who know what post-modern actually means never use it. Fact.