Jobs I could do Part 1

Now, this looks like the sort of gainful employment I should be seeking out. Taking in the noonday sun, a band of panting 'best friends' round my ankles, the promise of a jolly gambol on Clapham Common ahead of us. With an enterprising spirit and lots of 'boggle' bags, (as the Wild Australian Boy used to call what I prefer thinking of as 'shit sacks') I could soon become the Barbara Woodhouse of the South.

Unfortunately, I see it all going wrong very quickly. Being given responsibility for someone's pet in this country is right up there with watering their plants or weeding their allotment; you don't take the task lightly. If it was their kids you were coddling, sure, you can slack off a bit, but mess with precious little Colin's walkies...

I'd cope for the first week or so, but repetitive, inane jobs atrophy my little brain, causing it to wander into subversive territory quite quickly. I'd then become obsessed with the idea of attaching micro-cameras to each animal and streaming these collar-cams live to the web. 'Dog days of our lives' would soon develop an audience of millions. People would jump from collar to collar, goggling away at unexpurgated views of tedious and feral British life, as seen through the eyes of the one creature they all thought they could trust. The outcry would echo across the azure fields and brute retribution of the tar and feathers variety would follow swiftly. Worse yet, it would be back to the old job centre for me (after a short stretch in chookie).

Fine, let's tick that one off the list.

B