To be someone...

...Would be a wonderful thing. After the realisation that my football days are drawing to a close came the bombshell, (I'm exaggerating, I've known it all along) that I haven't got a career. Worse still, it is really getting to me, no matter how much CBT I use on myself. I've never really been bothered and have been happy to kind of drift along, and using my various hobbies and activities to provide the stimulus for my soul. But it bothers me now. I'd like to be something. And my preferred choice is to be a Journalist.

It dawned on me earlier today that if I ever tried to emigrate to somewhere like Australia, I would be snookered. I could imagine the conversation with the official at the Embassy.

Man/Woman in Suit: "So Mr.Deveney, why do you want to move to Australia?."

Me: "Fancy a change, climate, different culture, new start, blah blah"

M/W in suit: "And what do you offer the people of Australia? What do you do for a living?"

Me: "Er............................................................

M/W in suit: "What exactly do you do?."

Me: "What exactly do I do?."

M/W in suit: "Yes. "

Me: "I play pool with dirty old men.

M/W in suit: "Oh."

Me: "I am good at it though."

M/W in suit: "I don't doubt it for a second. We will be in touch."

Me: "Thank you." 

And therein lies the problem. On paper I have little to offer, nor do I have a body of work or evidence. Having said that, I have seven-balled a few of them so that must count for something. 

The funny thing is that there isn't a definitive route into Journalism, nor is there one qualification that a budding Journo can aim for. The world is choc-full of courses varying in length from 22 weeks to 3 years. Trying to find the course for me is proving difficult although I have to say that I am enjoying the research. I will report back when I have some news. In the meantime the search for career satisfaction goes on. Watch this space.