What I wanted to do when I grew up, when I was five years old. In the intervening forty eight years it has somehow slipped my mind. However on the subject of five(5) I woke up at around 5am this morning needing to pee. Nothing unusual in that. But it got me thinking that I had not written anything on here in several weeks and it was about time I did so again. You may ask where have I been? Prison, Hospital, on holiday? No I have been writing working and doing the garden. My hands have been full, they have been cut and torn and are rough and calloused. They are working hands, but more to the point they are creative. I have been and am writing a book what with about 70,000 thousand words I think it is time to start editing the thing and getting things published or at least available to download and that kind of thing. Once I have done that I will probably write some more, do yet more gardening and in the rest of the time I have each day just be creative.
I am fortunate enough (in some respects) to be my own manager, my own employer and my own HR. I work where I need to, relax when I have to and generally get up in the morning and do what I want to do. I am what many people would say successful. Not bad for an ex SEN pupil. I still have special needs, but these needs are not so much a disability, which they are. They are also a blessing, they save me the hassle and fag of having to go out each day and bow to someone else’s whims, and do their nonsense for how many hours each week. If I get fed up with an employer and I have had plenty of them I can tell him to Eff off and reinstate myself the next morning. I just don’t tell my clients where to go, unless I am pointing them towards the entrance to the garden centre.
I had probably wanted to be a chef.
The musings of a professionally confused artist 
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