I know, I know… I hate those ‘my children are fabulous’ articles too. Let me rush to reassure you that my children aren’t fabulous. Well, I mean obviously, I think they’re fabulous because I’m their Mum and I kind of have to, but they argue and fart and shout and call each other a ‘douche’ and throw hangers at each other when trying on clothes in changing rooms and come in late and answer back and call me a ‘bellend’ and all sorts of general teenage pain-in-the-arseness, so it’s not going to one of those. Honest.
Since being back in England, it’s been brilliant. They’ve been out with their Grandad for fabulous meals… out with their mates… down the gym… down the cricket club… it’s been never ending. And with that, of course, has been the flow of money. Which has also been never ending.
Lift to the big skatepark in the next town? Can’t you get the bus? Yes, but it’s £2.65 have you got any cash? I’m off to the gym, it’s cheaper if you get membership… Can we get a McDonald’s…?
And so it goes on. The Prof, then, decided it was time he was self-sufficient and decided to get a job for the summer. We toiled over a CV. Any idea how hard it is to pad out the CV of a 16 year old so it covers a whole page? Not bloody easy. We put down his predicted GCSE grades, and the subjects he’s chosen for A level, but then…
Luckily he had a really nice reference from the aviation company where he did his work experience last year. I stuck it on the bottom of the page.
Me: ‘and you need to put down some of your hobbies.. something that’s going to make it look like you don’t spend all day in your bedroom…’
Him: ‘Ooh, I’m wicked at Xbox…’
Me: ‘Oh god’.
Anyway, CV typed, he popped up to the ever-useful Disreputable Grandad to get some photocopies done, and then he was gone.
Eventually, he trudged up the path.
Turns out, he’d been along the high street and gone in EVERY shop and business and asked if they were hiring.
I was bloody impressed. Seriously. Even English Dad was in awe: ‘would you have walked the high street with a CV at 16? Nope, me neither’.
And he got an interview (at a well known high street coffee establishment, no less). As I watched him slope up the path, shaggy hair, jeans hanging round his arse, I had my doubts, but he’s obviously inherited the family ‘talking his way into anything’ gene, and was soon back with news of a start date.
As usual, he was unimpressed with our excitement… he’s already got it worked out. ‘This time next year I’ll have enough for a car’.
Well done, Sam. I’m bloody proud of you. A+ for effort xx