I met someone last night who may well have had my dream job - he was a pyrotechnical engineer for nearly 15 years. And for those of you who cannot guess what that technical title means - he was basically a dude who set off fireworks. Big ones. Big displays for big events in big towns and sometimes for celebrity parties. For the majority of his working life from ages 20 to 35 he would travel around, setting up and installing huge, expensive displays and then be the person in charge of setting them all off. Can you imagine? You can take your airline pilot, spaceman, explorer and professional sportsman and any other extravagant work scenarios you may have dreamt of in your youth and keep them, because as far as I'm concerned this man had it nailed. He is only stopping now because he's about to become a dad again, and is determined not to miss out on his young son's life by being away five days a week, forty-odd weeks a year. I can understand that sentiment, but wouldn't it be cool for that kid to reach age 5 or 6 and realise that HIS DAD is the one lighting the sky up for everyone else to enjoy? Wouldn't that give him (or her) the best standing in any classroom anywhere in the world?
But no, instead of that, his dad is now about to become a delivery driver for one of the many companies that clog up our roads and pavements so that Mr and Mrs Lazybones of Britain can shop online instead of venturing outside to visit a shop.
Sorry - I drifted off-topic there and got a bit ranty about something unrelated that has obviously been boiling my blood more than I realised. What I actually wanted to write about was the lovely day we had planned today, but I haven't got time for that now, so I'll have to tell you all about it tomorrow.
RC 16-11-24
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