Decisions

I'm writing this in an entirely different county!

It may take you a little while to deal with that revelation, so feel free to have a lie down or rub your temples until you feel better.

Change can be difficult to take, but I'm sure your constitution will soon allow you to continue reading as though nothing is wrong at all.

I'm in Devon. When I first began this blog, I was in Devon. So this is like a return to the motherland (my mother also lives here, but that's a side issue). This is like a pilgrimage to Java. Or it would be, if I'd started this blog in Java.

I didn't start this blog in Java. I started it in Devon (which is where I am now).

So, like the noble dolphin, tired of its brief evolutionary foray into land-dwelling, I have slunk back into the welcoming womb of the ocean to return to my racist lobster caricature friends. We're having a luau.

You can tell this blog was born in the West Country. Sometimes it will eat a scone. Sometimes it will host a Surfers Anonymous meeting. Sometimes it will build a sandcastle, sandbungalow or sandsuntanningsalon.

It won't do any of those things. It is just a blog.

You may have guessed that I have nothing to say today.

Correct. But if I say it a pretentious way, nothing will become something. Something with an umlaut in it. Or a reference to Cervantes.

AREN'T I CLEVER?

Every sentence I write is an attempt to redress the failings of my previous one. So far, I've sounded like a wanky idiot. So I've used the term 'wanky idiot' to show that I'm just an ordinary person. I don't always talk all funny or nuffink.

Now I need to counterbalance that last paragraph with something genuine and insightful. Something about bees.

Now I need to talk about wasps.

You see? It's a difficult proposition, this "trying to not sound like a loser" project.

Here are three things that have happened today:

1) I walked on a beach
2) I walked on a pavement
3) I walked on water

You might question that last thing, but remember: humans are composed of mostly water. So the soles of my feet are probably also mostly water. I have walked on the soles of my feet, so there. I'm not a liar.

***

I'd be a rubbish hitman.

I haven't got a gun. I haven't got any experience of using guns.

I've never been in a proper fight, let alone killed anyone.

I would have ethical problems with being a hired killer. I don't want to kill anyone at all, let alone have my victims being determined by some arbitrary third party.

I don't like to travel. I can't drive. I'm not good at making my own schedule. I'm not a "people person".

If anyone suggested to me that I become a hitman, I would unequivocally say "no".

I can do decent accents, I suppose. And wouldn't mind dressing up in cool disguises.

But that's not enough. The main part of being a hired killer is the killing. I am thoroughly unqualified.

Seriously. Don't even bother asking me.

I don't care how good the pay is.

The pay isn't an issue.

The fact of the matter is I don't want to be a hitman.

And even if I did, I'd be no good at it.

You want someone with expertise. Perhaps with a military background.

Look at my CV. Just look at it.

What is there on my CV that would make you think, in any sense, that I would be an effective assassin?

Yes, I know it says I enjoy problem solving. And I sort-of do. But not when that problem is a person being alive.

I worked for Thames Valley Police, granted. But those were office positions. There are no skills that I learned in those jobs that are transferable to killing. None.

Seriously. Give it up.

...

...

I haven't even been paintballing.

I went to Laser Quest a few times as a teenager. I was average at best. Check with the Laser Quest head office. I assume they keep the statistics.

It's frankly ridiculous that anyone would ever want me to be a hitman.

And I'll say again - I don't think I emphasised this enough before - I am anti-killing. I don't believe in capital punishment. I think taking a human life is wrong.

I will NOT become a hitman.

If we were writing a list of the pros and cons, the 'cons' would need several dozen sheets of paper. The 'pros' would just need a Post-It. A Post-It with 'quite good at accents' on it.

The evidence is so one-sided, I can't even believe this is an argument.

I'd be awful.

And I'm only getting older. I assume you'd want hitmen to start young. I'm nearly thirty. It's too late for me to start an entirely new career in such a specialised field. You might as well ask me to become a dentist. It's not going to happen.

It's madness, really.

No.

No.

I will not become a hitman.

No, you will not be able to win me round.

Yes, I know it looks cool in the films. I know Jason Statham makes it look cool. But that's not enough. Something being cool in Hollywood is not enough to make me want to take up a whole new occupation.

I'm literally 100% certain.

I would never become a hitman.

I'd never want to associate myself with Margaret Thatcher, but the lady's not for turning. (I'm the lady in this scenario)

I think I've outlined my reasons quite clearly. I'm absolutely intractable on this. You're wasting your time and my time.

I'd be a rubbish hitman.

You're going to have to find someone else.