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I have my hands down a High Court judge's pants

  Thu 7th November 2019

I was asked to work at a "boxing match". It wasn't a boxing match, it was cage fighting. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

We were doing table service so you could watch a lot of the bouts. As I view women purely in terms of their moral characters and intellectual qualities, I didn't notice the young women in high heels, fishnet stockings, thongs and bustier tops who walked round the cage holding the round numbers up. It was a real family affair too with children from nine-ish upwards there. Seeing young girls seeing women dressed like that was my only qualm about the evening.

Women don't swoon any more but they do a lot of hair flicking and dancing in front of the fighters when they came out to have a drink with their friends and family. Only one female fight which was a shame as it'd be good to see women kick the fuck out of each other rather than having these inward psychological dramas.

Apart from when I went to the casino in Manchester one night, I've never seen so much cash in one room. I did a round for eight people of £177 (paid in cash) and he gave me a £13 -- the first and biggest of several tips during the night. We had to add up using pen and paper and show them our workings out, although not one of them wanted to check the amount, which made me think that next time I could tax a couple of quid from each customer and come back a ton up.

This week I am working in a grand early C19th house, which accommodates High Court circuit judges and their clerks. There are still the parallel sets of doors, corridors and staircases, to make sure the servants travel different paths through the house.

The first thing I was called upon to do was a bit of flower arranging, in old Bonne Manam jars for each sumptuous room, the blooms from two five pound bouquets from Tesco. This afternoon, I was ironing. I expected the shirts and collars, but was surprised when the judicial underwear appeared, blue cotton boxers on which even the bleaching washing powder used can't dispose of the evidence of the courtly emissions. Nevertheless, I got inside them and gave it my best.

But this will not last long. I went to my interview the other day and with a charity that provides help for women seeking an abortion, and I'll be starting my training with them to be an advisor, on 6th January. Soon I can leave the chthonic, windowless rooms underneath hotels, with only a roaring dishwasher for company, to someone else.


Comment from: kono [Visitor]

Well that seems to be a bit of excellent news and i quite like the new gig. Nothing like a night of work and cash in hand, we seem to be the last of the Mohicans when it comes to this blog game, i’ve been lax but a torrent of posts is in the works, the Wilderness Years need finished… and don’t be surprised if every now and then you miss that windowless room and the hum of the dishwasher ;)

Thu 7th November 2019 @ 19:26 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

Good news about the job, although I am now seeing you as a fancy butler in Downton Abbey.

Fri 8th November 2019 @ 07:19 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

kono, I look forward to those episodes of your days of yore. The dishwasher’s always there if I’m desperate for some cash, but ironing judges’ drawers is a lot easier.

Yes Scarlet, it does feel like butlering, all this fiddling with shirts and undergarments. It’s not a bad job, just not enough hours to be viable by itself.

Tue 12th November 2019 @ 11:46 Reply to this comment
Comment from: daisyfae [Visitor]

Who the fuck needs their undercrackers ironed?!?! How is this a thing? It may be easier than the dishwashing gig, but i’d go mad if i had to iron a judges butt blanket…

Sun 17th November 2019 @ 00:31 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

No idea, for something that no-one sees?

Sun 17th November 2019 @ 09:28 Reply to this comment

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