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.
