At 14 years of age you tend to get yourself involved in all sorts of extra ciricular activities, rugby for example ,maybe hurling or perhaps even chess. When I was 14 though, my mum didn’t have a lot of money and apart from a weekly hand out from my brother I was broke, so my energies shifted towards activities that could make me a few quid.
Most people would have looked for a paper round or knocked on the neighbour’s doors for odd jobs, but I stumbled onto something far more lucrative. After procuring a magazine of a certain nature from a stash in my brother’s room and of course having a look at all of the “models” inside with great intent, I had grown a bit bored. I mentioned to a classmate about the July 82 copy of Mayfair I had in my possession (which by the way had a whole spread of the then Mrs Richard Branson) he couldn’t contain his hanker and I saw an opportunity.
Quickly a deal was struck, and a days rental was organised for 1 whole Irish pound. Within a week I had figured out who had older brothers and even dads that would have kept a possible wealth of Jazz publications and after a bit of gentle coaxing they would source and deliver to me for a fee of a fiver per item. Soon my locker was stuffed with copies of Razzle, Menonly, ClubInternational and other such Paul Raymond periodicals and my pockets were stuffed with dough. On a daily basis my enterprise grew and due to some peoples occasional reluctance to return the rented items, I even had to employ Ronnie, a total nutball but truly brilliant as my enforcer.
Alas one Friday afternoon I returned home from school to find my mother and Terence, our occasional lodger and family friend, sitting at the kitchen table. They looked as if they were scheming and they were, I was informed that is was about time I started making a few bob and Terence being a head chef had a position for me stoning olives and chopping mushrooms.
That very day I was on the back of his Lambretta on my way to my job that would become an obsession and lead me into my career today, 18 years later.
What if I hadn’t gone home straight from school that Friday? I could be sitting in Paul Raymond’s chair or doing a stretch in the Joy.