I had that dream about a meaningful job again....

I took my daughter to Anfield in August. She took a book.

My grandmother was a big Liverpool fan, and when I say big, I mean huge. She had a season ticket for many years & even went to the European Cup Final in 1978, just 3 years before she died. And when she died we dispersed her ashes on the pitch in the same spot where Bill Shankly was spread.

Luckily even though my lovely daughter wasn't interested in any of this I was with my Uncle Bill who was. My Uncle is my hero. Why? Because he drove trucks for a living.

When I was a kid my Uncle parked a big "Fuck Off" Oil tanker outside our ticky tacky house in bourgeois Balerno, a suburb of Edinburgh. Our neighbours were horrified, I was delighted. I was the proudest pupil at school that day.

My dad, like most of our neighbours had a job that an 8 year old boy couldn't understand. Something at the University involving engineering & computers & machines and other unfathomable stuff. But a big oil tanker I could understand. Still can actually. My Uncle had a real job, one that I respect to this day. One that I admire everytime I get a bendy bus in London. Media buying is not a real job; it's not something an 8 year old can understand.

So I dream of driving a big truck one day.