Legally trained ex art director poet seeks work as photographer part ii

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THINK OF THE MONEY
The extent of my ambitions were further revealed when I applied for and got a job at Freemans mail order warehouse. I was posted in a windowless room and sat at an individual table that housed the tiniest printing press for printing packaging labels. It was a bit like the film version of George Orwell's 1984 drab and colourless with with barely any conversation. However the substantial increase in wages was my motivation and I learned to love that little hell hole.

LEGAL HISTORY
Elsewhere in the warehouse sisters were indeed having to do it for themselves when they found out that they were being paid less than the male employees for doing the same job. There claim for equal pay went all the way to the House of Lords (Pickstone v Freeman) who found in their favour. I wish I could say that this was a significant and contributing factor in my wanting to be a lawyer, but it wasn’t.

Meanwhile I got pretty good with the camera but more importantly I was confident. My confidence was probably completely disproportionate to my talent, but I figured I must have been doing something a wee bit right because the work kept coming. I became the firms unofficial social photographer. If any of the workers were getting married or having a christening or just wanted a portrait doing I was often their first stop.


CREATIVITY v LIFE ASSURANCE
My poetry co-existed nicely with my other creative outlet – bass player in a nine piece reggae band called Studio Rockers. Radio readings and wine & poetry evenings amidst the middle classes massaged my ego and led me to think that maybe I could make a living out of this. The band's gigs were selling out; we were getting paid enough money so that even after a nine way split all members were happy. I was certainly on the right path.

It was all moving along nicely until a loud-mouth entrepreneure called Ziggy came into my life and decided I could and should be doing better. Hindsight is a beautiful thing because what could have possibly been better than what I was doing at the time. Anyways Ziggy bought me a suit and a briefcase gave me instructions then drove me to an interview where I freely sold my soul and accepted a job as a life assurance salesman. Don't ask.

But you know what, I loved it. For a year I earned what was colloquially referred to as ‘loadsamony’ and decided that Yuppiedom was where it was at. I bought a near new Audi Coupe after my 2nd months pay cheque (despite not being able to drive). And on my boss's promise that I'd be worth a quarter of a million pounds within 2 years if I stuck with him, I downed all creative tools and left my band.

When My boss persuaded me to move to Hull with him and set up an office I followed blindly. The reality however was that the company I worked for (FPS then latterly General Portfolio) was little more than one big pyramind selling scheme that would eventually implode. It ended in tears for me and most people involved but on the plus side it led to a whole heap of legislation and regulatory bodies (LAUTRO through to the current FSA) to regulate what was the ultimate cowboy industry. It also means I get to tell this ridiculous story of how I left a quite brilliant band to sell life assurance.