The jobs we’d hate

Husband-and-wife comedians and commentators Jeremy Elwood and Michele A’Court share their views.

If you’ve got one of those coffee mugs that say: “Choose a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life,” I bet there are moments when you’d like to chuck it at the watercooler.

I bumped into Amy Adams on a plane last week. I hope this doesn’t jinx her leadership chances, but I like Amy – she seems like a good human and I admire a couple of things she did back when National was in charge. Amy looked serene, but I reckon this is a tricky business, competing with your colleagues without destroying relationships with people you’re going to have to keep working with. It’s hard to say you’re great without suggesting someone else would be terrible.

I wouldn’t be a politician for quids. It’s on a list with other jobs I’d hate – like selling children’s shoes (I have no idea how you jam high tops onto an unco-operative 4-year-old’s feet) or moderating online comments (seeing humanity at its worst). Same goes, I often think, of being a GP (you don’t meet a lot of people who are well) or a dentist – that’s a lot of white knuckles either side of lunch.

I’ve had jobs I didn’t much care for. The superette, the building site, the garden nursery… For six months after ending my contract as a TV presenter, I worked as an office temp and “tea lady” (like, actual job title) and it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as you might imagine.

Not long ago, on one of the last nights my parents and brother and I spent together, I asked everyone what career they’d choose if they had their time again. Dad, sent into the rag trade when he left school, surprised us all with “architect” – no one had asked him this question before, and he’d never mentioned it.

My mother spent most of her working life as an office manager, but has harboured dreams of being a lexicologist, hence the reference books beside her armchair and a gift for applying correct English usage on the fly. I’m pretty certain my photographer brother picked “philosopher” that night, but he has since amended it to “park ranger”, which is spectacular.

I chose “forensic psychologist”. And then it dawned on me that if I’d spent the last 35 years profiling criminals, I might have blurted out one night over a bottle of wine that my secret dream was to be a comedian and writer. And that after a lifetime of living with wild beasts, my brother may have hankered after taking beautiful photos of dancers.

Someone out there harbours sweet dreams of leading a political party to unite and serve. I hope they get the job.