IAN McMILLAN PG Tips to follow after four decades as a freelancer

THIS year I’ll have been freelance for 40 years, which means that every day for me is my first day at work. I’m always the new boy, always eager and wary at the same time. But because I’m always the boss as well as the new boy, I’m always having to send myself for a long stand and some striped paint.

Not only that, I quite often have to take myself into the office and tell myself off for slacking when I’ve been checking the Barnsley FC results instead of writing my column.

I’m not a bad boss, though: I tolerate endless tea breaks and I don’t mind if my employee (well, me) chooses to start work at 06.00 or 20.00, which is a good thing as I was never really a fan of the 9 to 5.

I’ve only ever had three real jobs; one in a little factory in Darfield that painted

Stanley knives, one on a building site near Sheffield and one in a tennis ball factory in Barnsley, and even at a distance of many decades I can vividly recall my first day in each one. As I write this, I can feel my face reddening.

At the little factory run by two nice blokes from the church, I was asked to make tea on my first day; this was partly a gentle introduction to the world of work but also the Stanley knife conveyor belt had broken down so there was nothing else to do.

I was 17 and in the lower sixth at school and I didn’t drink tea so, between you and me, I had no idea how you made it. I knew it was something to do with teabags but I wasn’t sure what.

I boiled the kettle. I saw a discarded teabag on the worktop and I put it in a cup, not knowing that a teabag shouldn’t be used more than once. The tea looked like the North Sea when I made it and the two nice men from the church were tempted to use what you might call unholy language.

On my first day at the building site, I was sent for fish and chips but for a joke the rest of the workforce kept changing their orders at the last minute. A hod-carrier wanted mushy peas but then he didn’t and a plumber didn’t want mushy peas but then he did. A forklift truck driver wanted one pie but then, because he was a big lad, he wanted two but then, because he was trying to slim, he wanted one. I tried to write the order down but they threw my pencil in a muddy hole. I was tempted to use what you might call unholy language.

On my first day at the tennis ball factory I was told that I would receive onthe-job training but all that happened was that a man in a suit gave me an apron with the words: “Here’s thi pinny. Purrit on.”

I stood there all day in the pinny as though I’d gone to a fancy dress party as my mam. People pointed and laughed. I pretended I didn’t mind but I was rooted to the spot by a mixture of embarrassment and fear. I was tempted (you guessed it) to use unholy language.

So here I am at home on yet another first day of the freelance life, which is much more fun. I might ask the boss if I can have a cup of tea.

I know what to do with a teabag now, you know.