My first jobs, when I was maybe 12, were, two days picking Daffodils for a total of around £6 I think, with which I bought a black blouse, black skirt and black boots, and a Saturday job in a children's clothing shop, which was £1.50 per day and horribly dull. At some point, I worked in a bakery putting jam in donuts and rolling cream horns. I then got a job in a tobacconist, for an Austrian chap, selling cigarettes, lighter, tobacco, and tourist stuff like postcards and small gifts. That was £2 per day. The guy later ended up writing two books about his world travels - quite hair-raising - before dying of cancer. Then I went to a cafe and washed up for just 5 hours each Saturday, which was £2.50. One summer, my mum's creepy boyfriend got me a job writing out invoices at a garage for this Cypriot guy, 4 hours per day, when there was only about an hour's work, and he paid me £4 per day, and the time I wasn't working, all there was to do was read the porno mags in his drawer. Finally, he tried to get me drunk and I spilled Parfait Amour on my jeans. I don't think I went back after that. Finally I got a job in British Home Stores, which was fortunate, because they paid my Social Security before 1975, which meant I got to retire at 60. There was always stuff to buy cheap at the end of the day. I loved cutting cheese with the wire.
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At some point, I worked in a bakery putting jam in donuts and rolling cream horns.
I then got a job in a tobacconist, for an Austrian chap, selling cigarettes, lighter, tobacco, and tourist stuff like postcards and small gifts. That was £2 per day. The guy later ended up writing two books about his world travels - quite hair-raising - before dying of cancer.
Then I went to a cafe and washed up for just 5 hours each Saturday, which was £2.50.
One summer, my mum's creepy boyfriend got me a job writing out invoices at a garage for this Cypriot guy, 4 hours per day, when there was only about an hour's work, and he paid me £4 per day, and the time I wasn't working, all there was to do was read the porno mags in his drawer. Finally, he tried to get me drunk and I spilled Parfait Amour on my jeans. I don't think I went back after that.
Finally I got a job in British Home Stores, which was fortunate, because they paid my Social Security before 1975, which meant I got to retire at 60. There was always stuff to buy cheap at the end of the day. I loved cutting cheese with the wire.