Child LabourThere is a special part of Hell I'd like to reserve for those arses that order every single Sunday paper. Do you know how heavy that makes the bundle of papers some poor kid (ie me) has to lug around? Funny how your papers always seemed to get mangled in your letterbox...
I loved my paper round, but, looking back, I was getting paid peanuts to ruin my back and cycle around in the cold and dark. How were you exploited as a child?
(
chthonic, Fri 17 Feb 2006, 12:05)
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Down on the farmIt took many years to dawn on me that my family actually owned the hundred-year-old farm with a healthy rat population, and therefore that we were actually middle class. Nevertheless, I have fond memories of being six years old, walking up and down long ploughed fields of something or other, plunging my bare hands into bags of soft, multi-pastel-coloured superphosphate to strew it daintily along each row.
I wonder if it's in any way related to my being severely fucked in the head?
(, Sat 18 Feb 2006, 6:22, Reply)
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