What do you want to be if you grow up?

"Are you sure that's what you want to be when you
grow up?" "Yep. Definitely taller, you chilly torrent
of dribble."

When I was a child and knew everything, there was one question that would always leave me stumped. It was a fairly innocuous question usually asked by adults who were either making conversation or trying to get some perspective on a piece of some particularly bad behaviour. What do you want to be when you grow up? I could only offer a facetious retort that I either wanted to be taller or older because I had no idea what the answer actually was. As an eight year old this was of least concern. At seventeen and contemplating my final year at school before going out to work, this became quite concerning. I tried to do subjects that would be useful whatever I ended up doing like maths with statistics and biology but my heart wasn't in them and my complete lack of interest led to ignominious failure. My mother wasn't angry, although she had every right to be as a concerned parent, but I could tell she was disappointed. I did rather well at English and Geography (note that they have been capitalised and maths and biology haven't) but they weren't enough to get me into university, thank God because if I had gone to university at 18 I would have wasted my time and someone else's money. 

The author in dress uniform at 
Government House Feb 2002, ready 
to guard the Queen. I'm sure she felt 
much safer for it.

School ended and I mooched. I lent a hand around the orchard sometimes, I played a bit of rugby but doing bugger all was my stock in trade. Eventually fate, guided by my mother who was a careers advisor at the local school, intervened. She decided that I was going to join the armed forces and while she didn't care which one as long as they would have me, my brothers both declared that if I joined the Navy they would leave. I can happily report that both brothers are still career naval officers and have done well for themselves to our family's enduring pride. It just so happened that the Army recruiter arrived in Cheviot first and so after hitting a speed bump in the form of ballsing up an officer selection board, I wound up in Waiouru as a Sapper, Royal New Zealand Engineers where I was to remain occupied amid this august group for five and a half years. I picked up some valuable skills, got into some minor trouble, got out of minor trouble and gained a black belt in drinking. I got to play with things that went bang and things that went boom and I particularly enjoyed doing anything with maps. However, I knew all along that I wasn't the best fit for a military career and that my sub-conscious had been steering me away from doing something that I didn't enjoy for quite some time. Fate crept up behind me with a metaphorical piece of lead piping splitting a disc in my spine so I was medically discharged never to return (although for my sins, I did consider going back in a different role later). 

I won't go through my entire employment history, but since exiting the Army I have engaged in a number of jobs, studied for a couple of qualifications, picked up some age-related wisdom and drawn a few conclusions: I don't want to be a lawyer; I don't want to be a barman; I do want to drink beer semi-professionally; I am happy when I am writing humorous nonsense; I will suffer regular business hours but am over working nights and weekends; and you can stick teaching up your arse - there's absolutely no way I'm doing that. For all my conclusions I am left with the original question of what occupation to enter. I suppose I have hitherto undertaken a path of determining my ideal job by process of elimination but sooner or later this has to end - Attila the Wife understandably wants some certainty and so do I. So what do I want to do if I grow up? My immediate facetious answer has changed to becoming a midget pornographer but I still have little idea of what I want to do for a job. So troops, any recommendations?