CASUAL LABOUR
I paused and looked down closely at the bowl of gooseberries, before pouring on the cream.They looked like fat little striped footballs about to split and explode. Or maybe short bulbous, hairy, zeppelins. Curious. Fancy eating HAIRY things. Come to think of it, I suppose most fruit is hairy if you look close enough at it. So are people. I gazed at the back of my hand holding the jug. My wife hates gooseberries. I wasn't so sure I liked them anymore.
The rain slashed against the window panes as the wind bent over our one little tree in the tiny garden. I poured on the cream, burying their hairy greenness under a thick white mantle. Summer's gone, I thought. Slowly I exhumed one and put it in my mouth - funny you can't taste the hairs - and then chewed. The sudden release of bright sparkling acid cleansed away the sticky taste of cream.
Summer. It had been hot for weeks. People complained. The streets were dry, littered and dusty. "Can't stand this heat," they'd say, "terrible for old folk. Wish it would rain, clean the streets down, cool us off a bit. Just for a night.. .Going on holiday next week. Hope the weather lasts!"
You could tell who was out of work. We had all turned into brown people, a different race, a race apart. The lines at the dole office looked more like a queue for customs at the airport, except no-one held on to a silly stuffed donkey or wore a big straw hat. Or clutched bottles of duty-free to console themselves with.
It's nice lounging in the sun in the back garden day after day. The rich do it with cocktails. I wondered if they ever got bored. Someone said to me you can get bored with anything, even being pissed in the afternoon, especially if it doesn't bring the money in. The rich can get pissed AND earn money.
"Here you are," said Jenny, "solved your problem for a day or two anyway. How would you like to be out in the sun all day and get paid for it?" Some times I think she is one of the chrysalids. She held up the evening paper, finger below an advert in the part-time column.
" Raspberry pickers wanted urgently. Several days work. No phone calls. Woodley Farm, Knutsford. I should take a butty-box. Will sandwiches and a scotch egg do?" I nodded. Fait accompli. "I should start early, it's a fair way to Knutsford isn't it?" she said.
The day dawned bright and clear, no sign of rain, and promising a scorching hot afternoon. Half-past eight found me wandering down a leafy country lane, singing to myself, bag over my shoulder. The farm was easy to find, there were signs all the way from the village: 'Come and pick your own fruit or buy it cheap at our shop!' I turned into a cobbled courtyard and joined a short queue of lads. One of them looked over and nodded towards me. Nobody spoke. I took a lead from this and nodded back but kept quiet, concentrating my attention on the old farm buildings, the cobblestones, and eventually the lads themselves. Students, I thought, just as I imagined a lot would be, probably out to make some beer money during the vacation. Some more people arrived and tagged on behind me. Three more boys and a girl. Two of them, judging from their whispered conversation, were geography students. I wondered what sort of a job you could get with a degree in geography.
Then a small curly-haired woman arrived, together with two girls. One was obviously her daughter. They lit cigarettes and started to chatter and giggle. Unlike the students, who all wore shorts, tee-shirts and stout boots or shoes, the girls were dressed to go to town. One wore a tight fitting outfit with black tights and high heels. The other, who was dark-haired and pretty, wore a kind of school uniform, mini-length, from beneath which sprouted amazing flounced petticoat trousers down to her calves. She balanced on thin high heeled- shoes. They continued to giggle and eyed up the boys in front of me.
The line grew and began to sprawl around the courtyard, becoming noisier with each new addition. I found myself facing a man with a strabismus. I tried not to stare at him too obviously and wondered if he saw two of everything to our one, or just somehow switched the odd eye off. He looked as if he hadn't washed or shaved for a couple of weeks. With him was a boy who was fatter and taller, but obviously related.The boy kept sweeping back lank, greasy hair and grinning inanely at nothing in particular.
