Linked-In

Are you on Linked-In?  

I sort of got sucked into it when it was quite new and sometimes when I’ve got a few spare minutes I go into it and click ‘connect’ to all the people whose names I remember from back in the day when I had a life job.

It’s quite satisfying – seeing their names and grand job titles makes me reminisce about all the people I used to meet in those days. I now have 177 connections. To me, that’s 177 people out there who remember me from my glory days the time before nappies and school runs took over.

But the irksome thing about Linked-In is that real professionals actually use it for work purposes. For them it’s not about sitting back with a glass of Chardonnay and remembering names from a bygone era.

Get this: They actually use it to network.

I know this because people I don’t know keep reading my profile and offering me jobs. Some full-time jobs, some tasty little freelance jobs, some short-term projects.

And, because I’m such a sad case these days, I get all flattered and think I should say yes, just because someone recognises that I have skills that extend beyond singing lullabies at 4am and cooking nut-free, child-friendly, vegetarian suppers for six children at a time while drinking an entire bottle of white wine without them noticing.

It’s taking me a while to stop replying to these messages with the enthusiasm of Tigger on acid; to sit back and ask myself: Do I really want this job?  What will it add to my life? Stress? Aggro? Prestige? A shed load of cash for handbags?

Perhaps updating my profile might attract the type of job I’d be more interested in these days:

“Ex-publishing professional with delusions about writing a novel. Skills include writing witty one-liners on Twitter, choosing handbags, drinking wine before sunset, critiquing Balinese back massages, eating out and sunbathing by turquoise swimming pools.”

Yep. That should do the trick.

Me? Work? Surely Not!

Every now and then, someone tries to drag me out of my semi-retirement with a tempting offer of a bit of, usually lucrative, work.  I’m always deeply flattered and want to say yes at once, then I slip back into my comfort zone and start thinking things like, ‘I can’t do that. I haven’t got time. I’m out of practice. I’m far too busy. I’ve got carrots to purée, meals to cook, children to look after, coffee to drink. I’ve got nothing to wear.’

What I have to force myself to think is: would I really like to do it? All things being equal – if I had no carrots to purée, no school runs to worry about, a lovely work suit, enough time? Would I want to do it then?

The answer is still usually no, as I’m generally quite lazy and believe in keeping my life as simple as possible. Sometimes I wonder if I truly am as miserable being a Housewife as I like to think I am because every time a career lifeline is thrown to me, I quake with fear and run in the opposite direction.

Anyway, I haven’t been offered a job out of the blue for ages. I was beginning to think I’d managed to slip nicely into my retirement and could spend the rest of my days drinking cappuccinos with the girls, choosing diamond earrings and wondering which gas-guzzler to spend DH’s salary on next. But today it all went wrong.

First, a call asking if I’d be interested in giving a presentation to a group of middle-management types. Public speaking is one of my biggest terrors, though I’m sure my coffee-morning girls would feel I was up to the challenge given how they’re often subjected to lectures from me. Anyhow, I was still quaking in my sling-backs at the thought of talking to ‘real’ hard-nosed career people when the phone rang again. It was a PR firm, asking me to write some copy for a client by next week.

It never rains, but it pours. So what will I be doing next week? Puréeing carrots, of course. And maybe some chicken. Viva La Housewife.