[Sparkologist]

I used to work in the butchers shop at the end of Cromwell Avenue, next to Moorhead School. I normally worked a couple of hours most evenings of the week, and on Saturday mornings, when I should have been revising for my O-levels.

The job involved scrubbing the wooden and synthetic chopping boards, as well as the stainless steel display counter trays. I wasn't allowed to cut or serve the meat because I hadn't been on the appropriate health and safety course. The majority of my job was just general cleaning duties.

One Saturday morning, I went to the abbatoirs in Gt. Harwood. It was like walking through the film set of a John Carpenter horror movie, going into the cold store, where all the offal and entrails were hung. But if God didn't want us to eat animals, He wouldn't have made them taste so good, would he???

The pay was about 70p per hour, which was a pittance really. This shortfall was made up by choice cuts of meat at knockdown prices, usually on a Friday or Saturday. Another perk was as many free bones as Mark I, my first Cocker Spaniel could eat. Once, I picked up a ham shank bone by mistake, (very salty). The dog chewed the bone all Saturday afternoon, quenched a raging thirst all Saturday evening and proceeded to sh*t and p*ss all over the kitchen floor during Saturday night. Oops! Needless to say, a major b*llocking ensued from my Old Dear.

I was offered a YTS placement as a slave at the shop, but chose to be a wannabe lecky instead. Here I am now; slaving away, but seeing the world at someone elses expense.