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Between the hi-vis workwear, daily interactions with the public and 5.45am starts, he has a lot to deal with. And then there are his colleague’s pickled eggs
When you have a baby in the UK you get a “red book” personal health record, charting your new arrival’s progress from angry naked mole rat to alarmingly mobile destroyer of worlds. There are pages for developmental milestones: first smile, crawling, babbling. My sons’ grimy versions were mainly used as coasters: I fixated more on milestones such as “first day without inconsolable crying” (me). Eventually consigned to a drawer, they are only unearthed to check vaccination records. Now, though, the boys are 18 and 16, disappearing from me as fast as the pandemic will allow, and I find myself noting milestones, finally.
My elder son, taking a break before university, at last has a job: he’s working as a Covid tester, 2020’s only growth area. It’s a strange new world for him, of hi-vis workwear, daily interactions with the anxious, stroppy public and 5.45am starts. It has brought its own set of firsts. This month alone he has been introduced to both “overtime” (good) and “deduction of tax at source” (a cruel blow). We even recently shared a bonding moment on “Baby’s first HMRC helpline call” as he tried to get a national insurance number. There’s no red book page for this, sadly. Continue reading...