I

got this job, place out in Rickmansworth. Don’t suppose you’ll’ve heard of it. Anyway, the job, strange enough job, I’ll give you that, propping up this edifice. Not how I saw my life when I was younger, be the first to say that, but you know, you grow up, you go to school, you read the paper, you go down the pub, maybe you get married, then, one day, more or less without knowing it, without seeing any of the traffic signs, as it were, along the way, there you are, propping up the edifice. What can you do? And, it’s not a bad line of work, all things considered. Tell you that for free.

You come in at 9.30. Wouldn’t be a bad thing if you turned up 9, but no one’s going to jump on you if you’re there for 9.25. Wednesday to Sunday thing: Turn on the lights, have a look around for dust, rubbish, stray bits of string, that sort of thing, somebody’s forgotten coffee cup, that sort of thing, if there’s nothing about, or if it’s been dealt with by the others, it’s show time, ace. There’s the edifice, over in the far corner of the space; you go over and you just get on with it.

Not bad for co-workers either. I mean, you get all kinds, like anywhere, I suppose. Fair bit of turnover, but all in all a good group of faces. Had a fella in here a few months back, Taro Aso was his name. Shortish, little extra round the waist, not the snappiest dresser, but had a nice pair of loafers I always meant to ask him about. Never quite got round to it though. Anyway, used to be Prime Minister of Japan, apparently. I don’t know anything about it. But still, there you go, you just never know. Say this for him, PM of Japan or no PM of Japan, he just got on about his work like the rest of us. Friendly, not overly chatty, but you don’t really want those types to be honest, you’re in there until 6, and when you’ve got one of these blokes who wants to chew your ear off all day long, well, 6 can’t come soon enough. But that’s not Taro. He just got on with it. Won’t hear a word said against him in the edifice propping game. As for politics, well, I don’t do politics.

How did I get started you might ask, well, funny thing that. Can’t rightly say I applied. I was between jobs, at the time; happened to everyone I knew about that time. The economy, the bankers, Northern Rock, and all that. Madness. So, I’m keeping my ears and eyes out for anything that comes up, helping out around the house, me folks and that, helping the old man with his computer. He’s not one for taking orders though. Did a bit of dog walking, some painting, fixed a gutter—more or less—once, too, not that I know anything about gutters, but you learn what you need to learn.

Anyway, whilst all this is going on, I’m signed on. One day, went down the Jobcentre, fella they’ve got me talking to says to me “They’ve got a job on the go out in Rickmansworth. Work strikes me as something you’d be suited for.” I had a look at the specs. He wasn’t wrong. Took the details. Went down to see what it was all about. Unassuming place from the outside, not unlike, maybe an auto showroom, or, whatchamacallit, a hotel lobby? Foyer that’s it. Something in that way. Bit sterile, but clean; not inviting exactly, but nothing that would put you off. Kind of place to visit I suppose; not homey. Nice though. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea. Not some dingy place, not by a long chalk. Anyway, young fella greets me as I come in. Very well-educated, you can tell. Suits some, not others so much. Anyway, he runs the place. Wouldn’t say a day over thirty-three. Well dressed chap. Works hard himself, always in the office, I see him with the spreadsheets and smartphoning and all that. Nothing I get mixed up with, mind you. I’m out there on the floor, always been my way, hands on, but you see him at it, behind the glass to his office. I’m sure I’d listen more carefully to him if I genuinely had an interest. Anyway, I come in, this chap, James is his name, shakes my hand. I tell him I’m here about the job. He looks me over and nods in the direction of the edifice.

“There, she is,” he says, smiling a bit, kind of like it’s his edifice, like maybe he’s made it himself, which, if I understand correctly, isn’t the case, but that’s not the point. Anyway, “What do you make of it,” he says. I gave it a look over. Two other blokes were propping it up at the time. One of them gives me a nod. I shoot him one back. Other fellow just stares straight ahead. James says to me, don’t mind that, he’s just “in The Zone”. Apparently it happens a lot. Had some college kids working a few months back, composed most of their papers that way, just in The Zone, propping up the edifice; In their brains, they’re working on their biology or their architecture or their Moby Dick or whatever. Amazing. Anyway, I had a little toddle round the thing. Sizeable. Nice edifice really, all in all. Certainly wanted propping up. Clearly he knows his business. Two blokes on it, they’re doing fine, they’d have the old girl up all day no problem, but you add another pair of hands and even though it doesn’t really change the weight distribution, there’s a greater sense of security. Somebody might call it redundancy, but that’s not how I see it, because the psychological effect is real, you know? Makes a difference. And so I say to him, James, that is, “This is a steady thing is it?”

He looks a bit confused, says, “Well, no that’s the whole point.” Then he clocks it, “Oh, you mean the job,” he says, “That’s quite steady, indeed. As steady as you’d like it to be. You can start today if you’d like.”

And, so I got started that day. Filled out some paperwork before I went home and bish, bash, bosh. Edifice, here I come! Settled in with the blokes, Reg and Johnny, were their names. Johnny’s gone now, not sure where he went to, but he was before Taro. I’m sure that one’s up to something.

Thinking about it, I suppose it is true, some funny things do go through your head while you’re out there propping up the edifice, like, for instance, the other day it comes to me that they could really just build some trusses or buttresses or something, wouldn’t be hard, prop the old girl up. Maybe reinforce it from below, good stick of rebar or something like that in there, wouldn’t need three blokes standing there all day propping her up. Thought about saying something to James, I got a cousin in building, see. He’d sort it out, piece of piss, eh? But then I thought about it a little more. My next break wasn’t for another twenty, and I’m glad it wasn’t. Might just be thinking myself out of a job, I said to meself. So ixnay on the uttressbay. Put it to rest. Well, I say that, but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone even after my break. So, I ask the bloke next to me, name’s Quinn, good fella, Quinn, likes a flutter, really into his music, does a Genesis tribute act at weekends. I say to Quinn, “Hey, mate, might be a little odd, but I have to ask you why’s he got us here after all? Why don’t they just make the bloody thing stable once and for all, maybe with ties or wires or something? I mean it’s not exactly the Tower of Pisa, is it?”

Quinn shakes his head, bit of an eye-roll I detected, as well. Says to me of course! Of course they bloody could! You think that they ain’t thought of that one already? Sitting in that office all day, staring at this edifice out here, at us? You think that hasn’t passed through your boy James’ noodle? Probably thought about it the first day. No, mate, absolutely no question about it. They want us here, propping up the edifice. You can bet your last penny on that. Yeah, I say, of course, I get that bit, but why?

Quinn, I can see him now, plucking his bass in his band, next to the fellow that plays Peter Gabriel. Same expression—half laughing, half grumpy,- he turns to me and says, look mate, you’ll go crazy thinking like that. Save yourself a heart attack, and save me a headache or two, why don’t you? And you know what? I’d guess, long term, he’s bang on. If it ain’t broke, and all that, or if it ain’t stable I guess. That was the end of it. Nobody’s brought it up since.

The edifice? I suppose you’re right, it is kind of important. Well, you know, truth to tell, I don’t think about it much. Could forget it was even there, to be honest, after a few hours of it. You don’t know how it is until you’ve done it, but, hand to God, I’m thinking about it and I can’t tell you a damn thing. Let’s see, searching my memory banks, here, okay? I’d say off-white, kind of an egg-shell colour. Yeah, that’s about right. Suppose there are some grey bits around the top and bottom, kind of where it goes out like such, not really a pattern, per se, but just kind of some nicks and discolourations and stuff. Might be quite old. Might be. Never really enquired. Hard to know if it’s valuable; suppose it is to someone. Why was it built? Beats me. That’s another one of those questions, drives you mad if you think about it: is it religious, or art, or maybe some kind of old ruin or something? I guess I think about it this way: the whole thing, it’s not really about the edifice itself. It’s just a matter of getting on with it, isn’t it? But, since you ask, would I rather be propping up another edifice, a different one? Like, say, maybe one in my favourite colour, like a good blue, a nice navy blue edifice that was kind of in a more regular cylindrical shape? Can’t say as it’s really been the kind of thing that’s exercised me, but, now that we’re talking about it, I’ll have a think. You know what? I think probably not. You know how it is, mate, careful what you wish for, innit? Could end up with one of those bad paint jobs, or, heaven help us, something with a bloody screen and lights and beeps and bleeps and all that rubbish. No thank you. Give me the good old edifice any day of the week. Well, most any day. I do like me weekend.

I know where you’re coming from, all these questions and that. I can imagine it, a lot of young people out there reading this, they might be thinking, “Propping up an edifice? All day? Are you kidding me? What would they say on bloody Twitter of Snapshite, or whatever?” Well, you say that, but think about it this way, the edifice is just there. It’s not hurting anybody, not least because we’re propping it up. Puts food on the table, for me, and Quinn, and Wladimir, that’s the new guy at the moment, just moved to London, from a place called WOOGE. Nice bloke. English not so strong, but hard working, can’t fault that, I suppose for James, too, come to think of it. The Public comes by now and again. I mean, granted, Rickmansworth ain’t exactly Mayfair, but you get people, sometimes, and they chat to you a bit. And I’m a friendly guy, I don’t bother with the “the Zone” business all that much, so I say hello, tell ‘em what I know, like I’m telling you now. In other words, not much, eh? But they’re grateful, they really are. Sometimes it’s boring, but every job is after a while, and the nice thing is you don’t ever have to take it home with you. 6 o’clock comes, you roll it off so that it’s nicely wedged against the wall in the corner. You take off the little white gloves they give you—they give you little white gloves, forgot to mention that—You turn off the lights when it’s your turn. Lock up when you’ve got the keys, and you’re off, into the wild blue yonder. What more can you ask for? I mean, I don’t know how many jobs like this there are, and I’m not retiring any time soon, but if you can find one, you should think about it. Decent work.