Granny’s Garden

I owe my ‘career’ to an educational adventure videogame from the 1980s. I wish I could say that I was motivated by a fervent desire to solve the world energy crisis (was there even a crisis in 1988?) or to improve the lives of others, or that I inherited my Dad’s work ethic or my Mum’s conscientiousness – but no, I pushed myself through school so that I could beat all the other kids to the class computer, and the habit stuck.

This all began back in Mrs Prentice’s class with Granny’s Garden. I would rush through my comprehension exercises and maths workbooks so that I could be the first to get onto the BBC computer and hear the sweet sweet sounds of the folksy theme tune. I don’t think I ever managed to rescue any of the royal children (Esther, Tom, Clare, Anna, Jessica, and Daniel) – although I do believe I’ve now found the names for the next generation of Joneses.

In addition to good grades, I owe the following things to Granny’s Garden:

• an abiding love of videogames
• several big friendships – Stayte and I have lost hours of our lives playing through Jurassic Park on the SNES, defeated time-after-time not by crazed velociraptors hiding in darkened generator rooms, but by shonky game glitches.
• resourcefulness and perseverance
• elements of my vocabulary – particularly playing through Toejam and Earl with my sisters.
• a general desensitisation to violence
• a fondness for the <SPACEBAR>

Digital Vision

Whilst waiting for our two-hour session on the Archaeology of Egypt to begin, one Thursday morning in Autumn 2001, one of the more mature students on our course uttered the line all near-skint second years want to hear: “girls, I’ve got some work for you, if you want it.” Before I could fully rationalise selling my sparkling company and/or body (aforementioned student had hinted at an escorting history), he continued:  ”for a royalty free image publisher in London Bridge, £9 an hour, a few mornings or afternoons a week.” Woohoo. We had hit the money without having to jeopardise our studies (ahem) and I was one step closer to living out my Scrooge McDuck fantasy.

The company was located just south of Tower Bridge and I caught the bus (149) from outside my flat on Kingsland High Street straight to London Bridge and then walked through the wharves  to the office.  In addition to supplementing my student loan, the opportunity was also my first foray into the world of the London urban professionalerati. Everything in the office was chrome and there were flat screen TVs everywhere. Ahh, good old 2001, when the 2010 East London Line Extension seemed a lifetime away and the cathode ray tube was king.

We spent our time updating the company’s client database with one ear on the sales team’s clumsy, anti-charismatic patter (had The Office been created at this point, we would most certainly have put on our best Brent impressions, at a volume just loud enough to be impolite). After about six months things started to change. The role gradually shifted from ‘updating the client list’ to ‘cold calling everyone in the industry’; the sales reps grew yet more desperate in their pleas, our motivation waned and we took the opportunity to use the 192.com business account to find out contact details of exes, potential boyfriends and new girlfriends. A summer back at Bomfords beckoned.