THE lowest point of my working life was when, newly armed with my BA Honours degree in English Literature, I attempted to sell life insurance on the streets of Coventry.

It was 1983, we were in a recession, and after writing to about 100 newspapers for a job in journalism to be told they weren't recruiting - I was desperate to find work.

I passed the "interview" with flying colours by pretending to sell the boss a biro - and then I was let loose on the public.

It didn't matter that I was no expert in what to do with your hard earned cash. As the boss said, the definition of expert was: "X is a has-been and a spurt is a drip under pressure!"

I naively moved in with a fellow worker to discover the house had no carpets, no curtains, no bathroom and no running water. But there were plenty of mice happy to make themselves at home.

The working day began with us all standing on the desk with the telephone in our hands, grinning down the mouth piece and going "mmmmmmmm" for about five minutes ("to get pos" - or positive). We then proceeded to cold-call people.

We would later go into the shopping centre and try to charm people into coming back to the office for a coffee and a hard sell.

There were rewards and punishments depending on how many leads you got. Now, I like to think I have a good sense of humour but the day we all had to stand in a circle with our eyes shut for me to have a custard pie pushed in my face and all over my new suit was the last straw!

Other eye-opening means of employment followed on my two-year quest to get a foot in the door of journalism.

I worked in a hospice for terminally ill cancer patients, I worked on a holiday camp serving endless pints at a bar six deep as The Birdie Song droned on, I worked selling fruit and veg in Harrods, book club membership, jewellery, pizzas and cappuccinos.

On the glorious day the editor of the Derby Trader offered me a job as a trainee reporter at £50 a week it felt as if all my Christmases had come at once - even though I could barely afford to eat and pay the rent.

But my salary was soon doubled and I achieved my ambition of becoming a reporter after being sent on a post-graduate block release journalism course.

The reason for such reminiscing is my 16-year-old son is currently revising for his GCSEs and looking ahead to A-level and degree courses, and my 14-year-old son has just chosen his options for what he will study at GCSE.

The best advice I have been able to give them is "do what you enjoy" because you are most probably going to spend a good deal of your life doing something related to it.

Working for the Echo for almost 19 years I have been very lucky. Just some of the highlights have included: learning to charleston, salsa, tap and belly dance; do aerial ice skating with the Russian ice stars, be a knife-thrower's assistant in the circus (narrowly missing decapitation) and flying a helicopter after a couple of hours' tuition.

Meeting renowned magicians The Twins I've been levitated outside Corfe Castle and cut in half at Boscombe Pier.

I've been on a Sunseeker with Peter Andre, eaten hot cross buns with Ken Dodd, and had Jim Davidson teach me how to use chopsticks.

I've interviewed all my teenage idols: David Cassidy, Donny Osmond, The Bay City Rollers and, best of all, David Essex. In fact I've met everyone from Cliff Richard and Paul McCartney to The Krankies, Sooty, and Keith Harris and Orville.

As I write I have just agreed to play a courtesan in La Traviata with Ellen Kent Opera at the Pavilion - all in the course of duty and a good story.

Now, with all this talk about the credit crunch, house prices falling and inflation rising, do you think you could trust the likes of me with your life insurance?