At interviews I feel like I'm an actor,
Who knows his lines but gets on stage and dries,
And panics, and forgets his actor's training,
And makes things worse by trying to improvise.
At one, when I was asked for an achievement,
I blurted out that I had raised a squab.
A perfect answer for a veterinarian,
But this was for a senior office job.
I treat them now as sort of wee adventures.
I get to see a different part of town.
I learn a bit about a new vocation.
And when I get back home I write them down.
And then it seems like less of a disaster,
'Cos something which had left me feeling pained
Can make me laugh so hard I pull a muscle.
A case of nothing ventured, nothing strained.
squab: a young unfledged pigeon