Keir Royale

Ben has a new career path in mind.

He’s been through policeman, spy and footballer already. But now he has another plan.

It was prompted by some news I told him today. One of his friends has landed a lead role in a TV drama.

“A big part?” asks Ben.

“Yes, one of the main parts.” I reply, and watch his mind whirring.

“I want to be a model,” he announces, “My face is beautiful and I’ve got lovely big eyes. It’s just my hair I’m worried about.”

Well, what does a mother say?

Of course I think he’s beautiful, but I would, wouldn’t I?
And normally it’s me saying he looks lovely while he scowls at me and moans -
“You’re my Mum, you’re going to say that aren’t you. It doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Perhaps the lovely Sandra has been complimenting him on his looks.
He’d believe her over me any day.

I point out to him the difficulty of working as a model when we live on an island, a flight away from what I assume to be the centre of the modelling world.

I stop short of scuppering his ambition by listing the many ways in which his temperament militates against any kind of work which involves patience, stillness and - most importantly - trying on clothes.

I fear this last issue is the main sticking point.

He will sit still when he’s reading, and he can be patient with small children and guinea pigs.
But he will not try on clothes.

I think he imagines modelling to be one, big, happy Boden catalogue kind of life - with lots of jumping on beaches and striding across sand dunes.

I’m hoping this modelling idea will go the way of fencing, tennis and French Club - to be replaced by the career equivalent of his current passions - football, cricket and Sandra.

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