Accountants have sex, dance and skydive.

Britain's Got Talent and Nobody Nobody.
As a finance professional, I was very upset to see the way that Britains Got Talent (BGT) contestant, Mr Nobody Nobody, was portrayed.

I have forgotten his name already (so have included a picture of an egg) but he was bald and sang and worked as an accountant. On BGT at that time, being an accountant was the worst job in the world.

Since Mr Nobody didn't have enough personal tragedy on his life to set to a Westlife ballad, they had to exagerate how desparately unhappy he would be if he had to go back to accountancy. This is shit. The stable office job would have offered Mr N a great opportunity to dabble in singing if that was his first love.

It is not a massive tragedy to be in a job that doesn't allow you to live your dream - it's just normal. Compared to the day jobs most of the losers on the show had, Mr N was pretty lucky, at least he didn't have to hawk himself round stinking clubs for beans like some of those contestants who were trying to live their 'dream', but who would never quite make it. What can they do if Simon gives the thumbs down?Nothing but fizzle out with no money and a broken dream. But Mr N, he's got something to fall back on, just like all our parents advised us to have.

(The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was making you think you needed his approval, when you already had the approval of Amanda and Peirs).

I really hope that Mr N was just playing the media game and that he realised that he was doing okay. Apart from all that, many finance jobs are quite interesting - honest.

Setting the Record Straight
Recently I had a chance to set the record straight about the potential excitingness of accountants, when I attended a seminar on Advanced Communication Skills - I know, I'm not doing much to turn the tide of opinion so far.

The train that got me there in good time was cancelled. The guy behind the ticket selling window was very unapologetic - but I didn't make a fuss as the next train would get me there just about on time.

After some confusion about where I had to change and which route was best to take, I eventually arrived with two minutes to grab a coffee before it started.

[yes I know, describing travel is not the most exciting thing either - but bear with me].

My colleague was there too, she had decided to take the same course, we didn't think we were too rubbish at communicating but this was 'advanced communication skills' which sounded interesting. [well considering we were getting paid, stay seated].

Because I was late, most of the other delegates had a chance to meet each other and were seated at round tables of four to six people. My friend and I sat at an empty table further away from the front.

The guy who showed us in seemed concerned that we were a bit of a small group, but we were about to start so he said perhaps we could each join a another group when the trainer started some group work.

This sounded like a good plan, we already knew each other and we'd get more out of this if we split up. I started scanning round for which group I would go to when the time came. [gripping stuff eh?]

Now I like talking to women about ten times more than talking to men. I used to silently object to this theory when my mother used to point it out when I was a teenager, but over the years I came to realise how very true it was. Mother knows best!

I don't know why I did object, perhaps I thought it could mean I was effeminate or some kind of cadish womaniser, but I suppose it was just a case of being told what you are, making you automatically wonder what you are not. In this case, I am not a 'man's man'. Come to think of it I probably would have felt more of an objection if I had been labelled a man's man.

Three tables were near enough for us to join without looking weird, there were two groups of six and one with four people.

The table of four was the obvious choice but they were all men. I didn't want to join them for that reason alone. The other tables were mixed, which was better, but were already quite full.

I justified in my mind that my friend would have to go on 'blokey' table because (A) she was nearer to it, by two foot and (B) it would make that one a more 'diverse' group.

A little way into the first session a woman came in late and joined our table, I immediately scrapped the table hopping plan, how could we leave her on a table on her own? That would just be weird now.

The first group discussions happened, we were supposed to be thinking of an example of how we could have used language better in our work, or home life using what we had learned.

The trainer went round the tables with people feeding back interesting and varied examples from retail, manufacturing and the dinner tables of life. Until the spokesman for 'blokey' table shared that their group had realised that all four of them were accounants and had got sidetracked into reminising about the day they cracked double entry book keeping!

I overheard someone from another table mutter "I'm glad I wasn't on that table" and I could take it no more. I had to save the reputation of the accounting profession.

I promptly stood up on my table and got my cock out and sang Maria. But not the sappy West Side Story Maria that Mr N had chosen, I went for Blondie's Maria. It's hard to see what else I could have done, although perhaps in hindsight I should have mentioned that I too was an accountant. I was just too embarassed to admit it.

So if you ever find yourself thinking accountancy is boring, just try to picture me up on that table, swinging my mic around and around.

And smile at your accountants, they want to have sex, dance and skydive too. And when you're not looking they do.