What job do I do?

Part of the reason that I occasionally get mistaken for something terribly exotic - like a spy, or an escaped convict, or an eccentric, down-dressing millionaire - is that I am always determinedly evasive about discussing my employment.

I've never found myself in a job where I felt really at home, where I said to myself, "This is me." And perhaps I am never likely to find one. I am not one of those people who feel themselves defined primarily or solely by their work. Perhaps I am more defined by my avoidance of work. Not that I am lazy: I like to be busy, I like to work hard - but never for too long at the same thing. I have always been deeply sceptical of conventional 'career paths'. I prefer to dodge full-time or long-term employment, and if I do find myself doing the same kind of thing in the same place for more than a year or two I start to itch for a change of scene.

When challenged about my job at cocktail parties, I sometimes like to say that I am a beachcomber. Not literally, but metaphorically. I walk the lonely strand beside our turbid ocean of culture, and occasionally, very occasionally I happen on something I feel I might be able to fashion into something beautiful or useful - or just sell on to make a quick buck.

A collector of shiny things, that's me.