You weren’t there man

Yesterday, as I donned my muffler and balaclava to brave the trip home, a colleague joked that I looked like a soldier in the SAS.

He wouldn’t have been laughing if he knew the dark truth.

I've seen things that would make your irises pale in horror. Ooh the stories I could tell if I wanted (but I don’t talk about it because I'm the strong silent type).

Although my days in the special forces are now far behind me, it got me thinking about the similarities between my former and current profession.

Sure, I did some terrible things for Queen and country. I murdered men with my bare hands. And killed a wild pig by jumping out of a tree and stabbing it with a spear whilst wearing a bandana. A bit like this.


But that’s nothing compared to the things I’ve done since.

Unspeakable acts that haunt me.

I guess we've all done jobs in the past we're not proud of. But I just can't seem to get them out of my head.

Often I wake in the night screaming “Only 34.9%APR” or “Head along to our showroom now for your last chance to get low low prices!!!!”

Mrs RMWLC is understandably worried about me. She’s tried to get me to talk about it but how could she understand? I never want her to know about the things I've done to keep a roof over our head.

Occasionally I still see some of my old comrades. Copywriters who did some jobs with me back in the day. Men with dead eyes. Men with consciences so seared, they’d write a leaflet selling North Korean arms to the Myanmar government in UV ink on heavily bleached un-recycled paper as soon as look at you.

We nod silently at one another. A nod that says ‘Ooh the stories we could tell if we wanted (but we don’t talk about it because we’re the strong silent type).”

Sometimes I kid myself there might be some redemption for me. That maybe if I could write enough ads for lost puppies or endangered monkeys I might atone for all the wrong I’ve done. But I know it’s pure fantasy.

I should go back to killing. At least I was fairly good at that.