Words like get or racket with their piglet-style tails, or yell and yam and Yale with their resemblance to mutant tadpoles. Still, I remember fondly the sweeps and curves and wriggles of Gregg shorthand as we practiced giving shape to language. My secretarial prospects, unfortunately, were not much better, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the tiny, fierce woman tasked with teaching us.
The talk was of little interest to me, perhaps because my modeling prospects were precisely zero. I have a hazy recollection of being instructed in how to walk properly, and of someone who ran a modeling agency coming to talk to us. It was a course of a kind that I suspect no longer exists, with bookkeeping exercises involving sheets of carbon paper, classes in shorthand, typing learned on manual typewriters. In the summer of 1986, I finished secondary school, and that autumn I enrolled in a secretarial course in Cork City.
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