SELLING YOUR SOUL - WORKING FOR THE RICH AND FAMOUS

Having sent much of my adult life in to what to all intents and purposes has been domestic service, I read with interest recent press articles about the tiff between Lady Gaga and her PA, over what might seem to some to be her appalling terms and conditions. It pains me to say this, but my sympathies lie with Lady Gaga, although that is not to say that she has behaved well at all. Paid the princely sum of £1000 a week, her PA is likely to have applied for the job in order to be able to brag about working for the rich and famous, and in the hope of enjoying the trappings of their fame; the hotel rooms and first class travel. Speaking from personal experience, that's the price you pay, take it or leave it. Whereas in the past it would have been the landed gentry that ruled the roost, lording it over their domestic servants, nowadays it is the pop celebs .and Russian yacht owners that call the shots. They often pay a lot, for which you sell your soul. They want what they want, when they want it. In my time I have worked for a fair smattering of the rich and famous, many of them tyrants. I can recall one ambassador, dining alone with his wife, who rang the dining room bell to have his napkin retrieved when he had dropped it on the floor, and hit the roof when I had the temerity to ask for a weekend off, after over a year in his service. Yet another used to take the tips left by guests for the staff. I have also worked for a prominent industrialist, who on meeting me at the airport with my air ticket said 'If you are asked, just say you are going on holiday.' The same one who sent a letter to all of his staff to say that under no circumstances was I to be called Linda, I was to be referred to only as 'cook', and when I handed in my notice after only 12 weeks (a long time in his service as I later found out), sent round the 'heavies' to try to obtain my passport to prevent me leaving the country. I have had to run their baths, and stand at the foot of the bed each morning to discuss the day's menus, but only after having walked round the outside of the building, come rain or shine, to get there, as the carpet pile had to be brushed a certain way and no-one was allowed to set foot on it until after they had arisen. Up in Shropshire, where during a short stint as housekeeper, the old Etonian I worked for chased me around the bed each day. There must be a book in there somewhere. On the other side, I've worked for some of the most wonderful kind and considerate people, who treat their staff with respect. I leave you with a lesson for all of the others; never mess with the person preparing your food. Beef and heart flavour Whiskas makes a very good bolognese sauce.