Ever in tune with the increasingly paranoid nature of life in Britain, I’ve been listing the ways I could be discriminated against should I ever again attend a job interview.
There are precedents galore and I’ll certainly be well armed when the ‘thanks but no thanks’ letter drops on the door mat.
Firstly, I’ll scrutinise the missive for a hint of ageism. I’m coming up for 64 now, and any investment in training is bound to be regarded as hopeful at best and hopeless at worst.
Did the interviewer display heightist tendencies?
Potential employers are certain to be wary of the ergonomic threat posed by a creaking 6ft 4ins frame being hunched over a desk for eight hours.
Was I an innocent victim of nameism?
The fact is, nobody has been able to take my Christian name seriously since The Chicken Song was first performed on Spitting Image all those years ago.
‘Paint your left knee green and extract your wisdom teeth,
‘Form a string quartet and pretend your name is Keith.’
There’s always a chance, of course, that I’ve been subjected to rampant birthrightism.
As soon as people know you were born on the Isle of Wight, they immediately study the bridge of your nose to see whether your eyebrows join, before subconsciously beginning to whistle Duelling Banjos.
However, having run out of all viable alternatives I may have to concede I didn’t get the job because it went to someone more worthy.
And who knows, Anna Ford may one day reach this obvious conclusion rather than wittering on interminably about how advancing years brought a premature end to her career on television.
She has always been reluctant to accept she never had much going for her other than a pretty face and a dark, velvety voice some men found mesmerising.
She got her chance of real journalism during a stint on the Today programme – and was hopelessly out of her depth.
She is no Joan Bakewell, Sue MacGregor or even Jenni Murray – so I wish she would just get over it and give us all a break.