It's happened again. The widening of the eyes to egg-like proportions, the wrinkling of the forehead, the eyebrows that look as if they want to leap off the head they belong to. When I meet people this is a common reaction, usually followed by "Sorry, you're a what?!" The nostrils begin to flare and the mouth becomes an awkward rictus, like Cherie Blair realising Tony's let one go whilst shaking the Queen's hand. I sigh.

"Yes you heard correctly – I'm a semen agent. I sell semen….from stallions…..not people". I smile, but they are not comforted. I continue;
"There's a huge global market out there, for sport horses, and I only sell the semen and ship it, I don't…." I stumble, tailing off, the implication of what I (thankfully) don't do hangs in the air. I indulge in a miniature flashback to the day I told my mates about my change of career after a few beers. It never ceases to provide them with constant mileage at every reunion:

"Well we always knew you were a w**ker mate, but this really proves it!"
"Usually when blokes like seamen they join the Navy, know what I mean!"
"You have been out with a few dodgy mares in your time, but this?…"

It's as futile trying to point out that I don't actually collect the semen as it is trying to remind them that mares don't actually produce the commodity I deal in, but at least they laughed. The worst scenario is this one – the sudden cessation of the conversation, the awkward glances, the tumbleweed…

Meeting the bank manager was an interesting experience. People with respectable jobs quake slightly when asking to borrow thousands of pounds, the self employed lose sleep beforehand, so I was more than a little dubious that I'd come away with the cash I needed to start my business. However he seemed so surprised to be handed a situation as ripe with comic potential as this one, that the figures were almost irrelevant! Just grateful that my business case was not immediately, ahem, tossed out, I positively encouraged him, chuckling appreciatively and guiding his hand towards the dotted line whilst he, carried away inside his own head, quipped and chortled his way through a series of heavily signposted puns involving the Bank requiring "regular 'deposits' from you!" and " do 'cum' again soon!" and "If you do not make regular repayments on the loan we will have to 'freeze' your assets!". It was admittedly a low point in the history of hilarity, but at least he approved the loan.

The next challenge will be meeting my girlfriend's mother. During a recent car conversation, my girlfriend was trying to reassure me:
"It's fine, you've got nothing to worry about. She'll love you and it's just a job – everyone has to earn a crust! Mum won't mind in the least!"
"You're right!" I exclaimed, feeling confidence surging back through my limbs. "You're right! It's perfectly respectable and lucrative. It's a naturally occurring substance just like coal, and more valuable than gold! Yes, it's no different to selling gold!" I blustered confidently.
"Mmmm," she mumbled uncertainly "except you can't make a necklace out of it…"

With so many opportunities for smut and 'double entendre', I'll prepare myself for the worst.