THESE are questions I've asked myself from time to time: what I would be doing with myself if I hadn't decided, at a young and impressionable age, to slave away at the typeface in the murky world of journalism?

What if it were to come to an end? What else am I good for? (Note: that word "else" is important. It is often omitted when posed in a domestic situation.)

The matter became a topic for debate again yesterday, when I read in The Herald that major firms are planning to introduce apprenticeships for the over-50s. In the vanguard are Barclays, who are launching a scheme in the summer for silver foxes like myself. Thanks, but I'm afraid banking is not for me. I don't look good in a mask.

I signed up for my stretch in the newspaper business at the tender age of 17, having realised, with regret, that I wasn't going to be the next Alex "Hurricane" Higgins. A record break of 15 was unlikely to take me very far in the world of professional snooker. So Drew "Mild But Unsettled" Allan hung up his cue, and sharpened his Bic.

That was then, this is now, to paraphrase Shakespeare. Is there an alternative trade or profession for which I could retrain?

It would need to be something that isn't too physically demanding, which rules out my first thought: painter and decorator. I had a go not so long ago, and failed miserably. I struggled for an age to prise the lid off a tin of paint. Butterfly-type can openers are frowned upon, apparently.

Perhaps I could go to catering college. I'm a big fan of Masterchef, and being from the east, I have a decent palate - 50-odd years of salt and sauce will do that for you. A couple of things that put me off being a chef, though: I'd probably have to work the occasional Saturday, which would severely curtail my trips to Easter Road, and having been veggie for 30-odd years, my butchery skills are limited. I know this from having attempted to cube a butternut squash.

It's probably best to stick to what you know. I commute four hours a day, so I'm pretty good on buses. I wouldn't mind being a tour guide, as long as I didn't have to go upstairs when it's raining. A microphone, a clipboard and an umbrella would be too much to cope to cope with.

Nah, what I'm best at - a skill honed on aforementioned commute - is sitting quietly, minding my own business, reading my book, dead to the world. Ah, I know what I'd do. I wonder if BT run apprenticeships for their broadband call centre?