Being a lady of leisure, Hester has never had to muddy her delicate hands with such an irksome inconvenience as work.

But in an effort to to find out just exactly how the hoi-polloi spend their days, your columnist took some time out to flick through the latest issue of ‘Your Future’, a magazine produced by Bermuda Media, which offers advice and information on career opportunities.

Along with dismissing the myth that chartered accountants aren’t “brainy nerds with pocket protectors” and quizzing Hester’s favourite sportsman Shaun Goater, the mag also pointed out that there are now career opportunities for Islanders beyond Bermuda’s shores.

An article entitled ‘Now Bermudians are Europeans’, extols the perks of working in that most civilised of continents.

The un-named scribe writes: “The biggest and best news of the year for young Bermudians is the recently announced British citizenship offer. It opens up a whole world of opportunity in education, work and much more, not only in the UK but also in all the other member states of the European Union.”

And the best thing about getting a job in the UK or Europe? Straight-faced, the article goes on: “And Bermudians won’t be treated like expats there.”

Whatever do they mean?Hester, being the roving news hound that she is, has no problem talking to a man when she needs a little info.

It also gives her a bit of a chance a scope out a perspective hubby since she lacks a significant other.

Anyhoo, one eager suitor was more than willing to talk to her, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was trying to tell her. He kept saying: “I know they pry on people all the time.”

Hester sat there befuddled for a minute before she realised what the poor chap was trying to say — ‘I know they prey on people all the time’.

Hester quickly retreated and giggled to herself while she scratched him off her future husband list.

But she had an even closer call when things really hotted up with a gent in her personal life over the weekend.

Although worldly, Hester does have a heart and tries to guard against it breaking. So she thought she’d be honest with the guy and tell him that she was having difficulty trusting him.

“Well you need to follow your incense,” he told her. Incense? Oh dear, does that mean Hess needs to scratch off another guy?

By way of excuse she has a girlfriend whose boyfriend was even worse. He apparently excitedly, told Hess’s friend that he was thinking about taking a course in stock taking at Bermuda College.

But Hess’s friend is much more familiar with the local male’s vocabulary shortcomings and said she knew immediately that her big man actually was contemplating a career in stock broking not stock taking.The Bank of Butterfield attributed the $3 million dip in its earnings between the second and third quarters of this year to low interest rates in the US and the UK. Executives might want to take a closer look at the mailing expenses incurred by the card services department, too.

This week, one of Hester’s younger relatives received a MasterCard debit card from the bank. Never mind that the cards are typically reserved for over-18s (Hester’s younger relative is just 15) — she was more interested in the envelope the card came in. Last time she checked, the rate for a local letter was 35 cents. But one day last week, the mail clerk decided to frank regular-sized envelopes for $45. Hester, a Bank of Butterfield shareholder, can only hope the bank did not send out too many cards that day. She won’t say which day because the economy is in a sorry enough state without one more unemployed person.Seems a local guy with a long ponytail, inspired by a recent article in the daily where two sisters donated their locks to a company that make wigs for cancer patients, decided he would do the same.

Albeit an admirable gesture on his part, the man apparently did not know what to do. So, he came to the daily and told reception people he wanted to talk to someone because he would be donating his hair.

The assignment editor, busy off her feet, said the man should leave his number and she would have someone call him over the weekend to get the story.

The receptionist feeling she was being incredibly helpful, promptly returned and handed her a bag with the man’s name and number on it.

“What’s this?” the irritated editor asked.

“It’s his hair.”

“His what?”

“His hair.”