REDUNDANCY is rather like death - it's mentioned in similarly hushed tones and, when we hear about it, we're not sure what to say, but suspect sympathy is in order.

If we're still working ourselves, we feel both guilty and relieved that we're not in the same boat. Again, a bit like death.

It ain't necessarily so. Redundancy is an ill wind which can blow someone very successfully in a new direction.

The grapevine said last week that a friend had been made redundant but, before I could say more than: "Oh dear", the grapevine added that this practically-skilled soul had reinvented himself as an odd-job man.

Work was pouring in, mostly by word of mouth.

I wasn't surprised. If there's a gap in the market crying out to be plugged it's the one created by the lack of people to do the jobs the mainstream tradesmen don't want.

By and large or, more accurately, by and small, they're jobs any moderately handy householder could tackle but not everyone is handy enough, or even young enough, to change a tap washer or put a new hinge on a gate, for example.

For older people living alone, a job as small as changing a duff light bulb can be a problem if it's a ceiling fitting or they've got arthritic fingers. Not everyone has good neighbours, either.

It's one of the laws of life that, if you hear of something unusual, it'll crop up again within days so I shouldn't have been at all surprised when I heard of another man setting up in the same line of work.

Redundancy wasn't involved this time, simply a new baby daughter, who put a job with long and unsocial hours into an unfavourable light, plus an advertisement for one of the many schemes to help people start up in their own business.

With the motto "no job too small", he's even sorted out half-done jobs for do-it-yourselfers who've tried, but gone beyond their skills.

Now that could be a career in itself. (Do I hear female mutterings of agreement?)

There had, of course, to be a third instance and it reflected modern technology, with the small jobs in question being fitting bedside phone extensions and entry phones for elderly people's peace of mind.

It must be well over 30 years since I was called on one morning to produce a women's feature at short notice in an emergency and wrote about the disappearance of the "little man" who did anything from mowing the lawn to re-glazing a broken window.

"Little" because anyone recommending his services invariably said: "I know a little man...".

In those days, too, people were mourning the fast-disappearing "little woman."

She always lived round the corner and could run up the most stunning outfit from unpromising fabric for un-svelte ladies.

The "little" maybe referred to the work, rather than the stature of the worker but that belittled their very useful roles.

If the "little man" fulfilling a large need is on his way back, welcome back