Monday, February 11, 2008
Mr T and the brain
I am tired, so very tired. Yesterday should have been spent prancing about feeling triumphant and possibly winking at pretty girls on the tube who were reading the feature I wrote. Instead I spent the morning fretting over needless things and the afternoon frantically working.
The piece has already opened doors for me, and I've been given a new assignment by an entirely different paper as well as being allowed to do something interesting by The Royal Family for another paper because the feature I wrote clearly gave them the impression I must be an okay sort of chap.
So because of this sudden influx of work I spent the whole evening down in the library frowning at my laptop and trying to squeeze out 2000 more words, when I really should have been drinking champagne and cocktails. I've got to hand it in an hours and I've looked at it so much that I just can't tell what is good or bad anymore.
Of course a chap can't just give up. It's stiff upper-lip time and as I'm a freelancer I should always been glad of the work. I know how to deal with this, it's time for coffee so strong you could cut it with a knife and some French jazz.
I can't fade now, I've got too much work to do and this evening I'm going to a party with Mr T. Well that makes it sound like I've got a hot date with the member of the A-Team. I've not. He will be there, but I'm going with a girl.
So I have to finish this piece, and then set about my wardrobe to decide what to wear today. I pity the fool that doesn't match his shirt and socks.