The Tempest

Life really does appear to be circular. I sometimes think we are doomed, or blessed to relive the same situations again and again. I mention this because while the date with Chuck last night was lovely and wonderful it reminded me of dating A.

Yes A, the girl at work from a few years ago who I allowed myself to get messed around by so much. Chuck even looks faintly like her, well not exactly but she has the same colouring. Understandably this troubles me.

The date was lovely. I picked her up on my bike, we zoomed over to the outdoor theatre in the grounds of a stately pile. We just had enough time for a quick Pimms before taking our seats. The production was excellent, the performers were good in a thespy way and the set design was just the right side of well made. In that you could see the joins but it just made it more real.

I've never seen the Tempest before so I enjoyed not knowing what was going to happen next and so I feared for the characters from one moment to the next and was completely and utterly caught up in it. Chuck would occasionally whisper things in my ear, in a ridiculously breathy way which made my spine tingle and the whole experience was lovely. It really was.

Then I gave her a lift home, going extra slowly for safety and we parted with a chaste peck on the lips. I asked her when I could see her again, and she said 'lets play it by ear'. I was under instructions to text her when I got home, which I did and we exchanged a few more texts before I fell asleep. It was nice.

It was also horrible, because it seemed wrong. I do understand that I clearly said exactly the wrong thing just before going on holiday and that was very badTM and I had done a couple of silly things before then, which were also very badTM but I didn't do them to be bad. My intentions were either honourable, I was trying to talk about my feelings on a deeper level than I ever had before or talking about something that was bothering me. I'm just not very good at grown up relationships so occasionally I say something in a way that is less elegant than it should be.

And so after the day of the very badTM thing, I went on holiday and while I was away Chuck went on some dates and yet when I returned I was the bad person who got dumped? She said she spent the dates talking about me but still it feels wrong. I've said sorry for what I did, and I understand what was wrong about what I did but it hasn't satisfied her.

I've battled for Chucks attentions once before from another chap, I didn't feel good about it and I just don't want to go through that again. I just don't know if that is a a reasonable expectation. I get the impression that she wants me to fight for her again as some sort of punitive course but if she is going to see other chaps then, well, I don't want any part of that.

re-reading this post it's hard to make her sound nice, she is nice, or at least she was when I first met her. I wish I had blogged more of our few weeks of dating because they really were magical.

I can't believe I've got myself into this situation again.

In which we discuss the affect of stress on Chuck relations

I've been getting pretty stressed at work. There is a lot of pressure on me, from a few different angles. There are people who have to do work for me, but who consider it beneath them, and there are other people who want me to fail for political reasons. This is quite tiring and can get a chap down.

Add to this my background level of stress, I think in a big part to never really saying goodbye to my dad and you have a terribly stressed Louche. It's been affecting other things too, important things like my relationships. This is not good.

Some days I'd come back from work extremely stressed, so stressed that it would take me a while to unwind and that would get Chuck all worked up. If I don't calm down it's going to destroy our relationship and that is just not on. I'd hate for that to happen.

The thing is, Chuck is very special and we've already had grown up conversations about 'where this is going' and stuff like that. I've never had one of those before, usually I just run away. I don't want to lose this one, which is why I have plans for my trip to America.

Sports war

I have trouble with sports. I've never been into watching them. I can enjoy a nice game of croquet, and if pushed will even play football in the park but I think watching sport is a complete waste of time. This goes for all sports, it's like organised religion, I just don't get it.

This makes me unusual compared to a lot of chaps. Most chaps even. It's not really caused me that much trouble in my life so far. There has been the occasional football related conversation that has left me cold but that's about it.

At my current work it is a problem. There is a sports desk. They are old school, terribly old school. They are, big fish in their respective small ponds and I'm the new, erm, frog? In town? As part of my job I have to provide coverage at the weekends, which means I have to edit their stories and put up some sports results for the motor racing. I hate it, and I get incredibly stressed doing it.

The putting up of stories is stressful because it involves sitting around waiting, next to a computer, for them to send the stories over and then uploading them super fast to the website. If you don't upload them in seconds, you get abuse. So you spend the whole day waiting around for them. Sometimes I'll get a text message at 9pm ordering a story to be put up. This ruins weekends, you get a bit of time-off for doing weekend coverage but not two whole days.

The second part is silly. We have to get hold of the results from the race and put them up as fast as possible. Then we have to write a report on the race, on the race I can't see because I don't have the telly package. As you can imagine this is quite challenging.

Add into the mix I just don't care about the races, and the fact that I know the sports section of the website brings in the least money of any part of it. I can prove this with facts, yet it causes me the most trouble and stress.

I had a weekly meeting today where my boss said that the sports chaps had revealed that 'I get their backs up'. I'm not quite sure how to deal with that. I'm sort of angry, because I've only ever been nice to them.

I don't know how to deal with this really, I'd like to have some sort of meeting but I'm not sure how I get my point across in the correct manner. Gah.

Suspense and death

Today is going to be an exciting day. I'm waiting on two big bits of news. Yes, not one but two entirely different things. Both of which have the ability to considerably change my life, for the better I should add.

Although I'm trying not to think about them too much because if I do I'll probably give myself a heart attack or something. How lame would that be...

PHONE RINGS

Louche - "Hello?"

Chap - "Great news, they have said yes!"

Louche - "Huzzah, hurray, this is the best day ever. Urk. Heart. Stopped. Due. To. Excessive. Joy."

LOUCHE FALLS DOWN DEAD

Chap - "Hello? Louche? Are you there? Hello?"

FIN

Waiting

I'm not terribly good at waiting and I seem to do it a lot, it's part of the nature of this job waiting to see if you are going to get an assignment. Waiting to hear back about if an idea is going to be picked up, that sort of thing.

I have to do a lot of waiting and I don't like it, not one bit. So to counter the waiting issue I'm going to impose a system, while this may cause some issues I think it's important. In essence any decision gets 14 days. After that the offer is closed. Game over. The person who made me wait that long is dead to my eyes (as they should be for piffling around for so long) and I can move on.

You can do a lot in two weeks, there are even two whole weekends to mull over something if you are too busy during working hours. Important things like where to live, if you should go out with someone and which job to take can be solved in less time than that. It's really not that tough, if it takes you longer than that to make up your mind you shouldn't be in charge of anything.

I'm having a bit of an angry day I think, I'm waiting to hear back from a few people about a few things (as you may have guessed) and I'm also looking into taking some other people and companies to small claims court for money I'm owed. I really don't want to do this but it's been months and it's starting to get silly.

Rejection, passports and parties

Being a writer involves a lot of rejection. It's a big part of the job, countless ideas will be sent over to editors in a light-hearted fluffy sort of way to see if they make the grade. Most of them don't, which is why newspapers are good I suppose but it still makes it a bit sad when an idea you think is an absolute corker is approved by the features editor but the over-all editor says no.

These things happen and a chap should just take them on the chin and jolly well come up with some fresh ideas. I don't really mind that much, I mean this is part of the fun of writing if it was easy it wouldn't be anywhere near as much fun.

Speaking of fun my new passport is going to arrive in a few days, I can't wait to start going on all sorts of adventures with it. It looks like the first trip on it will be one to Spain where I'm going to learn how to talk horse. This is an excellent thing to do for two reasons.

1)It's bound to be at least a little bit warmer in Spain so I can crack out the linen suit.
2)Learning how to talk to horses is great for impressing girls.

Before any of this sort of stuff can happen, I've got to get myself looking respectable again. It's time for the traditional Thursday party for something I can't quite recall but that will feature cocktails and girls in pretty dresses.

French toast and destiny

I spent a lot of the day moping about, I'm not entirely sure why. It should have been a good day, I paid in cheques (now only one thing remains unpaid) went for a walk and then did some work.

I think I was feeling a little bit blue because I piece I wrote for another newspaper that should have appeared today didn't. The editor says it is lovely and they are going to use it, just not this week. Ho-hum. As I was feeling a little strange, I made some French toast and went for a stroll.

Walks are good for improving one's mood, I think because the maximum speed of 'the blues' is quite low so just by walking moderately fast you can outpace it and then leave it behind.

I did feel much better after the bimble and I brought some more flour so I could make some bread. I introduced the flatmate to the wonders of home made bread last weekend and it was so good she was witness to the introduction of the bread dance. Which is a bit like the chocolate dance but with more pointing of toes.

I had no real plans this evening, but as always I thought I would trust in fate and let it decide what will happen. Fate has decided that I should do some more stand-up as someone I met briefly a few weeks ago will phone me out of the blue and offer me a comedy gig. So that is what I'm going to do tonight. So I've got to choose my waistcoat now, and practice my ding-dongs.

Battlestar Galactica, taxes and motorbikes

I'm not really one for going out with blondes. Sure I experimented with a few things at university but who didn't? It's not that they aren't beautiful but brunettes are the ones that really get my cravat into a twist.

I have a 'type' that is fairly well known to the point where my friend N says there are 'Louche Enabled' girls, in the same way that you get computers that can work with specific operating systems. Which makes it sound a bit creepy but what he is saying is that I have a type and mostly I stick to it.

Anyway, if you haven't seen Battlestar Galactica and you have at least some latent nerd genes you probably should as it's deeply enjoyable. If you are a high-brow type you could probably get away with watching it as a study how the paranoia of American socity is shown through it's science fiction.

Or you could watch it just to see the lovely Tricia Helfer be an evil robot lady. She wears lovely red dresses and swans around being dastidly. I don't think I really fancy her, but I do find her naughty character strangely compelling in a way that is against all the rules.

I don't normally ding-dong at blond ladies, but for her I do.

I'm trying to pay my taxes today, I really am but I've got some how caught up in the cogs of the system and I'm at total jam. Oh dear. I think I might try and get a sensible job again just to avoid this sort of nonsense.

Today is the day of the motorbike show. I would really like to go so I can go and look at bikes and possibly hassle the tired looking people at the stands for various bike magazines for work. Alas I will probably have to stay here and talk to people on the telephone about how I'd really love to pay some taxes and they can give me lots of different numbers to call so I can repeat myself endlessly.

Cakes and bakeability

Yes, I'm aware that pun of a title only works if you squint, give it the benefit of the doubt and are in a good mood.

I'm in a stressed mood. Various companies have decided that paying me isn't terribly high on their list of things to do and so I'm enjoying that special terror that freelancers get when you do a lot of work and then don't get paid. I'm sort of paralysed by it all, I can't write because I'm so stressed and currently I can't afford to go on a course which I would then review for a paper.

It's not just the papers fault, the publishers are being positively sluggish on the second part of my advance and another company who owe me a sizable chunk of change are being a bit crap with talk of 'Christmas messing up invoicing'.

Talk to the cuff links because the Louche ain't listening.

Since I'm so stressed I can't really do anything - I'm baking. This is an interesting form of baking because my ingredients are very limited at the moment. I have some oats so I thought I'd make some hardy flapjacks. Sadly Golden Syrup and any form of normal sugar are sadly lacking in the flat at the moment so they have been replaced with some strange honey I found and some vanilla sugar.

I'm hoping that these last minute changes to the recipe will improve it rather than destroy it. I hope so, I'm not sure I could take anymore stress right now.

Batman

This week has been strange, and dark. I've been living the life of a recluse while I try and write more about gambling (it's not that I have writers block, I just can't think of anything else to say) and try not to think about stuff too much like, how I'm not going to be able to afford to live in this lovely flat anymore, and how I really don't want to be looking for somewhere to live over Christmas.

When you break up with someone when you don't live with them it's fairly easy, you just exchange pants, CDs and other flotsam that has drifted over to your respective places and then stop calling them. This is a whole new league of trouble.

I will manage it, but you know, I think I'm due a bit of fabulous good luck thank you very much. In a year where I have had to bury three friends and a father, let alone the other stuff I'm due a big cheque from the bank of good fortune.

I watched Batman last night and spent at least 30 minutes day dreaming about going to china to go to jail for a bit so a shadowy organisation could think I have potential and train me up to be a ninja type person and then I could go and fight crime.

I'm experimenting with a new sideburn shape now, I'm trying to change something to give me some zing again. Normally I'd go and buy a new waistcoat or perhaps some cufflinks but spending extra cash right now would not be wise.

Just a little bit more

'I say Louche' you might say. 'You are having a bit of a week, still it can't get much worse can it?'

There would be no reply to this, because I am in bed with some awful sort of sickness. It's not even a romantic illness where I can waste away gracefully at the seaside while writing poetry, oh no. I think I ate something bad, or perhaps the stress has just finally got to me but either way I think I've lost about a stone in weight just today. While this miracle weight loss may sound pleasant the method of getting rid of that weight was not.

Now I'm desperately trying to pull myself together as Noel Fielding from the Mighty Boosh is opening his art show toinght. I really want to go but I can't if I'm a shivering wreck.

I think I'm on the path to recovery, I managed to eat a bit of fruit with out it deciding that it had too much to live for and decided to scamper out of my belly again. Plus I'm blogging and I'm pretty sure that is one of the 10 signs of life.

'We need to talk'

Is never a good thing to hear, nothing good has ever happened after someone has said that statement. T.P. has been acting strangely for the past few days, more strange than usual and now she wants to have a talk about us.

This is after a 'is this really working?' type conversation over the weekend. This was a strange conversation because I couldn't see what was wrong, but after her insisting maybe she is right? It wasn't as if she was complaining about something I had done.

In a bit I'm going to walk home to have this talk. I'm not looking forward to the walk, or the talk.

Previously there has been the occasional moment when Louche-TP relations have been a bit low but nothing serious. There was the incident when I heartlessly ordered a take-away pizza or the time when I didn't look her parents enough in the eyes when they came over for supper, and we do not speak of shelves but this seems somehow different and much worse.

For one thing we have started being terribly polite to each other, that's always a worrying sign. Oh dear, oh dear indeed.

Baccarat

I finished off the chapter on Craps today, now I'm working on Baccarat. I also managed to do most of another piece. I've never managed to squeeze 5,000 words out of my head in one day before. I don't think I'll be able to do it every day, I feel 'stretched thin' by all this working. I feel tired, but it's a different sort of being knackered, like being in a long distance race against yourself.

It's a good clean sense of exhaustion like you get after stripping down an engine or building a table out of wood. It's nice too because I'm busy writing, I think this is the moment when I feel like I'm really doing this as a job rather than dabbling in it so see if I can.

Looking back on a year ago when I think what I was going through then with the troubles with A and hating my job, well I'm glad it's over.

Speaking of girls, T.P. has been acting a bit strange lately, she has been going out and drinking with mysterious friends and coming home late. Last night she even stayed at her parents place, I've got no idea what that is about but it does have me worried.

The allure of pool, progress through waistcoats and the terror of words.

I went to a Christmas party on Friday. It was supposed to be a Christmas party for a group of people who met years ago doing something very silly, over the years it has evolved and now it is a Christmas party just because. We got to a strange pub in East Bourne and drink and catch up and so on.

This year was the first time I'd ever taken a girl as traditionally this Christmas bash was a male bonding affair kept secret from women I was dating. T.P. knew a few people there so it seemed logical to take her along.

After a horrible journey there; I really don't miss rush hour on the tube. We arrived slightly crinkled from being forced into a train carriage like pressed ham and ready to drink. So we drank.

There was a pool table in the pub and over the course of the evening T.P. went from just about hit the white ball with the wind behind her to beating the reigning champion much to his surprise and disgust.

It was excellent to watch. There is something alarmingly sexy about girls playing pool, it should be televised or at least have it's own gentleman's magazine dedicated to it.

And yes, the picture is actually of T.P. although it will probably only remain up there until she notices and then chokes me with a cravat until I take it down.

In clothing related news I've been practically living in my new waistcoats and I've noticed a pleasant benefit, they make me sit and stand-up straighter. I did have a bad habit of slouching before and now thanks to my new wardrobe I'm ram-rod straight, you could use me to prime a cannon.

Speaking of cannons, did you know the word 'tampon' comes from the bung of cloth used when loading a gun with shot and powder to fire? You do now.

This week is going to be terror week for me, I've got an alarming amount of work to do, including most of a book, three features and a stand-up show. I'm sort of making progress, in that I've chugging along with the book but in classic style I've left it all to the last minute and now I'm doing the grown up version of writing it on my knee on the bus on the way to school.

Still it worked then, so it's bound to work now as long as this doesn't count towards my final mark.

Zombies on the beach

I forgot to pay my phone bill, so I was cut off while in Devon. This combined with the complete lack of interspaz connection was a strangely welcome relief. It allowed me to concentrate of the important business of going to the beach, playing computer games with my little brother and eating as much as possible.

It was very relaxing and after a long walk on the beach where that ship (Napoli) crashed I felt much more relaxed. The ship-wreck is still there, along with a large selection of scrap which made me wonder. The price for scrap metal has gone up a lot in recent months so I was quite surprised that some enterprising person hadn't capitalised on this bountiful fortune washing up on the shore.

When we got back from our walk we were all soaked through, not because of the rain but because it seemed like a good idea to see if you can outrun waves. You can't, but it took a few goes to realise this, and by that point my jeans had turned from simple trousers into some sort of salt-water transporting device.

Thankfully we had toast and stood in front of the wood burning stove at my mothers house and steamed quietly while my little brother and I discussed what we would do in the event of a zombie attack. After a long debate over if zombies can swim we decided that being on a boat would probably be best - we would only return to land to raid for tinned food and books.

I'm back in London now, with a fully working phone and feeling much relaxed. I'm sure I can hold it together till I've finished the book, and after I've done that I'm going to take a long break and think.

Not think that much, I've got an interview on Monday which is pretty exciting especially after I googled the person I'm meeting.

Mourning

I've not really done any mourning yet. I'm the sort of chap that pushes things aside until I have time to deal with stuff which means in recent months I've engaged the stiff upper lip and jolly well got on with work.

This is good because I've got lots of work which as a freelancer is jolly important, work means food and waistcoats.

My cunning bury it all away plan isn't perfect though, and gaps are starting to show through the resolve, I've not had an unbroken nights sleep for a while and I am finding my temper is much shorter. It's like a race is on, I need to finish this book by the 17th of December but I don't know if I can hold everything together that long.

So I suppose it is a bit like the final attack on the Death star. I've got to stay on target just a little bit longer trying to dodge the tie fighter of grief long enough to fire the proton torpedo into the exhaust vent.

I'm hoping some sort of Han Solo type will appear with The Falcon to help me out. Perhaps I should just trust my instincts more and use the force. trans - drink my bodyweight in gin every evening.

Resilience to misfortune

Stress is a special thing, it comes in so many grades. I used to think I was quiet stressed in my old job where I had tough targets of things to do and I had to work with a prat, or more accurately for a prat whose only job seemed to be to hassle me. That used to feel pretty special but now I laugh at it, a-ha-ha-ha. It has nothing on me now.

Since my dad died I've done nothing but work, the day after I returned to London from the funeral I went a job interview and aced it. I've been pitching new ideas to newspapers and magazines, so that every day I'm rushed off my feet writing things or doing research on the hardest piece I've ever had to do. I am a very busy boy.

This would be fine if payment for all this hard work was forthcoming, but it's not all sorts of 'book advances' won't be appearing until months later which doesn't make it much of an advance if it appears after you have finished the book. I'm at least mildly tempted to tear up the legally binding contact that they have already broken to teach them a lession, but I'm not really in a powerful enough position to do that. Various other invoices are in that strange sort of limbo that is acceptable because you aren't a company and you are unlikely to sue because the promise of more work keeps you sweet.

Normally I think I could just about cope with this, I enjoy a challenge and like working hard but since my dad died I've just not as resilient to misfortune and I don't think I will be until I've had some time to really think about stuff but that can't happen because to survive I. Must. Work.

Or more accurately I must get paid. The only positive I can draw from this whole experience is if I survive it I will become a man of iron who is implacable and able to survive anything, or I will end up wondering around in my dressing gown all day eating mashed bananas after a nervous break down.

Either one would make a nice change.