Month: August 2006

I’m feeling a bit cranky tonight. For a few reasons.

Firstly, it’s a fucking Bank Holiday weekend again. I hate Bank Holidays. As someone who works for himself… sorry shareholders, as someone who works for you… I can pretty much choose my own hours, and days. All a Bank Holiday does is prevent me from choosing Monday as one of those days, because no one else is at their desk. And there’s no post. And the banks are shut. That’s annoying. Still, at least I can buy a sofa for just four-nine-nine, with nothing to pay until 2007 (four months).

Secondly, I feel sick. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m actually ill, or because I ate a whole large Vegetarian Supreme pizza earlier. But either way I feel like at any moment I could throw up bits of pepper and sweetcorn on to my laptop’s pretty keyboard.

Thirdly, I have a shit load of work to do tonight and I can’t seem to get motivated. This may be related to the other things, or it may be that I’m having a bad day. Either way, it makes me crankier.

I mention this crankiness because it might explain why I’m about to break my rule of never slagging off other publishers on Vox.…

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Saturday evening, fresh back from a trip to the Edinburgh Fringe with Pond. What sport!

Adam and James are – as you know – doing shows up there, Adam has an album to promote, and James has both an album and a book. Busy boys both. Pond and I helped out as best we could – primarily by turning up on nights when there were press in, whooping like stooges.

Marked differences in Adam and James’ performance styles include the fact that James was pleased to have us buy him a beer or two after the show, while Adam demanded his vodka and cokes throughout. You’ll note which one of them is the doctor.

So, care and feeding of the talent aside, what else happened?

The journey was fun. Arranged to meet Pond in the office a little after 11 – following dinner with the indescribably great Alison. Of course, I was always going to be late, but that lateness was compounded by a chance encounter at the Charlotte Street Hotel with some folks from an ad agency. One you’ll have heard of.

It seems the ideasmen had spent the day brainstorming a campaign for a new brand of dog food.…

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Having a blog can be pretty fucking weird. Good weird, but weird.

A couple of days ago you’ll remember, I mentioned being in a fug – which I was. As it turned out, it was a two day fug, only really ending last night when Clare, myself, accountant Mark and later Rob went to the pub.

Turns out a few pints of Stella, a couple of bottles of wine and then later £1-a-drink night at The Gardening Club with Rob and a gaggle of American LSE students who claim you look like Robbie Williams (I don’t) is the ultimate fug cure.

Pound a drink night, incidentally is brilliant. I woke up to a pocketful of receipts, all for two pounds. Trashed for little over twenty quid. Like being a student again. I also woke up curled up happily on the floor, next to my bed. Would the extra two steps have killed me?

Oh, that reminds me, Robin Williams is in rehab. Great quote from his publicist… ‘He found himself drinking again’. He must have been devastated.

So yes, blogging a fug can have great results. After reading Vox, not one, but two ladies have very kindly offered to make me dinner.…

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