I've tried negotiating with him but he's insisting we've been booking trains for a week now and his ass is starting to rot. I'd love to beg him to stay but I know he's right - he needs to go. I'm just going to ask him to serve a week's notice and then I can go with him. One more week of train booking and we are released to await with anticipation the next assignment... I am excited to fill in my "Placement Feedback Form". It may involve a lot of copying and pasting from this here trusty blog.
Tonight I'm off to a launch thingy for the fundraising thingy we're doing to get 'Ink' some pennies. I'm equal measures petrified and thrilled at this prospect - I hate, hate being all pushy about trying to get people to go and see things or to pay for things I've done. However, I'm starting to realise it just has to be done and it's all about trying to get enough people talking about it in the vague hope that a handful of those will have the cash to drop a bit in the box. For this reason I've made the decision to go along tonight and try to "Schmooz". Expect tomorrow's blog to be a tale of massive faux pas and funding actually being removed from the show. Where is the line between schmoozing and sexual harrasment? Just so I know?
But actually the thing I'm nervous about is going to this fundraiser thingy alone. I am a single lady in a big city and usually this is exactly how I love my life - I like not being bothered, I like having all my time to myself (that 20 minutes a day is precious to me) and I hate waking up with someone else. Largely because I am a mean sleeper and prone to punching. This often means I have to make the first cup of tea in the morning as an apology and then I get grumpy because I don't think I should have to apologise for things I did when I'm unconscious.
Note - If my best friend from University is reading this, I do unreservedly apologise for that time I punched you while unconscious - I was drunk not asleep and you certainly didn't deserve a flying fist in your face for trying to help me stand up. I blame it on the concussion from the toilet cubicle... I know you still blame the Snakebite and that's fine. I am sorry.
Just for tonight though I kind of wish I had someone on my arm to come with me and tell me everything is going to be OK. Naturally, he'd get ignored all evening while I go off and do my mingling and trying to make people think giving us £20 is going to help the world in some way (it will, it definitely will - probably). And I'd probably be too nervous to be pleasant to him at all so he'd have to be OK with me being borderline rude when we did speak. Also, I have a busy day tomorrow and a lot of event promotion to do when I get home tonight so he can't come home with me, but other than that I'm a catch right? Oh, and if anything mildly interesting happens he'll become a caricature addition to tomorrow's blog. Brilliant.
I'm starting to understand why most stand-up sets start with "I'm so single I've had to dredge up two obscure celebrities who might feasibly given birth to me, just in order to get some attention..."
Perhaps it's time I delved into the concept of escort hiring. Despite the fact that I would need to go to a fundraiser to raise the funds for my escort to escort me to the fundraiser... I think I might be on to a winner with this scheme. Maybe there are cheaper ways to do it?
Perhaps it's a trick charities are seriously missing out on when they come up with jobs for the homeless? Teach people who struggle to get meals to always say "Your bum is tiny and you're funny" on cue and surely people would be lining up to feed them? Foolproof. Or, what about people having a bit of trouble at Uni? I'll happily write you an essay if you brush your teeth and stand still in a suit?
If the internet wasn't so savagely restricted in the
Until tomorrow folks ;)