Moanday. Bad night's sleep dreaming of sailing into rough seas, and not making way against high waters.
Work... And The Gnome and me chipping away deep in the junk mines all day on this car pitch. The day interspersed with various banterings such as a brief chat with The French Bloke whom I've not seen for a while. He was in good spirits, and health and Max and Tahlia are fine too. His heart medication has caused him to form a tiny bald patch in his beard, and also to fry when he comes into contact with sunlight.
By a strange twist of fate The Gnome and me were asked to look after a new New York based charity, which has just come to the agency. So I may not have seen the last of The Big Apple just yet, and might have to zoom over again.
Went for a swim after work. Then home dreaming about lost forests as I looked from the train as it sped through Sussex. Among many other fascinating bits in The Real Middle Earth that the South Downs are so called because of the Anglo-Saxon word dun meaning hill.
Home and I called Anton to see how they all were: Anna fine and catching up on her sleep; while the new baby sleeps all the time except at night.
Gallingly Anton is claiming to have lost half a stone since the walking began.
An early night beckons. Have another slogging day tomorrow due to pitching. Have what's called a tissue meeting tomorrow. We are going to drive to vile Slough to blu tack ideas to the walls of a client's office. He then will be coaxed to give a little feedback. Hopefully there will be the poo-pooing of certian ideas or the liking of them. Then we zoom back to the agency for a blamestorm. After this we incorporate any intelligible comments & biff all the approaches that they hated.
Then the thing to do is to steer clear of suits for the next week who mainly will stand about proffering unwanted advice, wringing their hands and asking if the work is ready yet. Roll on Wednesday week when the deed will be done.
Work... And The Gnome and me chipping away deep in the junk mines all day on this car pitch. The day interspersed with various banterings such as a brief chat with The French Bloke whom I've not seen for a while. He was in good spirits, and health and Max and Tahlia are fine too. His heart medication has caused him to form a tiny bald patch in his beard, and also to fry when he comes into contact with sunlight.
By a strange twist of fate The Gnome and me were asked to look after a new New York based charity, which has just come to the agency. So I may not have seen the last of The Big Apple just yet, and might have to zoom over again.
Went for a swim after work. Then home dreaming about lost forests as I looked from the train as it sped through Sussex. Among many other fascinating bits in The Real Middle Earth that the South Downs are so called because of the Anglo-Saxon word dun meaning hill.
Home and I called Anton to see how they all were: Anna fine and catching up on her sleep; while the new baby sleeps all the time except at night.
Gallingly Anton is claiming to have lost half a stone since the walking began.
An early night beckons. Have another slogging day tomorrow due to pitching. Have what's called a tissue meeting tomorrow. We are going to drive to vile Slough to blu tack ideas to the walls of a client's office. He then will be coaxed to give a little feedback. Hopefully there will be the poo-pooing of certian ideas or the liking of them. Then we zoom back to the agency for a blamestorm. After this we incorporate any intelligible comments & biff all the approaches that they hated.
Then the thing to do is to steer clear of suits for the next week who mainly will stand about proffering unwanted advice, wringing their hands and asking if the work is ready yet. Roll on Wednesday week when the deed will be done.
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