Pitch slog blog
Snowflakes over Hammersmith as I slunk hungover into work surrounded by a air of alcohol-induced wrongness.
Strange phony war style pitch lull ended today and the Gnome and me hard at it again. Tends to narrow down other activities. You end up working with a team of people all growing increasingly tired and emotional. The sense of release when it is all over is fantastic though. The prospect of working through the weekend has become a reality now though.
I stole out at lunchtime, however, and bought a grey-blue v-necked jumper, which I discover (preening myself in the "gentlemen's lounge" as Sarah calls it) is the same colour as my eyes. Had to break off mid-preen when somebody burst in for a large wee.
Afternoon drinking coffee and slaving over a hot layout pad with the Gnome. I then worked late writing the pitch blog. Missed my train at Victoria by about five seconds due to tube evil. Listening to BBC podcasts on the trains, about religion and humour, and the other about the epistolary novel form (i.e. composed of letters written by the characters). And after going up the hill to check on Anton's house, went home buying some fried fish and, in a startling move, opted to accompany these with chips.
Skyped with Sprinkles till quite late. I like the way she "totally digs" things. Then I slumped gratefully into a hotwater-bottled bed. Still no sign of Paddy the ghost cat.
Snowflakes over Hammersmith as I slunk hungover into work surrounded by a air of alcohol-induced wrongness.
Strange phony war style pitch lull ended today and the Gnome and me hard at it again. Tends to narrow down other activities. You end up working with a team of people all growing increasingly tired and emotional. The sense of release when it is all over is fantastic though. The prospect of working through the weekend has become a reality now though.
I stole out at lunchtime, however, and bought a grey-blue v-necked jumper, which I discover (preening myself in the "gentlemen's lounge" as Sarah calls it) is the same colour as my eyes. Had to break off mid-preen when somebody burst in for a large wee.
Afternoon drinking coffee and slaving over a hot layout pad with the Gnome. I then worked late writing the pitch blog. Missed my train at Victoria by about five seconds due to tube evil. Listening to BBC podcasts on the trains, about religion and humour, and the other about the epistolary novel form (i.e. composed of letters written by the characters). And after going up the hill to check on Anton's house, went home buying some fried fish and, in a startling move, opted to accompany these with chips.
Skyped with Sprinkles till quite late. I like the way she "totally digs" things. Then I slumped gratefully into a hotwater-bottled bed. Still no sign of Paddy the ghost cat.
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