Cancelled
Up to Tavistock Square again this morning. The bleary routine on the train, reading The Guardian and a poem or two by Akhmatova, whose poetry is wonderful. Having her collection with me is like carrying around another person's soul in your bag. A novel is a self-contained world, but in a substantial poetry selection you have a life: the poet in all moods and ages. People who won't engage with poetry lose so much.
Anyway, once in the agency I began to have good ideas. This, however, was all for naught as the pitch was suddenly cancelled by the client taking my week's work with it. This has never happened to me before. Everyone apologetic, and it is not the agency's fult. But rather galling as I had bought a week's travel pass, and turned down a job on Monday morning as I was double booked. Andy the art director I was going to work with, simply went home, and I was found some interesting jobs to do in the afternoon. But there is nothing for me to do tomorrow. Feels as if I am eking my earnings from an unwilling world day by squeaky day.
I had a lovely lunch with Matty boy and First Matie. We sloped around the corner to a little Italian cafe and I had a lovely comforting lasagne. We all shared a restrained bottle of fizzy water for the boozes of yesteryear are no more. Matt is off to India at the end of the week, for two weeks holiday, and then to do some work there for the agency.
Taking a positive gloss from this, I still have a raw throat, am partially deaf, coughing in the evenings blah blah blah. So this not the worst time for a pitch to fall through. Nice to be home amid warring cats, and waiting for the lovely Lorraine who wasn't back till nine. Both sprawling on the gold sofa talking about our days till it was time for bed.
Up to Tavistock Square again this morning. The bleary routine on the train, reading The Guardian and a poem or two by Akhmatova, whose poetry is wonderful. Having her collection with me is like carrying around another person's soul in your bag. A novel is a self-contained world, but in a substantial poetry selection you have a life: the poet in all moods and ages. People who won't engage with poetry lose so much.
Anyway, once in the agency I began to have good ideas. This, however, was all for naught as the pitch was suddenly cancelled by the client taking my week's work with it. This has never happened to me before. Everyone apologetic, and it is not the agency's fult. But rather galling as I had bought a week's travel pass, and turned down a job on Monday morning as I was double booked. Andy the art director I was going to work with, simply went home, and I was found some interesting jobs to do in the afternoon. But there is nothing for me to do tomorrow. Feels as if I am eking my earnings from an unwilling world day by squeaky day.
I had a lovely lunch with Matty boy and First Matie. We sloped around the corner to a little Italian cafe and I had a lovely comforting lasagne. We all shared a restrained bottle of fizzy water for the boozes of yesteryear are no more. Matt is off to India at the end of the week, for two weeks holiday, and then to do some work there for the agency.
Taking a positive gloss from this, I still have a raw throat, am partially deaf, coughing in the evenings blah blah blah. So this not the worst time for a pitch to fall through. Nice to be home amid warring cats, and waiting for the lovely Lorraine who wasn't back till nine. Both sprawling on the gold sofa talking about our days till it was time for bed.
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