IT COMES IN WAVES
Saturday 24 November 2007
After a lie-in I busied myself this morning with "pottering" and "doing stuff", two of my favourite hobbies, something that men, as a whole, tend to excel at.
I sent off an application form to be a Trainee Question Setter/Fact Checker for a well-known production company. The closing date is actually passed but when I sent them an e-mail I got an automated reply back, complete with application form. So I filled it in and sent it back with a short paragraph or two. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. How cool would it be if I could work for the R&A organising entries for the Open (sorry, Tiger, your cheque's bounced!) AND being a question writer for television quiz shows? The optimist in me says" you never know", the pessimist in me "I should be so lucky" and the realist says "in your fuckin' dreams".
The Outlaws were visiting so after tea I drove them home. I listened to a CD of songs by Jim Gipson, former frontman of Black Nite Crash, the nearly men of indie rock. It was given to me by Joe, who was also in BNC and now works for the same employer I do. The CD is an absolute cracker and pisses all over singer-songwriters like James Morrison, James Blunt et al. Jim could be big in 2008 - watch this space.