Work and Gardens

So they offered me another shift and I ran down to London early; and the work went very well, except for my return to the grand klutzdom of early weeks in throwing a cup of water all over myself and the front desk, nearly drowning two teccies and my microphone. I have at least learned that the secret of dealing with such things is not to cover it up but to tell the audience about your disaster cos they love it when you goof. One texted the show especially to tell me that my 'expression was priceless'. Once again the prize for Most Elegant Presenter eludes me.

The trouble with this work is that it eats your head. I have not been able to catch up with chums at all, and in fact only made it to one party - a work related one, in a grotty little pub so frequently and fervently used by our lot, the company was seriously considering its purchase as the cheaper option. The party moved on to a Turkish restaurant with music and dancing, and I moved on to work the evening shift. So much for my wild lifestyle.

I came back to find my love and my kitties waiting, and unexpected developments in the garden.
( Of interest to none save gardeners, and precious few of those... )

The suave professional

Brisk on the phone, talking like an adult business woman rather than an idiot child dressing up in her mother's shoulder pads, I sit and discuss work with our TV scheduler, the guy who gives us the when and where: I must be very sophisticated cos I'm sitting in larians posh leather chair that swivels back and round and everything. I have this discussion in the bag, I'm so cool. No, I can't take this shift, yes, I would love to take this shift and of course I'll be there. Talk talk talk cool cool cool - then Surya jumps on my lap with a dead bird, feathers and entrails splat everywhere, and I scream. Mortified, she runs off with her prize, TV scheduler sits rooted in horror as I Blair Witch it right in his ear. I apologise of course.

'No worries,' he says forlornly 'I'm used to people screaming. At least it was near me not at me.'

Poor guy. Still, at least he's not covered with dead crap and feathered muck. Life saves that for suave professionals like me.

Hope I can get this stuff off the chair...