Here's Tom with the weather...
Hey,
As it happens, I didn't manage to blag my way into the Moorcock/Moore thing. I must be losing my touch.
As it happens, it was a combination of things: first of all, I hadn't written down where the actual event was. Secondly, I got into the West End just before it was due to start. Anyone I could have blagged a ticket from had already gone in.
I found this out from a bloke in Blackwells who, like me, hadn't got a ticket. No matter.
Instead I looked through Blackwells and Borders, formulating arguments for coverletters etc.
Then I went looking for pancakes. This entailed wandering, street by street, eastways through the West End in the area bordered by New Oxford Street on one side and the British Museum on the other.
Mental note: Check out the British Museum.
I did find a cafe that made pancakes, but they were closed by the time I got there. I did find lots of little shops that I had no idea were there.
London's like that. You think you know the place then you go left instead of right and you find yourself looking at stuff you've never seen before.
One thing I found was a Gaming Shop that was looking for a shop assistant, relevant experience required.
Hmm... I guess I could pretend to be a gamer geek. I know what to do: I won't shave or shower tomorrow, wear my leather coat with a hood and silly shoes, eat as many cheeseburgers as I can in 24 hours and drop my resume in tomorrow. There's a plan.
Around 8PM I got a message from my landlady telling me that it was entirely kosher for me to organise my own BT Line Connection. Groovy. Just before I was looking at the BT site looking for the right contact numbers etc to organise the phone line connection.
Like I've probably said before: Landline = able to do interviews = building better folio of material = one step closer to being able to be a journalist as a paid job.
That and it won't cost so much when my Mother calls me from Australia.
Tomorrow night I see Bleeding Through play again. If I'm lucky I'll get a place on the gallery or right on the stage. Otherwise it'll be dancing with my guard up and hoping I don't get concussed by the knobheads who think that shows are for deliberately hurting people and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fag.
Still, I get the feeling there is a grass roots backlash against all that pit-slaying bullshit building as I type. We can only hope.
Winding up: I'm going to do as much reading as I can over the weekend, to make room for more reading.
And if I don't have a landline installed by this time next week, you all have permission to point and laugh.
Over and out.
J
As it happens, I didn't manage to blag my way into the Moorcock/Moore thing. I must be losing my touch.
As it happens, it was a combination of things: first of all, I hadn't written down where the actual event was. Secondly, I got into the West End just before it was due to start. Anyone I could have blagged a ticket from had already gone in.
I found this out from a bloke in Blackwells who, like me, hadn't got a ticket. No matter.
Instead I looked through Blackwells and Borders, formulating arguments for coverletters etc.
Then I went looking for pancakes. This entailed wandering, street by street, eastways through the West End in the area bordered by New Oxford Street on one side and the British Museum on the other.
Mental note: Check out the British Museum.
I did find a cafe that made pancakes, but they were closed by the time I got there. I did find lots of little shops that I had no idea were there.
London's like that. You think you know the place then you go left instead of right and you find yourself looking at stuff you've never seen before.
One thing I found was a Gaming Shop that was looking for a shop assistant, relevant experience required.
Hmm... I guess I could pretend to be a gamer geek. I know what to do: I won't shave or shower tomorrow, wear my leather coat with a hood and silly shoes, eat as many cheeseburgers as I can in 24 hours and drop my resume in tomorrow. There's a plan.
Around 8PM I got a message from my landlady telling me that it was entirely kosher for me to organise my own BT Line Connection. Groovy. Just before I was looking at the BT site looking for the right contact numbers etc to organise the phone line connection.
Like I've probably said before: Landline = able to do interviews = building better folio of material = one step closer to being able to be a journalist as a paid job.
That and it won't cost so much when my Mother calls me from Australia.
Tomorrow night I see Bleeding Through play again. If I'm lucky I'll get a place on the gallery or right on the stage. Otherwise it'll be dancing with my guard up and hoping I don't get concussed by the knobheads who think that shows are for deliberately hurting people and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fag.
Still, I get the feeling there is a grass roots backlash against all that pit-slaying bullshit building as I type. We can only hope.
Winding up: I'm going to do as much reading as I can over the weekend, to make room for more reading.
And if I don't have a landline installed by this time next week, you all have permission to point and laugh.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 7:15 pm
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