It's half 10 and Helen and I have just left the office. I'm typing this up on the tube because I can't bear to practise my shorthand right now. I have a headache and those squiggly lines would just make it worse.
Nonetheless, Marie Cartwright asks if I'm ready, taunting me though my headphones. I clearly didn't think it through when I loaded the Teeline CD onto my phone. Pressing 'shuffle' now feels a little like Russian Roulette.
I'm apprehensive about the second shorthand exam tomorrow. After failing the first one, I honestly intended to practise during my free time. Now that we're into features week, I realise the folly of my ambition. If there is no rest for the wicked, there is certainly none for journalists.
The days aren't as hectic anymore, but they're certainly more difficult. Roberta has kindly given us a lot of time to work on our features and make the necessary phone calls. Ay, there's the rub. Phoning people for information is incredibly awkward. It makes getting blood from a stone seem easy, like getting jam out of a doughnut.
News and resubmissions, the worries of the last two weeks, barely register as concerns anymore. In theory, I should feel the same way about features in a week or two. I'm really looking forward to that. It's amazing how quickly things move along on this course. Well, it's not a course really. That word should be reserved for evening cookery classes.