Ah, tomorrow is Sunday. The day of rest.
Rest? I think we all need it, but don’t think any of us are going to get it. I've counted up ten pieces of work of different sizes that need to be done.
It’s been a very full on week, culminating today in a mad unexpected jaunt around central London trying to find something worth reporting. Over 8 million people and little old me trying to discover if any of them know anything that might be of interest to anyone.
Abandoning all previous plans, I walked blind down towards Westminster in the hope that something must be happening. After ten minutes I realised I had made a mistake. Pride wouldn’t allow me to turn back, but
somehow four hours later I was on my way home with a potential story. Despite the tube being packed, commuters seemed to want to avoid me. Was it my air of journalistic inquisitiveness that made them nervous? Or was it my shirt saturated, and my forehead dripping, with sweat? Either way it was something I reveled in.
It’s been one hell of a learning curve this week. Someone else has said, and I can’t help but agree, that they understand why Roberta said we’d be different people at the end of the course. I feel a different person now.
It’s half eleven on a Saturday night on the warmest day of the year and I’m sat trying to punch out something newsworthy about a new bamboo linen product. Bamboo linen is of course the material of the future, being anti-bacterial, anti-allergenic, anti-static and a repeller of dust. Or was that Mr Muscle? It’s all starting to blend into one. The drink was a bad, but well deserved, idea.