Hurrah!!!!!
Today I got a phonecall that will change my life - I got offered a script editing job at Eastenders!!!!
I am beyond excited. And terrified. After the assistant script ed job went internally at the BBC I was devastated - as I thought I would be seen as too inexperienced to get the fully fledged script editor one... but I applied anyway. I was chuffed to be invited for interview but didn't have high hopes. It was on Monday and I socked it to them! We talked writers and characters and all sorts - as I know the show inside out - and I tried to persuade them that passion was worth more than experience. I left with a spring in my step - I had done my best.
They offered me the job today. My heart began to beat very fast in shock.
I am thrilled. Amazed. Excited to be going back to work. Worried about leaving sproglet. Going now to soak up every last minute with him.
Thanks for all your support - is proof that hard work and determination DO pay off.
Friday, 11 April 2008
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
What you see aint always what you get
So... I got an email from another old schoolmate. Bless her - she had read this blog cover to cover and wanted to tell me how much she related to it and to keep my chin up - which was so lovely of her. (Thanks Pam!). But here's the thing - she confessed to having admired/envied me back in our old schooldays. According to her I was the 'girl who had everything': the looks/boys/friends/educational success etc. Which absolutely knocked me sideways - totally jaw-droppingly astounded me. Trust me, pre- dental work (thank the lord for veneers)my teeth were not a pretty sight; particularly the gap between my two front teeth and one further along. The boys used to cheerfully tell me (and I quote) 'You could drive a Rolls Royce through that - sideways!' Nice. Occasionally they would mix it up a bit and call me 'the dog' or 'human skateboard' on account of my unrealised breasts. In the emotionally wrought teen years when one's self confidence is normally in the toilet, my male chums would get hammered at parties, kiss me, then the next day announce they remembered nothing and that they were 'victims' of mine. Truly. I realllllllly felt good about myself. I may have grown Jessica Rabbit like curves overnight and my cups thus ran over - but even then my teenage pertness didn't attract the boys one bit. The only boy that actually looked at me was the school stoner - who didn't give a toss what anyone said (probably too boxed to hear what anyone said) and won me over by promising me a purple orchid. Which naturally, he never sent. So my first real boyfriend of note happened a month before my 17th birthday. Late bloomer? I thought I would never flower, or be de-flowered for that matter.
Educationally - whilst I was a jammy sod who could swot up the night before and do ok in exams - sailing through English and bizarrely Religious Ed; my true passion was art - but I was a lazy article - who procrastinated to within an inch of her life and never gave it her all - thereby getting good-ish grades but never the grades I was capable of (bar the A in Eng Lit A level. I think I wrote 25 sides in one paper...). Meanwhile my family life was hell - I lived with my Mother who was sinking further into alcoholism in my latter teenage years - and my Mother's ex-boyfriend at weekends. A weird scenario I know, but one that was my salvation. My Dad remarried and swaned off every weekend, seeing me when he could fit me in, in between his refereeing, work, socialising etc. The only thing that got me through such bleak years, was having a core of friends that I could turn to - and can still turn to - in my Eastenders like dramas. I remember when my Dad told me I had to choose between him or Mum's ex. If I didn't choose him - he would walk out of my life forever. I was 15.
Thank God for my muckers. They were always there for a conspiratorial ciggie on route to squash/tennis/rowing (followed by cream cakes - great health plan - try it) or a swift glass of Blue Nun at the Empire pub to whinge to about my fucked up family. I counted the months, then days, until I could get to Uni and escape my existence. I was tired of having 3 phone numbers (long before the simplified days of mobile phones), having to pack my bag on a Thursday night and the insane petty squabbles that my parental figures involved me in, just to score points off each other. To say that I had it all is so laughable. I felt like the girl who had nothing. To the point that I attempted to take my life when I was only 14. Now that I volunteer for Samaritans and I can look back in retrospect - I was such a classic example of someone crying out for help. I saved pills for 6 months. I planned every last detail - writing a will; planning the day; who would find me etc. The attempt didn't work (clearly) and I blacked out - only to come to 14 hours later and then vomit for a day. I planned another attempt - straight after school. I don't remember what happened that March day in 1987 - but whatever it was, it was enough to make me temporarily put the pills away - locked in a bureau in the corner of my room. (With a packet of Marlboro Reds and a half bottle of Tia Maria to make Black Russians with - oh the glamour!). I kept those pills right through until I went to Uni - and then threw them away - I had no need for them anymore - now that I had escaped.
16 years on - things are a million times better with my families (all 3 of them) and I still have the same friends - and now their wives and husbands - so on that one Pamela was right. They are my other family. The one I knew that would never leave me. Or at least I hoped they wouldn't. There is something comforting in having known someone for 23 years - in some cases 29. Hell, I'm still friends with some of those cruel boys - who grew up to be the loveliest men. (Who knew?)
The point is - we all think everyone else's life is a bowl of cherries. Cat Deeley doesn't look like anything bad has ever happened to her - what with that glossy hair, thin pins, golden legs (and career) and houses in London and LA. But I bet she has bad days too - just like the rest of us. We are all mere mortals, we all make mistakes. I have to remember this when I frequently think that everyone else is having THE BEST TIME and I think I missed the party.
Husband kissed me today.(I am 75% forgiven he says). Sproglet and I played with trucks and shared cornflakes. I walked in the sunshine and had a meeting a nice estate agent who will rent out our flat for us. I'm going to move house and somehow find work. It will all be ok. As Pamela said - there is light at the end of the tunnel - and it isn't necessarily a train coming towards you.....Hurrah!
Educationally - whilst I was a jammy sod who could swot up the night before and do ok in exams - sailing through English and bizarrely Religious Ed; my true passion was art - but I was a lazy article - who procrastinated to within an inch of her life and never gave it her all - thereby getting good-ish grades but never the grades I was capable of (bar the A in Eng Lit A level. I think I wrote 25 sides in one paper...). Meanwhile my family life was hell - I lived with my Mother who was sinking further into alcoholism in my latter teenage years - and my Mother's ex-boyfriend at weekends. A weird scenario I know, but one that was my salvation. My Dad remarried and swaned off every weekend, seeing me when he could fit me in, in between his refereeing, work, socialising etc. The only thing that got me through such bleak years, was having a core of friends that I could turn to - and can still turn to - in my Eastenders like dramas. I remember when my Dad told me I had to choose between him or Mum's ex. If I didn't choose him - he would walk out of my life forever. I was 15.
Thank God for my muckers. They were always there for a conspiratorial ciggie on route to squash/tennis/rowing (followed by cream cakes - great health plan - try it) or a swift glass of Blue Nun at the Empire pub to whinge to about my fucked up family. I counted the months, then days, until I could get to Uni and escape my existence. I was tired of having 3 phone numbers (long before the simplified days of mobile phones), having to pack my bag on a Thursday night and the insane petty squabbles that my parental figures involved me in, just to score points off each other. To say that I had it all is so laughable. I felt like the girl who had nothing. To the point that I attempted to take my life when I was only 14. Now that I volunteer for Samaritans and I can look back in retrospect - I was such a classic example of someone crying out for help. I saved pills for 6 months. I planned every last detail - writing a will; planning the day; who would find me etc. The attempt didn't work (clearly) and I blacked out - only to come to 14 hours later and then vomit for a day. I planned another attempt - straight after school. I don't remember what happened that March day in 1987 - but whatever it was, it was enough to make me temporarily put the pills away - locked in a bureau in the corner of my room. (With a packet of Marlboro Reds and a half bottle of Tia Maria to make Black Russians with - oh the glamour!). I kept those pills right through until I went to Uni - and then threw them away - I had no need for them anymore - now that I had escaped.
16 years on - things are a million times better with my families (all 3 of them) and I still have the same friends - and now their wives and husbands - so on that one Pamela was right. They are my other family. The one I knew that would never leave me. Or at least I hoped they wouldn't. There is something comforting in having known someone for 23 years - in some cases 29. Hell, I'm still friends with some of those cruel boys - who grew up to be the loveliest men. (Who knew?)
The point is - we all think everyone else's life is a bowl of cherries. Cat Deeley doesn't look like anything bad has ever happened to her - what with that glossy hair, thin pins, golden legs (and career) and houses in London and LA. But I bet she has bad days too - just like the rest of us. We are all mere mortals, we all make mistakes. I have to remember this when I frequently think that everyone else is having THE BEST TIME and I think I missed the party.
Husband kissed me today.(I am 75% forgiven he says). Sproglet and I played with trucks and shared cornflakes. I walked in the sunshine and had a meeting a nice estate agent who will rent out our flat for us. I'm going to move house and somehow find work. It will all be ok. As Pamela said - there is light at the end of the tunnel - and it isn't necessarily a train coming towards you.....Hurrah!
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Damages ...
...is over. What the hell will I do with my Monday nights from now on? What an amazing series. Did you not watch? Get the DVD box set quick - banish kids and spouse and grab a cuppa and a half price Easter egg and get comfy. You are in for one helluva treat. A lesson in how to sustain a story arc over 13 episodes that initially appears simplistic but has more twists and turns than an Irish country road! What a rollercoaster of a ride. And rejoice - for series 2 is currently in production!!
Wasn't Glenn Close amazing? Mind you the woman has never put in a dud performance in her whole life. Where would 80s films have been without her? 'The World According To Garp,' 'The Big Chill,' 'Jagged Edge' 'Dangerous Liaisons' and of course 'Fatal Attraction' to name a few. She is one of the all time greats. Who knew Ted Danson had such depths? I really have to rein in my need to pontificate on how great this series was - as we'd be here all day. Plus I just cannot write anything without giving a key plot point away and I really would rather cut off my eyelids than spoil this rare treat for the lucky few who have yet to discover the thrill of Damages.
Meanwhile... the sun is shining... Nemo is NOT on the DVD. Husband thawed slightly when I bought him a £45 bottle of something oaky and full bodied. He still hasn't done the weekly shop and therefore there is no butter for my toast but he has said he will deign to speak to me again today. I'm kinda getting over the whole punishment thing now - an Aries girl can only hold her fire for so long and I have eaten enough humble pie to fill a bakery twice over. If he doesn't get over himself and embrace forgiveness as a virtue we may enter a new battle zone. I know he wanted me to grovel. To skirt around him on tippy toes full of remorse and subservient wife gestures - but I am only capable of acting this despised role for so long - and then snap! Must go - sproglet needs me. By the way - I am taking Justine's advice - and am loving every moment with my son. This age is just a joy. He has taken a huge shine to a duck stuffed animal and carries it under his arm - everywhere. Including into the bath yesterday. Then howled in his cot when Duckie was getting his feathers toasted on the radiator and was too damp for a night time cuddle. In the end I had to put Duckie in with him - dry side round and then sneak it out from under his arm while he slept to complete the drying process... Thank god sproglet is far from high maintenance - I couldn't put up with 2 Divas at the moment!
Wasn't Glenn Close amazing? Mind you the woman has never put in a dud performance in her whole life. Where would 80s films have been without her? 'The World According To Garp,' 'The Big Chill,' 'Jagged Edge' 'Dangerous Liaisons' and of course 'Fatal Attraction' to name a few. She is one of the all time greats. Who knew Ted Danson had such depths? I really have to rein in my need to pontificate on how great this series was - as we'd be here all day. Plus I just cannot write anything without giving a key plot point away and I really would rather cut off my eyelids than spoil this rare treat for the lucky few who have yet to discover the thrill of Damages.
Meanwhile... the sun is shining... Nemo is NOT on the DVD. Husband thawed slightly when I bought him a £45 bottle of something oaky and full bodied. He still hasn't done the weekly shop and therefore there is no butter for my toast but he has said he will deign to speak to me again today. I'm kinda getting over the whole punishment thing now - an Aries girl can only hold her fire for so long and I have eaten enough humble pie to fill a bakery twice over. If he doesn't get over himself and embrace forgiveness as a virtue we may enter a new battle zone. I know he wanted me to grovel. To skirt around him on tippy toes full of remorse and subservient wife gestures - but I am only capable of acting this despised role for so long - and then snap! Must go - sproglet needs me. By the way - I am taking Justine's advice - and am loving every moment with my son. This age is just a joy. He has taken a huge shine to a duck stuffed animal and carries it under his arm - everywhere. Including into the bath yesterday. Then howled in his cot when Duckie was getting his feathers toasted on the radiator and was too damp for a night time cuddle. In the end I had to put Duckie in with him - dry side round and then sneak it out from under his arm while he slept to complete the drying process... Thank god sproglet is far from high maintenance - I couldn't put up with 2 Divas at the moment!
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Pictures without sound
Well its all pictures and no sound in our house at the minute. Actually it is blissfully peaceful. I could go into the sorry tale of why husband is not communicating with me - but I am the bad guy. I know I air my dirty laundry here like a fishwife - but I will put into a few syllables: me - drunk. Very. Misread a situation. Angry. Texts. Dismember doorbell. Lock up. Sleep soundly. Husband home. Lying in 3 foot hall until 6am. Angry. Door bashing. Not speaking. There you have it. I have apologised. By text. We have communicated through 3 texts (mine) and 4 grunts (his) since Fri evening. I go out, come home, he goes out. Sproglet runs between us and thinks it is a game. I wish I could be more bothered. But I have too much to do - what with organising a whole house move and all. A job to find. You know the small things in life. The cold winds show no sign of thawing. He claims that he won't speak to me for a week. My birthday is next Monday. Will he be talking to me by then or should I try and get some gals together for a cocktail or 5? Mind you, who the hell does cocktails on a Monday night anymore? Tis a school night after all...
The strange thing is that normally my birthday is like a week long event that builds to one helluva climax. But this year I'm just like.... yeah, birthday schmirthday. It all feels like too much of an effort. Is odd. I feel removed from it - almost like it has no bearing on my life whatsoever - which is great I guess, because if I ignore it - does that mean I can stay 34???
The strange thing is that normally my birthday is like a week long event that builds to one helluva climax. But this year I'm just like.... yeah, birthday schmirthday. It all feels like too much of an effort. Is odd. I feel removed from it - almost like it has no bearing on my life whatsoever - which is great I guess, because if I ignore it - does that mean I can stay 34???
Friday, 4 April 2008
What's for you....
Hello!!! God it all got a bit dark there for a bit didn't it? It's Friday avo - I can't have darkness on a gorgeous sunny day like today.I've had a lovely day. I met with my friend Maggie - who is radiant, with shiny thick glossy hair, being in the glorious blooms of pregnancy - we went to a cute playpark in posh Hampstead. I think you need a bugaboo to get in - the terrain is rough with a sand pit in the middle - pure off road wheels needed. Sproglet frolicked around, went down the slide backwards on his tummy, ran away from a wee girl who threw sand in his eyes (her Mother was on the phone the whole time and didn't look up once - I was ready to bop her on the head with said phone and tell her to rein in her wild child - I went into full Mama bear mode)and tried to converse with a huge bear shaped bin.
We ate pasta at Carluccios, sproglet covered himself in butter and blue pencil and then he slept peacefully as we wandered down the hill back towards my flat. Girl chat, sunshine on my face, a frappacino and fun with sproglet - I just need some cake and happiness is complete. I received an email today from an old schoolmate - Justine. I haven't seen her since we left school back in... oh too long ago to mention - but she reads this blog and she offered me some great words of wisdom. Basically to dry my eyes and enjoy what I have. 'Tis true. I got a bit wallowy there for a moment. I need to concentrate on what I have rather that what I don't have. I remember once at a party I had - I spent more time wondering where the folk that hadn't turned up were, rather than worry about those that had actually made an appearance. I'm forever getting to one goalpost and then moving it fifty yards away - saying 'I'll be happy if I get there...' then getting there and... you get the picture. Do you ever do this? Come on, make me feel like I'm not alone in this sin! So, the job thing - I'll worry about it next week - and actually instead of worrying (a wasted activity if ever there was one - like snooker) I will just try and do my best and see what comes up. What's for you won't go past you.
On that cheery note - have a good weekend. I'm off to get cake. x
We ate pasta at Carluccios, sproglet covered himself in butter and blue pencil and then he slept peacefully as we wandered down the hill back towards my flat. Girl chat, sunshine on my face, a frappacino and fun with sproglet - I just need some cake and happiness is complete. I received an email today from an old schoolmate - Justine. I haven't seen her since we left school back in... oh too long ago to mention - but she reads this blog and she offered me some great words of wisdom. Basically to dry my eyes and enjoy what I have. 'Tis true. I got a bit wallowy there for a moment. I need to concentrate on what I have rather that what I don't have. I remember once at a party I had - I spent more time wondering where the folk that hadn't turned up were, rather than worry about those that had actually made an appearance. I'm forever getting to one goalpost and then moving it fifty yards away - saying 'I'll be happy if I get there...' then getting there and... you get the picture. Do you ever do this? Come on, make me feel like I'm not alone in this sin! So, the job thing - I'll worry about it next week - and actually instead of worrying (a wasted activity if ever there was one - like snooker) I will just try and do my best and see what comes up. What's for you won't go past you.
On that cheery note - have a good weekend. I'm off to get cake. x
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Giving up
I want to give up. Honest I do. I've had a crappy couple of weeks and things aren't getting any better. Husband tries his best but does crazy hours and basically I am left holding sproglet. The job situation isn't improving and I feel so fresh out of ideas and inspiration that I feel like I am a walking zombie. A walking zombie who's tear ducts are doing overtime. Three weeps today - one in the street. Snotty nose, tears tripping me, hard to breathe - to the point an old man stopped walking, turned round and clocked me, a concerned look spread over his craggly face. Once one tear falls it is hard to stop.
I know I shouldn't compare my life to others - it does me no good - but why the hell is it so fucking hard for me to get work? I mean, was there a media party that everyone was invited to bar me? A bloody BBC one? Does someone out there practice black magic to a fine art and has a little shrine of hate to me? What is going on??? I have spent over a year trying to break into tv drama - and I have no fight left. No fire in my belly. The tank is empty. I just want to curl up under the duvet and not get up until someone has a job ticket with my name on it. We should move in 5 weeks - and how will I pay my share of the mortgage? The stress of this consumes me daily. I feel sick when I think about it. Then today - just when I couldn't get lower - my Dad calls. The show I gave my heart and soul to - the one I flew back to Belfast for every weekend with 4 month old sproglet - is back. With a new presenter. Not that anyone told me. It is the ultimate humiliation. Fair enough the TV company is making redundancies - and has recruited said presenter from within - and it is a differnt style of show - less young, more political... But I can't help feel it is a slap in the face. Oh yeah - kick me when I am down. Get your big boots on - with the steel toe caps - great. Now aim!
Am I turning into one of those half empty people? I dunno. I just feel flat. Christ if I wasn't on the anti-depressants I would be calling the Samaritans rather than volunteering for them. I know - I am meant to give out positive vibes and then they all coming raging back to me boomerang stylee and lo and behold - life is a bowl of cherries. I just wish I could get a break. I keep thinking why me? Then beating myself up for being such a self-pitying self-obsessed arse. I just wish I knew a way out of this all. A way to have - dare I say it - some stability in life. I'm a good person - I pay taxes, volunteer, floss, pick up litter, recycle etc etc. All I want is to work and earn a crust at something I enjoy and challenges me. Is that too much to ask?
Ok - enough of my pity party. I just feel shattered. Lost. Disappointed and disenchanted. I just want things to change and I have tried and tried and don't know what to do any more. Mr Big at the beeb has yet to get back to me. I feel like the girl who had the date from heaven and yet - he never called.
But I did go and see 'Horton hears a who'at the cinema today. Sproglet loved it. The moral is - a person is still a person, no matter how small. Which is good because I feel very small indeed.
I know I shouldn't compare my life to others - it does me no good - but why the hell is it so fucking hard for me to get work? I mean, was there a media party that everyone was invited to bar me? A bloody BBC one? Does someone out there practice black magic to a fine art and has a little shrine of hate to me? What is going on??? I have spent over a year trying to break into tv drama - and I have no fight left. No fire in my belly. The tank is empty. I just want to curl up under the duvet and not get up until someone has a job ticket with my name on it. We should move in 5 weeks - and how will I pay my share of the mortgage? The stress of this consumes me daily. I feel sick when I think about it. Then today - just when I couldn't get lower - my Dad calls. The show I gave my heart and soul to - the one I flew back to Belfast for every weekend with 4 month old sproglet - is back. With a new presenter. Not that anyone told me. It is the ultimate humiliation. Fair enough the TV company is making redundancies - and has recruited said presenter from within - and it is a differnt style of show - less young, more political... But I can't help feel it is a slap in the face. Oh yeah - kick me when I am down. Get your big boots on - with the steel toe caps - great. Now aim!
Am I turning into one of those half empty people? I dunno. I just feel flat. Christ if I wasn't on the anti-depressants I would be calling the Samaritans rather than volunteering for them. I know - I am meant to give out positive vibes and then they all coming raging back to me boomerang stylee and lo and behold - life is a bowl of cherries. I just wish I could get a break. I keep thinking why me? Then beating myself up for being such a self-pitying self-obsessed arse. I just wish I knew a way out of this all. A way to have - dare I say it - some stability in life. I'm a good person - I pay taxes, volunteer, floss, pick up litter, recycle etc etc. All I want is to work and earn a crust at something I enjoy and challenges me. Is that too much to ask?
Ok - enough of my pity party. I just feel shattered. Lost. Disappointed and disenchanted. I just want things to change and I have tried and tried and don't know what to do any more. Mr Big at the beeb has yet to get back to me. I feel like the girl who had the date from heaven and yet - he never called.
But I did go and see 'Horton hears a who'at the cinema today. Sproglet loved it. The moral is - a person is still a person, no matter how small. Which is good because I feel very small indeed.
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Pity party - you're all invited!
Well... I intended to have a pity party tonight. Just you, me and a fine red 'Georges Duboeuf Fleurie' 2006. I wanted to whitter on about how my job hell had sunk lower than Captain Nemo ever dared to venture - that the only thing beneath me now is Satan himself. Then I popped onto a blog I liked (The Girl Who... - check Monica out) and from there was sent to this link:
http://captainhambone.typepad.com/not_that_you_asked/2008/03/these-are-our-g.html
Well, reading about a 16 month old child with cancer is enough to sober anyone. I grabbed for my wallet and donated to this poor family who really know the pit of despair. They discovered their child was ill - on vacation... miles from home. There they are ensconced. Struggling through the days, praying that their darling daughter will survive numerous operations and chemo etc. It wasn't an easy read. It dampened my enthusiasm for my little well of self pity that I was going to dip into. So I will explain but not dwell. Dwelling is for ejits... or those that don't know how lucky they are.
So why was my stupid day so bad? Well I emailed a lovely girl who used to send me out scripts from the BBC. I wondered what had happened to the job I have waited for over a year to come up - the assistant script editor at Eastenders. (Brit soap for all my amazing foreign readers). I had done some digging and discovered the girl who did it was promoted and her replacement was a guy on placement - who is leaving this week. Voila! The opportunity was mine for the taking! I had been in to meet the folk there twice - they knew me, I was ready - just in time for the house move and HUGE new mortgage etc.... and.... today lovely Kathleen emailed me - the job went internally.
ARGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Yes - MY job - for it had my name on it I assure you - had been advertised and the interviews already had taken place. Big bulbous tears hit the keyboard. I just didn't know where to turn to. I have spent a year trying to get into script editing. I met great bigwigs in the industry. The big wigs said "Work on a soap!" So soapwards I went. There are 7 in the UK. 3 in London. One great soap offered me a job but I had to say no - due to it being in Leeds and sprog and husband (mortgage etc) all being in London. So..... I concentrated on the 3 soaps in London. One fancies itself as a 'serial drama' so is out of my league. That leaves 2. I can't get in to one - so that leaves EE - which I love. I met with folk there and they said - the assistant script ed would be PERFECT for you! Then they gave it... blah blah - you know the rest. I was gutted. I am gutted. I have no idea where to look for work - an opening or even inspiration. Why do I always choose the hardest mountains to climb? Why couldn't I want to be something straightforward - a hairdresser or solicitor or something... And I thought getting in to presenting was hard!
Do you ever have days like today - when you wonder what the hell is against you? Does an ex-boyfriend have a freakin' voodoo doll that he is sticking more pins in than a seamstress's cushion? Anyway - I washed sproglet, fed him pasta and popped him down to sleep. He went out like a light, snuggling his new fav toy - and duck called... er, 'Duckie'. And I realised that I am blessed - with friends, family, a husband who buys me 'Taste the difference cream custard' to drown my sorrows with. And a sproglet with fuzzy hair and the best laugh in the world. Feck 'em and their job. To quote that brilliant Aries woman Scarlett - 'tomorrow is another day.'
Cheers!
http://captainhambone.typepad.com/not_that_you_asked/2008/03/these-are-our-g.html
Well, reading about a 16 month old child with cancer is enough to sober anyone. I grabbed for my wallet and donated to this poor family who really know the pit of despair. They discovered their child was ill - on vacation... miles from home. There they are ensconced. Struggling through the days, praying that their darling daughter will survive numerous operations and chemo etc. It wasn't an easy read. It dampened my enthusiasm for my little well of self pity that I was going to dip into. So I will explain but not dwell. Dwelling is for ejits... or those that don't know how lucky they are.
So why was my stupid day so bad? Well I emailed a lovely girl who used to send me out scripts from the BBC. I wondered what had happened to the job I have waited for over a year to come up - the assistant script editor at Eastenders. (Brit soap for all my amazing foreign readers). I had done some digging and discovered the girl who did it was promoted and her replacement was a guy on placement - who is leaving this week. Voila! The opportunity was mine for the taking! I had been in to meet the folk there twice - they knew me, I was ready - just in time for the house move and HUGE new mortgage etc.... and.... today lovely Kathleen emailed me - the job went internally.
ARGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Yes - MY job - for it had my name on it I assure you - had been advertised and the interviews already had taken place. Big bulbous tears hit the keyboard. I just didn't know where to turn to. I have spent a year trying to get into script editing. I met great bigwigs in the industry. The big wigs said "Work on a soap!" So soapwards I went. There are 7 in the UK. 3 in London. One great soap offered me a job but I had to say no - due to it being in Leeds and sprog and husband (mortgage etc) all being in London. So..... I concentrated on the 3 soaps in London. One fancies itself as a 'serial drama' so is out of my league. That leaves 2. I can't get in to one - so that leaves EE - which I love. I met with folk there and they said - the assistant script ed would be PERFECT for you! Then they gave it... blah blah - you know the rest. I was gutted. I am gutted. I have no idea where to look for work - an opening or even inspiration. Why do I always choose the hardest mountains to climb? Why couldn't I want to be something straightforward - a hairdresser or solicitor or something... And I thought getting in to presenting was hard!
Do you ever have days like today - when you wonder what the hell is against you? Does an ex-boyfriend have a freakin' voodoo doll that he is sticking more pins in than a seamstress's cushion? Anyway - I washed sproglet, fed him pasta and popped him down to sleep. He went out like a light, snuggling his new fav toy - and duck called... er, 'Duckie'. And I realised that I am blessed - with friends, family, a husband who buys me 'Taste the difference cream custard' to drown my sorrows with. And a sproglet with fuzzy hair and the best laugh in the world. Feck 'em and their job. To quote that brilliant Aries woman Scarlett - 'tomorrow is another day.'
Cheers!
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