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Interview a theatre critic

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH. I’m back at work. It sucks. So, I figured, after a painstakingly slow, traffic rammed 2 hour journey in and a bit of breakfast combined with ‘a meeting’ that the first priority should be a blog entry. At least it looks like I’m doing some work then.

Have had an email (in the mound of emails nudging for my attention) from a Staffordshire University student who wants to interview a ‘theatre critic’. How exciting. I feel like Michael Billington. Anyway, I’ve said yes and now await the 30 page questionnairre from ‘Emma Alcock’. I’m looking at that surname. Could it all be an hilarious undergraduate ‘joke’ ???? And on reviewing, got an email from a ‘client’ asking me for the review they’ve commissioned as soon as possible, they need it NOW, even though the press night ain’t ’til March 2!

Nothing has changed here. Misery, depression, laziness, silence. It’s no ‘Back to Reality’ – currently the best goddam TV entertainment there is. In fact, it’s not entertaining at all. EG muttering from our new photographer: “So, do I have to just sit here and wait for something to do?” That’s the level of scintilating banter around these parts.

Phoned mum. Just at the right time from the sound of it. “I was just thinking that I don’t like this life,” she said. Cripes. Mum was pondering having her dinner – at 10.45. I told her she should wait until nearer a more traditional lunch time, otherwise she’ll end up eating 8 meals a day. “It’s so boring, being on your own,” she said. Anyway, by the time I’d finished with her she was quite chipper and looking forward to an afternoon at the Women’s Guild’s thrilling ‘bring and buy’ sale. She is taking some old picture frames and will, I reckon, come back with one of those crochet ladies you pop on top of your toilet roll.

Crazy dream last night: I was in my bed, dreaming. That kind of sleep deprived Murakami influenced nonsense I can do without. Feel like shit today. Like a guy that’s slept for two hours.

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