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I didn’t so much meet Alan Plater as shout out his name really loudly during a conversation before turning round to find the little old thick-lensed man standing right next to me. This was a mere 50 minutes after insulting a Big Issue vendor by coming within a second of buying a copy before realising I’d already got that one and snatching my money back, much to the vendors dismay. M said I should have still handed over the cash but it was too late, cos I’d already put it back in my pocket and was heading inside to claim my free tickets to take up my free seats in a comfortable theatre where, 50 minutes later, I would down free drinks and shout out “PLATER!” Is there a play in the play-on-names Plato/Plater perhaps?

There has been a glorious bust-up at work today about workloads, with some people thinking that they do more than others. It was quite good fun as it’s always nice to be able to shout at your colleagues. We were asked to slip into a quiet room to discuss things further as our shouting in the newsroom was getting rather loud. Hurrah! Only thing is that the air is no clearer than it was before, so we’ll have to do it all again soon.

Embarrassing thought in smaller font: Why do my dreams have to be so big? Why couldn’t I have chosen something that was more easily achievable? And will I ever shut my eyes one night knowing that I’ve got there, that I made it all happen? Don’t you just hate angst ridden blogs?

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