As an Elfin Iclandic pop-singer once sang in her peculiar voice, it’s oh so quiet. Very little to report at the moment. I have two meetings arranged for next, week, one with a noted barrister, also known as the Prime Minister’s wife and one with a famed lyricist, yet of the 60 or so letters I sent out little over a week ago, only 2 people have replied.
I know how a poorly made soufflé feels. Anyway, despite being rather deflated at the moment, it is after all October now, when the weather closes in and daylight recedes. I’m am SURE, therefore, that almost everyone of the above-mentioned 60 has failed to respond because they are currently away in Marbella, St. Tropez (Pictured), Miami Beach or Prasat Hin Khao, getting some late autumn sunshine and that I simply have to play the waiting game.
I met my dad the other day, who in between sounding exhasperated that I didn’t have a ‘real’ job and lecturing me about how to use a Gilette Sensor Excel, gave me a bit of the old father to son advice. He basically told me to take my time and to think a lot, to think of everything I’ve a got and that I’d still be here tomorrow though my dreams may not (be). I stared at him with a puzzled expression, because I don’t listen to Cat Stevens or Boyzone.
“Take my time?” I’m nearly at the halfway stage of this project and I’m starting to tread water. There are no prizes for second, or to quote the finest ever film made about time travelling Scottish clansmen with the gift of eternal life, ‘There can be only one’.
Interest in what I’m doing, which for a period was definitely waxing, is now starting to melt. In the beginning, apart from everything being created, just 2 people looked at my website, my mum and John Lucarotti... You don’t know him. Following Yahoo’s help, an average of 1,400 people a day tuned in to see that I hadn’t updated for 48 hours. That number has now slid to an average of about 800.
I guess it’s not that important, perhaps I don’t write interestingly or I’m not fashionable enough. I’ve never even heard of Goldfrapp, a musical group which I’ve been led to believe is the benchmark of all that is trendy right now.
I sent an email to a prostitute the other day. I swear that that isn’t as seedy as it sounds. Last Friday’s Evening Standard had an article about popular Internet Based Diaries, (just for your information, they haven’t been the least bit interested in mine) and one was some so-called “amusing take on life” by this lady of the night, or more likely some male Oxford graduate writing it from his Hampstead garret. Yes I am jealous. I think my friend Paul mentioned it to me a while back.
I was wanting to have a link put to my website on hers (his). No response. Goodness me, what have we come to when even an information superhighway-based working girl-cum-scribe is too important, sorry busy, to reply to me.
Right, I’m going.