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The driver conversation alone was worth tonight’s taxi fare. He was tired of his job, apparently, and after three and a half years of thinking on the road had come to the conclusion that he was destined to be a TV presenter. Stupid, stupid me (I blame the wine) then said that I had done a fair bit of TV and he started pummeling me for contacts, then detailing his experience which, to date, consisted of a certain amount of ‘glamour’ modelling.

I though he meant he’s modelled clothes for Glamour magazine until he explained he meant the kind that involves nudity, sex and, apparently, your wife. This, he assured me, stood him in good stead for a prime-time show on the BBC, as he’d already proved he wasn’t camera shy by getting his kit off in public. I can’t really imagine him fronting the Lottery on the back of that.

Or the news.

Anyhow, he said it was a start but he wanted to do something he could show his mum… and his friends, and could feel in his bones that it was his destiny. I really hope he doesn’t give up the driving, though. So many people say they think it’s their destiny when what they really mean is they want to be famous, not realising that only one person in every 2,000,000 ever makes it into the history books.

It’s four days since I’ve written anything on here, which is about the longest I’ve ever left it, apart from when I’ve been away on holiday or a press trip. I’ve had no time for sitting around faffing, though. Tonight was the Porter Novelli quiz where Team MacUser did as poorly as ever. We came fifth out of seven, or something like that. By the time it came to an end, though, I was in no state for listening to the results as I’d tuned into Will’s far more interesting natter about his new ezine, which launched today and deserves to do very well indeed.

Oh, and I won a DVD recorder. Well, not quite. I actually won the box set of videos of Frasier, season 2, but in a fit of madness Roger swapped them for the DVD recorder he’d won, which struck me as a very unbalanced trade, but I wasn’t going to complain.

The passport scenario is still dribbling on. I must MUST send off the application to get it renewed, especially as I got my invite to the European Cup quarter finals today, so need it for the flight to Portugal.

I have, at least, got the photos done, in a decidedly red booth at Euston station.

Still, whatever they look like they’re nothing like as bad as the picture in my current passport, which has decidedly student-like overtones.

What was I thinking with that hair? What you can’t see is how far down my back it went. If there was ever a good excuse for withholding a student grant that would have been it. Fortunately a job a Thorpe Park forced me to have it cut. At least someone saw sense.

So anyway, the application form is still sitting in my bag, tantalisingly close to being gummed up and sent away. It’s been a busy week, though. Short on office days, and with a big chunk of freelance writing done last night I’m looking forward to the weekend already, although there’s not much in the way of plans yet, apart from dinner for Vince’s birthday, right after he’s run the marathon and probably won’t be able to sit down.

In the meantime, the duvet is calling and I’m filling space until the words go beyond my photo so it doesn’t muck up the site layout.

That, surely, must mean it’s time to log off and sleep.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 15th, 2004 at 11:59 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.