Thursday, October 21, 2004

So, there I was, sulking about the way the weather's taken a turn for the worst and that I can't seem to keep warm and dry at the moment, and when the sun does come out it only appears to be there to blind me as I cross the Yorkshire Wolds, when I found myself reading about the weather conditions a friend of mine's enduring at the moment. Oops, it seems I ain't got it so bad after all. I competed in the Dr Fox and Gaby Yorath-fronted Great British Spelling Test last night and am quite gutted that I only managed to score a meagre 78%. This is not good for someone that earns his living as a writer (Shhh, don't tell anyone). I blame the flawed test, of course, Dr Fox's shite personality and the rapid nature of the questioning (six possible answers on a crowded screen and only 15 seconds to scan them all). I mean, whoever heard of a multiple choice spelling test? But, ha, I take consolation in the knowledge that M - who distracted me throughout the test in an effort to beat me - got a mere 74%. At last, proof that I'm the best. Oh, woe is me, Cloud in Trousers in an uncomfortable studio theatre tonight and two reviews to file overnight. Please, mistress fate, deal me a better hand or at least commission me to write something full of spelling mistakes for you.

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