Is it the weather? The dark oh-so-early-in-the-afternoon evenings? The job? The outstanding gas bill? The poll tax (yes, yes, I know it's not called that) demand? The shitness of The Killers CD? The temperamental totally unprogrammable central heating system that leaves us shivering until 3am, when we wake up in a tropical sweat? The fact that I could only write seven pages of a script at the weekend? The massive mouth ulcer? The fact that I work under the only light in this recently revamped office that doesn't appear to work. I dunno. But I feel soooo down at the moment with very few rays of hope on the horizon. Tomorrow, yippee, am at the theatre and will be filing a review overnight. Wednesday will be a late one, boo hoo, due to the start of writing workshops (tho, although the thought of returning home at 9.30pm doesn't fill me with joy, am looking forward to it as I'm revealing to people my shoddy, flying by the seat of my pants approach to writing and encouraging them to do the same. Only without the depression). All of this excludes Thursday, when it is M's birthday and an evening of fun, fun, fun, fun and fancy foreign food. Shit, what am I complaining about? This week might be quite good.
Horrible: McDonald's Bacon Cheesburgers (I should know. Swayed by the 99p price tag, I ate two of the fuckers for lunch. Morgan Spurlock was right) Nice: Workmate Will, who gets a mention for buying us a tub of Terry's mini chocolate orange segments. Just what I wanted after stuffing my face with burgers. Is he feeding me up for a freak show, I ask myself?
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