Cynical

Another day of relentless admin, hoping against hope for a little requiem bite from a major newspaper. I also applied for a job; the first job I've applied for in an age. I tend to think that there's no such thing as a job in our industry. Believe it or not, I have never actually applied for a job that I've got! There's always a sense that they've already been promised to someone else. The Guardian ads are simply there to tick the box that stops things from looking like a stitch up. "We have to advertise," says the man with the Arts Council funding to his mate he met in Edinburgh doing student drama, "but the job's as good as your's!" 

I'm a cynical bastard aren't I? That's what you become after 20 years' hard slog in a ruthless industry!

Talking of ruthless, whilst lolloping on the treadmill today, I had the shock of my life, when the blooming thing stopped dead, and flashed up the message "contact technical support." The shock of the treadmill stopping without warning caused my whole body to tense and jolt rather badly and I ended up with quite a sore back. The staff there dealt with the issue quite well, particularly a woman called Julia on reception who rode in triumphantly, informing me that she was the trained first-aider. You could tell she felt her time had arrived. She even offered to call an ambulance. Overkill, of course, but it's important not to underestimate the potential of these sorts of injury.

I went to another treadmill eventually and carried on my work out. Imagine my shock when the very same thing happened again... And then a third time. Whether it was something I was suddenly doing, or something the gym was doing, or just a freak coincidence, I've no idea, but it was weird, and not very good for my back!