27/09/06
Heavens to Mexico -
Categories: News from the Pickett camp.
Spent a week temping. Have now finished that and am back to being unemployed.
My last day of temping was on Monday. Very much excited by the idea of staying up late and not having to get up the next day, I got ready for a banging night in with the complete works of Coleridge and a DVD of 'Watership Down'.
My housemate's not entirely sober friend had come over, I think for a little sympathy, as it turned out his new girlfriend is a psycho and when he went to bed at the weekend, she woke him up with a knife, saying she was going to kill herself if he didn't wake up and talk to her (should I be writing this?...probably not...oh well)
Anyway, the poor boy was a little distressed and needed some comforting, so my housemate had agreed that he could come over - even though by this time it was already just before midnight. He was in the kitchen, filching some wine that was probably mine, when I heard a crash, a series of "fuck"s (the word, not the action) and then a rather feeble "um, could someone come down here". Went downstairs to discover blood all over the kitchen - on the floor, the cupboards, the walls, a broken glass on the worktop, and the poor boy clutching his hand. He had sliced a massive hole in the top of his hand and there was blood pouring everywhere (although I can't quite understand how he got it on the walls - I think he must have started doing a little dance when it happened). So, my fun night involved trying to keep him conscious whilst waiting for an ambulance - then the ambulance people rang back and said "actually, can you get him to hospital yourself, there aren't enough ambulances" and then spending about an hour scrubbing the entire kitchen with bleach.
Apparently he had to have internal stitching in his vein.
Over the weekend I went to a script writing workshop. It was really good, but was run by a guy from L.A. which didn't do anything to allay my suspicions that most Americans have an egos that are inversely proportional to the size of their president's brain. He kept banging on about how much money he made and how good he was at writing.
And speaking of people who've made lots of money writing - last week I met Ben Elton. It was in an audition for his new show - I wasn't really expecting him to be there, as it was only the first round of auditions, and I'd just been soaked and was looking rather like a cross between a dowdy schoolgirl and a drowned rat (I'd been temping, so was wearing a rather dull office outfit, but also had pigtails, which make me look about 12; and had been trapped in a massive rainstorm wearing flip-flops and no coat). I haven't seen him really on tv since the 80's - so had an image of this slightly weaselly, rather wizened looking man, with an estuary accent and maybe a shellsuit. In fact, he was actually rather suave - and better looking than he used to be. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying in any way that I find Ben Elton attractive - I'm just saying that I think he's got better with age. He's the George Clooney of eighties political satire.
What else has happened?
Don't know really.
I have a plan to write a film, and then try and use my new-found contacts (ie the other receptionist) at the Film Council (where I was temping) to get funding, somehow find lots of people who are prepared to work on it for almost nothing, and then by some freak chance have it be a huge worldwide success.
It's more likely that I'll just end up writing a poem and then watching Napoleon Dynamite.
Better go, it's midday and I'm still in my dressing gown. It's a good one though - from the 70's; looks quite the kind of smoking jacket extremely gay men wear at retro dance nights.
Love to one and all
RP x
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