So, here I am: blogging at my desk when I should be writing about the joys of Bramham and Thorner for the September issue of the magazine. Fortunately, I'm freelance, so technically, my time is my own. All the same, I should probably get it out of the way but all I can think about is going shopping in Leeds this afternoon and spending money that I don't have on stuff for Benicassim.
I'm worried I won't be able to hack it over there, what with the 24 hour life but someone has suggested herbal speed. I might give it a try. Or, I might not.
I have a whole bunch of applications to fill out for running jobs at tv production companies, as well as begging, pleading grovelling letters to send to agencies but I'm not in an obsequious mood. Oh please please hire me. Your company is amazing. My life ambition is to work for you. Blah blah. Not today, thanks.
I've been told I need to find an agent to become a presenter, but, I need a showreel before an agency will even look at me. Cue £1000 spent on an obnoxious 'cameraman' and editing suite as I 'interview' my mum or some other equally celebrated personage. Sometimes, my ambition spurs me forward but other times, like now, it all just seems like a lot of hard work.
