Christmas is upon us and once again I’m reading Spider Jerusalem which means that I’m not only pissed off with the world in general, I’m almost totally enraged with my lack of progress which has been put off for days with the ‘T’ word. No prizes for guessing what that is. Kerrang put a job for news editor out to the public and true to the ‘well I probably wont get it anyway spirit’ of things, the cover letter began, “Oi Bird”, rather than “Dear Mr Bird”. Still, I have but two months of this write to go and I feel abuzz with the next creative surge nicely building up. The words shall spurt forth as soon as I go home I have no doubt.

The end of term as a freelancer is a lot different from that of a paid employee. There are no Christmas parties, no affectionate “Enjoy yourself, but don’t forget you’re back here on Dec 27th” letters from the boss, no cards from workmates (just the friends that remember you exist). In fact, pretty much just nothing really. Sigh. My first anniversary of going solo and all I want for Christmas are some work colleagues that aren’t on the other end of a net connection.

Signing off.