Tuesday 18 December 2007

The Start of the End

Well well, I am approaching the end of my experiencing week as a journalist for Broadcast. My finest moment? conquering my fear of uberphotocopiers - the ones that have so many options and so many buttons but no writing next to the buttons to tell you what that button means. Having nearly got fired from a job last year for not being able to work the copier, and then on using the Broadcast one for the first time and getting a paper jam instantly, I was adding 'photocopiers' to my list of 5 fears. I was happily offering to copy everything out long-hand five times. But then I got it. My proudest moment.

No, no. I have learnt a few things. I can publish things on websites and I can tell you all about the upcoming telly for 2008.

On a personal note this week, I had my first turn at running the shop in the pub I work at. This was meant to be plain-sailing because it was just a quiet Sunday night. But a group of regulars decided to get so blind drunk that one knocked over the Christmas tree and then spilt a tray of vodka shots all over himself. So I had to refuse to serve regular customers, which is a painful thing for a barmaid to do and a way to make you very unpopular with your 'friends'. I know put 'friends' in '' ever since my boyfriend told me that in the East End, a 'friend' is only your 'friend' if you have known them for ten years or more. Less than this, they are your buddy or your mate. 'Friend' can also be preceeded with the word 'gangster' in the pub he works at the as the source of this information.

Also in my week, I got a grand total of 3 hours of Christmas shopping done. Most of it actually turned out to be for myself. But then as I look at my miscellaneous trinkets of crap (also known as christmas presents), I come to wonder why I bought myself a pair of socks with reindeer on. for £2! Was I in the festive spirit? No, because Covent Garden was like something out of Dawn of the Dead or those mad american movies with Arnold who is hunting down for the only remaining toy in town.

And then I returned home to find an email from Tesco online, who very reassuredly told me that if I bought a CD online, it would most definately arrive in time for Christmas, but this new email informed me that it would not be despatched until Saturday. Sorry Ewan. You don't get anything until New Year. Bastards.

Even more desparate to go home now. As I am organising get togethers with old friends and the countdown begins: 1 week to go, I am in need of a glass of mulled wine, a sing song of Christmas carols, a play on my grand piano and a hug from my mum. T minus 4 days.

No comments: