Last week was incredibly boring punctured by moments of hilarity.
I went to see Bridesmaids at the cinema and laughed so much that I missed my mouth shovelling popcorn and a load went down the front of my jumpsuit and got stuck on my leg.
Then, through Twitter, I found a blog written by Jim Entwistle who I used to go to college with.
One day I will turn on the telly and Jim Entwistle will be either hosting a very funny chat show, doing funny stand-up comedy at the Apollo or just doing something funny.
He was funny at college and he is funny blogging. My favourite bit was his story called Birthday Murder (At Sea). If you need a laugh go and find it at www.mulct.co.uk
Other things that happened included: finding out the leather boots I bought on eBay had turned into a size 18 fuschia pink winter coat in the post, my horse meeting a bus for the first time and blowing her brains out of her nose with excitement and an interesting email conversation with a friend discussing the merits of having a horse rather than a child (the conclusion being that if it goes horribly wrong with kids you’re not allowed to sell them but with horses this is accepted practice. As she put it “Once you’ve had a baby you can’t just suck it up with the hoover and pretend it never happened.” Sage words)
But as I mentioned, the rest of the week was pretty boring. In this job you get weeks and weeks of excitement where you’re dashing about and interviewing people about their Chihuahuas or their trampolining or their giant vegetable growing and then all of a sudden you’re back to earth with a bump and you have to turn it all into stories.
While it is very interesting to talk to someone about their champion breed Chihuahuas, it is much harder trying to turn your scrawled notes into an interesting and feasible article of 1,900 words.
That’s when you remember you were chuckling away during the interview and having a grand old time when you should have been concentrating much harder on your shorthand. Because you chuckled, and were not accurate, it takes fifteen minutes to realise that something that looks like a squashed fly is actually the word ‘enthusiasm’.
You also have to work out how to stick irrelevant facts like age and birthplace in the manner of: “Penny, 50, moved to Sunderland from Cardiff, and was bitten by the Chihuahua bug soon after.”
This makes you sound like a gameshow host and does no justice whatsoever to poor old Penny, who has now had her age revealed and her hobby turned into a sentence that hints at a rabid dog attack.
The whole process smashes your soul in and when you get home you have to lie on the bed for fifteen minutes with your eyes shut, wondering if you might be happier on the dole.
By Friday afternoon I was squirming about in my seat and drinking dangerous levels of tea while speed-eating Mr Kipling Spotted Dick Slices so it was a relief for everyone in the office when I went home.
This week I hope to fare better.