Weekus Horribilis

There were not a few moments this work week when I would have traded places with anyone, just for some tranquility. Don't get me wrong, I love writing. It's the non-writing part that sucks.

I've been hounded all week by this ad industry wanker -- phone calls, emails, voice mails -- you name it, all because he wants us to write about a non-event he is organising that's coming up (no kidding!) SIX months later. Is he going to keep at this for the whole six months?

He's tried to get me to his office "to discuss possible questions", and arranged a midnight phone interview with some guy several time zones away (Not Jude Law, unfortunately, so no deal).

At times, I try to act polite and professional, "act" being the operative word. Then at times, I feel like screaming at the deluded wanker:"Get out of my hair! It's not up to me whether or not to write about your non-event, coz if it is, the answer is no."

Thing is, the guy has been filtered several management levels down, and I, um, don't have anyone below me to delegate this to. Darn!

And just when I thought the week couldn't get any worse, I fell down, flat on my face, at the office car park at night, while talking on my mobile. My heels got caught in some gap, and body tumbled, bags flying. Not my chic-est moment.

My knees and elbows are badly bruised, and limbs ached like anything. My mobile phone survived the fall better than I did though, coz I could still hear my dear Mellissa on the line, going:"Hello? Hello? Are you still alive?".

Moral of the story? Buy Nokia, but resist giving your mobile number to rude wankers.

Let's hope the coming week is a lot saner than this.