There's millions of stuff that I want to tell you about, like all the things that make Brighton so interesting (but not those fucking starlings that are supposed to be such an awesome sight when the make their way into the sky from the ruins of the pier each night but there's no point getting excited and spending each night shivering on the pebbly beach in pants-wetting anticipation of this much-talked about event because you might just be finally told that the little fuckers are in Africa this time of year. Innit.) but although I am on holiday I have to help a friend get her magazine of the ground. First issue and there have been sub editors kidnappped by aliens or something and so I have agreed to help out. So I am about to get stuck into a pile of stuff that needs to be edited. But that's fine because, you know, I like this friend a lot and am prepared to sacrifice my holiday time to help her out and am just generally more than happy to do whatever I can for her because I think so highly of her.
So I hope that while I sit here on this grey morning... alone in this rambling and empty house, poring through this mountainous pile of copy, my brain splitting with the attention to detail that I am forcing it to apply... I hope while I am doing all of this, she is enjoying her trapese class.
No kidding - I have been left with instructions while she and The Dreaded One have justleft for a trapese class.
Right. Saint Quick had better get cracking...
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2 comments:
Trapese??? Jesus cock, this man is sub-editing my magazine! ! ! !
Hehe... yes, saw that too late and as usual couldn't be arsed editing (I think i pay more attention with real writing).
I know it should have been 'trapease.' Sorry.
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