The Line That Is Dead Is Getting Closer

Catering is hard work. I used to do a lot of it and was used to it, but for almost four years now I've been paying the rent by sitting on my arse and making words appear on a computer screen. I have become soft. I feel shattered after today.

The job was manning a barbecue at an expo type thing called Timber & Wood, and yeah, it was an expo about lathes and drills and saws and all manner of things timber and wood. Astonishingly, I think the crowds were similar in size to Sexpo, which is held at the same venue. Thousands of backyard shed types all getting off on the smell of sawdust. I couldn't believe it.

Naturally they were all the kind of thick-fingered blokes who love nothing better than a barbie, so from about 10am I was a blur of tongs and spatulas, and God know how many hundreds of meals I prepared. Plenty of good feedback, bugger all wastage, control under pressure, I kind of got a buzz out of it.

But I feel wrecked now because there was a lot of running around and lifting of heavy objects. I smell like a human sized sausage and I am resisting the urge to jump in a bath with the largest glass of vodka and orange the civilised world has ever seen, because...

So the film festival director was hard to get hold of. Spoke to the publicist and she agreed that an emailer would work and I build a story around the answers. I stressed that I must have the answers by tonight because I really want to get a first draft down, this being Friday night and the deadline being Sunday and I have to be at the Timber & Wood extravaganza all day Saturday and Sunday.

I opened my mail and there was an email from the publicist. This is good, I thought, the answers are in. The publicist said the film fest director just announced his resignation and the publicist was wondering if this would affect the questions I wanted to ask him. This is not good, I thought. He still doesn't have the questions?

I added one more relevant question and begged her to tell me I would have the answers tonight, and all is good, the guy is working on them as I write. I was so relieved I wanted to celebrate with a bath and the largest glass of vodka and orange the civilised world has ever seen.

Then Men's Health called about the photo shoot for the story I am doing for them. They really want this to look good and there's an art director and a photographer and the shoot is going to happen in the evening next week as some abandoned 2nd World War tunnels near Taronga Park Zoo. I like that the mag wants to go to so much trouble and everything, but I now have to say to some people I haven't even met before, "Meet me at night in a disused tunnel so that I can take photos of your tattoos."

Hmm.