I should really be packing. I’m going to Paris tomorrow morning. Instead I’m on my bed watching Arrested Development and eating lunch.

Packing is one of those horrible and thankless tasks. I like to leave it to the last possible moment. The closer I am to leaving the surer I am that the stuff I pack will be the stuff I need, not that I really require much. I should just got up and sort myself out. That knitwear won’t pack itself.

I would like to dedicate this post to the fine fellows who saved me from standing awkwardly in the corner of a nightclub last night and took me away to weed, Bram Stoker’s Dracula and talk of the future.

It was one of those nights where no matter what I tried I just wasn’t going to get drunk, and dance about and have a whale of a time. It was good to see my friends, as it always is, but the dynamic of my favourite watering holes appears to be changing. There was a time when everyone in there looked so cool or mental that you felt you were really part of something, last night it was like a One Direction video. I guess it’s just further proof that I’m getting older, that things can’t stay the same and that we are doomed to repeat our mistakes.

I’d been abandoned by my friends who were in the pursuit of girls with low self esteem when an old school friend spotted me, and said he was off if I wanted to walk back with him. I’m a firm believer in signs, and I took this as such. I wouldn’t say it was fate but when somebody offers a change in environment a lot of the time I will accept it (as long as it doesn’t involve leaving my beloved Essex). I think that comes from ‘accepting and building’ at Improv, that’s the basis of it all. You take whatever someone says, you accept it – ‘Yes, I will leave this disenchanted hole’ – and then you build – ‘Shall we get high?’ – incredible things can happen just on that basis.

Got to bed at four after downing beans on toast, woke at ten and cracked on with some work.
Accept and build.

So after a string of posts where I complained that I hadn’t got up and done something I finally managed to get up and do it yesterday. My first novel; Situation One, is now winging its way to the literary agency Darley Anderson for their perusal. I hope that they can spot something worthwhile in it, that someone there is on the same wavelength as me and that they can find it a market. It shouldn’t be hard, it’s the best book I’ve ever written.

I don’t know where the push to actually send it off came from, I’ve been deliberating over minuscule changes to the dynamic of sentences for weeks now, and then worrying that my cover letter and synopsis didn’t come off right and in the end I just accepted that I’d written them, and there was a reason that I had written what I had and that was what should go off to the agents so that’s what has gone off. Once that envelope was sealed I was sure of what I was doing, I had the words ‘just do it already’ cycling round my head, those were my Grandma’s words of advice when months ago I griped to her that it was really hard work writing a book. I wish I could call her up and let her know that it’s done.

The woman in the post office didn’t even congratulate me on my achievement, she just bunged a stamp on it and sent it off to the mystical world of the post office backroom where incredible things we could never even fathom occur. I asked for a proof of posting receipt just so she would know it was a big deal. Afterwards my girlfriend asked me how I felt.
‘I feel like it has taken a weight off, it’s out of my hands now’
‘That’s good’ she said, ‘are you crying?’
Just for the record, I wasn’t crying. I had something in my eye, I think it was pride.

Rather than getting everything wrapped up and sorted yesterday I decided to spend an awful lot of time working on my new music project. While this isn’t the worst use of my time, and it was on the agenda for this week sending off my novel was supposed to come first because the sooner it is off, the sooner I get published,write the screenplay, retain the merchandising rights, write the soundtrack, become a millionaire. See, I’m not as all over the place as I make it seem, there is a definite goal, good intentions.

Today I am going shopping though. It’s payday, one of only twelve days a year when my account is in credit. Next week I’m off to Paris so I need to make sure I’ve got enough striped shirts and pencil thin moustaches to see me through. I’m kidding. Usually I’m one of those people who just gets by with what he’s got but holiday is something else. That’s a very British attitude isn’t it. People save all year for their holidays, and that is what this feels like, like I’ve earned it. So I’m going to get some Euros, and possibly some clothes and then take my beloved for lunch, because it’s payday, and I’m avoiding work.