Funny: last week in the Good Ship, ever so slightly drunk with our herd of Australians: Aussie Barman (who is now working at the Ship) decided to run across the bar and fling himself at the Towering Australian from a distance of several feet. Towering Australian is six foot seven (seriously: he’s like an office block with legs) and easily caught him. SiC decided to do the same thing, because…well, because alcohol follows its own logic. A nearby stranger apparently thought that TA was the resident midway ride, because he asked if he could have a turn too. “OK,” said TA, and the fellow happily leaped into his arms, thanked him politely, and left the bar. “I thought it was a bit weird,” said TA later, “but I didn’t want to be rude.”
Sigh: I have a new job. After signing on at yet another agency (I believe that recruitment agents are churned out of a factory somewhere, relentlessly perky ponytail-bots that run on amphetamines and PURE BULLSHIT), I was asked if I could start a full-time position right away. Being dangerously low on cash, I said yes and promptly quit the part-time job (they probably didn’t even notice). The new job is much the same except that my boss has actually seemed to notice my existence, which might prove to be a bit of a drawback. The company itself is pretty exciting and cool (big-time media), but a PA job is a PA job. I could be working for James fucking Bond and I’d still be bored half to death organising meetings and taking messages, though I’d probably be able to do it on a handheld combination videophone/laser ray gun/espresso maker disguised as a hairdryer. Also the dress code might be a bit more relaxed (Paint-Only Fridays! Hooray!).