I am on the express coach to Oxford. I have had a drink but not much. Enough to know that the guy sitting opposite me is really really really really weird.
Since I got on the coach I have converted four sound files from m4a to mp3 for next Saturday’s podcast. And I have converted a video file to mp3 and then clipped that mp3 down from 10 minutes to 1m 30s – also for next Saturday’s podcast.
And I’ve written some notes – for the podcast.
And I’ve redrafted a project plan which is, of course, nothing to do with the podcast.
Right now I’m half watching an episode of Pets whilst half watching the girl sitting on the opposite side of the aisle.
She’s weird, faking phone calls left and right.Â Well, faking phone calls anyway because earlier on we went through a fucking great tunnel where no mobile works and still she pretended to be on the phone to her mate Sarah.
Sarah, I ask you. What kind of a pornstar name is that?
No? Just me then?
I’m starving. But I’m embarrassed to tell Soph that I’m on the way home and I’m hungry. For lurve, as well as for food.
And I have written a simple exercise in descriptive narrative which I’m going to do and will also pass on to Amy to see if it helps.The weird thing is that I have just discovered a letter to myself in my laptop bag. And in it I name JFK’s killer – who is, of course