There is a play on the radio - part of a series about crime in Britain during the 50's and 60's. It stars Ross Kemp - that's all we need to know - I had to turn it off.
I've installed software onto all my computers designed to identify and correct / prompt all my spelling and grammatical errors. Something I should have done years ago - but I was trying to soldier through, actually - It's very good - but at first - the constant chastisement and hectoring tone really put me off. I didn't realise I was so illiterate.
On Friday - I'm working with another consultancy to try and put together a pitch proposal for a medium sized piece of work. The open brief and call for entries is so staggeringly poor that it's almost impossible and will take the whole day, I'm not looking forward to it.
I was in a particularly grim mood earlier, looking at my empty inbox wondering where it all went wrong and how did I manage to fuck up so badly (please excuse the random and slightly hysterical episode of self-pity), and then I was reminded for some reason of the father of a girl I went to school with. They were posh, middle class, stuck up and snooty, they had money and all the nice things in life. They were also 'big' in my local Catholic church. And then one day he got arrested and sent to prison. Apparently he worked for the local authority in some capacity or other and had for many years been taking huge back-handers to allow rancid meat to be passed as fit for consumption and then distributed to school, hospitals and old peoples homes. Well, I'm pleased to say that I've never fucked up 'that' much.
It's cold, about one degree above 'snow' cold - which isn't as nice as it sounds.