Disclaimer: The following article was done as part of a submission for a local travel agency. The company in question chose not to use the article, but I still rather like it.
Just whisper ‘Peru’ in a crowded room and it’s likely to inspire esoteric imagery of verdant, cloud-tipped mountain peaks, encasing the intricate stone terraces of Machu Picchu in even the least imaginative traveller. After all, the ancient Incan citadel is on the itineraries of 99% of international visitors to the country. But despite playing host to 5 000 inquisitive adventurers a day, Machu Picchu’s vast, labyrinthine layout conceals unseen hideaways and secret sites that will surprise those returning for a second- or even a tenth time. In this way, Machu Picchu isn’t just one of Peru’s most famous landmarks, it’s also an apt metaphor for the country as a whole.
Where do you draw the line between writing for pleasure and writing for cash?
‘I don’t fucking care if you like it.’
Along with the rest of Tina Fey’s growing comedienne army, that Amy Poehler quote from ‘Bossypants’ stood out for me as one of the most liberating things I’d ever heard anyone say, never mind a woman trying to walk the razor-fine line of ‘being funny’ and ‘being cute’. In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to read ‘Bossypants’, or at least how Amy’s expletive affirmation has become a T-shirt slogan in its own right.
Because here’s a question that’s been on my mind for the last couple of weeks….If you’re in an audience-facing, entertainment-based industry, how much should you care?
It’s difficult telling people when they ask how the new job, which I was quite keen to start, has panned out. It hasn’t.
Not at all.
In a couple of weeks I will be driving my new(ish) car to and from my new(ish) office contract in Northampton. I will be getting dressed every morning and making face-to-face conversation with people on an almost daily basis. I’m very excited… you know, between the crippling panic attacks and paralysing fear.
I don’t hate spiders. I just fear them… with every quaking fibre of my cowardly being.
So imagine my immense surprise (read: abject horror), at discovering the size- and aggression- of some of the local English arachnids.
Welcome back, readers. Or perhaps it is you who should be welcoming me back.
You see, I’ve just returned from a bank-balance defying two week vacation in Amsterdam and Paris, where I gorged myself on wine, food, wine, culture, wine, art, wine and wine.
Without boring the ever-loving shit out of you with intricate details about the museums and sites I visited, or sharing my hideously overexposed holiday snaps, I’ll get straight to the bit where I run my mouth and complain about the worst part of all of those beautiful places:
People who take pictures of pictures.
A Freelancer’s Guide to Sleeping on the Job
“You could write a book about napping,” says David as we complete our evening walk around the neighbourhood- a habit that we might soon have to forego when winter saps away the day time.
He’s trying to be mock me, but Jesus, he’s right.