Please excuse my heightened sense of melodrama this morning, but I had a near death experience yesterday. I was run down on my bike by a silver Mercedes coming out of a prominent advertising agency's car park. I'm not badly hurt, just cuts and bruises, but seeing my life flash before my eyes, and the reminder of what it's like working in advertising, has caused me to reflect. When he got me home he told me that "he wasn't a surgeon, but didn't think he needed to take me to A+E", then examined his dangling number plate. Next time I'll be sure to drip over his leather upholstery, not myself. We parted after I told him that I wouldn't shake his hand (on account of the blood.) No, he was contrite, and in shock too. Although I wish I hadn't told him it was my fault for riding on the footpath.
Anyway, the realisation is that I really have to concentrate on the three major Sensitive works I'm completing before the end of the year. And whilst I can't afford much of anything at the moment, least of all can I afford to lose any more time. I'll be in touch in December / January, to see if you still need writers. Until then I hope you find a suitable wordsmith, or pencil jockey, and I'd love to help when I'm a bit more time-rich.
On a lighter note, when the guy opened his boot to put my busted bike in it, he had not one, but two man-bags. It was indeed the most Metrosexual agency in town . .
And I was watching tv last night, and there was an ad about the quality of Mercedes brakes, which I am thankful for. We should all drive Mercedes! I know I will now that my bike is ruined.