Shirking 9 to 5

I’m still here, it seems.

I’ve got lots of things in the pipeline. It’s just that my pipeline feels as if I’ve swallowed seven Imodium and an awful lot of red meat. What I need is some kind of freelance-contract colonic irrigation.

Of course, another week without work gives me chance to do lots of jobs around the home and spend time with my children.

So I lied to Mrs RMWLC and told her I have work.

I plan to spend the week sat on this bench between the hours of 9am and 5:30pm.

It’s not so bad, I’ve made a few friends.

This is Gerry. He’s actually dynamite in a brainstorm.

Of course, the really great thing is that I get to blog again. Great for you, I mean.

When I was working I didn’t have time to blog because I was giving my all for that agency.

Except for the times I did blog when I was working for agencies. If I blogged while working at your place, it’s because I found it such a stimulating environment that I wrote out of the overflow of my creativity which would otherwise have spilt out of me onto the floor and made a terrible mess.

So anyway, if you’re passing my park during working hours, do stop and say Hello. And bring biscuits, okay?

I've got a job. On a fricking building site!

I couldn’t blog yesterday. My confidence was at an all-time low.

It had been another bad day bellybutton fluff-wise and, having promised you all a bumper harvest, I couldn’t even bring myself to photograph the measly specimen.

I just can’t understand what’s happened. I think my bellybutton has been emasculated.  Is that possible?

For certain, what hasn't helped has been the presence of hyper-manly men nearby, on the building site over the road. 

Now and then I peek out of my bedroom window at the real men doing real jobs before shrinking back behind my net curtains and dolefully examining my body in the mirror.

Then this morning I had a brilliant idea! Why not get a job there?!

After all, have I not carried the weight of client expectation? Have I not shovelled barrowloads of clichéd prose? Surely this would be a mere trifle.

I skipped downstairs and over the road “Good day fine sirs!” I exclaimed to the group of burly types at the site entrance. “I wonder if you could use my services?"

There followed a rather confusing exchange. I can tell you I didn't appreciate the way they seemed to regard me. And many of my wittiest asides appeared not to register at all. 

For a while I feared ANOTHER rejection. Then one of the big men thrust a hard hat and garishly-coloured vest at me and pointed me in the direction of a big heap of rather dirty looking soil.

Well, I tried. For several minutes I gave my all. 

But a broken nail and hurty elbow soon told me that this sort of ‘menial’ labour is not for me.

I cast off the dreadful vest and hat and ran! For what? For freedom! For creativity! For me to be me, in all my glorious unemployed beauty! 

Dear reader, I have never felt so alive. And now, back safe and warm in my room with my cardi on and a warm mug of Ovaltine, I feel more certain than ever of my destiny.

God has put me on this earth to sit in a warm and cosy office and push a pen around. I shall do this or I shall die trying! (Or, at the least, I shall sit alone in my bedroom blogging about it.)

Day two in the bedroom

It's been less than 48 hours but Mrs RMWLC has already resorted to communicating with me solely through text message.

In the absence of human contact, I’ve made friends with my pens and begun talking to them instead. Having spent quite a lot of time sitting in agencies with only developers for company, it’s actually not that bad.

They are (from left to right) Dave, Simon and Nicole.

Dave is helping me write a new intro to my CV. What do you think?

I am a one-man creative sensation. Give me a brief and I will spray you with a non-stop boiling-hot jet of media-transcending concepts.

Not sure about the ‘spraying’ bit? Maybe I should say that creativity spouts out of me? Or spurts? Which do you think is better, Simon? Of course, you’re right, 'spurts' is much better.

I'm afraid it’s been another disappointing day bellybutton fluff-wise. 

I’m not making excuses or anything but I usually have LOADS more than this. 

It may be a case of stage fright. Come on bellybutton, we’ve promised a bumper crop on Wednesdays! Don’t let me down.

I invite you all to come back tomorrow and see. 

Eh? What do you mean you're busy?

The stench of loneliness

And suddenly, I find myself alone once more.

The merry-go-round of freelance life was making me giddy and a little nauseous and then, without warning, I was thrown off onto the grassy verge of no work. For a week at least.

So here I am, sat on the edge of my bed in my pants tapping on the keyboard, with only that pale, mournful-looking chap in the mirror for company.

Never mind. I shall meet this challenge head on, with my usual mix of despair and self loathing.

First off, I need to decide on the most effective use of my time.

I could go out looking for work, but I don’t want to seem needy.

I could spend more time with the family, but there seems little point. Both my kids are under three, which means they’re unlikely to remember anything I do with them.

So I thought the best thing would be to start posting my bellybutton fluff again.

You never know who might stumble upon this blog, see my impressive harvest and think ‘I want to hire this guy RIGHT NOW.’

Of course all this whole no-work thing is down to some bad choices on my part.

First off, I made the mistake of booking a holiday. Don’t ever book a holiday if you’re a freelancer. Every agency in London takes it as an invitation to offer you work. It's astonishing. Strangers will stop you in the street and offer you freelance for the duration of your holiday.

Then, once I was looking again, nothing. Except for a three-day gig I turned down because I was so convinced I'd have lots of better offers any minute. I spent the last day of holiday marching my family around the clifftops of Devon trying to get a signal and still nothing.

The important thing is to stay positive. This is a chance for me to learn lessons. Important lessons for life. It’s a chance to better myself and to replace that seal between the bath and the wall tiles. The mould there is getting worse and worse. I only did it a few months ago and I was so careful to make sure it was dry before I applied the new seal so why has the mould come back, WHY?!!

And of course, my loss is also your gain, as my newly unemployed status leaves plenty of time for blogging.

Each day I shall post my bellybutton fluff (you can expect a bumper crop on Wednesdays, I always get a lot on Wednesdays). These alluring images will be accompanied by some sage words from the world of freelance (my bedroom).

Tune in, folks, I'm here all week!