The sun hits our living room around 7pm showing up how dirty the windows are. Rain was lashing down on them through the night and this morning and you'd think this would clean 'em up but not in London. City rain is so skanky. Martin Deeson, who writes for GQ among other notables, posted on Facebook today that he was wondering where all the freelance work had gone so things must be bad. Those still in possession of a staff job must be wondering if its their turn next, something I don't have to worry about anymore.
I'm hitting up everyone I know in search of a lead for work while sitting on our couch in the evening sunshine. My sister in law's sister (is there a term for that relation?) has got a 4 month contract on the BBC news channel and I've asked her if she can ask around. Even people that I've been in the same room as, but haven't actually met; I'm wondering if they can help me out. For example, a guy called John Beach. A sunny Bank Holiday Sunday meant that our neighbourhood was still lively at dusk over the weekend and, well, you have to join in when you can hear the laughter coming in your window. We headed up Portobello and followed a crowd to what was 'Neighbourhood' under the westway where we surprised to find lovely lady called Chloe instead of the usual door Nazis. She let us in gratis even though our names weren't down. A free party in a club in West London? I don't know how he did it in these lean times but I wrote to John to say thank you and let him know about this blog just in case he knew of anyone. Is that mercenary? I don't know. If it lead to anything I'd definitely feel like I owed him one and would try and help him out in return. His night is called Electric Santa and worth checking out, though from what I can tell its sporadic.
One honourable mention before I go. In the last post I was bitching about people making excuses not to get back to me. Vicky Frost at the Guardian did. It was a 'no' but it was still good to get any reply at all. Thanks Vicky.