Flat Pack Stocks

Withering Blog.

Editorial meeting this morning, had a memo.' The advent of the internet.' Miranda, my darling, my life, it's already here. Newspapers are officially dead. We are merely local post it notes to remind people who has died and to give them directions to the sofa shop. Another rejection from a literary agent, the gatekeepers. The great British novel spurned again. Our youngest Siobhan is having problems at school. Key stage two exam time. Utter nonsense. The Education Secretary should be strung up by his surname. Miranda had a go when I opened the second bottle of vin. She stormed off to bed. Alone. Watched The Godfather 2 and fell asleep half way through. Woke up with red wine tash. Again.
Tumbleweed time in the office. Blanked by Miranda. Made excuse about interviewing local writer. Went to pub and met two sticks Malcolm who talked nonsense about Rhodesia. He's always been three decades behind. Miranda texted and said she knew I was in The Lion. I am now officially electronically tagged through Sim card. Brilliant. Forty Four and can't even play out without being called back for tea! I suspect Miranda is down B&Q right now buying some flat pack stocks for yours truly.