Rapid Response

Tuesday dawned piercingly clear, and with still no word to the contrary I set off for my meeting with the Editor. It was a longish bus ride, and dawn's clarity gave way to an increasing heat and humidity. By the time I arrived my shirt, which had looked fairly presentable when I left, was sticking to me in places which I was quite sure hadn't stuck out quite as much the last time I'd checked. With an hour to kill, I walked aimlessly around for a while, in the vague hope that it would do me some sort of good. Maybe I'd burn off a few calories, maybe I'd see something interesting to write about.The park was sparsely populated, disappointing me in my aim of ripping off other people's lives for my own self-aggrandisement, but it was a nice enough walk nonetheless. So pleasant was the wander that I lost track of time and had to jog to make it to the editor's office on time. Arriving dripping sweat and apologies in uneven proportion, I was waved through by h...

The voicemail had been exciting. The Editor's tones were as icy as ever, but it was a relief to hear them. I'd started to wonder if I ever would again. "I'd like to see you, we have a project to discuss, can you make Tuesday, 1.30?" I'd made a careful note on the otherwise blank pages of the diary I'd bought more in hope than expectation from Poundland and responded carefully (via email, I didn't trust my voice) that I would be able to free some time up. It took two days for her response, also via email: Due to the tone of your response, and the fact that you misspelled the word "delighted" I have no option but to cancel our Tuesday meeting. Whilst I appreciate the rapidity of your response, I feel ultimately that this meeting is inappropriate at this time . I sat back and looked at the screen. Inappropriate? Tone? Blowing air out I called up my original email. There didn't seem anything particularly offensive there. I'd man...

Fresh from my triumphant social media post (3 likes!) I decided that what the world really needed was my hot take on the Royal wedding. This presented some difficulty, as with the best will in the world, I could summon up only a bored indifference, and it seemed to me that only wry acknowledgement of the pageantry or an ascetic aloofness would do. All other responses seemed somehow excessive Pleased at my alliteration, I opted for the latter. Fake it 'til you make it, as no one ever said to me. So, hitting the keyboard and rubbing my hands with glee, I prepared to mildly skewer the monarchy with  frosty disdain. This unique approach would, undoubtedly, cement my position as a pre-eminent commentator of my age. Some hours later, I had viewed a number of videos of skateboarding cats/ but the social media post had garnered two more likes. This, I decided, was a reasonable day's work.

I had to pick my words carefully. I had been up most of the night, agonising over a social media post about what was the album that I found most influential. This was a weighty question. The answer would be seen by literally several people, and it would go a long way to proving my continuing cultural relevance, even though I hadn't written anything in months since that contretemps in the coffee shop. Contretemps. Ha, still got it. It was a toss up between two records. One was a rap album, the other a later record from a guitar rock band who'd decided to prove they could do other things. I'd discarded some more obscure ones in case no one knew who they were, and also because, although owning them for many years, I'd never actually listened to them. One would paint me as rising above mere genre concerns, able to reach out and embrace a music which may be considered threatening and edgy, but never bourgeois. The other would bolster my intellectual credentials as, bei...