Self-Actualisation For Aspiring Failures

Dear Octopus,

A sad and miserable Tuesday lunchtime. At 12.45pm Jeremy and I disengaged ourselves from the writhing media beast and stalked the takeaway lunch emporiums of Villiers St in search of sustenance, returning soon after with split bento boxes containing chicken janang and teriyaki; high in monosodium glutenate and low in emotional fulfillment. The lingering shadow of yesterday's bratwurst giveaway hangs darkly over the street, the rumbling bass tones of a Bavarian tuba still reverberating the paving stones and temporarily awaking dozing tramps from their grim, medicated reveries. The lunch itself is a drab affair. I sometimes wonder if at the end of time these places will still be vending their salty wares to the cockroaches that scour the earth. Jeremy ate his janang with chopsticks. I ate mine with a fork. The odious, ubiquitous Dan then appeared as if to deliberately comment (not without a certain glib satisfaction, I might add) on how it was allegorical of the difference between us. I had to agree, even though I am more than capable with chopsticks but in this instance just didn't feel like using them.

This morning Clare, Hannah and I visited a production company in Soho Square, where we talked about idents, AFP and Christmas media parties. I think it's fair to say that I am both relishing and fearing the prospect of awkwardly sipping weak cocktails or warm beer with foolhardy sales people, probably in equal measures. I am standing there now: thinking 'another year has slid by. Here we are again.'

Shan is now reading out Tim Vine's one-liners, to which Jeremy and I are laughing.

This afternoon I have meetings, then tonight more viewings. Our search for a fourth housemate continues. Pongo and Honksy have attacked the wearying task of replacing Belle with an enthusiasm and fervour to which I am no longer accustomed. Honksy is a little in love with the girl she saw last night. Their compatibility was instantly evident, on which a rapport of intimacy and pleasantry was immediately built. I worry though that Honksy's relative inexperience in the dark art of searching for new housemates will catch her out, that she'll become too invested, that she won't realise that we are trawling the depths of a deep and meaningless ocean. If only you were here, Octopus.

I have an idea for a television programme that I think can make a client of ours a lot of money.

Your loving friend,

Action Squid