cont . . . “Besides breathing you mean? Well, in no uncertain terms, she read me the riot act about deadlines.” “Again?” Ben raises an eyebrow. “Yes. Again.” Suddenly I feel sheepish. “But in my defence, for the entire morning I’ve been beavering away on yet another of the tortuously-boring features she sets me up with. This one, I might add is about a bloke who’s spent his life in sanitation.” “Sanitation?” Ben begins to grin, showing off his perfectly-white and even teeth. “Yes sanitation. I swear that when he started talking about (I refer to my note book for the exact wording) ‘filtration of pollutant and micro-organisms in sustainable ecological bio- systems’, I thought I’d have to kill myself. But being the skilful features’ writer I am, so far I have managed to conjure up five hundred magical, inspired and fascinating words. Only another two hundred and fifty to go. Candida of course didn’t pick her moment to wander over for a pep talk as I’m carefully crafting them though, did she? Oh no, she decides to come over to my desk at the very moment I’m checking on my eBay. As a result, I’ve just had the biggest bollocking ever about dedication to the job, professionalism, hitting deadlines, blah, blah, blah and, to add insult to painful injury, I’ve been outbid on a nice Whistles coat I had my eye on. And there was I thinking that the Wicked Witch of the West was dead. I wish someone would drop a house on old Lardy Arse. Oh my god, I don’t believe it, she’s coming back.” I start typing and trying to look professional. “Four o’clock will soon be upon us,” she now barks as she galumphs across the newsroom and towards my desk for a second time. “I want that copy polished and filed by then. A single minute later and you can forget your day off. She gives me one of her famous withering looks, the kind a primary school teacher might bestow upon a five-year-old caught shoving crayons up its nostrils; one of sheer repulsion. Today, I note she is dressed in red from top to toe: red skirt, red sweater, even a red hair-band (why does she always wear stupid hair-bands?). She looks like an over-stuffed pepper. “I hate her,” I wail as soon as she is out of ear-shot. “She’s on my back the whole time.” “Oh I dont know, says Ben, as he makes to leave. I don’t think she’s all that bad really you know.” I look at him as though hes gone stark, staring mad. “I reckon she’s just mean to you because she’s intimidated by you. Threatened.” “Threatened? By me? You must be joking.” “Yes, threatened - by your top journalistic skills. And your drop-dead gorgeous looks.” I swing my notebook at him as if swatting a wasp. “Get out of here Ben Heller and take your bullshit with you.” Suddenly I can feel myself blushing. I’m turning the colour of Candida’s over-stretched skirt. “See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya,” he sing-songs as he heads for the door.
Posted on: Tue, 22 Oct 2013 21:40:04 +0000
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