Being paid

Just on the off-chance that there's a single person remaining on the internet who isn't bored silly of me whining about my expensive consumer electronics, it looks like it was the dodgy memory card (an official Apple product) that was making my new iBook go all wobbly, and now I've taken it out, and erase/installed, it seems fine.

Also, the trackpad on my old iBook (the one on which I'm writing this one on on) has suddenly flickered back into life (I had to use a optic mouse thing before). Clearly Little Stevey Jobs has realised he can Push Me No Further. Ha.

The money from the GW series one repeats just came through, and as I haven't actually been paid anything since January (not counting an advance from my agent), it was a joyous moment, so could the nice lady who sits next to the other nice lady at C4 who does the writers' payments please say thank you from James.

The great thing is, I didn't have an agent when I wrote for Series 1, so not only do I not have to give ten percent of it to Agent Matt (not that I normally begrudge it, he works jolly hard etc etc), I was also able to send a joyous email to the other writers, telling them that the money is now ready for collection, and if their agents hadn't said anything yet, they were clearly sitting on the interest (ouch) and should be taken behind a wall and smashed up immediatement (don't know if that's an actual word).

A goodly proportion went on paying off my overdraft and credit card over the counter at NatWest, although the counter lady clearly wanted me to hand over even more.

COUNTER LADY: Now, once that sum's gone out, there's still a fairly healthy amount just sitting there, so do you have any thoughts on what you'll be-

ME: Hookers*

In fact all that 'healthy amount' will be gone very soon, what with tax coming up, and having to be a sensible self-employed person and putting some aside for next year's tax but still.

Also, Falmouth hookers = no, you really wouldn't. There was a brothel in Penryn at one point, but eventually the disadvantages of being directly opposite the police station outweighed the advantages.

In other news, my mate Constable Trout** went for an interview to be a qualified Hostage Negotiator. Apparently it didn't go that well, and then he came straight over to play Runepaw (AKA my Viking Mice roleplaying game). If I'd stopped to think about it, having a plot point in the game where some evil rats kidnapped the village's mice children was an iffy choice. Judging that the player characters had arrived just slightly too late and having the rats kill the first mouse child even as they burst into the room was possibly going to far, although I could argue that Constable Trout's character (a samurai lizard who washed up into Midgard on a twig) then going beserk and killing all the rats with the steely vengeance of an avenging avator of Justice Itself was probably good therapy. Maybe.

Sorry Trouty.



* I didn't actually say this. But if I had, it would have been reasonably funny.

** Who works nowhere near Penryn Police Station, let's make that very clear.

Double soz Trouters.