Dear readers, my career as a journalist is over before it had a chance to begin. After working through the night on my two humorous anecdotes, eventually managing seventy-one A4 sheets' worth in total, I set off this morning to post one to Woman's Own and one to The Sunday Post.
Perhaps due to inattention caused by lack of sleep, I posted them into the glass recycle bin round the back of the Wellgate Centre instead of the postbox. I realised my mistake and tried to fish them out, but enjoyed no success. I eventually had to give up because the fumes of rotten Newcastle Brown Ale emanating from that receptacle became quite overpowering.
Ironically, this turn of events is an enormously amusing misunderstanding and would doubtless entertain readers of Woman's Own or The Sunday Post, but of course, after my disaster, I am now far too disheartened and demotivated to even think about writing to either of these publications to tell them this anecdote.
I have turned to drink to soften the blow.
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1 comment:
Mr Carew,
I think it would be best if you left writing to professionals such as myself. Your blog serves me well as raw material for my own forthcoming book, but no one would say you possessed any real flair for the artform. It takes me a long time to sift through all your errors of composition before I can make sense of what you write. Please, abandon your attempts to mimic us published authors.
Oh, we must meet for that interview I had intended. It's important we touch base.
Blessings be,
Prof. Jessica Flitey
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