Was up till quite late plotting new sitcom, 'Bits of Me Hurt' which I really want to film and get online soon. Maybe even start filming this weekend if I can get a team together for it, it's a bit dark, though.
Woken up by a message saying the part-time job I'd accepted (16 hours a week, nice and non-taxing for my creative brain) in Colne, near where I live, was actually for Colne in Lancashire. Then the bank called to make sure I was still alive because I'd barely touched my account since going full time - I wanted to explain everything I earn (and the rent I pay) is in cash (I log it all for tax stuff) but I had just woken up and wasn't really in the mood to explain all of this to them. Still, it made me check my bank balance for the first time since Christmas. Fuck. Fuckety fuck. Okay, need to get a job. A proper job. I got paid £24 for the show in Southampton the other night. I lost lots of money on Guildford and London, I made about a tenner out of the Bristol performance. The Norwich show did me proud but still, that's one show, how could I ever possibly think I was doing okay? I'm working 14 hours a day on tour dates, PR, getting sackings for the film, I keep forgetting that I'm not actually getting paid for this, I'm just working towards something that might do at some point.
Sent an email to friends to mostly rant, but also see if anyone knows of any part-time work going because clearly at some point I need to get some cash in. My friends are brilliant, you know. I know I've said this before but I do get a lot of backing. Grace, Edd, Vicky, Rohan, Izzy, Marcel, Claudia...I can't promise I'll get anywhere but if I do, I'll remember your efforts today.
One of the acts I emailed for the film about sacking me is actually dead. She has been for 7 years. How is she on the new Jools Holland album then? I'm very confused.
Polite decline for the film from Gregory Porter. Still no reply from Lionel Richie.
Agreed to do some 'hardcore manual labour' tomorrow - a one-off thing, insulating a friend's loft. Paul Richards, the Inadequate Man, in a loft. What could possibly go wrong? I'll let you know tomorrow.
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