A load of bollocks

We went out to have some drinks to celebrate Sarah's 33rd birthday this evening. A couple of her multitude of siblings and various publishing people were there. It was fun to have a bitch about particular jobs and people (well, one in particular - both job and person) with a couple of them. It was also good to catch up with Sarah and Leigh, both of whom are awfully nice people. It was also good to have a few drinks after last night's efforts (one result of which was Rose spending shitloads of dosh over the Internet - another was me not making as much progress on the old index today as I'd like).

I cheerfully told Sarah about all the people who'd died when they were 33. Jesus Christ, Alexander the Great, Jimi Hendrix...

I actually met them through my father, of all people, and then it turned out they knew a friend of mine (yep, Wellington's pretty small that way). Bloody Dad is the reason I ended up in this publishing lark in the first place. I'm not sure I'm temperamentally suited for it. After I quit my job in a fit of pique last year and started working from home again, Rose's daughter Chloe remarked that 'You seem to swear at your computer a lot.' That would be long streams of swear words interspersed with such words as 'stupid' and 'illiterate' etc. She then asked if I'd done that at work. After a little thought, I had to answer yes.