You may think all I do is moon about in the mountains ooing and ahhing at Nature.
I do that.
But I also sometimes scrape the mud off my face and make for the Big Smoke to see people and enjoy traffic and the indifference of shop assistants.
I went to a verrry ritzy partay a week or two ago and had a smashing time with Darling David Bullard – who is a perfect gent and a mensch and a fantastic dancer - and met the Maverick magazine publishing genius bloke, also known as Branko Brrrchigggchk (shuddup, that’s exactly how it’s pronounced) and had an almost-conversation with him about his new baby, Empire Mag, before he bolted for the undergrowth. Maybe he thought I was angling for a job like all you other journos who were snarfing down the Saxon champers.
I met this Vincent Maher guy, who I emailed for my MA research because, When I Was a Student, I believed he was some kind of New Media fundi at Rhodes and I thought he would be useful to interview. My Network now tells me (oh yes, I have a Network, people) that he referred to me in his blogette after the Empire party.
Well, just to put it straight: I did email him. Three times. And he never, ever replied. Truth. When I mentioned it to him he denied it in a round about way. Looong, convoluted wriggle about some clever email filing system he invented (snort!) which loses his mails.
Yawn.
I suspect sheer, ivy-wreathed Rhodes snottery looking down on Witsies inhabiting their ugly, grey concrete campus which, admittedly, resembles Hitler’s bunker. And I won’t tell you about how VM kept trying to sneak a look down my dress. Nearly fell off a table doing so. Rhodes! I ask you, with tears in my eyes.
But lemme tell you this much. Empire can throw a fabulous party. Thank you DDB and BB.
I do that.
But I also sometimes scrape the mud off my face and make for the Big Smoke to see people and enjoy traffic and the indifference of shop assistants.
I went to a verrry ritzy partay a week or two ago and had a smashing time with Darling David Bullard – who is a perfect gent and a mensch and a fantastic dancer - and met the Maverick magazine publishing genius bloke, also known as Branko Brrrchigggchk (shuddup, that’s exactly how it’s pronounced) and had an almost-conversation with him about his new baby, Empire Mag, before he bolted for the undergrowth. Maybe he thought I was angling for a job like all you other journos who were snarfing down the Saxon champers.
I met this Vincent Maher guy, who I emailed for my MA research because, When I Was a Student, I believed he was some kind of New Media fundi at Rhodes and I thought he would be useful to interview. My Network now tells me (oh yes, I have a Network, people) that he referred to me in his blogette after the Empire party.
Well, just to put it straight: I did email him. Three times. And he never, ever replied. Truth. When I mentioned it to him he denied it in a round about way. Looong, convoluted wriggle about some clever email filing system he invented (snort!) which loses his mails.
Yawn.
I suspect sheer, ivy-wreathed Rhodes snottery looking down on Witsies inhabiting their ugly, grey concrete campus which, admittedly, resembles Hitler’s bunker. And I won’t tell you about how VM kept trying to sneak a look down my dress. Nearly fell off a table doing so. Rhodes! I ask you, with tears in my eyes.
But lemme tell you this much. Empire can throw a fabulous party. Thank you DDB and BB.
