Good Times, Bad Times.

After weeks of near comatose inactivity, but for the flick of a wrist holding a pen, everything’s come together for the end of term. And it all seems to have gone rather well, although in true spirit of karma, for everything positive there must be a negative. So, here’s a summary of the week through a simple division of Good and Bad.

Thursday:

Water has been seeping through the bathroom floor and down the kitchen wall. It seems directly linked to the bath as it appears in the mornings and then dries out over the course of the day. However, Trevor The Handy-Man isn’t answering his mobile.

Looking over a piece of my writing my tutor says “you might be drifting into Nick Hornby territory here, but you’re a significantly better writer.”

He then quantifies this by adding “Hornby’s one of the worst writers I’ve ever read.”

My tutor admits to feeling bad about being unable to postpone my tutorial when extension cables and various pieces of equipment needed for the Goldfish Online Journal launch event, that I’m supposed to be helping set up, fall out of my bag.

I arrive late at the Swedenborg Centre in Bloomsbury to help get ready, only to find everything suspiciously well organised and everyone off for a tea-break.

In Sainsbury’s buying twenty-four litres of still mineral water I take a call from the course administrator wondering when we’re going to collect the big stack of programmes we’ve had printed and, clearly, forgotten to pick up from her office.

The Other David heroically collects the programmes and drops them off before the event starts, despite the fact he can’t hang around even for a glass of wine.

Investigating the projector someone stole from their workplace it seems pretty straightforward to use. Things are looking back on track. Yay!

The projector, predictably enough, refuses to talk to the laptop we’re using.

I manage to resist the urge to head butt either the laptop or the projector, remembering just in time that neither are mine.

The projector thief agrees to steal a laptop known to be compatible as well. Jocelyn has had the foresight to put a back-up slide show on a memory stick. Hurrah!

One of the readers disappears for two hours.

Beck manages to find free parking (twice) in Bloomsbury. Nothing short of miraculous. By being an hour late and avoiding the congestion charge too we ease the pressure on the remaining budget.

The launch, eventually, proves to be a huge success. We have more people in attendance than ever before (apparently). Even the Swedenborg Centre, haunted as it is by weird eighteenth century spiritualism and seemingly with only one electric socket, works well. Everyone seems to have fun and there’s a really strong buzz from everyone’s enthusiasm.

Friday:

Ordering the wine from Majestic’s even though it was slightly more expensive than Sainsbury’s and therefore we had to have less (but did include free glass hire), seems to have worked out okay as several bottles are left-over. Half a dozen or so make their way back to my home.

The 144 glasses we hired need to be cleaned and returned. Do you have any idea how boring washing and drying 144 wine glasses is? You begin to long for a different shape just to bring some excitement into your life.

Discover that the ‘liberated’ wine was also accompanied by five large bottles of mineral water. Moral high ground compromised after vocally supporting Phil Woolas, the Minister for Environment’s, statement that spending millions on bottled water from deprived countries where not everyone has running water is ‘unacceptable’.

Looking closer I discover that it’s from Scotland - they have tap water up there, right?

Realise that, despite strange elation-depression hybrid sensation in my brain after Thursday night, this isn’t quite the end of term and I still have a whole week to go and consequently ought to be getting on with writing.

I’m instantly mentally crippled and unable to write anything of worth.

Temporary financial crisis worsens as the donations from the Goldfish sponsors and the College towards the launch have yet to make their way to my bank account and one of Beck’s clients forgets to pay her.

Trevor The Handy-Man finally calls back.

My mobile instantly runs out of battery. As the on/off switch is still broken and no amount of punching it will revive it I am a) unable to speak to Trevor The Handy-Man as the only record of his number is my phone, and b) suddenly aware of how dependant I am on a portable communication device; I really shouldn’t have been using it as a substitute note-book.

Find one of Beck’s business cards and ring her from the landline. Against all the odds she has Trevor The Handy-Man’s number.

Trevor The Handy-Man is back on voicemail.

At half-past nine we realise that we completely forgot to meet up with a friend tonight.

At least we’re not spending any non-existent money.

No, I really can’t put a positive spin on this. We’re still idiots.

Saturday:

Consumption of ‘liberated’ wine is hardly helping my productivity levels.

I finally raise Trevor The Handy-Man and he agrees to come around the following morning at eight and take a look.

Only realise after hanging up that the following day is, of course, Sunday which means my anticipated lie in is delayed yet again.

The rent’s still stupidly cheap.

First weekend in ages where neither of us have a huge stack of work to wade through.

Rain, rain and no money curtail excitement and we end up working anyway as it’s free.

Radio Four journalist from You & Yours comes around to interview Beck about the Livesey’s closure. Fantastic opportunity to observe journalist-recording practice close up.

Am confined to upstairs by mean girlfriend for duration of the interview.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender Is The Night really is rather good.

Discover that the freezer door no longer shuts properly due to a build-up of excessive ice. We argue over what to do with partially defrosted food.

Decide to eat the meat and put everything else back. Still alive two days later, after eating the sausages. Hacking off the excess ice with a heated knife also proves weirdly satisfying.

Sunday:

Why isn’t Easter at the same time every year?

The picture of Michael Jackson on the cover of the Observer’s Music supplement: Ugh.

All the reviews I’ve read so far suggest the new REM album might actually be rather good for once.

Isn’t that what everyone said about Reveal?

Remember that my two tutors have wildly differing opinions about my work. Trepidation for Tuesday’s tutorial kicks in early.

Beck receives confirmation of interview with Scottish arts space in a small town north of Glasgow.

Going there and back in a day is going to involve one car journey, two taxi rides, two ferry jaunts, three train journeys and two flights. Green credentials somewhat battered.

Monday:

Receive word that my friend Charlotte has given birth to a healthy daughter. Wonderful news.

Realise that the note ‘ring charlotte’ has been on my to-do list since January. Feel a complete arse.