Friday, September 02, 2005

Poet's day

Or Piss Off Early, Tomorrow's Saturday, for those of you who don't have English as your first language.

The agents agreement has been signed and posted, along with a letter explaining my complicated life story and recent meetings with influential publishers. There is a spring in my step these days, and every so often a little quiver of excitement runs up and down my spine (it's either that or the spiders), but I can't get away from the fact that there's work to be done.

So today I've been at the data entry grindstone, whipping those ground flora into order and filling my brain with pseudo-latin names. Today's favourite has to be Isopterygium elegans. Don't ask me why.

I've stopped now. I knew that 1888 would have to be the last survey form when the room started to spin halfway through. Two weeks tomorrow we're getting on a plane bound for Australia (with or without food, I'm still not sure what's going on with Gate Gourmet - and there's a thing. Can't the BBC reporters speak properly? They make it sound like Gay Gourmet). That means I've got two weeks to earn as much cash as possible, and then I can forget this gig. At least for six weeks anyway.

As for sticking my finger up sheep's arses, well, the next round of rummaging occurs when we're away, and that'll be the last for the season, so at least I'm saved there. And if truth be told, I never did have to winkle anything out of a tight rectum. All the farms I visited had it organised so that I could just pick the stuff up off the sheep pen floor.

Right then, enough of this nonsense. There's a martini out there with my name on it somewhere.


Blogger Gabriele C. said...

My, are those farmer concerned about their sheeps' asses that they prefer cleaning the pen and make sure the woolly pests drop something to a bearded bloke sticking his finger up any asses.

September 02, 2005 9:20 pm  

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