Holidays are NOT good for writers

I have discovered that taking two weeks holiday is as conducive to good writing as say drinking a 1.5 litre bottle of whiskey is to careful, considerate driving. Or better yet trying to drive after drinking a 1.5 litre bottle of whiskey AND wearing a blindfold.

In other words - one makes the other ever so slighty harder to do.

I've been sat up here in my attic office since 9 o'clock this morning willing my reluctant brain to get back into literary mode - but it just ain't having it. I find myself being distracted by the tiniest things: sorting out my paperwork before I start, oh I'll just wrap that parcel, actually I could write those two letters I've been meaning to do before I start...ad infinitum.
This afternoon I actually spent an hour on the internet casually trawling for spoilers about the upcoming series 5 of Doctor Who - time well spent you would think ? No - because although I feel suitably rewarded for finding a couple of long-range snaps of Matt Smith in his new outfit in (of all places) a rock quarry and the speculation about if the interior of the TARDIS may have a make-over this does NOT fulfil the primary duties of a writer- to wit: to write something (or much more preferably to write something, finish it and get paid).

In addion to this valid point I also have the added incentive that Mrs. W will remove my testicles with a rusty coathanger if she even suspects that I've been indulging my passion for all things Sci-Fi instead of fulfilling my role as joint bread-winner.
Ah, truly marriage is a wonderful institution for instilling clarity and direction in the male partner... without the ever present threat of spousal disapproval men invariably lose all sense of direction and end up going off and doing things which we doubtless enjoy but have little, if any, productive value. Like going down the pub, watching 'Diagnosis Murder' or surfing the internet for Doctor Who info...

Or is that just me..?

So, after my third cup of coffee I have had a stern word with myself, put on a CD of Gregorian Chant (to inspire a Monk-like state of inner peace) and decided to salve my guilty conscience by updating my blog - I mean it is writing, right ?

Good Lord - I can actually feel the old writing muscles actually starting to creak back into life... I wonder what Shakespeare did to loosen up the rusted literary genius after a couple of weeks on holiday with Mrs. Shakespeare and all the little Shakies ? Probably went down the pub and knocked out a preliminary script for Eastenders before getting back to the really serious work about Scottish nobles and Danish Prince's rambling on about regicide...

Welcome back to the future

Firstly, this really isn't my fault.

I was quite happy working for the insurance company - it was safe. More importantly we had a mutually beneficial arrangement: they paid me a regular wage and I turned up for work...or at least turned up.
Alright, it wasn't exciting, glamorous, challenging or rewarding but it did enable me to:

a) Pay the mortgage (thus keeping Mrs. Cardinal and the smaller Cardinals in the manner to which they are accustomed)
b) Buy books (or rather add to my ever increasing list of books I have bought and not yet gotten round to reading)
c) Smoke

and in return they always knew that in the event of a problem with the coffee machine I would shoulder the heavy burden of calling Facilities. An equitable arrangement, I always thought.

Then after 20 years, and in the middle of apparently the biggest economic depression since the 1930's (I hadn't noticed due to being absorbed in a root and branch analysis of the migratory habits of the common-or -garden homing slug), my employers say "Oh, by the way, we're having a reorganisation.. Nothing to worry about... Getting rid of the dead wood and clearing the decks, so to speak.... Incidentally, what is it exactly that you do around here again..?"

I remember flapping my arm vaguely in the direction of the smoking area outside and frantically trying to think of something 'corporate' to say. After an expectant pause I manage "Me...type... Me type...good" before demonstrating this singular skill by hesitantly pressing the Enter button and thus deleting all our customer records for 2002.

And so I am beginning my new career as a Freelance Writer. To date my successes include:

• Watching all three 'On the Buses' films whilst lounging on the sofa consuming a packet of Jaffa Cakes
• Looking up the definition of as many rude words as I can think of on Wikipedia
• Surfing the internet for 'Breast Augmentation' adverts (Research for an article I'm thinking of writing provisionally entitled "Look at the tumblers on THAT !!!")
• Buying a new panama hat (in order to look suitably artistic and ethereal)

By the way - as I understand it as an aspiring writer I am required to be off my tits on a cocktail of Absinthe and Laudinum 23 hours a day... But is it totally necessary to be riddled with syphilis too ? Oh well, when in Rome...