I’ve decided I need an agent to help punt my work around TV and theatre land so I have set about finding one. I think it’s going to be a long process but I’m hoping a combination of my general chutzpah and charm and writing talent will win the day. I discussed this with the missus while we were packing and paying at the supermarket after our big weekend shop. And, as usual, she was full of helpful advice.
‘Well you obviously need an agent that has the right contacts.’
‘You know I never thought of that…’
‘By that I mean one that can get your scripts to all the right TV producers and the like.’
‘Actually I was thinking of getting one that didn’t know anybody…’
‘But that’s just stupid…’
‘I was being sarcastic.’
Pause. I continue to shove shopping into a bag. She’s ignoring it. Then it comes…
‘Ouch! What was that nip for?’
‘Because you were sarcastic when I was merely trying to help.’
‘But stating the bleeding obvious is hardly helping, is it?’
‘Don’t be confrontational or I’ll nip you again.’
‘I’ll hit you if you do. And I’ll do it through a pillow so it doesn’t leave any marks and you can’t prove anything in court…’
‘You could use a bag of oranges as well…’
I survey the shopping.
‘Do we have any oranges?’
‘No.’
‘Pillow it is then…’
It is at this point I realise the woman on the till is staring at me. She hasn’t noticed the affection behind the banter and she has me down as a wife-beater.
I could plead my case that it was only friendly chat between a loving husband and wife. But I decide to stay quiet knowing it will only make matters worse.
The missus pays and we leave. I am marked down as a bad person…
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