15 January 2007
Yep, it’s January, the time of drought. December was a mad scramble of triple bookings, turning down work I’d kill for, except I’d been booked by the cunning chief subeditor of Plastic Bulletin two months before and I’d never cancel.
Damn, I could have worked for Fashionista instead, in the heart of the West End! But it’s first come, first served and I don’t want to upset people, you never know, the glossy magazines might cut their freelance budget, while bread-and-butter subediting gigs at boring trade magazines are up for grabs most of the time.
But after spending two weeks at home, patting my festive tummy and trying to resist switching the TV on, I’ve reached my breaking point. I’ve emailed all the magazines I could think of with no result. And I am about to get a huge credit card bill for my Crimbo holiday at a five-star hotel in Rome. It’s going to be grim if I don’t land some work soon.
As I reach for a digestive biscuit to dunk in my tea, my mobile phone rings in the distance. Work? Shit, I left it downstairs in the kitchen. I run down the stairs in my slippers, skid and do the steps on my back, my bum dusting them all the way down. As I lay at the bottom of the stairs, stunned, the mobile stops. Wincing, I drag myself on all fours towards the kitchen, pull myself up by grabbing the worktop and pick up the mobile. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realise the caller has left a message.
I listen to the voicemail while aching all over and yes, it’s somebody wanting me to go in… today! I call them back and say I’ll be there in an hour. I drag myself upstairs, feeling like I’ve been tramped all over by an elephant. My back aches, my bum is bruised and I twisted my right foot, but yes, I will be going to work. It’s a new client and I’m not letting this opportunity slip through my fingers!
20 January
I’m in paradise. The sun shines, the sea is blue, I’m holding a frozen margarita in my right hand and adjusting my sunglasses with my left. A tanned hunk is sprawled on a towel by my side and I feel fabulous. Then an irritating beep, beep, beep shatters the blue sky. I get up and look out of the window, it’s threatening rain, again! I am about to dash downstairs for a shower when I realise it’s Saturday.
My flatmate Andy pops out of his room. ‘Bloody hell, why do you have to get up this early on a Saturday?’ He mutters and I go back to bed, where it all comes back to me.
Yesterday it was my last day at the ad agency and they had a do to celebrate the end of the project, so last night I came back a bit worse for wear and set the alarm clock by mistake.
And what a week it has been! I stumbled into Creative Biz on Monday afternoon, my body black and blue from the fall and was taken to the stationery cupboard by a posh work experience girl called Selina. There was a computer on a rickety desk and a dodgy chair. Instinctively, I looked up to check if there was an air-conditioning vent above, too. Yes, don’t you love it when they run out of space and you get the spare desk, the one with the slow computer, the torture chair and the freezing aircon vent above?
But forewarned is forearmed and I always carry a freelance survival kit. So when Selina left, I inflated my plastic cushion, sat on it, switched the computer on and awaited my briefing. Five minutes passed and nobody came. So I tried to log onto the internet and found that there was no connection. Great, I muttered. How am I going to know if anybody emails me about any work?
I grabbed my bag and made my way towards the kitchen to get a hot drink. I opened a few cupboards, but there was nothing there, except a solitary kettle. I got a mug, tea bag, plastic spoon and dried milk sachet from my kit and made myself a cup of tea. When I stepped back into my cubby-hole, a glamorous brunette was waiting for me and gave my cuppa a funny look.
‘Oh, how organised,’ she gushed, ‘but didn’t Selina say that we have a free account at Starbucks? You ring the number on the phone and they deliver.’ Then she looked at the desk and realised there was no phone. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just for today, you’ll get a proper desk tomorrow.’
‘Well, thanks.’
‘My name is Fenella, I’m the creative director for this project. Anyhow, you will find the work that needs doing in the folder called To Do on the Special Projects Server. Save a copy on your desktop and when you’ve finished, just pop your version into Done.’
‘Do you have a particular house style?’ I asked.
‘Style? Of course you need plenty of style, it’s a major health account. Today you’ll be writing bits and pieces for us. I hope it’s OK, your CV says you also write.’
‘Yes, I did advertorials for several women’s magazines. Can I ask, where did you get my CV? I don’t remember sending it to you.’
‘Oh, it was emailed to me. A friend’s friend who works at a trade magazine in Surrey. He positively recommended you. Anyhow, must dash now, give Selina a shout if you want a drink, she sits by the door.’
‘Thanks.’
When she’s gone, I sink back into my inflatable cushion in disbelief, it could only be the bloke from Plastic Bulletin! Dull like ditchwater and located in the sticks, but £170 a day covered the train fare nicely – plus he got me another gig!
22 January
So I spent last Monday afternoon writing about some fizzy tablets that claimed to perk you up so you could recover your ‘get up and go’ attitude and forget all about modern stresses... yeah, right, I thought while I tried to find some interesting causes of stress to spice my copy with. Perhaps working in a cupboard might work as number one.
On Tuesday I received glowing feedback and was given copy to edit about a multi-vitamins brochure and other bits and pieces that kept me occupied till the end. I wrote, guzzled free hot drinks, taking pleasure in ordering the most expensive coffee combos from Starbucks and was quite happy, despite the fact that I was still stuck in the cupboard.
Fenella was off and nobody had bothered to fix me a space elsewhere. Wednesday was much the same, same space, more health copy, more pricey coffees. I started to enjoy the fact that I was left alone to get on with it, it is far worse when the chief sub is constantly breathing on your neck with faux-kind enquiries such as: ‘So, how are you doing with that feature on the menopause’ and giving me premature hot flushes as I attempt to cut ten lines, write the headline and sell and give it a final read in under half an hour.
There wasn’t any sociable vibe in the air anyway, people worked with their heads down and their bums stuck to their seats. I hardly saw them leaving their stations to go to the toilet or wander around the water dispenser. They must be as well seasoned as camels. I nearly felt like a freak with my regular toilet and drink breaks.
Fenella called Selina on Thursday to give her some instructions for me and to apologise for leaving me all alone in the cupboard, but they were all struggling to finish the project on time and she hoped I didn’t mind pitching in. I refrained from glaring when Selina related all this - if there’s one thing I hate it’s when they treat you like a freelancer (dodgy desk, no perks) but try to make you work as hard as a staffer (unpaid overtime, unrealistic workload, scary deadline, bitching about you when you’re not there).
I ended up working late on Thursday like everybody else. To add insult to injury, the staff were able to order some food in, but there was no budget for me. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Selina, maybe we can share some vegetarian noodles,’ she offered. I resorted to scoffing the packet of biscuits out of my kit.
On Friday morning Fenella stepped in the cupboard, apologised profusely about the food mishap and invited me to join the team at a bar for free drinks and nibbles. ‘It’s the least I can do, so sorry for the food and for leaving you here on your own for a week. I am quite happy with your work and I will definitely call you again. The good news is that thanks to yesterday’s hard graft, we don’t have as much to do today, so you’re free to have a long lunchbreak. Just be back by 3pm to polish up some copy.’
I smiled, trying to look grateful but felt like strangling her. I would have preferred to work today and avoid staying late yesterday. And I had lost the chance of a free press screening of a movie I really wanted to see. Still, free drinks, here I come!