Had a surprise call from Higson, Channel 4's professional northerner.
What the fuck did he want on a Sunday?!
He claimed all innocently that he wanted to sound out a director I hired on a six-parter from Lion. Bollocks. It took him all of one hundred and twenty five seconds (I timed it on the LCD call time display) for him to start fishing about how I was feeling post the RDF-fucks-over-Her Royal Highness-And-Thommo- nonsense.
"I'm fine, mate [he used to get positively orgasmic when I called him 'mate'] I didn't get any column inches, which I thought was entirely in proportion to how the story has played out. As you should know, you will NEVER catch me off guard letting the likes of Lambert 'sex up' my output."
"Oh, but we have really, REALLY been worried for you over here," Higson splutters. Sounds like he's about to cry. Usual tactic - you can tell he once made sob-umentaries in another life. Fortunately for me, I never had to lead that kind of soul destroying freelance existence before becoming a commissioning editor. But for Higson and co - it's been their life. How sad.
I told Higson that I had to dash, but thanked him enormously for showing such genuine care towards me.
Toady slimy ratfuck! I know your fucking game Higson! [I'm a fucking master at it, remember!]
Now back to my hangover grave... when will this pain stop???
2 comments:
For Christ's sake Higson what are you doing talking to him!
I told you not to get involved otherwise he'll start dishing the dirt on us.
You're starting to slip in the ratings already, need to come up with more "itchy" commentary like the earlier posts
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