At the end of July, I sent some sketches to the producer of a new BBC sketch show.
I wittered on about it here.
If anyone’s actually checking out that link, skip to the end – it’s the last few paragraphs. All it says though is pretty much what I said in the first sentence in this post. Only with a lot more words and maybe some swearing.
So, you probably shouldn’t bother.
Okay, back on track. The point is, based on a friend’s recommendation (I forgot that part), I sent some sketches to the producer.
Today, he phoned me and asked for some more.
I originally sent in eleven sketches, he likes one and wants to expand it to a series of running gags. Which is fine by me. He also sent me the writers’ brief which explains the show in a bit more depth, which means I can (hopefully) write some sketches more suited to the format.
A nice way to start the day, I thought. So I celebrated by buying a toasted sandwich maker. Some of you may have gone down the champagne route, but I’m a ‘ham, cheese and egg toastie’ kind of guy.
Halfway home I had a little wobble when I noticed the box only said ‘sandwich maker’ rather than ‘toasted sandwich maker’. I thought I’d accidentally spunked my £8.64 on some kind of device which just … well, I don’t know. What the fuck is a sandwich maker? Do you slot the ingredients in to the case and it shuffles them into order?
Turns out, my fears were unjustified and it is indeed a toasted sandwich maker.
I’ve eaten too many now. I feel sick, sleepy and generally more eggy than any person should have to bear.
So there you go: on the downside, I might fall asleep and choke on my egg-flavoured vomit. On the upside: I had a phone call from a BBC producer about a writing job and I learnt I’ve got a limit* for ham, cheese and egg toasties.
I think the pluses outweigh the minuses there.
*Four. My limit’s four. After that it gets nasty.