OK, action stations! Everything I’ve worked towards for the last four years is about to kick off big time on Friday. No room for funnies now, just need to know that you’re all on board. It’s been a mad week, what with the computer playing up, the launch party, being sick as a panda and losing my voice just as we were shooting the straight-to-camera stuff, but at last the whole shebang is going to pitch and it’s in the lap of the Gods what happens after.
At this stage of the game you need a bit of TLC, because most of your time is taken up with being wired on adrenalin, not sleeping, eating shit food, drinking shedloads of quality alcohol, smoking for Britain, swearing and crying. Oh, and doing the work. And for the most part, people have been pretty good. I even brought some campaign postcards into my local café yesterday, and the Italian girl who I usually get served by took one look at me and said “Guess it’s started then!” Bless her. The family have finally accepted that I mean business, I’ve got four more followers on the Twitter and some bloke at the party said my stuff was worthy of Ed Reardon. High praise indeed.
But never mind that. What matters more than anything right now is that I reach the funding goal. Although I’ve been trying to imagine what to do if this doesn’t happen. Those bloody letters to the artists, oh God!
Thanks for your interest and involvement with the Idle Eye project. I regret to inform you that, to date, it hasn’t received the anticipated volume of public support and consequently I would suggest that you to persevere with your chosen profession as before. This is in no way indicative of the quality of your work. We are living through austere times and there is only so much gold in the pot. Sadly, this time it isn’t yours.
I shall, of course, keep your details on file and if anything suitable arises in the fullness of time, I’ll be in touch. And if you need an assistant, I am but an email away. They say my coffee is excellent and I am quick at washing up.
Then there would be that climbdown in front of those I’ve bigged it up to for months, followed by the inevitable mockery as I re-entered the world of gainful employment. Fortunately, such a ghastly, apocalyptic projection has been the spur for me to soldier on regardless. Failure is so not an option it’s not even a hologram. And if that elusive target proves to be exactly that, I’ll have a chat with my nine chums of Hatton Garden notoriety and furnish myself with a few tips. Because who would expect a half-cut, wan blogger to be capable of anything more than a few shoddy words of whimsy every week?