Terror. Horror.

My interview went okay, I think. Ted who did the show and Alison who was the multi-tasking producer said nice things to calm my nerves. I talked for a bit. Interesting job, interesting book. Someone rang in to ask me what A Levels you needed to take to be a writer. I was about to say ‘don’t bloody bother,’ but instead I was sensible and said something like ‘follow your heart.’

I think I went blind with fright about half way through the interview. I’m not joking. You know when you stand up suddenly and your vision kind of goes brown and wobbles? That is what happened to me. When I complained about being starving, I was offered a Eucalyptus Throat Pastille. When the blindness passed, there were more questions and I started feeling sicky.

Then when there was some music on for a little break my friend Rob, who had come with me to help me navigate, work doors and generally Cope (thank you) reminded me the parking meter probably needed feeding and I fumbled for money and Ted gave me £1. We didn’t use it for the meter. It is on its own shelf in my red bookcase as a memory of the event.

I think if you wanted to listen to me burbling and choking back panicky tears, you could click here. But that might be the wrong link. My constitution is too delicate to allow me to listen again. 

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