It has been a long, long day and I have run out of words. I am now hunting down the back of the sofa to see if there are any hiding there.
There were five, count them, FIVE phone interviews for various corporate and glossy publications which reached across the gloriously messy spectrum of human experience - from an 18-year-old mechanic in Gore to a glitzy architect in Auckland and a minister in Hamilton. My hand is cramped and my brain feels like boiled marmalade and I desperately need to find the Off Switch.
And then the doorbell rang and a courier appeared out of the dripping rain with this gorgy bunch of flowers. From a lovely woman who I profiled in today's Travel Talk in the DomPost (haven't got the clipping yet so will feature it tomorrow). It was such an unexpected surprise but just want I needed. And, after the odd behaviour of certain folk over the past few days, it helped restore my faith in human kind.
Tonight I shall pull on my wet weather gear for a trot with the running group (is there anything worse than running in waterlogged trainers?) which, admittedly, does not transport me to the Valley of Happiness, but it has to be done.
At least I will come home to these glorious blooms from the ever glorious Catherine.
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There were five, count them, FIVE phone interviews for various corporate and glossy publications which reached across the gloriously messy spectrum of human experience - from an 18-year-old mechanic in Gore to a glitzy architect in Auckland and a minister in Hamilton. My hand is cramped and my brain feels like boiled marmalade and I desperately need to find the Off Switch.
And then the doorbell rang and a courier appeared out of the dripping rain with this gorgy bunch of flowers. From a lovely woman who I profiled in today's Travel Talk in the DomPost (haven't got the clipping yet so will feature it tomorrow). It was such an unexpected surprise but just want I needed. And, after the odd behaviour of certain folk over the past few days, it helped restore my faith in human kind.
Tonight I shall pull on my wet weather gear for a trot with the running group (is there anything worse than running in waterlogged trainers?) which, admittedly, does not transport me to the Valley of Happiness, but it has to be done.
At least I will come home to these glorious blooms from the ever glorious Catherine.
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