The Loneliness’ of the Long Distance Runner

Not only does it pay a pittance, make my blood boil and give me low self-esteem, but I find this job has ruined my love life. As a single man about town I thought getting into the TV industry - in whatever lowly position - would give me some real clout with the ladies. The killer punch came last (which hopefully will come again tonight ina good way for Rocky Hatton against Mayweather). So I’m quaffing a ridiculously expensive bottled bear in a Shoreditch hell hole and talking to a stick thin coked up blonde hanging on my every word, and she asks me “what do you do?” I could fix her with my twinkling eyes, raise one eyebrow and reply with all the time in the world “oh I just work in television”. Job done, surely it has to be better than saying I’m a DJ (Or I'm DJIN IN LDN THIS FRIDAY). But what actually comes out when talking to girls is “ I’m just a runner” before adding “ just a sad lonely runner really” - at which point the stick thin cokehead blonde normally looks as though she suddenly has a dog shit moustache and quickly moves in the direction of any other male in building.

In an industry more inbred than the Royal Family I have about as much chance of pulling as a member of the Taliban at a New York fire fighters conference. TV people often stick together hoping in the future to mate and give birth to a channel controller or at least a commissioner. Being at the bottom of the pile gives me no chance what so ever. The chances of me shagging my way up the career ladder are minimal. Apart from the time a menopausal divorcee director pinched my arse while I was bent over wiring up a deck in a edit suite. I can imagine I would be halfway through taking heR to heaven and back when she would tap me on the shoulder and ask me for a fucking latte.

Its pretty shit really. All I want to do is meet one of those nice trendy girls from the American Apparel adverts. I’d even wear skinny jeans and a neon t-shirt for any of those girls. Suddenly I would be infinitely cooler than all the other tryhards I come into contact with on a daily basis. That Lovefoxx girl from CSS would be the ultimate. I would then be very cool indeed (CSS are infinantly cool - and they're South American). After making my umpteenth lemon and ginger tea of the day, instead of losing the will to live I could just think “its ok I’m going out with Lovefoxx tonight to have monkfish and noodles at that Vietnamese place on Old Street,……… so fuck you.”