2006-02-09 - 12:10 a.m.

Jeez, working hard sure is hard work. Who knew? I�ve had more to do these past few weeks than I think I ever have, which is great for the financial farce that is my bank account (it�s billed on posters as my bank�s �longest running comedy!�) but bad for my laying around all day schedule, my general skiving activities and my social life which, given that I have about three days before I should really find someone, settle down and start applying for a mortgage, isn�t the rosiest state of affairs, and that�s for damn sure as hiccups.

Sadly, the mountain of work I have on doesn�t stretch to anything in any way glamorous, or even semi-interesting, really, but writing is writing I suppose, and I should be glad that I�m not having to, say, wipe the business end of old people�s digestive systems or work in a uranium mine or the public relations department of a major record label.

The weird contradiction about travel writing is that the less you travel, the more you can earn. Hence, last year�s pan-global lig-fest put about four pee in my coffers, whilst staying in the same postcode so far this year has nearly managed to pay off my tax bill for the year before.

Luckily, there are a couple of little jaunts to whet the appetite on the horizon, the first of which being a hellish, stress-fuelled five days in the tropical hellhole of the Seychelles. You can�t even begin to imagine the amount of generic hotel cocktails I will have to fight off. It�s really quite daunting.

The next will be my first ever adventure in Germany, the commission for which was won by an argument I was having with someone in a pub as to whether or not the city of Bonn still existed. I just said it was laying low for a while, but they had me doubting my own geographical sanity for a while there. If anyone knows anything about Germany, though, I�d love to hear it.

Until then, though, it�s the economic impact of the low cost airline industry and conference facilities of grimy north-west towns for me. I think it�s what�s called the coal face of editorial, though some character in a Haruki Murakami novel puts it better (so, that would be Haruki Murakami, I guess): �It�s like shifting snow. Cultural snow.�

Oh, and there was an intense discussion on the freelance journalists forum that I�m on about what the best type of business cards are. All I could think of was the scene in the book (and film?) American Psycho:

�I decide to even the score a little bit by showing everyone my new business card. I pull it out of my gazelleskin wallet (Barney's, $850) and slap it on the table, waiting for reactions.
"What is that, a gram?" Price asks, not apathetically.
"New card." I try to act casual about it but I'm smiling proudly. "What do you think?"
"Whoa," McDermott says, lifting it up, fingering the card, genuinely impressed. "Very nice. Take a look." He hands it to Van Patten.
"Picked them up from the printer's yesterday," I mention.
"Cool coloring," Van Patten says, studying the card closely.
"That's bone," I point out. "And the lettering is something called Silian Rail."
"Silian Rail?" McDermott asks.
"Yeah. Not bad, huh?"
"It is very cool, Bateman," Van Patten says guardedly, the jealous bastard, "but that's nothing..." He pulls out his wallet and slaps his card next to an ashtray. "Look at this."
We all lean over and inspect David's card and Price quietly says, "That's really nice." A brief spasm of jealousy courses through me when I notice the elegance of the color and the classy type. I clench my fist as Van Patten says smugly, "Eggshell with Romaliam type..." He turns to me. "What do you think?"
"Nice," I croak, but manage to nod, as the busboy brings us four fresh bellinis.
"But wait," Price says. "You ain't seen nothin' yet..." He pulls his out of an inside coat pocket and slowly, dramatically turns it over for our inspection and says, "Mine."
Even I have to admit it's magnificent.�