Monday 3 December 2007

I am not enough of a phenomenon, apparently.

At least, not according to a leading literary agent, to whom my writings were sent for perusal with a view to publishing. He was very keen on something from my partner on a different topic, which, needless to say, the traitorous hag was very excited about - but as for me, he suggested that I prove him wrong by increasing my popularity (ha!) or seek alternative representation. Well, I don't know how to advertise my blog more widely and, for another thing, why should I have to resort to vulgar publicity tricks? I am sure that my partner would be delighted to be photographed in a drunken, over-mascara'd state falling out of a nightclub at 3am in a Winehouse-esque manner to secure some cheap promotion for me, but I fail to see why I should have to stoop to such levels for a bit of attention. Besides, as far as readership goes (unlike food), I think quality is so much better than quantity. I love my group of regular readers (you know who you are) - their comments delight me - and I should pick them over unappreciative multitudes in any case. I shall instruct my partner to seek an alternative agent. Anyway, I don't want MY scribings represented by the same shower who think that my partner's writing is fit for public consumption. They are obviously a bunch of grubby sharks and I will not lend my furry paw to propping up their shabby agency (even if they ARE one of the world-leaders). Not enough of a phenomenon indeed! Grrrowl.

All this is akin to kicking a pup when he is down, because I have not managed to glean any further information about my love-rival following my triumph with the secreted hair of the previous week. But the scents, and other unsubtle hints of partneral infidelity, continue apace. It is all I can do to keep my civil countenance when faced with my partner's betrayal on what is becoming a DAILY basis. And, just this evening, I heard my partner talking to Dolores on the 'phone about "a sausage" - clearly in the context of my partner's mystery concubine. My partner thought I was having a nap, but no: I heard it all. Gaaargh!! Who is he? I MUST know!!

Steps will be taken. Swiftly, before this gets any more out of paw.

Good night.