Part of being a writer is writer’s block. And I certainly have that this week. I don’t know whether it’s the four pints I had this afternoon or something else. Actually, it almost is certainly something to do with the four pints I had. I met an old friend I was at school with at the local brewery. And those four pints just kind of happened a little too easily.
But then writers and alcohol have been a natural combination historically. During the glory days of Fleet Street, newspaper offices would have designated dry out areas where many a leathered hack would be able to sleep off their time in the pub. Working for a national newspaper was considerably less colourful by the time I got there. It’s just as well really, as I definitely wouldn’t have been able to sleep it off then go back to work. Once I fall asleep, that’s pretty much game over – and thus job, too, in this case. Even having a pint at lunchtime has been known to dramatically reduce productivity in the afternoon.
The other side of it is that I haven’t really done a massive amount during the past week. I haven’t done any comedy gigs this week, and don’t currently have any until towards the end of the month.
Mainly, I have just been settling into my new job. And it’s all going pretty well so far. Not having to commute makes a miraculous improvement to everything, notably stress levels and expenses. And despite having a box full of beer cans immediately to the left of my desk, I haven’t felt an urge to open any during a lunch break. It is still relatively early days though, and I also have somewhere available to sleep it off if needed.