As I wrote to Milly: "You know my maxim: if you've got a choice between eating and working, always choose the former. For this reason, I have decided to get a job."
Really, I was just being dramatic and my arse is still a very healthy size, but I have discovered that without the disincentive of a boss looking over my shoulder, the lure of itunes can be a bit much.
(My tip: John Mayer, Dreaming With a Broken Heart. Surely, one of the best songs ever written. "Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand? Would you get them if I did? No, you won't. Cause you're gone gone gone gone gone.
The only, and I say only problem with this line is that he switches from subjunctive tense 'would', to present tense 'won't' in a most disconcerting manner)
When Alberto, the International Man of Indecipherable Spanish, hit me with the information about a PR job that was up for grabs, I was ambivalent. That was more to do with the fact that I hadn't understood what he'd said, than any views I have on PR as a line of work.
But when I had ascertained the nature of his message, I began to warm to the idea. It's not that I have been looking for something, but sometimes when a wave rises under you, you have to ride it.
As Pam says, my main strengths are in being charming and pumping out well-written emails. These weighty skills are lost in journalism because the only benefactors of the emails are the people I'm sending stories to - and I'm not sure they care how well-crafted my emails are.
What's more, it's a seriously good job. I think. At this point I am still a little vague on what exactly is involved, but I know the girl who's vacating the position, so I decide to go down and find out a bit more.
The harrowing process of presenting oneself at a location of potential employment was exacerbated by the pure Spanish nature of conversation. This is a double-whammy because my level of Spanish drops in pressured situations, and my level of stress rises when I struggle to express myself in situations where it's important to make a good impression.
The climax came when I met her female boss. Not realising who she was, I walked into the office and kissed her. This is a normal Mexican greeting, but it was followed by a moment of extruciation when I discovered who she was. The conversation continues puttering along, while the internal dialogue in my head goes into overdrive,
"Did you just kiss the boss? Is it ok to kiss the boss? What if it's a sign of disrespect? Oh surely not, it's normal. But did you see the expression on her face? Yes, but maybe that's because you had to bend down to do it and you made her feel short. Oh no! Was it a mistake to wear heels?"
And so on and so forth. Meanwhile, the conversation has moved on to Australia's beaches. I tell her of course she should send her son for surfing lessons and she replies that perhaps I haven't realised just how dangerous surfing is. Waves, rocks, water, accidents.
I stop myself before telling her that we're all still alive and she should be more worried about sharks.
The final outcome is that the very charming director, Bruno, asks me back for an interview. A proper one. I still have no idea what the job entails.
It seems this wave has picked me up and I will ride it. Look out for rocks though.
