It’s day 3 of the writing fest, and I’m sat with a cup of tea in the living room with Dave the cat licking himself and looking at me like: ‘I’m too good for you’.
Andy is upstairs, having a bath. Because the door to the stairs is open I can hear him singing something quite complicated. This morning, I got up at 9am (it’s not late if we wrote til 2am which - booyah - we did).
You know when you’re in someone else’s house and they’re a good friend but you can’t really just bust in their room and wake them, but you don’t know how to wake them up from outside the bedroom without making a loud noise and pissing them off?
Well, I thought about it, then I stood outside the door to the staircase that leads up to where Andy was sleeping, and I cupped my hands like my Dad taught me in the woods, and I hooted like an Owl, four times.
Then I retreated to the living room and hooted again, just for good measure. Then, to disguise that it was me, as soon as Andy woke up and called down: ‘Good morning!’ I said ‘Wow, Andy did you hear that owl? Crazy, huh?’
I don’t think he suspected anything.
What an idiot! Ha!
Yesterday, we woke up, had a wee bit of tea and toast, and started writing again. Then we had some mussels, salmon and veg, then kept writing. Then we had some biccies, and we kept writing some more. Then Andy has to go to his other work, so I gallantly stayed, edited a podcast, and napped.
Then Andy came back, so we had the leftover curry from Tuesday with some toast and tea and wrote some more! We were actually both quite tired, but we watched a bit of Bridesmaids, got over the hump and wrote an advert for our Ball Boy’s newest venture. It was AMAZING! So we rolled around crying with laughter for a bit. We also came up with a name for this thing in the film, which was funny.
Anyway, so we’re back to rock le casbah and Andy’s playing Dead Weather tunes now, but he’s gonna make us some toast. Touch.
