Читать книгу The Mumpreneur Diaries: Business, Babies or Bust - One Mother of a Year - Mosey Jones - Страница 42

Call the editor of the dads’ mag to go over what I’d said to his publisher yesterday morning, but he’s not in so I leave a message. On the school run I bump into the Glamazon. She’s a fellow pre-school mum and I’m always guaranteed to bump into her when I’ve failed to shower for three days and have dragged something to wear out of the washing up box. Never leaving the house without full warpaint, she’s got this old school glamour thing going on. Masses of long, wavy black hair, eyes kohl’d to the max, red lips and HUGE Jackie O sunglasses, she positively sashays. She’s also filled with boundless energy and seems to know everyone in the village as the playground echoes to ‘DARLING!! How ARE you?!’ at 3pm every day. She’s a blast.

We get talking about deadlines as you do and she mentions that she’s running late on one for this men’s magazine she occasionally writes for, one for the dads. I realise that this must be the same magazine I was talking about with BBC Brekkie and get all excited that we have a shared interest.

The second thought I have, following hot on the heels of the first is ‘Oh bugger – I’ve just tried to poach this woman’s column from under her.’ The editor must realise that we’ve got the same dialling code and, as we’re in the sticks, we must live very close to each other. I hope he doesn’t call her to tell her. Hacks can be at each other’s throats for the exclusive on a story, but equally it’s bad form to poach a column from under a fellow hackette’s feet. Particularly when you share the school run. Frantically think of ways to get her onside – perhaps she’d like to be in the mumcierge biz?