Читать книгу The Park Bench Test - Sarah Lefebve - Страница 23

On my second day at Potty Wotty Doodah, I am astonishingly given responsibility for operating an oven that reaches temperatures of over 900 degrees and in six short hours I am asked by several naive youngsters to draw a cow and a pig on a seesaw, a giraffe and a hippopotamus playing leapfrog, and two spiders holding hands, amongst other things. On a good note I break only one tile and one saucer. I get home, utterly frazzled, to find a note on the fridge.

B, we’ve popped to see a man about a band. Can you turn the oven on at 6pm. Ta. K&M x

Unlike me, Katie is a veritable Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen. She can make anything out of anything. Literally. While I am on television demonstrating precisely why Can’t Cook Won’t Cook was so named, Katie will be on Ready Steady Cook preparing a four-course banquet from a single tomato, a tin of custard and a packet of salted peanuts.

Between us, Matt and I have negotiated what we consider to be a terrific deal. Katie cooks. He washes. I dry. And for the days she can’t be bothered we’ll get a takeaway. They live a three-minute walk from two Chineses, an Italian, a curry house and a fish and chip shop (yes, we’ve actually timed it).

They are also a four-stop tube ride from the offices of a zillion magazines, which will come in very handy when the flood of invitations to meet their editors lands on the doormat. Which it inevitably will.

It just hasn’t yet, that’s all.

Bollocks.

I have written to no less than twenty seven different magazines so far, begging for a job and so far I have heard absolutely nothing. Not a jot. Zip. Nada.

Okay, so I know I have no journalism qualifications to speak of, and absolutely no knowledge of the magazine industry whatsoever, but apart from that I’m an ideal candidate for a job on a magazine.