My Gast is entirely Flabbered

There’s been a wee drama here with one of my clients. The long and the short of it is that I’ve been getting some schtick from their freelance sub-editor, who thinks, that rather than subbing for an obscure trade mag he is in fact at the helm of The New Yorker, The Economist or indeed Vanity Fair. Such was the gist of the 1 ½ page long rant I received from him (indirectly, via the editor) a few weeks ago.

People have still not yet realised that they do not get anywhere with me by indirect communication, or sniping. A phone call or polite email would not kill anybody. Come the revolution etc etc.

Rather than take this treatment lying down (despite my status as low-paid freelancer) I courteously reminded the editor they were in fact getting a great deal out of me, that they were not my sole client, and that nothing is to be gained by being rude, sarcastic and arrogant.

She responded by telling me she was sorry I felt that way. We reached an impasse. Ho-k I thought. I’d been killing myself lately for this mob, for the same amount of cash and getting more and more grief in return. I heard nothing for about 5 days. I reconciled myself to the fact that after the current article was done, they probably wouldn’t call me back. But by Jove I was going to give them the best article they’d ever seen.

Yesterday I got a lovely email from the editor, asking politely how the next article is coming along and if I needed any help. Also a lot of chatty stuff about Valentine’s Day. This was indeed nice! Perhaps she didn’t want to leave things on a bad note.

Ten minutes later, I got a call from the publisher. I was still expecting to be raked over some coals for my spry comments, and at the very worst, told my services were no longer required. In fact, what he said was this:


In a 6-star hotel with a fabulous breakfast buffet?
Where my dear chum, the Golden Bopping G resides in all her glittering splendour?
And can skive off at 3pm some days?
Do I???

He spent at least 5 minutes raving on about the wonders of the buffet before I even realized what he was saying. They will be in touch. Cor!!

Is this Karma? Poetic justice? Something to do with Chinese New Year? Someone fetch me a hippie to sort it out.

Today the publisher from the foxy over-40s mag rang today, with my first perk. A free facial from one of their advertisers, in return for some story ideas. So I can look glam before I go overseas!! Tee hee. It’s all good.

Happy St Spinsterine’s Day everyone! This evening I shall celebrate by:

-draping the house in cobwebs
-donning the Miss Haversham-style wedding dress
-watching The African Queen with Katharine Hepburn as the ‘psalm-singing, skinny old maid’
-lighting a candle to Mother Theresa
-reading some Jane Austen

And here’s some quotes from my all-time favourite spinster, Nancy Mitford:

“To fall in love you have to be in the state of mind for it to take, like a disease.”

“Always be civil to the girls, you never know who they may marry’ is a aphorism which has saved many an English spinster from being treated like an Indian widow.”

“I love children, especially when they cry, for then someone takes them away”


5 thoughts on “My Gast is entirely Flabbered

  1. Darling, Nancy Mitford was no spinster, but rather a gay divorcee, as she was married to The Hon. Peter Rodd, the youngest son of the first Baron Rennell. They divorced in 1958.

  2. I can only but offer hearty congratulations and the advice that you buy many many items of clothing while there. Also, take a trip to Discovery Island (i think that’s its name) while you’re there. It’s sort of a residential village where people live in spacious bliss away from noisy, polluted hong kong and drive around in golf buggies. It’s heaps weird.

  3. Discovery Island sounds like Sentosa in Singapore, where there is a dragon sculpture in mosaic tiles, that spews dry ice on the hour. SOunds divine – I simply must visit it or perish.

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