Fried brains

Sadly, not a reference to one of Hannibal Lecter's more disgusting recipes.

I've had one of those days.

I was up and about bright and early this morning, and by 9.45am I had sifted through a fair bit of e-mail, surfed the net, done a couple of sudoku puzzles, drunk a pot of tea and sorted some paperwork on my desk. So I headed out the door for a meeting with my lovely graphic designer and our mutual client. He looked rather startled when I knocked on the door and walked into his office. Unsurprisingly, as our meeting is for 10.00am tomorrow... I had one of those "duh!" moments and scrambled around in my handbag for my diary. Sure enough, he was right. It's tomorrow. I stopped for a very quick chat then made a hasty and embarrassed exit, as he was expecting someone at 10.00. Just not me.

I can only put the absentmindedness down to my episode on Monday.

Reader, I have epilepsy. According to the law, it's a disability. But I don't see it as one. I was diagnosed in my mid-30s, some 9 years ago and it's never been a major problem for me. I was very well controlled on medication until just over 2 years ago, when a blow to my head retriggered my seizures. Now I get one or two a year. It's no big deal. The biggest disability is the loss of my driving licence. To be fair, I don't really need it, living where I do, but it would be nice to get it back one day. The trouble is, you have to be seizure-free for 12 months and I never quite make it before a seizure decides to strike again and I start counting the days again.

I had seen my neurologist last week and everything was fine. No seizures since last November and we were hoping I'd make it to my next consultation in December without any more episodes and be able to reapply to the DVLA. Fat chance. On Monday, after I'd written my application letter to bag the prize of editing Skin Two magazine, I had a small seizure.

I say small - it's all relative. This one only lasted a few seconds but knocked me out for the rest of the day. I got no work done and couldn't even take a shower until my beloved P came home. I was even knackered watching the tennis on the tv. And I gouged a lovely tramline in my face while writhing on the floor. I shouldn't complain. I've rarely had even a semi-serious injury. The worst was a cracked rib and a dose of concussion one time. Although I did nearly burn the house down that time as I'd just lit the gas cooker...

But I digress. I've been feeling out of whack all week as a result of those few seconds disruption to my brain's normal electrical activity. It's no surprise I mixed up the meeting. I'm not normally so disorganised.

Back home, I had to rethink my plans for the day. I decided to price up the complicated editorial job on offer. I quickly realised I needed to ask some questions so I fired off an e-mail to the person who is commissioning the work. While I was waiting for her to respond, I bit the bullet.

Yes, it was time to close my accounts for tax year 2005/2006. I've been putting it off for ages, but I had promised my accountant I would do it this month. And as the rest of June is likely to be taken up with editing financial books and watching Wimbledon, it really had to be today.

Five hours later, I was finished. I logged out of Sage with a sense of accomplishment and a feeling that I may have just fried my brains a little more. I'm a wordsmith, not a number-cruncher...

I have an interview!

So there I was, sitting in front of my computer wondering when the publisher of Skin Two would ever get back to me, when all of a sudden an e-mail from him dropped into my inbox...

I nearly fell off my chair.

The e-mail suggested meeting up in London soon to discuss the vacancy. I started writing a reply - hmm, should I address him as "Dear" (as he had me)? Or should I strike a less formal note and say "Hi"? After all, this is not exactly a regular job interview. I settled on "Dear" and drafted some three or four sentences to open my response. Then I thought, "sod it, this is no time to faff around" and I picked up the phone.

We spent a pleasant half-hour discussing Skin Two - the publisher has a vision to change the magazine. As he put it, it's time to get away from pages and pages of pretty chicks in rubber and move back to the earlier days of sharp journalism that characterised the magazine. I used to buy Skin Two a lot, way back when. Then I stopped because I got bored of paying a lot of money just to see fancy pics of rubber-clad women. I'm not interested in women or rubber, particularly. In short, the magazine has lost its readership and its way. We were in agreement on that.

Aside from the change in direction, the publisher needs an editor who a) has a publishing and journalism background and b) knows something about the subject matter. I pass on both counts. There is one other possible candidate at present.

We arranged a meeting for 11 July. I'd love to go sooner but I've just taken on two books for editing and will simply not have time to go to London for the day before then. There is, apparently, no rush anyway.

So, my diary is cleared and I just have to buckle down to work for the next few weeks until it's time to get on the train...