I've met, talked to and had several free cups of tea (sometimes there have even been biscuits) with some very exciting people. But it's not all rainbows and rhododendrons; I have noticed the occurences that I've woken up in a cold sweat just to double-check my 'sent' email folder have increased significantly.
It would be foolish to think that things will continue at this momentum unless I make the most of it. So in the run-up to the big event, I've been working on the script extract that will be performed at the Edinburgh TV Festival as well as drafting and re-drafting new and existing ideas. I don't mind being tomorrow's chip paper, as long as there's hope that eventually I might occupy a tiny space in the Radio Times.
Speaking of which, fellow Boltonians may have spotted me in the The Bolton News (or The Bolton Evening News if like me, you can't seem to call it anything else) at the end of last month. The last time I graced the pages of my once local paper was back in '86, when I was merely minutes (possibly hours or days) out of the womb. It was a charming Christmas story covering the birth of the last of five Brockbank girls... possibly signalling the coming apocalypse and definitely confirming that Christmas time can sometimes be a slow period for news.