A bridge too far

I admit it. I am not cut out for the world of women's magazines.

I just finished the second day of what was to be a three-week stint at a high-selling women's magazine. After the first hour I knew I was doomed. The people were perfectly pleasant and I was capable of doing the work, but the thought of spending all that time subbing drivel about mums and kiddies and recipes and weight-loss tips, not to mention the travails of Nicole and Keith/Katie and Tom/Princess Mary and her post-baby body was too much to bear.

I get the feeling I gave off a bit of a 'kill me now' vibe – I believe I used the term "I'm not really engaging with the product" – because a mutual decision was made that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't suited to the position.

Cue me doing a happy dance in my living room.

The other downside to the job was that the office is in McMahons Point, across the harbour. Now I love crossing the bridge as much as anyone, but preferably not in a train carriage crammed with grim-faced commuters. It certainly wasn't like this:


That shot is part of a great Harold Cazneaux exhibition on at the Art Gallery of NSW at the moment, which I saw with Mick on the weekend. We wandered around the gallery and saw some other cool stuff, although at some of the contemporary works I could only stand and think, "Well, it is... big, isn't it."
My art-appreciation span seems to have shrunk over the years...

In any case, I have other work lined up and it doesn't involve an Irwin or a Hewitt. I am truly grateful for small mercies.