In a way this is my first post. In another, more accurate way, it’s not my first post: it’s my eighty-second. But in yet another way (wow, this is going well) it feels like my first proper Pitching the World post. I feel like a pitching machine, a pitching orchestra. And it’s only taken 19 trouble-free months. Yes, earlier today I pitched 50 magazines. How do you like them apples? Because I like them apples, I like them apples a lot.
Not that it’s been easy. I’m officially homeless, officially of No Fixed Abode. Glamorous, aren’t I? How do I like them apples? Not loads. They’re rotten apples. Being homeless poses a series of problems and has wreaked havoc on my hairline, jawline and blood-to-alcohol levels. Homelessness, in case you’re wondering, also isn’t the best place to be if you want to conduct a thriving sexual relationship with someone. My relationships tend to be brief. Colourful, but brief.
Homelessness is also a royal pain if you want to conduct a thriving working relationship with an internet connection. My Nan doesn’t have an internet connection. My associates – and I do have a number of associates down here in Boscombe whom I stay with from time to time – don’t have internet connections. As such, I’ve felt corralled into using BTFON. Have you heard of it? Used it? Jesus, it really does make you want to end it all. From what I can gather, BTFON is something by British Telecom that is supposed to connect you to the internet but in fact does no such thing. Wireless? It’s about as wireless as I am. Connect to the internet? Fat chance. Go fuck yourself? Definitely. In fact, that should be their slogan: “BTFON – Go Fuck Yourselves”. They can have that one for free.
It seems to work like this: you pay £5 on your credit card (although I’m homeless I have a credit card. In fact I have three. They’re all ruined), then you enter an email address in the URL. Just before the page you want is about to come up, the connection cuts off. You try again. Same thing. You try again and you perhaps get to read one email and then click on another email to read that and the internet connection goes off again and you repeat this for what seems like years but is probably only minutes and by the end of it all you either curl up into a ball or threaten inanimate objects or chainsmoke. Personally, I plump for all three at the same time. You should see it. You should see them dramatic apples.
That said, being without a reliable internet connection is excellent for thinking. Oh, I’ve been thinking all right. You want ideas? Stare at the ceiling. You want more ideas? Stare at the sea. Stare at anything, in fact, other than a computer screen. Nothing good has ever come from staring at a computer screen*.
Who have I pitched? Well, a lot of sports magazines (Athletics Weekly, Golf Monthly, Rugby World etc.), a handful of publications that are keen on life (Dorset Life, Essex Life, Kent Life, Surrey Life and so on) and others that are keen on tits (Zoo, Nuts, Loaded). Plus plenty more. Pitches, replies, and emails telling me to go and make love to myself will be put up soon but after such a concentrated burst of work I’m feeling simultaneously elated, mad, sweaty and angry. I think I could do with a lie down. And a drink. And perhaps somewhere to live.
* This might not be true. It probably is, but it might not be. Please don’t write in.