Pitching the World: Part 1. Or 82.

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.

 

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7 responses to “Pitching the World: Part 1. Or 82.

  1. How do you like *those* apples. I think that’s what you mean.

    Now look here. You’re not homeless. You’re living with your Nan. Or if you are homeless, then I’m homeless too. I’m living with my sister. Who has excellent wifi. And I’m older than you, so I have more shame. I know it’s not a competition to see whose life is the biggest pile of worthless excrement, but if it were, you have to accept that I would win. I have nothing. I owe my mother thousands of pounds. She’s nearly 80. Tick tock. Tick tock. Christ, I’m depressed. I wish I’d thought of pitching the world instead of travelling around it visiting festivals. Your idea must be much cheaper. Of course I would have had to move in with your Nan. Is she single, your Nan? I notice you never mention a Mr Nan. Hmmm. I sense an opening. (No pun intended.) Tell me everything.

  2. Is there a local library you could use for internet access or has the coalition shut it?

  3. K-Pipe: Do you have so little faith in my writing ability that you think I would consistently write ‘them’ apples without knowing it is grammatically flawed? You, like others, probably do. But ‘them’ apples is what Tony Soprano says, and if it’s good enough for him then it’s good enough for me. Besides, it has more resonance that way. Or something. I don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re right to doubt me.
    And I’m afraid Pitching the World isn’t going to turn into a dating website for my Nan, no matter how much you would like it to. It may, however, turn into a dating website for your sister if you’re not careful. Also, you’ve written a book. And it got published. And it looks pretty ace and lots of people have said nice things about it. In fact, I’m positively jealous of you. If you weren’t so likeable you’d definitely be my literary nemesis.
    Jamie Smith – Yes, there is one, and it’s rather a nice one. Unfortunately I’m worried that my NFA status and lack of address may preclude my joining of it.

  4. if it makes you feel any better, my ‘home’ here in mexico keeps alternating between running out of water and running out of electricity. excited for a bit of wifi at the moment for my reading pleasure (well done on your pitching! good to hear about that), but certainly couldn’t like any apples, as I have no water first boil and then sanitize them with. don’t like them unwashed apples.

    CB

  5. CB – This is your reading pleasure? I like them apples.

  6. Errrrr ? have you heard of 3G. Buy a dongle for £30 & pay about £15 a month & have mobile internet anywhere you and your computer happen to be.

  7. Boz, how splendid to hear from you. It’s been a while. Yes, have heard of these dongles, but am worried that I’m not the sort of man who could bring himself to go into a shop and buy a dongle. Might have to stick with the library and Boscombe’s wonderful internet cafes for a while yet.

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