Monday, 22 March 2010

5am breakfast

I just ate a massive jacket potato with chilli AND baked beans AND cheese. At practically 5am, in a sleazy soho diner full of bitchy gay boys.  It was not the most pleasant or salubrious of dining experiences, I'm teeling you.  Am now sitting in bed, farting copiusly, and had to run to the toilet when the taxi finally dropped me back home.

And did I make a decent amount of dosh tonight? Enough, say, to pay my rent or organise my birthday party, which is meant to be this friday?

No.  Of coursenot.  But it seems that all my friends did, and do, frequently, so it begs the question?  Whats wrong with me?

I know the answer.  I'm not pushy enough, and I take my eye off the ball, and trust too much that the customers will tip me adequately, rather than badgering them till they do shove the money into my palm, and then badgering them again, minutes later, till they do it again.

Better get those sales tips and self help books out again....!

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