23January1995

London: 23 January 1995
My dear folks,

I have two days off. Oh the pleasure of it! I have been working very hard - long hours, long days and lots of them. It's been home at 8pm, some cuddles for Mavis (who feels very put out), some grub for me, some notes on the waiting phone messages and into bed with a hottie. I'm awake by 4am (I wish I wasn't) and up by 5.30 for another dose, like some masochistic addict. Today was a very bad day. I prepared 15 mins of broadcast items of which barely 5 made it to air. That was partly because we took Rabin's speech to the nation live (with simultaneous English translation from the gallery). And it was partly for other reasons which do not bear recalling.

We have moved into our new newsroom on the top floor of the building. It's huge and ultra-modern, with great banks of monitors lining the walls and satellites of adjustable wedge-shaped desks (in 4s around central pillars carrying TV monitors). It must seat 70 with ease. Next door to us, separated by glass panels, is the Arab newsroom, both with a grand view out over north London. It's rather nice after the sweatshop we've crowded into these past months, or at least it will be when the ring-mains and computers all work properly. The engineers and computer boffins have been scurrying around like green-backed flies, trying to connect a million phones, headphones, keyboards & monitors - and then persuade them to work. I can't tell you the drama when the computer starts playing silly buggers moments before a crucial story (all one's stories are crucial) hits the air. The drawback is that the studio is a sprint away on the 6th floor. VT is two floors lower and Graphics on the ground floor. So it's up and down like a piston all day long.

Meanwhile, the tasks to be completed before I fly out to join Jones on Saturday have queued up like well-behaved Brits at a bus-stop. I have to get my bike fixed (it’s been stuck in low gear), relicense the car, renew the car parking, buy items to take to Portugal for Jones, write various letters, see several people, phone Quinta clients, visit the bank and so on. The list vanishes into the distance. Yes, I know that there are similar queues in your own lives, possibly not as orderly as my own. And no I am not complaining. But I do wonder at times whether I complicate my own life or - worse - whether I'd feel lost without my familiar burdens to preoccupy me. I don't believe so. But I'm not sure.

Mr Viglen continues to bring me great pleasure. On the shelf in front of me are 5 unopened, fat plastic-bound tomes, explaining how to operate various publishing, home finance and other programmes which I may one day have time to investigate. For the moment, I am content to write my letters, keep my Quinta budget up to date, maintain my databases and listen to the Gregorian Chants of the Benedictine monks. And there's nothing like a game (or two) of Solitaire to obliterate the day's frustrations.

Have I told you that I am to join the Arabs. Yes, it's true. I don't know when. The bosses are still juggling the figures. Inshallah! We shall see what we shall see in His good time. I shall keep you posted. Do the same for me.