Writing a la Sex in the City ain’t all it’s cracked up to be

Much of my twenties was misspent watching crummy rom-coms, Friends and Sex in the City – I now find myself the freelance journalist I aspired to be back then wishing I could be like SJP.

Funny how when you get what you want in life it’s never quite what you’d hoped it would be. That’s not to say I don’t like doing what I’m doing. No, it’s safe to say I love the work bit- dabbling in hotels, restaurants, food, mumsy stuff, flitting from subject to subject as the commissions take me – that’s great.

What I object to is being sold the SJP myth that you can write on your bed. I’ve tried sitting lengthways, cross-legged, lying down, on the edge, in the middle – you name it I’ve done it – it’s all impossible. You really can’t do it.

Well that’s not strictly true, you can, but if you’re the wrong side of 35 then within a minute your back starts giving you jip, your coxix goes numb and your neck gets stiff from being forced into the wrong kind of work position.

I can only imagine what those corporate work-station assessors would do if they saw me now – I can hear the tut tut tutting already. But then maybe I’m just being silly – it is a lap-top afterall…