I am businesslike

I just had a business call an hour early because my employer forgot the time difference between our countries. I am amused that the frantic scramble to make my room presentable for video skype I had to move ridiculous numbers of condom wrappers (they were just for work, I swear...or does that make it sound worse?), about eight smashed port bottles, and a pair of lurex hotpants. I then threw on a collared shirt and discussed eighteenth-century finance like a perfectly respectable human being. Ha.

Speaking of respectably human beings: Before the call I had been on the phone with my wife, who is at work at fretting that "there are dead bodies everywhere". She's pretty good at one-upping me with the work crises.

In which I discover that I can, in fact, get bored of looking at myself

My bellydance promo video will be ready soon, which is exciting. My boyfriend is a man of exotic and exquisite taste and I took advantage of this when filming the video. Rather than renting a studio, the band and I took over his house and made it our set. We may have overstepped the bounds of good houseguestery when we nicked his table cloth to use as a dance stage. Or when I did an impromptu bellydance with his antique Afghan sword. But, in balance, he left an anti-tank landmine under the divan, which Miss Manners would probably disapprove of.

I've just spent several hours watching the raw video footage and making notes of especially good or bad bits that the videographer should use/avoid. This was narcissistically fun for about ten minutes; unfortunately the video lasts for an hour. But with any luck my efforts result in a job abroad through the dankest bits of the British winter.

Speaking of travel, I will probably go to Turkey next week as well, courtesy of said boyfriend, who has offered me plane tickets because I lamented not being able to afford a trip. I am giddy that the most interesting and splendid man alive not only actually likes me back but has now magnificently deus-ex-machina-d plane tickets for me. I sometimes think that if my life were a novel the draft would come back from the publisher with lots of red ink to the effect of "This is absurd!"

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