October already

So I spent the first half of this week thinking I may have some mild form of ME. Totally listless, desperately tired every morning, uninspired to write, my flat becoming gradually messier for the first time, washing up and laundry left undone - all very unlike me. But I've made it to bed by 11pm the last three nights and am now feeling a lot more in the land of the non-ME sufferers.

Other than exhaustion, and once I recovered from my SuperSized date on Saturday, I've had a good week and feel full of the joys of autumn. The financial crisis has continued apace, but my boss remains calm and confident on the whole, so I am taking my lead from him and trying not to worry about my paycheque. My left foot (the one I injured running) is now fine; my right foot on the other hand (the one I injured in another way) is still bandaged and bruised - and not helped by the fact that I whacked it hard against a metal chair leg in my office yesterday morning. The resulting lack of ability to exercise hasn't helped my mood, but I'm hoping to be back, if not pounding the pavements of London, certainly enjoying Mountain Pose on a yoga mat, by next week.

And also - I went on another date last night. I know! Two dates in five nights - punchy! This guy was (and remains) South African, and was actually attractive (although I admit my tasteometer may have been blunted by last weekend and I may just have been grateful that he didn't need to go to a specialist shop to buy his jeans) and we had a nice time. He is clever and well-travelled and interesting and funny, all positive things. I am wary about him, however, as his internet profile said he is 'possibly too charming for his own good' and he did offer to 'walk me home', an idea that I quashed very early on. I can't believe anyone would fall for such ridiculous rubbish, but when I asked what percentage of girls would let him come home with them on a first date, he said fifty! I am gobsmacked by this. Obviously, he could be lying in order to make the idea more persuasive - but even if he's exaggerating by a fair bit, the idea that even one girl would be stupid enough to let a complete stranger, albeit one who is charming and attractive, into their home after only one evening together is completely terrifying. I don't blame him for having a go - he's male, after all, and I did look very pretty in my dress - but really. Anyway, he's now off to South Africa for work until the end of October so although we've exchanged emails today and he's tried (and failed) to befriend me on Facebook (Yes! Of course! Have a look at all my photos from the past two years of my life, read all the messages my friends have sent me - and then click on the link to my blog and find out everything I've done since November 2006! That's a healthy start to any blossoming relationship!), I'm not holding my breath about this evolving into anything else. It's just nice to know there are still some handsome, intelligent men out there who haven't already been frogmarched down the aisle.

Children's publishers: you have my sympathies...

Tuesday night was a sleepless affair, involving much of the clichéd tossing and turning (if pushed, I'd say fractionally more of the latter). Having decided to learn to proof read for a job interview in just a couple of days, and my knowledge of the company in question being less than zero, there was a fair bit of pressure on the old mental furnace and frantic revision kept me awake through most of the twilight hours.

By lunchtime yesterday I was fairly insane with self-imposed and confusingly intense stress about a job I wasn't even sure I wanted. I had printed out copies of a children's book I wrote a year or two ago, a copy of an educational Shakespeare book I wrote around the same time and never did anything about - and stacked these alongside my portfolio, my MA dissertation, my café book and the book I'm actually reading (DC Confidential, book group friends - really enjoying it). I had preened and prepped myself into interview shape and enthusiastically set off for the far-flung reaches of Farringdon.

First impressions weren't great: the dilapidated building and disappointing reception area had me nostalgic for the relative swank of the City job I'd been for a fortnight ago. But then we walked downstairs through the storeroom stacked high with shelves full of beautiful, crisp, unsullied children's non-fiction books: encyclopaedia, dictionaries, books on dinosaurs and monsters and electricity and chess and how to play the guitar. It was heaven. The half-hour copy-editing test went surprisingly well - they were, in fact, extremely impressed that I knew my proofing symbols as they apparently don't use them in their offices - and the interview was cruising along nicely. But then they passed me the job description. The salary made me blanche - it was sub-Botanist. I tried to maintain my composure and show continued enthusiasm for the role, but my shock clearly showed as my interviewers laughingly assured me that, for publishing, this was a very reasonable offer. Pity the publishers - job satisfaction is a covetable thing, but it comes at a price, and if I ever want to move out of home, it's not one I can afford to pay.

In other news, my Valentine's flowers were delivered at 8pm last night, while I was out, and by the time I saw them this morning, they were dead, with nine of the eleven (eleven! I ask you...) heads pointing south by the time I got to them. I've got a new bunch now because I went back to the shop and complained - and Simon is having a feisty email row with the Head of Customer Services, Europe at Interflora. Undeniably a hassle, but so much more interesting than receiving the perfect bouquet first time round.