Holy crap, I’m sure there’s just been a earthquake in Tooting.

The floor just went all shakey and the wardrobe wobbled and everything. I expect this breaking news to hit the BBC any minute now. Either that or my crumby flat is finally giving up the ghost after one too many door-slams from the downstairs neighbours.

Of course, I’m moving to Hove in October so irritants like city earthquakes and loathsome neighbours will be a thing of the past. That’s the plan anyway and in the meantime I’m slinging the employment net far and wide to see if anyone needs a contract web editor in Brighton.

God, job hunting is a ball ache and a half. My inner pendulum swings between confident and excited to crippling paranoia that I have zero skills and no sane person will ever employ me. That’s clearly what tinkering around on the internet as a freelancer does for you: obliterates your ability to slot back into a normal working environment.

I’ve got until the beginning of September to sort myself out and I’m convinced I’m royally fucked. There’s an insidious voice in my head that keeps telling me the last 27 years have been building up to one great big fuck-off car crash. My friend Richard says the fear is good, but it’s making me pace the living room like a caged cat.

So, scrap that earlier plug. If anyone anyone needs a contract mentalist in Brighton, just send ‘em my way.