Watching ‘Job Lot’ – a series about life at a British Job Centre – when the thought suddenly occurred to me that approaching agents is a bit like that – but without the humour.
So, to lighten my mood, my pea brain came up with this Limericked look at the imagined process.
There once was an agent, call her ‘Kirsty’,
Whose ‘site’ was for new talent ever thirsty,
When an old geezer applied,
She hastily replied,
Oh Dear, but my lists are all full to burst-y.
When he stubbornly fetched to query her ‘pitch’,
She said, in a bid to be rid of the wretch,
My lists are replete,
So let me repeat,
I’ve no room for old farts: Life’s a bitch!
(Ain’t that not the Truth?)
Naturally, there is no reality I could arrange
To correspond to such a ridiculous exchange.
The sign reads: ‘The Sorry Lot of the Unpublished Writer.’
If you can’t read it, it is because it is un-published, stupid!
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