Taxy

Dear Diary,

I've cocked up. Again. Not only should I have played the gig last night, but I just sent of my self-employment renewal form to the wrong address! I don't have enough money to go see a performance of Shakespeare's Henry V tomorrow. I will have to busk up the dollar.

I am now sitting through a waiting line (eighteen minutes so far, on a mobile!) phone waiting to tell them about my mess-up.

The assignment isn't finished and it's nearly due in.

I am seriously not on the flex. I spoke to one of the regulars in town a minute ago, no other musicians were there. Harry was away at another gig. I'm all out of everything except rice and green-tea. It's all good.

Oh! I just renewed my thingy over the phone, no problems, only solutions. That's one thing out of the way. However, I accidentally sent my tax-letter with the application for financial support I sent off this morning. The bloke said on the phone that I need do a tax-return and I just kissed goodbye to my only copy of my tax-reference (I discard an awful lot of post). So. Calm down Maxy. We can dig an old letter out from the loft. It's cool. Now for the assignment. Then I must find a job from somewhere. Birds booze and bud will have to wait.

Maximus Fleximus.