Went to the chip shop this afternoon. For a large bag and sign a new 31 year contract with the agent. I don't know what made me more sick. Or had more grease on it.
He still has the picture of me and Martin Chuzzleclit on Noel's House Party on his wall. Above a photo of Chris Quentin pissing on a hen night group. But below a framed photo of Mickey Duane and The Blue Parrot performing at the Embassy. I suppose that's how he sees me. Above Brian Tilsley but beneath a manic depressive alcoholic ex squaddie with a badly made parrot puppet up to his elbow. Sometimes i hate showbusiness.
A 31 year contract seemed the best option. I figure he'll be dead by then and he won't have a chance of getting 10% when he's decaying in a casket. I'm not sure i've really figured this out. I didn't read it. It was smudged with batter. But I'm sure as ever the agent will look after my and Martin's best interests. I mean Chris Quentin wouldn't be with him. Would he?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment