Writing is going well. Nothing to report, still typing away. Also had lots of meetings last week, one for a new TV series I'm helping a company to develop, one for an episode of another potential new series. Lots of cool new stuff maybe happening soon. Got to keep those jobs coming in. In one meeting, they asked what my Who episode was about, but I refused to tell them, have refused to tell *anyone*. It was a BBC meeting too, different department, but I still wouldn't tell them, in case the whole thing was a trap. Just in case, I stabbed them in the head with forks, and leaped out the window to cover my tracks. And then I went and paid a nice lady to hurt me.
Okay, okay, I just wanted to make it sound rude. I actually went for my first ever deep tissue massage, which bloody hurt. I usually write on the sofa, with my laptop, either hunched forward at the table, or leaning back with it on my lap. Neither are much good for my back, and the muscles have been getting knotted up and gnarly for some time now. Combined with the ridiculous amount of work I've been doing, it got to the point where it really hurt if I sat back in a certain way, felt as if a bone had come off or something. So I went to get myself looked at, and pummeled a bit. I knew it would probably hurt. But how bad could it be? It's just someone using their hands to poke and prod my back...
Oh. Jesus. It. Hurt. Partly cause I'm a big wuss, mainly cause my back was trashed. She said the muscles were incredibly knotted and tensed up, which was why she had to be so rough on me. Started with the muscle warmup, rubbing my back, which was perfectly pleasant, lulling me into a false sense of security. Then suddenly her hands transformed into STEEL PIPES, which she pounded into my back. I was yelping in pain, swearing, flinching, at times it felt she was jabbing me with the corner of a wardrobe. It ached for the next day, but felt a lot looser. Feels pretty good today, not sore at all. But she said I'd need to go back regularly, at least once a month, just to keep things loose. And I have to sit properly while typing in future, or... or I don't know, she'll probably smash my face in or something.
The whole time, there was gentle muzak playing in the corner. Now, whenever I hear any of that plnky-plonky stuff, I react like Alex from A Clockwork Orange after he's been through the Ludovico Technique, quivering on the floor. Still, my back feels good, so, you know, swings and roundabouts.