A purple letter kind of day

I know you can have a red letter day, I'm assuming by right of reply you can then also have a blue letter day... but throw the two together and my question is this: have I just had a purple letter day? A splash of blue, a hint of red and we come out somewhere in the middle?

The day did not start well. After a you-really-should-know-better telling off by my hairdresser last week that I should only wash my hair every other day this morning began with a shake of my not so shiny swishy hair and a brief moment of thanks for the Pantene stocks I never invested in, what with their now significant drop in value... Anyway, the half hour I should have saved from faffing with my hair was wasted on trying to find clothing that would see me through eight respectable hours at the gallery and five rather grotty, beer stained hours at the bar. Basically, I left the house feeling frumpy, grumpy, sans good hair and late.

When I got to the gallery I discovered that the editor who I have been working for, writing slavishly for free, and who I really like and respect, has handed in her resignation and the book is now captain-less and almost certainly not going to materialise this year as hoped. January maybe. The news kind of threw me, the possibility that 12 months of ostensibly free love, intellectual labour and oh, about 50,000 cumulative words would be for a big fat nothing..... It all felt a bit shit really. I've been reassured things are still going ahead and I still have my deadline of Monday but I can't help but shake the feeling that it isn't going to end well. Please, bloody please, prove me wrong.

I then spent most of the day in a desultory state - the adrenaline and enthusiasm that had got me through the start of the week deserting me completely - until at 2.05pm I spotted an advertisement for a fabulous job at Tate that closed at 5.00pm. I bashed something out, I sent it off (along with a non-religious prayer) and then at 5.17pm had a phone call from the South London Gallery inviting me for an interview for The Dream Job I applied for earlier this week next Thursday. This would be the red bit if my analogy has long since lost you...

I'm already anxious about it, determinedly fatalistic and not remotely game to be anything close to optimistic. But we will see. Either way I'm definitely washing my hair.