The interview…

Yesterday I did my first ‘real’, ‘proper’ interview for an online magazine.  It’s stage two of my “back to earning a bloody income after 10 years at home” strategy. 

Stage one was setting up my blog.  Demonstrating my ability to write and trying to get to grips with social media.  Not least of this was establishing what the hell Twitter is all about – and OMG am I addicted! 

The first slot I could get for my interviewee was yesterday.  I’ve been waiting for two weeks, because she’s a busy lady.  I can deal with that.  But when the eldest child came home from school the night before, complaining that he wasn’t well… I nearly had a melt down!  And as I’m sure most parents will understand, sometimes it’s hard to establish whether a child is actually ill, or just malingering!

Fortunately, he is a thoughtful and sensitive child.  He knew that the interview was important to me, so he went to school without a fight, dosed up with Calpol and Nurofen.

“ANY OTHER DAY and you could stay at home”, I yelled out of the car window.  “But not today.  I’m really, really sorry.”

I raced back home to walk the stinky smelly dogs, who surpassed themselves by finding something even more smelly than themselves to roll in. 

I made a vat of coffee and settled down to re-read the background information about my ‘interviewee’ – to refresh my memory.

Despite countless interruptions from Twitter (guys, you know I love you really), I managed to run through all the notes I made of questions I needed to ask.  For once, I felt really organized.  I felt prepared.  I felt like… a ‘grown up’!

I decided that my hot red jeans and a shirt would be suitable, only to be asked by a friend if I was going line dancing.  Not what I needed in my fragile state of mind.  (Friend – you know who you are…!)

And I was off, back to the London traffic, trying to find a parking space, tying to ensure I wasn’t late.

My interviewee and I met in the reception of their premises and we wandered down to the coffee shop next door.  It went well.  It went really well. She’s a fantastic, dynamic, highly successful and intelligent lady, who also happens to be really friendly and kind.

Half way through my interview, I had a complete panic attack.  I realized that I had forgotten to turn off the sensor in the car, which is triggered by the dogs.  But what’s worse, I’d forgotten to open any windows. 

An horrific vision flashed before me.  What if I was to return to the car to be greeted by a socially conscious ‘little old lady’, accompanied by the RSPCA, waiting to arrest me.  I managed to stay calm.  I managed to stay rational.  I managed to stay focused.  It’s OK – it’s probably just the hottest day in September since records began.  They’ll be fine!

And with a cracking answer to my final answer – one of those ‘sound bites’ a journalist dreams of, it was over.

The dogs had not expired in the car.  I was not arrested by the RSPCA or a Special Constable.

I collected my kids from school on time and today, I have been busy getting my notes together to write the article.

So stage two of my “divorcee needs to earns a living” strategy is underway.

It was tiring.  It was harder than I thought, to stay on track and ensure I asked all the questions I wanted in the time given. 

And for the first time in ages, I felt like a ‘real’ person.  Not just a Mum, a wife, a daughter or a friend. But someone in their own right, who has something to contribute. 

Job done.