I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again with a “believe you me” thrown in for good measure. Networking is essential if you want to live.

Whether you cultivate contacts online and never leave your room or you like to go out and press the flesh in a manner that won’t get you arrested – networking is all about making contact and most importantly making a good impression.

Man is not an island. England is an island. Man is not. Don’t get confused and lead your pub quiz team to miserable failure.

Since working for myself, I have attended many a networking event and I like to think I’m getting better, but I learned an invaluable lesson last week about the combination of ink and your own face. It is much better reserved for those moments with a close friend when you’re drawing smiling faces upside down on your chin. It is not a good idea for networking.

For this particular event the first part of the evening was smooth sailing. I was confident, friendly, met some great contacts and was feeling pretty darn thigh slappingly good about myself.

As the group was lead into the auditorium for the second part of the evening of inspiring talks  I took my seat next to an interior designer – and it is to this lady that my article and apology goes out to.

Whilst listening to the talk I had the end of my pen casually tipped to my lips as i listened in between taking notes.

It was two hours before I noted some stray ink on my fingers. Worried that I may have transferred some to my face, I reached for my compact to see.

Over the last two hours as I had been lolling the end of the pen in my mouth I had managed to trace a thick smudge of black ink all above and below my mouth in a rather spectacular portrayal of a five year old who has been left alone with a felt tip.

I am not talking a few lines, I’m talking a smudge the width of a chubby fingertip all around my mouth and as it had been some hours that I’d started smudging the ink definite staining was taking place.

Cue frantic smudging, licking, wiping, and foundation cover up but unfortunately, the interior designer left rather hurriedly before I could explain to her that I wasn’t crazy (prior to her leaving  I had been beaming and smiling completely unaware that I looked like Heath Ledger’s “Joker”).

I am not loopy – I am just a public emblem for anyone who has ever tripped up in public, had something stuck in their teeth in a meeting, accidentally sent tiny spittle over the desk in an interview or left the toilets with their skirt in their knickers.

Remember, a little social embarrassment means a good story to tell. Too much social embarrassment means no friends to tell it to.

If you haven’t got a multi-million Pound Internet business, a couple of Grammys and your own perfume and clothing range and children’s book published by the times you’re 20, then just what on earth have you been doing?

It was starting to bother me. If I saw another auto-biography of someone’s life which covers them from pre-puberty, through puberty, and then to the brink of puberty I was about to tear down sections of WH Smiths in an uncontrolled rage.

This isn’t the same as child prodigies. No- one minds them; no-one really wants to be that smart, and they’re ever so slightly unsettling.

I decided to take a look at my heroes to see when they got their first big breaks and found something very encouraging.

The average age of achieving success is 27.

I still have one glorious year ahead before I have to start looking for other heroes who got their breaks a little later in life.

However, I’ve been listening to some of my favourite country music artist and have realised that some of thme create an itch in me more than others to have a little tipple.

I’d like to share my recent finding with you.

There was no drink involved, in fact this was completed in November, 3 months after I gave up drinking – perhaps that explains it more.

Emails, text messages.

I understnd txt is gttn shrtr 2b savn on spc n tym. it’s gr8.

what I don’t understand is people with 3 letter names who sign off emails with the first letter of their name.

Is “S” really that much quicker than “Sam”?

I don’t understand why people do it, surely it’s not going to eat up into your twitter time so much that you can’t give me the courtesy of writing your whole name? And how do your parents feel? Pouring over baby books so that you have something as individual as your personality and you reduce your title to a one in twenty-six choice. I’m sure they’re pleased.

What grates me even more is when it’s accompanied by a full stop and a kiss. That’s 2 characters you could have used to complete your name, and chances are I don’t want your casually and electronically strewn kisses that you’ve been littering your emails with all day long.

Arrogance? Laziness? I’m familiar with Prince and his symbol, Sean “P Diddy” Coombs, but they are celebrities, and we expect, nay hope for them to have an out of perspective perception about their own image. But your mate Ian, Dan, Sam, Rob, Guy, what’s their excuse?

Thanks.

A.x

If you feel I overstepped the mark I apologise, I did so only out of a desire for perfection.

I’m aware that such a perfectionist attitude may hinder me in the long term and I am dealing with it through my life coach…

Enjoy

With a modest sized cricket bag slung casually over my shoulder I embraced the marvel of Woolworths, where prams race against each other in a discount derby and a guilty pleasure can be enjoyed watching the moment new customers realise the “50% Sale!” may not be all it seems. As one vehement patron remarked:

“How long they going to drag this joke of a sale on for? Can’t it just go bust and be done with it. Then we’d have some bargains.”

Woolworths – a much loved and soon to be missed British institution

And Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Santa’s Grotto!  I am so well known at our local Grotto, I’ve been every day. Santa pretends to get angry when I hand out coal in the queue to give the bad kids a “heads up”. I guess he has to try and placate the parents who sometimes find the truth (that their 3 year old probably caused climate change and shouldn’t get a bicycle) difficult to accept.

The Elves on the other hand think I’m amazing. Just the other day the security guards knew they would be excited to see me they radioed ahead to let the Elves know I was on my way. Thoughtful or what!?

One Elf ran at me so fast to for a hug that we crashed straight to the ground. He held on so tight I could hardly move and soon four more Elves joined in. I was touched by their affection for me, even if their knees on my arms and legs did slow my circulation down a little.

As soon as I can walk I’ll be back again, though I’ve heard security round the grotto has been stepped up a notch slowing the process. Those naughty children, spoiling it for everyone.

I take this very seriously and carry out a rigorous training schedule of a 15 minute swim twice a week. I enjoy looking at the little aquatic tumbleweeds of long hair slipping past my vision with the occasional plaster and nail in tow.

Earlier this week, I’d just managed 7 lengths and won bronze silver and gold in the imaginary Olympics when I scrabbled out of the side of the pool, took off my swimming cap, goggles, ear plugs and nose plug and headed for the steam room. A spectator had been so moved by my masterful stroke that he followed me in and applauded my technique.

He grabbed my attention with flattery and I was happy to listen to him for the next 20 minutes even though I felt I was losing essential body mass through sweat.

I didn’t understand everything he said, especially when he spoke of Cleethorpes as the promised land and asked me if I wanted to join him as a missionary. He told me he hadn’t learned to swim until he was 8 and only then for survival and that he felt emotional pain when he swam in the sea. At one point (and I’m sure it was just the effect of the steam) I thought he was a raving mentalist who was going to kill me and wear my skin as a little suit,  but I knew I was in the presence of someone awe-inspiring when he suddenly looked at his wrist and exclaimed:

“Is that the time?! I’m very sorry but I have to leave now”.

The guy wasn’t even wearing a watch…

Weekdays between 930-330 at the gym. It’s where the elite gather.

don't network without them

10 days without a job and it’s been mostly awesome. The only reason it gets a mostly and not full bar of health and power awesome is that there’s not as many people to listen to my jokes and help me with work and stuff.

I thought I’d solved this problem, but the pet shop owner didn’t think a puppy could live on jokes alone and didn’t even know how many words per minute his Spaniels could do. He refused to let me try the mini dog suit I’d made on any of his animals, despite me spotting a terrier with the right neck size…

As a puppy assistant has now been scrubbed from the to do list with my Biro, I figured to make it in this game I need to meet people. and that means networking.

Networking is forcing as many people as you can meet in one night to be your friend by pretending you are the next big thing. It’s pretty easy and your success as a net-worker is gauged by how many trophies you can collect from victims, who aren’t known as victims they’re known as “contacts”. Practice this – if you say victims, it freaks out the little ones.

Trophies are normally business cards, email addresses, website and phone numbers but if you’re a pro you will be going for mouth swabs and locks of hair.

Last night I attended a networking event which was swell. I am a killer networker, the first guy was so overwhelmed by my skill of staring and grinning that he excused himself as there was someone he had to go and talk to. His friend must have been late though because he spent the rest of the night by himself.