If a rat can cook, can anyone be a writer now?

So this is how my average weekday morning goes. Give briefing to a telly researcher on a subject I have written sum total of one article about, complete long Q&A for self-publicity purposes for a magazine (which will appear under someone else’s byline), supply a written quote to help a reporter on a daily broadsheet fill space, update my website in case the one person who to my certain knowledge has checked it out ever visits it again, post blog for this magazine’s Coffee House, then break for lunch, hopefully somewhere nice and near like Rowley Leigh’s new Le Café Anglais (plug, plug), where the Parmesan custard and anchovy toast is not merely vaut le voyage, but possibly worth Eurostarring over from Paris for.

Hours worked ┠four, or if you subtract the hours spent drinking coffee/Facebooking/reading the newspapers/sighing heavily, three. Words written ┠1,500. Pounds cascading into the coffers after this morning of industry ┠zip, zilch, zero.