![]() ![]() ![]() In the far corner, I can see the glow of Madeline’s lamp in her own private office. Surrounded by piles of books, old scripts and empty mugs, they tap away on their keyboards as though their cats’ lives depend on it. Three fresh-faced producers, powered by caffeine and ambition, sit hunched over their desks. ![]() The sun has barely risen but, as predicted, the small, predominately female team has already assembled. I can play all the parts life has cast me in, I know all my lines I’ve been rehearsing for a very long time. I can do ‘Amber the friend’ or ‘Amber the wife’, but right now it’s time for ‘Amber from Coffee Morning’. I fix a smile on my face, before stepping into the office, and remind myself that this is what I do best changing to suit the people around me. I briefly stop to buy coffee for myself and a colleague in the foyer, then climb the stone steps to the fifth floor. A lot of people would think I have a dream job, but nightmares are dreams too. It’s been six months since I joined the Coffee Morning team and things are not going according to plan. Every morning is different and yet has become completely routine. Taxis will be on their way to pick up and spit out overly excited and under-prepared guests. The producers will have picked through the paper carcasses, before being barked at and bullied into getting her the best interviews for this morning’s show. Madeline will be in the office by now, the newspapers will have been read, raped of any good stories. ![]()
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