A sign...

I don't believe in superstitious bollocks, but if I did, I'd be saying that the universe gave me a sign today.

So the TV job search has been fruitless so far. And today I'm standing in the Arndale Centre, in front of a recruitment stall for seasonal workers. Obviously this isn't the kind of job I've been hoping for, but, if I still haven't struck gold by Christmas, this would bring in some money and give me something to do while I keep on chasing my dreams. What's the worst that can happen if I sign myself up?

I give the guy a CV and he gives me a form to fill in. Nothing complex. Name, address, availability. Why do you want to work at the Arndale Centre? As I think of some rubbish about giving customers a good experience, a man walking past draws my eye. I'm not sure why – maybe because we've both dressed in black today, maybe I'm hungry and crave the contents of his Yo Sushi bag. I look up, I think he sees me and looks back...

Holy shit, it's Russell T Davies.

And then he's gone, and I've missed my chance to talk to the one writer who's inspired me more than any other and who's at least partly responsible for my ridiculous aspirations, because I was too busy filling in details of when I'm available to gift wrap people's Christmas presents for them.

Don't give up on your dreams, kids.