Nothing really happened to restore my faith in human nature, but I'm feeling better anyway.
Good things: Watched the new episode of Green Wing and laughed so hard I almost fell off the sofa, watched ER and swooned over Luca - he and Abi are my chosen representatives in the field of shagging, plus I have discovered a low fat ice cream that doesn't taste like low-fat ice cream! It's Carte D'Or 5% Vanilla Bean, and it is amazing. Tell everyone you know.
No wonder I'm feeling better.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
Hell is other people
I’m having one of those phases where I really need something to happen to restore my faith in the human race.
First of all there was all the fuss in the media about the ‘white working classes’ feeling ‘neglected’ by Labour and so, naturally, they’re all going to vote BNP. On first hearing a blanket generalisation like that, you want to just dismiss it as rubbish, but you can’t, and that is frightening to me. I used to be really shocked if someone said something racist in front of me, in the sense that I couldn’t believe that the other person would assume that I would be of a like mind. How could they think that their racist opinion was the majority view? I remember being at the hairdressers a couple of years ago, and my stylist starting making some racist remarks. Bearing in mind that she was armed with scissors, I just told her I disagreed and changed the subject. She seemed offended by my stance. Of course, I then voted with my feet and have never been back. But recently, I am starting to worry that I am in the wrong for assuming everyone will share my view (i.e. that racism is wrong), and it makes me feel ashamed for the UK.
Last week, I caught a plane back from Blackpool to London. The flight was delayed for an hour and a half because the incoming flight had to divert back to Stansted after a passenger started a fight onboard. Apparently 4 police officers were needed to remove him from the aircraft. Everyone just tutted and rolled their eyes, but why is this sort of thing becoming more and more common? Maybe it’s always been this bad, but it feels like things are getting worse, that society is degenerating into a zero-respect, yob culture, with people too afraid to speak out or act out for fear of getting their head kicked in. On the actual flight, when we were waiting to get off in London, a couple of men behind me started talking loudly about the BNP news story and how they thought it was a good idea, and they would certainly be voting that way. I think they were trying to be provocative, so I ignored them. But there was an Asian family sat in the row in front, minding their own business, and the men behind me started being audibly offensive. I think my face must have registered some shock, despite my efforts to ignore them because they noticed and started trying to get my attention by sneering at me and calling me a ‘do-gooder’. I just kept ignoring them, and no-one else said anything, and I would hope that everyone else felt like me – just ignore these bullies, but I can’t be sure – perhaps some people agreed with them. I just felt embarrassed and ashamed.
When I finally got home, via an incredibly unfriendly cab driver – what is it with cab drivers? I actually expect them to be rude to me now – just expect it as standard, which is a sad state of affairs. So, I got home, and I’ve been trying to convince myself that things aren’t so bad, and then I heard about the guy who got attacked with a meat cleaver for asking two men to control their dogs. Who carries a meat cleaver? And you just don’t know what to think.
First of all there was all the fuss in the media about the ‘white working classes’ feeling ‘neglected’ by Labour and so, naturally, they’re all going to vote BNP. On first hearing a blanket generalisation like that, you want to just dismiss it as rubbish, but you can’t, and that is frightening to me. I used to be really shocked if someone said something racist in front of me, in the sense that I couldn’t believe that the other person would assume that I would be of a like mind. How could they think that their racist opinion was the majority view? I remember being at the hairdressers a couple of years ago, and my stylist starting making some racist remarks. Bearing in mind that she was armed with scissors, I just told her I disagreed and changed the subject. She seemed offended by my stance. Of course, I then voted with my feet and have never been back. But recently, I am starting to worry that I am in the wrong for assuming everyone will share my view (i.e. that racism is wrong), and it makes me feel ashamed for the UK.
Last week, I caught a plane back from Blackpool to London. The flight was delayed for an hour and a half because the incoming flight had to divert back to Stansted after a passenger started a fight onboard. Apparently 4 police officers were needed to remove him from the aircraft. Everyone just tutted and rolled their eyes, but why is this sort of thing becoming more and more common? Maybe it’s always been this bad, but it feels like things are getting worse, that society is degenerating into a zero-respect, yob culture, with people too afraid to speak out or act out for fear of getting their head kicked in. On the actual flight, when we were waiting to get off in London, a couple of men behind me started talking loudly about the BNP news story and how they thought it was a good idea, and they would certainly be voting that way. I think they were trying to be provocative, so I ignored them. But there was an Asian family sat in the row in front, minding their own business, and the men behind me started being audibly offensive. I think my face must have registered some shock, despite my efforts to ignore them because they noticed and started trying to get my attention by sneering at me and calling me a ‘do-gooder’. I just kept ignoring them, and no-one else said anything, and I would hope that everyone else felt like me – just ignore these bullies, but I can’t be sure – perhaps some people agreed with them. I just felt embarrassed and ashamed.
When I finally got home, via an incredibly unfriendly cab driver – what is it with cab drivers? I actually expect them to be rude to me now – just expect it as standard, which is a sad state of affairs. So, I got home, and I’ve been trying to convince myself that things aren’t so bad, and then I heard about the guy who got attacked with a meat cleaver for asking two men to control their dogs. Who carries a meat cleaver? And you just don’t know what to think.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Is it ok...
To cut mould off food and then eat it? I know this is pretty much par for the course with cheese of all kinds – you simply slice it off and then consume. However, is the same true of bread?
This morning, I went to the loaf of (very expensive) rye bread (why so expensive? It’s like I’m being penalised for having wheat intolerance), and found to my horror that it had about 8 patches of mould growing on it. Why does this happen so fast? It was fine yesterday. No bread means no toast with peanut butter, and that means no breakfast, and that could, in turn mean that if someone pushes me, or is rude (highly likely, I live in London) on my commute, that instead of shrugging it off with a smile, I murder them, in cold blood, with a smile. So, in case anyone’s not clear, it would be very bad for me to miss breakfast. So, yes, I cut the mould off and then cut two very ragged slices and popped them in the toaster. Smothered in peanut butter, they tasted fine, and I enjoyed a peaceful journey to work. (Someone stepped heavily on my toe, and another person knocked my suitcase over and just left it there, no apology, but I took it all in my stride.)
But now, I’m at work, and I’m wondering – did I just remove the visible mould? Were there tiny little spores of mould hiding deep within the loaf? Have I given myself food poisoning?
Should I eat a chocolate biscuit and have a cup of tea? At least I know the answer to that question.
This morning, I went to the loaf of (very expensive) rye bread (why so expensive? It’s like I’m being penalised for having wheat intolerance), and found to my horror that it had about 8 patches of mould growing on it. Why does this happen so fast? It was fine yesterday. No bread means no toast with peanut butter, and that means no breakfast, and that could, in turn mean that if someone pushes me, or is rude (highly likely, I live in London) on my commute, that instead of shrugging it off with a smile, I murder them, in cold blood, with a smile. So, in case anyone’s not clear, it would be very bad for me to miss breakfast. So, yes, I cut the mould off and then cut two very ragged slices and popped them in the toaster. Smothered in peanut butter, they tasted fine, and I enjoyed a peaceful journey to work. (Someone stepped heavily on my toe, and another person knocked my suitcase over and just left it there, no apology, but I took it all in my stride.)
But now, I’m at work, and I’m wondering – did I just remove the visible mould? Were there tiny little spores of mould hiding deep within the loaf? Have I given myself food poisoning?
Should I eat a chocolate biscuit and have a cup of tea? At least I know the answer to that question.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Can't get no sleep
Normally, I would balk at the use of a double negative, but at this stage, I’m so sleep deprived it seems utterly appropriate.
Yes, insomnia. I’ve got it bad, and it is driving me crazy. What is really driving me nuts is the fact that I only really had insomnia proper, as it were, on Sunday night – the kind of deal where you’re lying there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, unable to get comfortable in whatever position you try – under/over covers, 1 pillow, 2 pillows, no pillow, on your back, your front, aaaggh, and you’ve got roughly 489 random thoughts racing round your brain like an anxiety version of the Wheel of Fortune – but with no possibility of cash prizes - spend 4 seconds fretting about work, the wheel spins again and you’ve got 20 minutes of wondering what to have for lunch the next day, then you feel hungry, but are too tired to drag yourself out of bed to make anything to eat, then you’re off again and before you know it, you’re questioning all of your major life choices and wondering about alternative careers in the yak farming industry and so on and so forth.
Think I eventually drifted off around 4am, after trying all the tricks in the book – read for a bit, drink milk, have a light snack, inhale lavender oil, yadda yadda yadda. Felt like the undead on Monday morning. But the annoying thing now is that on Monday night, I wasn’t particularly anxious about anything, but my body clock now appears to be set to switch off only at 4 am, which was the pattern on Tuesday night and last night. So now I have ‘sleep debt’. Probably about 18 hour’s worth. When am I going to pay that off?
What if I can’t sleep again tonight? That’s more sleep debt – and trust me, I don’t need any more debt, of any kind. Sheesh. Anyway, as I was ransacking my bookshelves for something to read at 2.30am last night, I found this poem, by Fleur Adcock, which made me smile, at least:
Things
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse
and worse.
________
Hmm. I wonder if I put my head down on the desk now, and took a little siesta, if anyone would notice?
Yes, insomnia. I’ve got it bad, and it is driving me crazy. What is really driving me nuts is the fact that I only really had insomnia proper, as it were, on Sunday night – the kind of deal where you’re lying there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, unable to get comfortable in whatever position you try – under/over covers, 1 pillow, 2 pillows, no pillow, on your back, your front, aaaggh, and you’ve got roughly 489 random thoughts racing round your brain like an anxiety version of the Wheel of Fortune – but with no possibility of cash prizes - spend 4 seconds fretting about work, the wheel spins again and you’ve got 20 minutes of wondering what to have for lunch the next day, then you feel hungry, but are too tired to drag yourself out of bed to make anything to eat, then you’re off again and before you know it, you’re questioning all of your major life choices and wondering about alternative careers in the yak farming industry and so on and so forth.
Think I eventually drifted off around 4am, after trying all the tricks in the book – read for a bit, drink milk, have a light snack, inhale lavender oil, yadda yadda yadda. Felt like the undead on Monday morning. But the annoying thing now is that on Monday night, I wasn’t particularly anxious about anything, but my body clock now appears to be set to switch off only at 4 am, which was the pattern on Tuesday night and last night. So now I have ‘sleep debt’. Probably about 18 hour’s worth. When am I going to pay that off?
What if I can’t sleep again tonight? That’s more sleep debt – and trust me, I don’t need any more debt, of any kind. Sheesh. Anyway, as I was ransacking my bookshelves for something to read at 2.30am last night, I found this poem, by Fleur Adcock, which made me smile, at least:
Things
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse
and worse.
________
Hmm. I wonder if I put my head down on the desk now, and took a little siesta, if anyone would notice?
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