So, as you may have gathered from the previous post, I was heading towards a decision to break up with my boyfriend. So I am single again now, because, as we know, it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that zing. As it turned out, I got my hair done the same weekend, so after the initial upset, I feel, and look fabulous.
Went to a halloween party last night - went for the low-key fancy dress option - a bad fairy. I probably ended up looking more like a good fairy, but who cares? I had on lots of temporary glitter tattoos - butterflies, sparkly stars and the like - man, I am having fun trying to get those off today. You scrub at them, and they seem to be coming off, but then you realise you are just pushing the glitter around your body - simply increasing the surface area coverage of the sparkly stuff. I did have plans to go swimming later today, but am worried about transferring all this glitter to the other swimmers (and at the same time, thinking, hey, so everyone's a bit sparkly, nothing wrong with that).
Am loving the extra hour today - am still in bed, in jim jams, listening to radio, and don't as yet feel like a lazy slattern, as instead of being midday, it is only 11ish, which is quite respectable for a Sunday, really. More bulletins to follow as events warrant.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
She tells her love
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
Robert Graves.
One of my favourite poems. I saw it on one of the 'Poems on the Underground' posters, and it got me thinking about love. It got me thinking about my current relationship, and about whether it is right. My instincts are telling me something, and to be brutally honest, if I have learnt anything in my life it's that my instincts always turn out to be right. Which is depressing, in this case. But maybe I'm wrong? I feel tired, I suppose.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Come on August
It is supposed to be sunny in August. Everyone knows that. Even in Britain. August is sunny. Not so far though. I wouldn't mind the rain so much if it was so bloody muggy and humid and sweat-trickling-down-your-back-when-you-travel-on-the-tube-ish. It's too hot to blog, actually.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Breathe in, breathe out
Hey, many thanks to 'Keith' for the guest post. I shan't bother to refute the lies, but I will say I had no idea pampas grass was so filthy.
In other news, I seem to be over my extreme stress bunny moment from Friday. Might be due in part to the fact that I had a really good weekend, and also because I have adopted a new mantra for work: 'no-one's life is at stake'. Because it is true. If I don't make that deadline, the worst that can happen is a prolonged period of whingeing from the kinds of people who whinge even when things are going their way. So, must continue to adopt zen-like approach to the working day and all the trials and tribulations therein. Let's see how long that lasts.
It will be tricky as I am also trying to be zen about the possible impending house move. Yes, you heard me right - I may have to move AGAIN. Why does this keep happening to me? For anyone following my many moves across London (and gosh, they've all been such fun, and not stressful in the least) - this would be number Nine. NINE. 9. I just moved into this place in May, but the imbecile landlord just called the other day to inform us he is putting the place on the market. If he had mentioned this when we were moving in, we wouldn't have taken the place - I specifically requested a long-term let. What is it with landlords? Before you sign up to be a landlord, or landlady, do you have to sign some sort of legal statement to confirm you are a complete twat? See? The zen thing is going to be a challenge...
In other news, I seem to be over my extreme stress bunny moment from Friday. Might be due in part to the fact that I had a really good weekend, and also because I have adopted a new mantra for work: 'no-one's life is at stake'. Because it is true. If I don't make that deadline, the worst that can happen is a prolonged period of whingeing from the kinds of people who whinge even when things are going their way. So, must continue to adopt zen-like approach to the working day and all the trials and tribulations therein. Let's see how long that lasts.
It will be tricky as I am also trying to be zen about the possible impending house move. Yes, you heard me right - I may have to move AGAIN. Why does this keep happening to me? For anyone following my many moves across London (and gosh, they've all been such fun, and not stressful in the least) - this would be number Nine. NINE. 9. I just moved into this place in May, but the imbecile landlord just called the other day to inform us he is putting the place on the market. If he had mentioned this when we were moving in, we wouldn't have taken the place - I specifically requested a long-term let. What is it with landlords? Before you sign up to be a landlord, or landlady, do you have to sign some sort of legal statement to confirm you are a complete twat? See? The zen thing is going to be a challenge...
Guest post from the brother of Just
Yes, this is a post from the brother of "Just". Hmm
For those of you who have been following the clues over these many, tedious years, and spotted the many hints, I can now confirm. Just's real name is Eunice, she is 57, and lives in Melton Mowbray with her husband Melvin. They have a nice 1970s semi-detached and have three cats. At weekends they are swingers. They have a large pampass grass outside, which for those in the know, means "Stop here to feel up my wife's bust while I watch in a pair of leather slacks".
I only feel it right to disabuse you all. Eunice only ever visited London in 1975 for a Cliff Richard concert with her friend Valerie. Valerie is photo-sensitive, which meant their movements were limited, however Eunice had fashioned a black all-in-one jumper for her, which covered poor Valerie from head to toe, with "CLIFF!" emblazoned on both breasts with a floral motif. It was an occasion neither of them forgot, not least because they spent all their money on novelty badges and had to hitchhike as far as Stevenage and walk the rest of the way.
Eunice therefore has a very over-active imagination. I fill in the other bits about news and current events because Eunice only reads "Family Circle". Mind you, I find it rather difficult to follow all that goes on in "The Big Smoke", having worked in Melton Mowbray Public Library since I was 17. My best friend is Miss Plovett. We share a kitkat at lunch time. We both don't like the new computers, but that's the council for you.
Anyway, I thought it might be nice for me to tell you about me for a change, and to break the tragic, dark spell my twisted sister has had over you all for so long. No doubt you all have similar stories of pain, lies and recrimination to tell also. SHARE! Tell us your darkest secrets!
Keith
For those of you who have been following the clues over these many, tedious years, and spotted the many hints, I can now confirm. Just's real name is Eunice, she is 57, and lives in Melton Mowbray with her husband Melvin. They have a nice 1970s semi-detached and have three cats. At weekends they are swingers. They have a large pampass grass outside, which for those in the know, means "Stop here to feel up my wife's bust while I watch in a pair of leather slacks".
I only feel it right to disabuse you all. Eunice only ever visited London in 1975 for a Cliff Richard concert with her friend Valerie. Valerie is photo-sensitive, which meant their movements were limited, however Eunice had fashioned a black all-in-one jumper for her, which covered poor Valerie from head to toe, with "CLIFF!" emblazoned on both breasts with a floral motif. It was an occasion neither of them forgot, not least because they spent all their money on novelty badges and had to hitchhike as far as Stevenage and walk the rest of the way.
Eunice therefore has a very over-active imagination. I fill in the other bits about news and current events because Eunice only reads "Family Circle". Mind you, I find it rather difficult to follow all that goes on in "The Big Smoke", having worked in Melton Mowbray Public Library since I was 17. My best friend is Miss Plovett. We share a kitkat at lunch time. We both don't like the new computers, but that's the council for you.
Anyway, I thought it might be nice for me to tell you about me for a change, and to break the tragic, dark spell my twisted sister has had over you all for so long. No doubt you all have similar stories of pain, lies and recrimination to tell also. SHARE! Tell us your darkest secrets!
Keith
Friday, August 01, 2008
Home again, home again
Yet again, I have been inexplicably absent from the blogging scene, as it were. Primarily because, yet again, I could not remember which freaking password and login combination would work to let me access the damn thing, and second, I don't know, I just wasn't in the mood.
Well - much like when you write an angst-filled diary in your teens (Dear Diary, school was boring today, but Benedict Johnson brushed my arm with his bag in the lunch queue. I will love him forever, etc.), it is much easier to write when you are really fucked off. Which is maybe why people stop writing diaries - you read back through the pages and realise the whole thing is a depressing book of woe. I am a bit fucked off. Hence the new post.
Had the day from HELL. Hell, I tell you. Had a meeting at 11 with my boss, who has been away on holiday for over a week, and then away again at some useless conference. She has this amazing knack for going on holiday at the most critical times. It is quite uncanny - any time a really significant project is at the tipping point between nothing but good times ahead and ultimate doom and horror for all concerned, she is nowhere to be seen. So to the meeting. I was expecting a quick catch up style meeting, as all projects are currently just edging into good times territory, thanks to me working all the hours god sends and spending every waking moment thinking about it all, not to mention dreaming about it all and enjoying a variety of tension headaches along the way. Deploying the passive-agressive management style beloved of all bosses everywhere (is there a course they take? Do they get a diploma?), she launched a full-scale attack - making me list everything my team has been doing and then implying I hadn't been doing anything - ever so subtly, of course. Then she tells me that some other members of staff have been complaing about one of my team (why didn't they come and talk to me? I'm his manager for god's sake. Bastards). Then she asked me some more about what I have been doing, and despite being so stressed out with my horrific workload that it is the first thing I think about when I wake and the last thing before I finally get to sleep, my mind went totally blank. I waffled a bit, thinking furiously to myself 'What the fuck have I been doing? Think, Just, come on think'
She is not normally like this, so I was caught totally unawares (she has only recently been promoted, so maybe she took the passive-agressive course inbetween seminars at the conference). Pure horror. We finished up the meeting, and I felt so tired, and so shit that I took my notebook back to my desk, then calmly walked to the toilets and proceeded to have a panic attack. This was just peachy timing, as I had to go to a lunch within 15mins with some service providers, another department, and you guessed it, said passive-agressive boss. Brilliant - trying to make small talk and eat lunch whilst trying not to cry/just put my head down on the table and have a snooze.
What a fucking day. Felt like it would never end. The only consolation is that it is Friday. So hard not to worry about work all weekend though. Would love to be all zen about it all, but it is tough. I have recently joined a gym, with the idea that I would go off and do yoga at least twice a week. This may have been a bit ambitious, now I think about it.
Hmfph. Well, that's all for today. I will be back, and with greater frequency. I think I have the bug for this back.
Well - much like when you write an angst-filled diary in your teens (Dear Diary, school was boring today, but Benedict Johnson brushed my arm with his bag in the lunch queue. I will love him forever, etc.), it is much easier to write when you are really fucked off. Which is maybe why people stop writing diaries - you read back through the pages and realise the whole thing is a depressing book of woe. I am a bit fucked off. Hence the new post.
Had the day from HELL. Hell, I tell you. Had a meeting at 11 with my boss, who has been away on holiday for over a week, and then away again at some useless conference. She has this amazing knack for going on holiday at the most critical times. It is quite uncanny - any time a really significant project is at the tipping point between nothing but good times ahead and ultimate doom and horror for all concerned, she is nowhere to be seen. So to the meeting. I was expecting a quick catch up style meeting, as all projects are currently just edging into good times territory, thanks to me working all the hours god sends and spending every waking moment thinking about it all, not to mention dreaming about it all and enjoying a variety of tension headaches along the way. Deploying the passive-agressive management style beloved of all bosses everywhere (is there a course they take? Do they get a diploma?), she launched a full-scale attack - making me list everything my team has been doing and then implying I hadn't been doing anything - ever so subtly, of course. Then she tells me that some other members of staff have been complaing about one of my team (why didn't they come and talk to me? I'm his manager for god's sake. Bastards). Then she asked me some more about what I have been doing, and despite being so stressed out with my horrific workload that it is the first thing I think about when I wake and the last thing before I finally get to sleep, my mind went totally blank. I waffled a bit, thinking furiously to myself 'What the fuck have I been doing? Think, Just, come on think'
She is not normally like this, so I was caught totally unawares (she has only recently been promoted, so maybe she took the passive-agressive course inbetween seminars at the conference). Pure horror. We finished up the meeting, and I felt so tired, and so shit that I took my notebook back to my desk, then calmly walked to the toilets and proceeded to have a panic attack. This was just peachy timing, as I had to go to a lunch within 15mins with some service providers, another department, and you guessed it, said passive-agressive boss. Brilliant - trying to make small talk and eat lunch whilst trying not to cry/just put my head down on the table and have a snooze.
What a fucking day. Felt like it would never end. The only consolation is that it is Friday. So hard not to worry about work all weekend though. Would love to be all zen about it all, but it is tough. I have recently joined a gym, with the idea that I would go off and do yoga at least twice a week. This may have been a bit ambitious, now I think about it.
Hmfph. Well, that's all for today. I will be back, and with greater frequency. I think I have the bug for this back.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Injury report
Yeah, I was away for too long AGAIN. What is it with me? It's not strictly my fault - TV has been SO good lately. Honest - Ashes to Ashes (in my fantasy world, I am Keeley Hawes), new ER (Luca, PLEASE don't go!), Mad Men (am totally in love with the delicious 60s styling - and it has curvy women all over the shop - stops a gal thinking twice when she's reaching for a Ferrero Rocher or three), and finally, ladies and gentlemen, the new series of the almighty...The Apprentice. Never in the history of television has shouting at the box been so much fun! But there I go, getting distracted again - this is the Injury Report, and it is SERIOUS this time.
I sprained my ankle in the most spectacular style. I was engaging in sports activities - so unfair. Sport is supposed to be good for the body. I was playing netball, minding my own business when my ankle joint decided, for no good reason, to roll out to the side, thus robbing me of my balance. I then fell with a considerable proportion of my weight on the popped-out joint. I heard a sickening cracking and crunching sound and then came the PAIN. I had to be lifted off the pitch, and was in so much pain I threw up, then went into shock and began shaking uncontrollably. There followed a thoroughly melodramatic trip to A&E - I will never forget hopping and hyperventilating at the same time, pausing to raggedly draw breath and cry simultaneously - god I must have looked pathetic. Then there was the interminable wait, then the X-ray, then being told it wasn't broken, then being so relieved at the fact it wasn't broken that I almost convinced myself it wouldn't hurt - ha. So two weeks on crutches, an ankle that is no longer an ankle, more of a cankle, if you will - it was at least three times the size of my regular ankle. Poor Kate Thornton - she looks like that all the time, and she hasn't got a neck either. The bruising was so impressive I took photos. Yes, really.
To coincide with all of this, I managed to get several dates at once via my new online dating project. Brilliant timing, as per (more of this in the next post, I promise]. All this was three weeks ago, and whilst the bruising has gone down, it is still ENORMOUS, and hurts like a BITCH.
Well, that's it for now - look out for the next post where being ridiculously, unstoppably, unerringly polite at all times gets me into all sorts of trouble.
I sprained my ankle in the most spectacular style. I was engaging in sports activities - so unfair. Sport is supposed to be good for the body. I was playing netball, minding my own business when my ankle joint decided, for no good reason, to roll out to the side, thus robbing me of my balance. I then fell with a considerable proportion of my weight on the popped-out joint. I heard a sickening cracking and crunching sound and then came the PAIN. I had to be lifted off the pitch, and was in so much pain I threw up, then went into shock and began shaking uncontrollably. There followed a thoroughly melodramatic trip to A&E - I will never forget hopping and hyperventilating at the same time, pausing to raggedly draw breath and cry simultaneously - god I must have looked pathetic. Then there was the interminable wait, then the X-ray, then being told it wasn't broken, then being so relieved at the fact it wasn't broken that I almost convinced myself it wouldn't hurt - ha. So two weeks on crutches, an ankle that is no longer an ankle, more of a cankle, if you will - it was at least three times the size of my regular ankle. Poor Kate Thornton - she looks like that all the time, and she hasn't got a neck either. The bruising was so impressive I took photos. Yes, really.
To coincide with all of this, I managed to get several dates at once via my new online dating project. Brilliant timing, as per (more of this in the next post, I promise]. All this was three weeks ago, and whilst the bruising has gone down, it is still ENORMOUS, and hurts like a BITCH.
Well, that's it for now - look out for the next post where being ridiculously, unstoppably, unerringly polite at all times gets me into all sorts of trouble.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Braving the hordes on Oxenforde Street
What a day it has been. I went, as the title suggests, forth to Oxford Street. On a Saturday. I wouldn't recommend this to anyone, and in fact, it should only be attempted if your shopper ranking is 'professional', and, like me, you have nerves of steel.
Instead of the prescribed Saturday activity of lounging around in pyjamas, watching repeats of Hollyoaks, and not really stirring from the sofa, I had to go out. I had to go and get a box of Charbonnel et Walker champagne truffles. The reasons for this will be explained later - patience, dear reader. Before I left, I had the good sense to check the internetto for stockists of said wares from said chocolatiers. Unless I fancied a jaunt to Mayfair, where there is a dedicated shop, I would have to brave Ox St. So, I gathered my wits about me, plus my handbag, and set off. Following a fruitless search in John Lewis, where, nonetheless, I found myself unable to leave without purchasing the following:
After that I was off, buying other things. I resisted the urge to buy yet more shoes, but that was really only because I bought some yesterday. The truffles? Oh yes, I said I would explain. I am raising money for the British Heart Foundation's Valentine appeal (in a kind of anti-valentine's stance, you understand), and the truffles are the top prize for an office sweepstake I am running. You can't expect people to just hand over cash without any incentive. Anyway, check the link on the right if you would like to know more about the lovely, selfless people over at the BHF.
Right, am off now to eat some chilli chocolate and apply some salve, somewhere. Until the next time.
Instead of the prescribed Saturday activity of lounging around in pyjamas, watching repeats of Hollyoaks, and not really stirring from the sofa, I had to go out. I had to go and get a box of Charbonnel et Walker champagne truffles. The reasons for this will be explained later - patience, dear reader. Before I left, I had the good sense to check the internetto for stockists of said wares from said chocolatiers. Unless I fancied a jaunt to Mayfair, where there is a dedicated shop, I would have to brave Ox St. So, I gathered my wits about me, plus my handbag, and set off. Following a fruitless search in John Lewis, where, nonetheless, I found myself unable to leave without purchasing the following:
- Acacia blossom honey, one squeezy bottle of, at extortionate cost (but bottle is very pretty)
- Dark chocolate infused with chilli, one large bar of
- Rose petal salve, one very pretty, handbag-sized pot of,
After that I was off, buying other things. I resisted the urge to buy yet more shoes, but that was really only because I bought some yesterday. The truffles? Oh yes, I said I would explain. I am raising money for the British Heart Foundation's Valentine appeal (in a kind of anti-valentine's stance, you understand), and the truffles are the top prize for an office sweepstake I am running. You can't expect people to just hand over cash without any incentive. Anyway, check the link on the right if you would like to know more about the lovely, selfless people over at the BHF.
Right, am off now to eat some chilli chocolate and apply some salve, somewhere. Until the next time.
Friday, February 08, 2008
She's back
Finally, I manage to log in to this blog - feels like years, and oops, it nearly has been. Blogger changed hands, and I completely forgot which email account I had switched to, and the password and I couldn't get in. I toyed with the idea of starting a new blog completely, but I just couldn't let this one go without a fight. So, I'm back, and as you can see, I've given the place a new lick of paint. I like it, but I'm afraid that for the purposes of this service upgrade, all your old comments have been deleted. But that's ok, right, because we all know that we said some pretty profound, sharp and controversial things, and we will again.
Right, that's all for now - that was exhausting after all that time. I'll be back tomorrow (really, really) with more hilarious accounts of my daily life, biting satire and political comment and the weekly injury report.
Right, that's all for now - that was exhausting after all that time. I'll be back tomorrow (really, really) with more hilarious accounts of my daily life, biting satire and political comment and the weekly injury report.
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