just because

Moving house

2009-07-25T20:52:00.003-01:00

Decided to up anchor and move to WordPress. Feel like a change, and it allows me to bring together all the twitter stuff too, and hopefully will be a motivator to get me to update more often and actually have some sort of direction, bla bla, anyway - here you go:
http://emsical.wordpress.com

Yet another good mood - these just keep on coming

2009-05-29T19:04:00.002-01:00

Feeling absolutely fantastic right about now. Am drinking Prosecco with raspberries floating in it, and listening to a bit of old skool Fleetwood Mac, which is no doubt helping with the overall sense of well-being. Also, the weather is heavenly today, so it's all good, baby. But - I have also been thinking, I seem to be a bit more zen at the moment anyway - what can have brought all this on? Who knows? Why question it and be suspicious of my own happiness?

So - to business. French class - going well. Think I may be turning into the student everyone else hates - it isn't my fault, I am just starting to remember all the French I learned the first time around. Not that I am meaning to show off, or anything...
Driving - also going well...only 4 hours in. Switching gears appears to be something of an arcane art at the moment. No, grasshopper, you must not look upon the gearstick, one must grope blindly whilst keeping one's eyes on the road and one's other hand firmly on the steering wheel. Ok. Other no-nos: looking at your feet whilst driving, signalling before looking in the mirror, taking both hands off wheel in a panic whenever another vehicle is spied in the rear view mirror, etc. I will get there in the end. Feel very lucky because my instructor is brilliant - really laid back, and yet on my case all the time. Also, as Alice pointed out, I do not fancy him, which is apparently a bonus. Huge bonus to learning now that I am (ahem) older - I could not care less about making mistakes. Every time I cock up, I usually burst out laughing in an utterly shameless way. If other motorists can't see the massive L plates and sign on top of the car, then frankly, they shouldn't be on the road.
Bollywood dance class - will surely be spotted by talent scout any day now...

Right, off to listen to more Mac, Mamas and the Papas, Beach Boys, Bowie et al.

All shook up

2009-05-01T18:46:00.002-01:00

Ooh - all conflicted about everything. Still in a good mood, but just a bit confused, I suppose. What do I want? What do any of us really want? OR. Or. Is it that I do really know what I want, but I am worried about the consequences? Hmmm.

Looking up

2009-04-20T14:52:00.002-01:00

Things are. They are looking up. The sun is shining, off to French class tonight (have, of course, forgotten how to say ANYTHING in French, so it should be interesting to say the least), dance classes continue apace, new series of Family Guy started last night and I managed to get a reprieve from the root canal surgery. It's all good baby.

Wednesday should be particularly good...will let you know.

Yoga etc

2009-04-05T14:37:00.003-01:00

Went to yoga on Friday night - intensive hatha class. It is from 6 until 7, led by a lovely woman called Amanda. She just has this lovely energy and is a great teacher - it kind of seems like she isn't pushing you too hard, but everyone still comes out of the class kind of shaky and wobbly. Because I am obsessed with trying to keep fit - in part due to body dysmorphic disorder (how come an awareness of it doesn't make it stop? Am about the same size as I have been for about 10 years in reality, but most of the time I am convinced I am fat. And if I was just a bit thinner, then of course my whole life would absolutley fucking perfect - I know it isn't just me.)- and in part due to the fact that the endorphin hit I get after yoga or my dance class makes me feel so good and blissed out that I think I may be becoming addicted to it. Anyway, I must be pretty fit now as I even went to yoga this morning - that's right, you heard me - this morning - that's Sunday morning at 10.30 for an hour and a half hatha practice. The focus in the class this month is back bends.

There is of course, a spiritual side to yoga, which I assume is also doing me good. At the start of each session, you have to think of someone or something you would like to dedicate your practice to. It can be someone who you care about, someone who could do with a lift, etc. You can also dedicate your practice to someone you don't like, someone you have had trouble with and so on. Back bends, we were told today, are all about forgiveness and letting go. Sometimes, when people are doing back bends, they get emotional, because there is a kind of release. This happened to me today - I could feel myself starting to cry, but just about managed to hold it together. Was thinking about all the crap that bothers me, all the stuff that is just sitting on top of me, or, all the stuff that I am carrying round with me, weighing me down. And the constant state of alertness that I seem to be in. Could be to do with the job, but it is also everything else.

Suppose in particular, when Amanda said to think of someone who perhaps has upset you, or you have upset them, and to just take the time to let it go, I thought of two individuals, and I did think, I hope I can just let this go, today.

It's good to have this space to ramble.

Watch out, there are protesters about

2009-04-01T09:12:00.002-01:00

Apparently. My god, the fuss over G20 is insane. I work in Westminster, where there are no protests planned, and we were all told to 'dress casually', and that we could work from home today. Cue my entire team electing to do just that. I came in as I go completely stir crazy when I work from home, and besides, since I don't work for a financial insitution, and am nowhere near the City, there is no risk whatsoever.

Suppose I will eat my words if it all kicks off and my building is inexplicably taken under siege, but, I have just managed a quick foray to Pret without incident, so fingers crossed. Well, I say without incident, but in fact, that isn't strictly true. The staff at Pret have clearly received the Rolls Royce of customer service training; they're almost too good, you know? They tread a very fine line between getting it just right and patronisingly insincere. Well, at my local branch, they are always practically falling over themselves to be super-duper nice to the extent that they sometimes trip up. The guy behind the counter welcomed me as if I was a long lost family friend; I have become accustomed to this effusiveness, but it does make for an awkward exchange. They ask you how you are - you reply in the standard format: 'fine thanks', then you have to ask them how they are, out of politeness - of course they're doing fine - they are happy! They work at Pret, for god's sake, and all this with the knowledge that the emphasis is on speed of service and people are waiting whilst this dance of pleasantries is played out. So, he then took my order in a prompt fashion, but then lost it completely and referred to the woman behind me as a gentleman. Clearly an honest mistake, but she didn't take it very well. Then she spoke really fast, and tried to make a joke about how strong she wanted her coffee - the barista, flustered by the gender blunder, ended up serving her a skinny latte, when she had actually requested a rocket-fuel strength espresso. Imagine the horror and scenes of devastation if you will. I escaped with my life, a tall latte and a little packet of brown sugar. And a stirrer.

Will keep you posted on the siege situation.

Gaah

2009-03-31T11:14:00.002-01:00

Just had passport photos done for driver's licence. Now have complex re symmetry (or lack thereof) of face. Harsh, very harsh. New guidelines state that you cannot have any of your hair anywhere near your eyes (fair enough), or covering your ears (whaaaa? What on earth is all that about - since when do they identify you by your ears alone? Is there some new ear-recognition technology I am unaware of? Sheesh). So I had to pull my hair back into an unflattering pony tail, and remove my glasses. I should really have thought about this in advance. If I had, I would have worn my contact lenses. Once I removed my glasses, I couldn't actually see what I looked like on the handy screen in the 'Photo-Me' booth. When not wearing glasses or contacts I tend to look a little lost. Resulting image makes me look a little sad, like I just received some bad news. Oh well.

As if it isn't bad enough these days, with people putting unsanctioned photos of you up on facebook, now I have an unsanctioned photo going in a permanent id document. Re facebook, I know, I know I could de-tag - but that just makes you look vain! (Which, I know, I kind of am, for even thinking that way).

Anyway, must put all this aside and focus on the exciting prospect of me behind the wheel very soon. I have left it a little late, but honestly, when you move to London, as I did so many years ago now, it just doesn't seem necessary, and it is so expensive to learn, so I kept putting it off. Has been one of my new year's resolutions for about 10 years, so yay me - am finally taking some action. Lots of things on the list at the moment- driving, refresher French course, Bollywood dance classes (oh, don't fret, more on this soon), yoga bunnydom, holiday etc etc. oh yeah, and the completed draft of the (potentially Oscar-winning) screenplay. Will keep you posted.

Overload

2009-03-28T10:58:00.000-01:00

Feeling pretty damn good today. It is Saturday, after all, and that, according to the shameless Lurpak adverts, is Breakfast Day. I think, I am feeling so good, due to the gruelling yoga session I put myself through last night. I am in pain, but I get to feel smug, because I have exercised. I even plan to do it again on Sunday morning - at 10.30 (inner voice asking whether I am insane or not...). I am keen to do more exercise, because whenever I do, I have to admit, I feel utterly blissed out afterwards - practically high, on endorphins I assume.

So, to the matter in hand. I can't quite seem to give this blog up, and yet, I now have a twitter feed, and I am on facebook - and, in the manner of Carrie Bradshaw, I can't help but wonder, is this all a bit too much? Do I need to be telling everyone* what I am doing all the time, and why do I want to do it?

I originally started this blog to get myself back into writing - it kind of worked, but I ended up spending more time on this than on my (yet to be completed potentially Oscar-winning) screenplay. Because, this is easy and fast. Maybe it's all about trends - blogs were massive, and some still are, but then facebook was really in, and it is still popular, but all anyone can talk about at the moment is Twitter. Hmm.

*heh, 'everyone', I know.

Define hell

2009-03-24T09:06:00.002-01:00

Hell is...having to work with someone you slept with. EVERY day. Because it is always there. It never goes away. And it is hell.

Thank crunchie

2009-02-27T22:24:00.003-01:00

Yes, it's Friday, thank god and all his little angels. It's been a long week. Long. It started off badly, on Monday, when they made the announcements about how the organisation review is going to go down. Shan't bore you with the details, but it wasn't a fun day. Things did pick up on Monday evening - forced myself to do some yoga - and here's the thing - that stuff actually works. Felt loads better after that - was breathing easier and everything. Then - that's right: Tuesday. Tuesday didn't bring any joy either, but then I had my Bollywood dance class. That's right, you heard me: Bollywood dance. I'm a total convert to this now - absolutely LOVE it. In the words of Nicole Kidman in the world's most annoying advert: 'I'm a darrncer. I loooooove to dance!'. Then, of course, Wednesday came around - honestly, there's no orginality with the days of the week - same old, same old, all year round. Wednesday was just long, to be honest - work is horrrreeeebeeelay at the moment, and Weds was full of it. Things picked up in the evening - well, I say picked up, they slowed down actually, so that I could consume a bottle of red wine to myself. I blame the person who shall remain nameless (female flatmate), who insisted on drinking white wine and forced me to consume all the red.

Then, came Thursday, and you know, the end was in sight then, so it was a better day. And as you know, today was Friday, and somehow, despite all the frickin work I had to do today, I got through it, and even braved a quick, and, once I got there, I realised, totally unnecessary trip to Oxford St. (Could've gone to the House of Fraser on Victoria St - wtf was I thinking?). Anyways - made my purchases, and it was over. And now, Friday is nearly over, and two glorious days lie ahead, days when I don't have to go into the office.

Right - will start enjoying the weekend now - if it's good, I'll be sure to let you know.

Bored? Try The Superest
or, you could go here and just feel better about everything

One of these days

2009-02-21T11:00:00.003-01:00

Am actually going to update this thing regularly. So the latest:

I have just booked my holiday to Antibes! Not going until September, but that's ok, because I am booked to do a refresher French course for 10 weeks in April. Looking forward to this, as I am hoping that all the French I learned all those years ago is still locked in my brain somewhere. When I look back to the work I had to do for the A Level - write essays on French government, in French, for example, and speak knowledgeably on the plight of underpaid nurses (we had a rather politicized French teacher; she used to get very frustrated with us, a bunch of rather apathetic teens in Lancashire, who would look at her blankly while she would ask us with a note of incredulity in her voice 'Don't you care? About ze nurses? About what ze poleeeticians are doo-ing? Don't you care?'* - some of us did care, but would have been hard-pressed to express our views in French), and now, I can just about remember how to tell you my name, and ask for yours, book a room in a hotel and other such basics, and probably do all of that in slighlty Italian-accented French, well, you get the picture.

In other news, appear to have been struck down by yet another head cold. This is all my fault for congratulating myself on not getting any colds all of last year. I regularly take vitamin C with zinc, and had somehow convinced myself that this was acting as a talismanic protection against ever getting another cold, and feeling smug about my clearly superior immune system. I also blame all those disgusting people on public transport who don't cover their mouths when they cough, and who insist on dragging themselves into work and sharing their germs around rather than staying home and getting better. Anyway, am all dosed up with vitamin C (not ready to turn my back on it just yet), some vile-tasting cough medicine (the viler it tastes, the more effective it must be, no?), and a near lethal amount of paracetamol. Unfortunately, I appear to have what can mildly be described as a massive allergic reaction to the vile-tasting, triple-strength cough medicine. I have a lovely rash all over my neck, a small patch of redness on my chin and just below my nose, and it is spreading all over the torso area. Have attempted to remedy this with a variety of antihistamines - nothing doing so far. Am supposed to be going out this evening, but I shan't be going out of doors if I look like I have the lurgi.

That's probably enough of an update for now. I will post more when I have had a think about what I would like to do with this blog next...

*apologies for the shameless stereotyping of Dominique's accent - but how else was I going to get across that she was French, without me telling you? Eh?

Single again, but with fabulous hair

2008-10-26T11:11:00.002-01:00

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.

She tells her love

2008-10-10T17:56:00.002-01:00

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.

Come on August

2008-08-11T09:33:00.003-01:00

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.

Breathe in, breathe out

2008-08-05T21:42:00.003-01:00

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...

Guest post from the brother of Just

2008-08-05T20:51:00.003-01:00

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

Home again, home again

2008-08-01T21:34:00.003-01:00

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.

Injury report

2008-04-07T19:48:00.002-01:00

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.

Braving the hordes on Oxenforde Street

2008-02-09T18:56:00.000-01:00

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:

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,

I happened upon Selfridges foodhall. I say 'happened upon', but really I mean had to tramp through 'beauty', 'menswear', 'stationery' and the jewellery section, following all the signs - at one point I thought I had to walk through the back door of Theo Fennell to get the the food, in a kind of secret passage way type of deal, but then I saw the actual entrance. A little disappointed, but still determined, I headed for 'confectionery'. Immediately found the truffles I sought, purchased them and then spent a happy half hour wandering round and being offered free chocolates. 'Would madam like to try a Lindor?' Indeed she would. 'Would madam like to try some Godiva chocolates?' Why, thank you. If you ever are stranded in Oxford Street and start losing the will to live, I urge you to seek refuge in this food hall where the staff are nothing less than generous with luxury food stuff samples.

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.

She's back

2008-02-08T21:52:00.000-01:00

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.

How things go

2007-07-16T21:52:00.000-01:00

I know, it's been too long. Again. It really is down to my new job keeping me so busy. I did have very good intentions to blog at the weekend just gone, but then, I decided to go for 'just a couple of drinks' on Friday evening and many, many things just went by the wayside. All is well in the land of Just, if a little busy. Moving house this weekend, and making what can only be described as a frightening lack of progress with the whole packing thing. Gawd, can't someone else just come and do it for me? Why do I have so much stuff? Why? Why? Why?

When I say 'stuff' by the way, I am not talking about my shoe collection; some things are sacred.

So, the news - in response to Tim's comment - an update on the man ahoy situation. Well, that just went nowhere fast. Got the old 'my ex-girlfriend from 2 years ago lives in Japan, but she is still very special to me; so special in fact that I keep a little shrine to her in my bedroom' line. Yep, that old chestnut. After hearing about that, he didn't seem quite so attractive any more, and to be honest, he was really short - I'd never have been able to wear my heels again. What was I thinking?

However, that was about 2 weeks ago, and I just had a fabulous weekend, which more than made up for that little fiasco. I got drunk, and got very hungover, then got drunk again and spent Sunday in recovery. Hangovers just continue to get worse as you get older, don't they? I just about felt human again at about 6pm yesterday, but all day today I still felt like I had been dragged through several hedges backwards. Everything aches. And my hair feels inexplicably heavy.

Right, I have to go now and pretend to myself that I will pack some more boxes up before I go to bed, when in truth I will just sit on my bed staring at all my junk, feel overwhelmed by the enormity of the task before me and choose sleep.

Ahem

2007-06-15T07:46:00.000-01:00

Yes, the rumours are true, I've been cheating on blogger with Facebook. But, also, since I actually like my new job (I know, weird, right?), I'm less inclined to log on to blogger every other half hour. As a result, my posting has declined in frequency. I must try harder, that's all there is to it.

Well, I am not at work now, and it is a Friday - happy, happy, joy, joy! It is my birthday tomorrow, so I decided to take some time off work and go up north for a long weekend. The weather hasn't come with me. The moment the train pulled into Crewe, which is where the North officially starts, the skies darkened and it began to rain. Dressed in linen trousers and a t shirt teamed with strappy sandals, I began to feel distinctly chilly. It rained ALL last night - the kind you can hear pinging off the window panes - and it is raining now as I sit here typing. It is supposed to be sunny tomorrow. We'll see.

In other news, we've got ourselves another man ahoy situation. I met him at a friend's drinks the other week. I hadn't wanted to go to these drinks (isn't that always the way?), and just as I was starting to feel so bored I could have eaten my own head, this guy shows up. Well, we just talked all night, mostly about our love of all things 1980s, then realised a shared passion for the films of Wong Kar Wai. It doesn't get much more fated than that. So, I rakishily invited him for dinner the following evening, and to cut a long story short, he accepted. He actually called me on the Sat to confirm he was coming, which of course, sent me into a frenzy of flat-cleaning and manic ingredient-buying. Three changes of outift later and a melanzane parmigiana in the oven, he turned up, bearing a box of Belgian chocolates. How's that for smooth? We had a lovely evening and he left around midnight. I stayed up for a further 2 hours after he left, saying 'oh my god' over to myself, in a state of shock at how well the night had gone.

So, I'm hoping to see him again, and all signs appear very positive, but, you know how men are. Strange creatures from another planet. Things could go either way. Am trying not to let myself get excited about him, because I have done that before, and then - zip, nada, niente. And that's because men are really odd. So, no news yet, but I'll keep you posted.

Right, back to lazing around my parents' house in my pyjamas and drinking endless cups of tea. Oh, I'm going to enjoy this weekend.

Good Times

2007-05-25T21:19:00.000-01:00

Yeah, I’m feeling better. So I have to move (AGAIN), that’s ok, right? It will all go swimmingly, I am sure. Whatever. I got paid, and that usually improves my mood tenfold, so there we are.

Plus, it has been gloriously sunny these past few days, which has just been fabulous - as long as I discount the fact that all of my new supposedly comfy sandals have repeatedly rubbed the skin off my feet (may be scarred for life, physically and emotionally - I trusted these shoes and paid good money for them, sigh).

Went to the theatre last night to see Boeing Boeing - it was absolutely brilliant! It is running until October - see it if you can - it is the funniest thing I have seen for ages. Mark Rylance and Michelle Gomez steal the show a bit, but everyone is fantastic in it. I went with Naomi, Jenny, A-M and Carly and we were all shaking and crying with laughter. And things get better: it is the Bank Holiday weekend. Joy of joy - three whole days. Oh man, aren’t we all such sad little wage slaves that the thought of three days to ourselves sends us into paroxysms of ecstasy? Maybe not really. Maybe I just wanted to use the word ‘paroxysms’.
But the very thought of three days of lie-ins does send me into realms of utter bliss.

I am looking forward to this ridiculously short ‘holiday’ - but I do hate the accompanying pressure that comes with it. You’ve got this sanctioned time off - you feel obliged to ‘do things’. All week, everyone has asked me what I am doing for the bank hol. As if it is a three-week break rather than three days. They all seem very disappointed, and not a little jealous, when I reply ‘Nothing really, I just plan on relaxing and taking it easy.’ They then launch into long-winded details about their ‘plans’: Camping in Cornwall -heh, if the journey to Cornwall doesn’t finish you off, may I point out the forecast for the weekend, which is mostly rain; a trip to Birmingham - well, can’t say it has ever been my first choice as a mini-break destination, but each to their own; Wedding dress shopping - oh sod off will you and stop showing off; doing the DIY - make sure you have big fun then. As far as I am concerned, taking it easy is what weekends, and especially Bank Holiday weekends, were invented for. The awful thing is, even though I feel like my ‘nothing really’ response is perfectly adequate, after they reel off their carefully orchestrated agendas I hear myself embroidering my plans with imaginary details, just so I don’t feel left out.

I will not submit though. I am doing NOTHING this week and that’s that.
...well, I might go to an exhibition, or um, the cinema or something, I’ll see how I feel.

Still here

2007-05-21T21:32:00.000-01:00

Bit stressed, but I'm still here - just genuinely busy with work and unable to post from my work PC. So weird to be busy with work and not mind. Well, not too much anyway. I've been at the new place for about 2 months now, but I think I am settling in alright because it feels like a lot longer. The work load is a bit overwhelming, but we just got a new administrator, who will hopefully provide some support. I do have trouble delegating though - anyone else? It's an awful control-freak thing, I think - I won't know everything is being done right unless I do it all myself! Have got to learn to let go, and spend more time chatting. Wonder if I could make that one of my official objectives?

Everything is in flux again - I am beginning to suspect that life always is. I am moving house again, in a couple of months, and I feel tired just thinking about it. But it is late, so maybe I am just tired anyway...

The time has come...

2007-05-09T13:47:00.000-01:00

...the walrus said, to talk of many things, of shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax,
Of cabbages and kings, And why the sea is boiling hot,
And whether pigs have wings.

I've always loved those lines. I don't have the time to blog about much else today, but those lines have been stuck in my head for a couple of days, so I thought I would write them here. Although I am short on time today, I do actually have plenty to say (read: complain about), so tune in again tomorrow.

Pure horror

2007-04-30T11:30:00.000-01:00

It was a weekend of extreme highs and lows. I went out on Friday night for book group. Accidentally drank quite a lot of wine. I blame the hot weather – I went for a quick drink after work with new colleagues, where I enjoyed a couple of summery glasses of white wine, and then headed to the restaurant for book group. When I got there, a bottle of red was already open – when in Rome, right? So, much glorious discussion with food and wine. A lovely evening, marred only by the knowledge that I had to be up and out very early on the Saturday as the builders were starting work on the flat at 8am. That’s 8am. On a Saturday. Anyway, managed to get up and out, and went to Islington to get my hair done. This was the high point. The Italian colourist, Gabriele (a bloke), was lighting fast, and barely spoke to me at all, which is just how I like it at the hairdressers. I haven’t come in for inane chat – just do my hair, please, then charge me an exorbitant fee. That’s how it should be. So, my hair looks good, and I am very happy with it. Then I had a party to go to on Saturday eve…

I went to the party, which was miles away from where I live, in the birthday girl’s house. I had intended to stay a couple of hours, and leave in time to get the tube and thus get home around midnight. Well, that didn’t quite happen. I was drinking vodka all night, in the mistaken belief that I was being ‘good’ by not mixing my drinks. So there I was again, accidentally quaffing vast quantities of vodka, and though I didn’t feel drunk, oh, I most certainly was.

So drunk in fact that I stayed until 2.30am - then attempted to get the night bus home, or rather, a series of night buses. Pure horror. (the low point is coming)... I got one bus to Piccadilly Circus, and then another to Trafalgar Sq, thinking I would get the 453 all the way home. This is when it all starts to fall apart. Instead, I got on the No. 381, because the 453 just wasn't coming and I had been waiting about 45mins and was FREEZING, and I thought to myself, I'll change to the No. 47 at Surrey Quays. However, I was VERY drunk. In my head, at some point in the journey, I convinced myself I was on the 453, which terminates at Deptford Bridge, and therefore it would be safe to fall asleep. I duly fell asleep, and then woke up where the bus terminated: 4.30am, Peckham bus station. (this is the unmistakable low point). Oh my god. This dilemma galvanized me into action, and sobered me up a treat. Finally got a cab back to my place, and got in at 5am…and then had to get up at 7.30 because the builders were coming at 8am (again). I felt like death. The builders started work and I tried to stay in my room and lie very still, but then they started drilling and hammering. Had to drag myself up and out and go forage for food and sustenance. I was very queasy, but managed to get myself a full English brekkie at a greasy spoon not too far away, and then I felt a bit better. But only a bit.

I’m still pretty knackered today, but certainly feel more human. Obviously, I’m never drinking again. Obviously.

A pox on your eyes, payroll department

2007-04-25T09:02:00.000-01:00

Today is payday. Normally, this would be a cause for great celebration and much worshipping of the craven idols on Oxford Street. But no. The agents of Satan who between them manage the payroll and HR departments at my new place of employ have conspired to misplace my P45, which I handed in over a month ago – a fact I just relayed down the phone to a ‘payroll officer/minion of the dark one’ without quite managing to keep the shrill edge out of my voice. So now I have received the dreaded ‘BR’ tax code, so my net pay is not quite what I thought it would be. This is made that bit more frustrating because I haven’t been paid since I left my old job about 2 months ago.

The people in payroll passed me on to the people in HR. The people in HR have said they will ‘look into this’ and ‘call me back’. They do like to have their little jokes. Do they not understand the urgency of the situation? I have things I need to buy – quite apart from food and rent, there are more important things, like I need to get my hair done – this is quite a desperate situation now - it really needed doing last month, and I made myself wait, spending what little money I had on fripperies such as travel cards and the like. Sheesh. I also need to buy a new CD player, my old one having completely given up the ghost over a MONTH ago.

Hmph. We are not amused. That is all.

Oh happy day

2007-04-18T11:56:00.000-01:00

Oh I feel blessed today. Have just found out that Ozma will be going back to Oz, and not becoming a permanent member of staff. I am hugely relieved. Luckily I wished her no ill, so I don't have to worry about the karmic effects of my simply wishing her out of my vicinity...

In other news, I have been experiencing the downsides of the hot weather so familiar to us all - you hunt through the bottom of the wardrobe for your summery sandals, pop them on and away you go. But that's not the end of the story. I was walking down the road on Saturday morning, thinking, 'I've been walking for half an hour and these shoes are still comfy - brilliant!'. Then I felt like something was catching at the back of my heel, like maybe a small stone had fallen into the shoe or something. So I checked and found that I had rubbed the skin off my heel, and that's what was 'catching'. Blisters on three of my toes appared within about 3 seconds after that, and I have been hobbling around and applying/re-applying plasters ever since. This does take the spring out of your step somewhat.

On the off chance that you weren't enthralled by My Shoe Hell, I thought I would also share with you this fabulous story which may have passed you by: Man marries goat. An oldie but a goodie. Makes me think of The League of Gentlemen, which is never a bad thing.

Enjoy!

Back with a vengeance

2007-04-15T20:47:00.000-01:00

Yes, you heard right, I'm back. A little later than planned, but then I always was one to make an entrance. So, before we begin, I 'upgraded' my template here, and although that means I get some extra benefits, I seem to have lost Haloscan in the move, so it looks like nobody ever commented on the old posts. But that's ok - we both know that those old posts were wildly popular and generated much fierce debate and many profound utterances. But that's all in the past; let's move on.

So to business. A lot has happened whilst I've been away. First off, I got a new job! One that I don't hate with every fibre of my being! Imagine that. Having decided, at the start of the year, that this would be the 'Year of Just', I set out to get a new job, and then I got one. It wasn't quite that simple, and I had to jump through many hoops to get this job, in fact, considering the 5 hours I had to spend at an assessment centre, the 2 hour-long personality and motivation questionnaires, and the panel interview with a presentation, it felt more like I was jumping through flaming hoops on a motorcycle. Blindfolded. With my hands tied behind my back. And you get the idea. However, as you all know, I REALLY hated my old job, so I'd have done it all twice if they'd asked me.

It has been really weird to be the 'new girl' again after such a long time (five l-o-n-g years), but we're 4 weeks in now and I am just about feeling settled and getting a grip on what the job actually involves. This was a total mystery for the first 2 weeks, as I am in a brand new department and I was the only new staff member to have joined; all the other staff were temps or 'interim'. I kept being introduced to people and then being told they were leaving at the end of the week. Plus, the woman who was inducting me (is it just me, or does that sound vaguely sexual? Say it slowly to yourself, go on: in-duct-ing. You get me?), whilst she was very nice, every time I asked her a vital question, such as 'where is the stationery? Where are the teabags kept? What is that strange electrical buzzing noise coming from above my desk?', she would inevitably reply: 'I honestly don't know.' Anyway, many of these mysteries have now been revealed to me - though the stationery cupboard still remains something of an enigma...and as I said, it's all starting to come together a bit more now.

So, all is well at the new workplace, and so now, I really must get back to the Oscar-winning screenplay. Back soon.

The Monday morning

2006-12-04T10:51:00.000-01:00

The Monday morning and I will never be friends. We'll always remain passing acquaintances, with barely concealed hostility bristling beneath the surface whenever we meet. Sometimes this hostility spills over, and the Monday morning acts malevolently. Today, my alarm went off, but I fell asleep again shortly after turning it off. This isn't exclusive to Monday mornings, but I blame the Monday all the same. That hurdle dealt with, there was the all-too-familiar wardrobe crisis, and even though I managed to leave the flat on time, little did I know that I was heading for The Train Journey From HELL...

First, it was late, but that's nothing out of the ordinary, and it was rammed, again, no change there, but once aboard, I was sandwiched between an unfeasibly large woman with an equally unfeasibly large handbag, which she kept rummaging in, elbows akimbo (what she was hoping to find remains a mystery; nothing was actually pulled forth from the bag, but she kept up the rummaging throughout the journey), and a man who kept up an alternating routine of coughing, snorting, sniffing, and general germ spreading. He was also talking loudly on his mobile phone, which I suppose is a given, about the whole Russian ex-spy poisoning at the sushi bar. Quite the conspiracy theorist, this picture of ill-health was of the opinion that the ex-spy had poisoned himself. Just as I was mulling the likelihood of that over, a group of businessmen squashed up against the opposite door chimed in with their own theory: he was selling radioactive poison to his lunch partner, and had it in a glass vial. Which, according to the lead theorist in the group, 'He probably sat on!' They all then burst out laughing at the supposed irony of this. Hmm. Here's the latest from the BBC http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6203464.stm the upshot: nobody knows anything...or they do, but they're not telling.

These musings on the poor man who died horribly continued whilst we were held up at London Bridge for a ridiculous amount of time, the reason given by the driver: 'trains are waiting to get into the station'. Oh, that's what it is. Lordy.

Finally ditched the man with the plague and the handbag lady at Charing Cross, went for the tube, and just caught the end of an announcement about delays on the line due to 'dust on the tracks'. I kid you not.

Anyway, I made it to work, as you can see, and as we've just passed noon, the Monday morning is officially over. I think a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit are in order.

Being...

2006-11-29T08:49:00.000-01:00

...hungover at work - not fun in the slightest. Also coming under the 'not fun' category this morning we have the following: realising there is no bread for toast, and indeed no milk to make what would have certainly been a life-saving cup of tea first thing; overland rail travel; underground tube travel; realising you have an early meeting. Gah.

The only thing that is keeping me going is the sweet, sweet knowledge that it is, in fact, the holy payday tomorrow. Counting the seconds, the minutes, the hours...

Absence makes the heart grow fonder...I hope

2006-11-22T10:10:00.000-01:00

Oh, I know, it's been an AGE. Work is still quite brutal, and blogging from work has become nigh on impossible following the discovery that I am being watched by my hawk-eyed and thoroughly evil boss. I am now devoting most of my working day to figuring out a sneaky way around this. However, I have just happened on a serendipitous window of time, so I'll fill you in on my most recent misadventures...

The issue of my lack of outer poise has yet again raised its ugly head. If you ever want a fun evening, don’t go to St. Mary’s A&E in Paddington. I am convinced that the triage nurses work part-time as bouncers at some of the roughest clubs in London, or at least, that is where they receive their interpersonal skills training. I had to go there after falling over playing netball. Basically my ankle gave out and I fell really badly, and twisted my ankle, and when it happened, I heard a sickening crunching noise. The pain was so bad I started hyperventilating and shaking. The staff at the gym were very good though and brought a load of ice out, which they taped to my ankle - they also said soothing things like: 'well, if it is broken, it's broken.'
It was all very grim - I was very worried I had broken it and I running ahead in my imagination, envisaging me in a cast for Christmas, etc, etc.

So I had to go to A&E for an X-ray etc. Was there a couple of hours - Had the X-ray and nothing was broken. Though I had to practically bribe the Radiograopher to tell me this - She seemed to think I wouldn't be concerned with the result either way, and would rather be kept in suspense for another hour or so whilst waiting to see the Doctor. I was so relieved, though still in a lot of pain, anyway, after the X-ray, I waited to see the doctor – ‘Hi, my name's Stefan’ - who was absolutley drop-dead gorgeous. Of course, he would be, since I was wearing my sweaty gym kit and no make-up. He checked the X ray and examined my ankle – but all I could think was ‘you’re Dr. McDreamy and my feet smell - excellent’. Anyway, he reckons I have torn some ligaments (the crunching noise I heard – argh), gave me some heavy duty painkillers and a tubigrip bandage thingy, and said I should go to my docs and get some physio.

The tubigrip banadage thingy, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, is uber-glamorous, in fact, it's almost beyond glamour.

Aggh - my boss is on the horizon and the window is closing. Will try to get back here soon and also do some neighbourly visiting...

Hard work never killed anybody, but why take the risk?

2006-10-23T14:47:00.000-01:00

Apologies for the radio silence. Work has been hitting me roughly about the head the past couple of weeks. I’ve been down, but not out for the count.

Do not adjust your set, normal service will resume shortly…

Just and the mysterious case of the missing cheap tickets

2006-10-10T15:53:00.000-01:00

Times like these, you need Scooby-Doo and the gang to turn up in the Mystery Mobile. I’ve been trying, (that’s trying, I haven’t succeeded in any way shape or form.) to buy some bargain train tickets to go back up north. Virgin trains advertise these cheap tickets all the time. They send promotional emails to me about them and there are posters all over the place proclaiming how great these deals supposedly are. However, when you actually try to buy any of these fabled bargain tickets, they have always mysteriously disappeared…

Tried to buy the tickets earlier today but ended up thoroughly frustrated by the whole booking system and gave up in despair, and with a serious headache. First of all – it took me about 30 minutes to navigate the booking website. I tried 3 times to get the cheaper tickets by doing endless searches for travelling at increasingly ridiculous times of the day, but no joy. So, I finally decided to buy the more expensive ones, only for the site to crash.

I then called Virgin direct. Of course, I then had to go through the mindfuck that is the voice-recognition system. They’ve obviously improved this over the years and the voice no longer sounds like a female version of HAL, but now she’s almost too friendly. Kind of creepy, really. She’s very softly spoken: ‘…you can interrupt me at any time, for example, please say ‘yes’. Pause whilst I say ‘yes’ clearly into the phone. Softly spoken response: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Please press star now to go back to the beginning [evil robotic laughter just faintly heard in the background]’. After a while I managed to communicate my travel requirements to this tape recording of a woman’s voice, and miraculously, it quoted me a really good price, then told me it would put me through to an ‘agent’ who would take the booking. Whilst I waited to be put through to the real, live agent, I merrily pulled my debit card from my wallet, all ready to quote the number and almost seeing a small light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel.

Then I got put through to someone clearly working in a call centre in Delhi to finalise the booking. She quoted me double the original price. So I said, calmly, very calmly, that I had just been quoted a much lower amount. She then tells me that those tickets are no longer available. I then calmly (again), tried to ask why I would have been offered these tickets, only for her to tell me there were none. She told me that there were no bargain tickets for those journeys. I got a little less calm at this point. Apparently, ‘maintenance work’ is being carried out on the track and they don’t issue bargain tickets when maintenance work is being carried out. I simply don’t understand. The whole thing is just one big swizz.

I am still seething. I did communicate my feelings about this to the agent, but she seemed unmoved. I hung up.

Aaaarrrrggghhh.

The shame...

2006-10-03T09:25:00.000-01:00

So, I got paid, woo-hoo, yadda, yadda, big anti-climax as per usual. However, it does mean I can afford things again, such as the odd evening out…

Went out on Saturday night for Sam’s leaving do. We went to Salvador & Amanda, which is one of those bars which has an inflated sense of self. You know, they make a big show of having a tough door policy, but then let you in anyway; all the front of house staff were wandering around with clipboards and walkie-talkies, totally drunk with power. As Naomi and I were headed to the bar, we were stopped by yet another member of staff, waving her clipboard frantically: ‘Just checking you girls know where you’re going…’ Yeah, thanks, we’re TRYING to get to the BAR. Jeez. Anyway, that hurdle over, ordered drinks and then our jaws simultaneously hit the floor when handed the bill. I had planned to stick to vodka all evening, thus reducing my chances of suffering with a hangover the next day. However, to continue buying vodka in this bar, I would have had to re-finance my loan. So we switched to wine. Looking back, I can see now that this was not necessarily a good idea, even though it seemed so at the time.

The evening went well, so well that we didn’t leave until our only option for travel home was the night bus. We had to get 2 night buses in fact. This was ok, as I wasn’t that drunk, I figured, and so we ventured forth and started our epic journey home. Got the first night bus at Westminster – so far, so stuffed with mad drunken people and the fragrant aroma of many a kebab. We got off at London Bridge, to get the next bus. We had to wait here for a VERY long time. We were just about to crack and try to hail a cab (though hailing a cab at this time of night, to go south of the river is a bit like trying to find the holy grail), when the 47 swung into view. Once safely aboard, everything should have been fine. However, we have spoken here, many times, of my lack of, shall we say, outer poise. To be blunt, I am an extremely clumsy person. I average about 1 slapstick comedy moment a day, tripping up over thin air/walking into door frames and so on and so forth.

To cut a long story short, I fell over on the night bus. Oh, the shame of it all. I was going for a seat, tripped up over someone’s feet, I was holding onto the pole, but just ended up sliding down it and then hitting the deck. It was really quite spectacular. I just keep thinking of how everyone must have been able to see my legs, sticking out in the aisle. They must have all thought I was mashed. I did consider standing up and saying ‘I’m not actually that drunk, everyone, just really clumsy’, but thought better of it.

Naomi pretended she didn’t know me.

Am covered in bruises.

Two days

2006-09-27T14:22:00.000-01:00

'Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons.' - Woody Allen

'I'm tired of Love: I'm still more tired of Rhyme.

But Money gives me pleasure all the time.' - Hilaire Belloc.

The pay day cometh and thank the lord and all his angels that it is so. Being a Tupperware Queen all month has been really quite trying; the novelty wears off quicker than you would think. So, just two more days of being as poor as a church mouse, then back to just being as poor as a girl who can afford the occasional lunch out and buy new shoes.

Which is great, as I have seen the shoes and I simply must have them. I must have them before they go out of stock. It is a matter of supreme urgency.

Counting the minutes, the seconds…

Bring on the weekend. Bring it now.

2006-09-21T09:33:00.000-01:00

Oh, this has been such a crappy week. And it’s still only Thursday. It started well, which should have made me suspicious – Monday’s aren’t supposed to be good, are they? Monday was fine though, and this lulled me into a false sense of security for the coming days. Tuesday was an opportunity to experience a new level of horror in the workplace. There was trouble, and I was in it. Everyone always talks about the mistakes they have made via email, and how easy it is to do – a ‘forward’ to the wrong person, an accidental and cringeworthy ‘reply all’ moment etc. Though I live in fear of making such mistakes, I usually steer clear of them. Not so on the Tuesday. Managed to email my boss about some innocent copy checking, forgetting to delete the incriminating stuff under the copy. I’d been messing around with my email signature – you know, trying different fonts and colours and so on…and also, heh, changing my job title on the signature, as if I had already been promoted. Apparently people aren’t allowed to just promote themselves…

So, of course she noticed, and of course it was all absolutely horrific. She returned the email to me, and suggested we ‘take a walk’. (As an aside, I thought that was a bit odd – take a walk? What is this, The Sopranos?). I was running on pure adrenalin at this point, furiously racking my brain to think of an excuse and also, if possible, restore my chances of getting promoted at some point this century. The walk was excruciating, but in the end we negotiated that I could change my job title, but that it would mean NOTHING in monetary terms. So, I suppose it was kind of a positive outcome, though I am still coming down from the adrenalin.

Wednesday was dull and tense and time appeared to have ground to a complete halt at around midday. A colleague in a different department is leaving the company, and Weds was her last day. There was the obligatory ‘stand-around-her-desk-feeling-uncomfortable-whilst-the-MD-embarrasses-her-with-a-weird-speech, then grow old waiting for the slices of cake to be passed around. Whilst it is inspiring that she is leaving – escape is possible! – I also found it a little depressing, because, well, you know, I am still here…

So far, Thursday has not shown me anything good. If we hadn’t got chocolate biscuits, I don’t know what I’d do. I need a holiday. And a lottery win. And…

Aargh

2006-09-18T22:43:00.001-01:00

Couldn't get into my site for 3 days! Why, blogger, why? Why must thou forsake me in this manner?

Sheesh. Anyway, I'm back now, and I have stories to tell.

Tune in tomorrow, when I will be blogging for free, on my company's time.

Thanking you.

Attack of the killer mosquito

2006-09-12T08:12:00.000-01:00

Can anyone tell me the point of mosquitoes? Anyone?

Why do I ask? Because I got bitten last Monday evening, not whilst I was in the tropics, you understand, but when I was in the less exotic surrounds of my living room. The vicious little bloodsucker attacked my ankle. Whenever I get bitten by any kind of bug, my body likes to react as though I have been injected with a deadly venom, there's usually swelling, a rash, the need for anti-histamines. So, when I get bitten by an evil mosquito, the reaction is that bit more severe. My ankle looks like more like it has been savaged by a rabid dog. And why does NOTHING work to soothe mosquito bites? And before you all start going on about toothpaste/blasting the bite with a hairdryer/witch hazel gel/aloe vera/any other USELESS remedy you care to mention, let me tell you, I've tried 'em ALL. And NOTHING works.

Anyway, the upshot is that the bite has remained swollen for over a week, and also has an odd red line coming out the side of the main swelling. This worried me a bit at first, as I wondered if I had blood poisoning. A hypochondirac can't be too careful. So, I went to the docs yesterday, after a tussle with the receptionist over what consituted an 'emergency', and whether I was eligible for an 'emergency appointment', I showed the doc my ankle. After he visibly recoiled, he precribed anti-biotics and a special hydracortisone cream. So now I can't drink this week and am £12 down after picking up prescriptions at the chemist.

All this for a stupid effing mosquito bite. Oh, and did I mention it itches like a bastard?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhh.

A bit late, but here’s Le Weekend

2006-09-05T16:51:00.000-01:00

Ok, I chickened out of posting pictures of me wearing the specs, but I like them now anyway, even the allegedly ‘fun’ pair.

Saturday was a wash due to the excesses of Friday night – it was all I could do to manage boring household stuff like the laundry. I finally washed my sheets. It was getting to that point where if I didn’t wash them, I would have to reclassify myself as a total skank. I normally keep on top of stuff like that, but you know how it is, right? The effort involved in the whole washing + drying of the sheets, the interminable drying of the sheets when you don’t have a yard to peg out in, the tiresome fight to put the duvet covers back on – it’s enough to put anyone off. Anyway it’s all done and dusted now, plus I washed what appeared to be a years worth of clothes. Laundry is an ongoing battle is it not – you never stop – there’s always something that needs doing. And don’t get me started on the ironing – I’ll only bore us both.

What I did achieve on Sat was a load of cooking – I’m having to think economy with a capital e this month, what with the ridiculous bill for the new glasses. So I’ve turned into a bit of a Tupperware Queen and there are 3 nutritious meals nestling in the freezer, which will see me through the Tues/Weds/Thurs and save me some moola. Let’s see how long I keep this up. I have good intentions to do this every month and usually manage a couple of days – but the (very real) lack of cash may force me to change my habits this time round. Am a bit of a gourmand too, doncher know – today it’s pasta alla norma, and tomorrow it will be wild mushroom risotto, then maybe something sautéed in something. Not sure about what I’ll be having the day after that – but a quick peruse of the Jamie Oliver cook book will surely provide inspiration. God bless Jamie, and all who sail in him.

Sunday, saw Tom’s new flat. Very impressive. In uber-trendy Hoxton, nice and light and spacious, felt way more relaxed than anywhere else he’s lived. Plus, crucially, his flatmate was there and appeared to be not only pleasant (and easy on the eye), but also sane. I’m very relieved. Tom even cooked dinner for me before I dashed back off to Greenwich to see Volver with Naomi. Hmm. That Pedro Almodovar eh? He’s a one, isn’t he?

I did really enjoy Volver, it is a very unusual story, quite an odd film, but beautifully shot and the actors are all brilliant. Also, Penelope Cruz just looks stunningly gorgeous in practically every frame. There’s something almost hypnotic about how lovely she is. I just found myself transfixed by her. (I also thought to myself that I should invest in some false eyelashes and try that look out). So, I would recommend it, but obviously, I don’t want to give anything away. I was a bit wary of going to see an Almodovar film, as I had a bad experience with Hablo con Ella a couple of years ago. (I am going to give the ending of that away because of the trauma seeing it caused, so there, you’ve been warned; read on at your peril)

Everyone I speak to raves about Hablo con Ella as if it was a work of cinematic genius. It may be, but I went to see it on a first date. Big mistake. There we were, in the cinema, quietly impressed with ourselves for going to see a foreign film for our first date, with no idea of what was about to hit us. The story is quite bizarre, follows the lives of two women who end up in comas and the men who love them. One of them is a bull fighter, and her story is quite interesting, and the man who loves her is a complex, engaging character. The other one is a dancer, and the man who loves her is an orderly at the hospital who is obsessed with her. She didn’t know him before the coma, and he falls obsessively for her and basically sexually abuses her whilst she is in the coma and gets arrested etc. So because he obsessed with her, he has these weird fantasies about her body. In one of them, her naked body becomes enormous, and he shrinks and shrinks and climbs over her body. That was cringe-worthy enough, but then, then they show a GIANT vagina (I can't emphasise the GIANT enough here) – it completely filled the cinema screen, and the miniature version of this sick character crawls down it, then pulls open one of the ‘flaps’, as it were, then walks into the vagina like he is just going through a door. The horror.

So, as you can imagine, I was understandably a bit wary of trying another Almodovar, but Volver is worth a watch, honest.

Good Morning!!

2006-09-05T08:34:00.000-01:00

Here's a top tip to start the day: if you're feeling sluggish after you've just woken up, still a bit sleepy, unable to get it together, try a good, hard poke in the eye with your mascara wand. Oh, trust me, that will wake you up every time.

The 4-day week rocks

2006-08-31T08:31:00.000-01:00

It’s payday. It’s PAYDAY. I am loving the Thursday this week, let me tell ya. Not only is it the payday, but we had Monday off and so this is only a 4 day week. Plus, the weekend was good. Went for a long walk with my flatmate, all the way up to Blackheath, which is lovely, until you find out that it is so called because that’s where they buried all the victims of the Black Death. Isn’t that nice? Spent Monday with Sylvia at her envy-inducing flat in Stoke Newington. It’s a warehouse conversion – all skylights and wooden floors and light, airy spaces, and easily 3 times the size of any of the places I’ve lived in London. I’m not bitter, I’m just saying, that’s all.

But back to this week, and the joy of payday. Today is also special in that I am picking up my new glasses today. I chose them last Saturday. It took about 2 hours – and was not fun. I am very short sighted, and I wear my glasses everyday – so this was a big decision. I was on my own and find it difficult to trust the opinion of the Specsavers sales assistants, because, well, they are sales assistants and they don’t know me. Plus, I had to buy them on Saturday because that’s when their special offer (buy one pair, get the other FREE) ran out. This posed a financial dilemma as, what with today being payday, I ran out of cash about, ooh, 3 weeks ago. Tricky. I’ve picked a gold-framed pair with a quite rectangular shape, very different to what I am currently wearing, and a pair very similar to the ones I already own, but with thin purple frames. When I finally sat down at one of the little tables to wait for an optician to come over and explain that I would have to pay an extra £160 so I could get super-thin lenses, and that no, they don’t have a payment programme, one of the sales assistants ambled past and looked at my selection. Looking at the purple ones, he actually said this: ‘I see you’ve gone for a fun pair.’ Fun? Like, I’m having ‘fun’ with my wacky choice of spectacles? Like I’m a female Timmy Mallet? Excellent. I went for them anyway – they’re fine, and I think I like them. Paying for them was a tad uncomfortable – I had my visa card with me, and although I said to the cashier ‘I’m not sure how much credit I have left on this card, please try it, and if it gets declined I’ll pay by cheque’, when she did try the card, and it did get declined, she looked at me with mix of pity and suspicion, like maybe I am just poor, but maybe I also a common criminal (have you noticed that whenever this happens there is always a queue of people behind you to witness your shame? Always). Then I got the cheque book out, and everything was going better, until they had to call for an authorisation code – this is when I started sweating. More people joined the queue; they called the bank 3 times and got cut off three times, and then finally, they got the code and the sale went through. They were still looking at me like I was a leper though. God – if they weren’t the cheapest optician in town, I swear I’d go elsewhere…

So, I’m picking them up today, no longer convinced that either pair will suit me. They’ll adjust and fit them for me – another peach of a part of the process where they give you a complex about having an unsymmetrical face/wonky ears/one eye bigger than the other. Hmm. Starting to feel less positive about the Thursday…

If I’m feeling brave, I might post some pictures later. Not promising anything though.

The air-conditioning unit is trying to kill me

2006-08-23T13:44:00.000-01:00

Well, ok, perhaps that is a little dramatic. It isn’t actually trying to kill me (as far as I’m aware). Here’s the rub: The air-conditioning unit has been moved. It used to be above Sylvia’s desk, when she worked here, and she constantly complained about how the icy air continually blasted onto her shoulders. But, you know, it gets very hot in the office, and we largely ignored her and enjoyed the cooler temperature as we slaved over our hot PCs. However, she kept complaining, and eventually the deputy MD heard her cries and it was moved.

They moved it in the winter, when you don’t have any call to use it. They moved it to above my desk. It is like a form of torture. I sit here, and someone complains about how hot it is, we have to turn the fucking thing on, and all the muscles in my left shoulder start to seize up. I’m actually in physical pain. It is a remote controlled unit, so you are supposed to be able to angle the blades of the fan so that the cold air would (theoretically) shoot over my desk and not hit my shoulder. Whoever designed this remote control was clearly a frustrated design graduate, stuck in a dead end job at an air-conditioning factory, out to seek revenge in whatever small, petty way they could. Every time you press the button to angle the blades, it beeps. It beeps at a volume that hits a nerve in my brain just so. It beeps and the blades move by less than a millimetre. You have to keep pressing the buttons until it is at just the right angle, then, you misjudge it and the blades start to go in the opposite direction. And you have to start again. I’ve given up doing that now as I have discovered after a lengthy session of pressing all the relevant buttons, that even when the freaking thing is angled just so, it still hits my shoulder like an arctic wind.

Good god.

I raised the issue of moving it elsewhere at the office meeting on Monday. The responses:
‘Just angle the blades.’
‘Did you know you can angle the blades?’
‘If you angle the blades, you can direct the flow of air.’
You. Don’t. Say.

They are refusing to move it because, apparently, there’s nowhere else for it to go. For the love of god.

I see now, and I think you'll all agree, that my only option is industrial sabotage. I’ll report back on my progress.

Where the hell have I been?

2006-08-21T09:49:00.000-01:00

What the hell do I think I'm playing at? Eh?

Not a single post since July? I think I'll go with the old 'never explain, never apologise' failsafe, and just get back to business toute suite. How about that?

Oh alright then: if you must know - I went on holiday, came back, had an existential crisis, as you do, stopped blogging, stopped writing, yadda, yadda, yadda, but I'm over it now, and she's back. And apparently talking about herself in the third person. Damn, don't you just hate that?

So to business – the trip up north to visit my parents was a huge success – we spent time on the beach, chilled out had nice meals etc –in short, I had a lovely time, and also managed to come away with a digital camera and an mp3 player. So I am now totally gadgeted up – I have almost everything the modern gal-about-town needs. Apart from a shoe rack. I still desperately need one of those.

With respect, I must now say that I finally get all the fuss about the mp3 players. I’m in love with mine and I now understand that they are essential to life in a similar way to water and oxygen. It’s like having the ultimate mix-tape, on your person, at all times. Genius. My only problem so far is resisting the urge to sing along and/or start dancing whilst on my commute. I’m assuming this would be looked on as a pretty serious faux pas, and have thus far managed to restrict myself to a subtle toe-tapping routine which I am sure bugs the hell out of whoever happens to be sitting next to me on the train. But I don’t care! I’m listening to Honky Tonk Woman! Get me.

In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m in a very good mood today. I had a very good weekend. And that’s all I’m saying.

Just plain weird

2006-07-12T08:27:00.000-01:00

Yep, it's still hot, but to distract me from that, there was plenty of weirdness on the commute today. A woman sat directly opposite me, wearing heavily applied electric blue eyeshadow, looking me square in the eyes, before proceeding to close her eyes and commence s-l-o-w-l-y sticking her tongue out and licking round her mouth. She kept repeating this motion, so I dismissed thoughts she was coming on to me and wondered if she actually had an unfortunate facial tick, poor woman. It looked disgusting though - her tongue, quivering round her lips...over and over again - and I couldn't not look...

Then I noticed that a woman 2 seats ahead of me was wearing a yellow and white polka-dot skirt, teamed with a horizontally striped red and white top. Can you imagine? Talk about offensive.

And another thing - any Morrissey fans out there? Wanna see something really weird?
Ok, here you go: http://b3ta.com/links/Kids_Tv_in_a_parallel_universe

And now I'm off to crank up the AC, because it's still too damn hot. Ahh, that's better, mmm, reconditioned stale office air - surprisingly refreshing...

Hot! Hot! Hot!

2006-07-06T17:56:00.001-01:00

It's too hot to do anything! Too hot! Aaaaaaaggggghhh! Too damn hot.

According to The Standard, it was 41C on the tube yesterday. I felt like I was quite literally melting.

It's too hot.

That is all.

That's it then

2006-07-04T11:37:00.000-01:00

End of England's World Cup dream. They were a bit crap really, weren't they? Never mind, we get to try again in 4 years. Reading the sport pages today (in truth, I was scanning for pictures of Beckham looking moody, possibly shirtless, etc.), I see that Rooney is claiming he did not deserve a red card for stamping on Ricardo Carvalho's groin. It looked pretty intentional from the footage, but maybe everything looks pre-mediated if you show it in slow motion.

In other news - what is going on with this heatwave? You can't sleep, you open the window, there's no breeze, but plenty of dopey flies and bugs. And what is it with stupid flies? They fly in the room through a WIDE OPEN window, then proceed to batter themselves against the only closed window pane/dive bomb your head/freshly prepared salad/buzz annoyingly in circles around the light bulb. Yep, it's summer in the city. The tube feels like a sauna, the trains aren't much better, and to make things worse, everyone seems to think it is ok to strip off, whether they are the owner of a body-beautiful or not. In fact in most cases, it's the 'or not'. I don't need to see an overweight, middle aged man with his gut hanging out and his lobster-red sunburnt skin indicating a line where the shirt he should be wearing could be. Especially not before I have had coffee in the morning.

Another summer eye-sore was pointed out by Lucy Mangan in the Guardian today - had me nodding my head vigorously in agreement : A visit to the shops makes you deeply aware of how very far we still are as a nation from embracing the pedicure as a standard component of personal grooming. How right she is - like anyone needs to see gnarled and yellowed, over-grown and in some cases, ingrowing toenails on the feet of your fellow commuters. Ewwww.

Ok, ok, the hot weather isn't all bad - I'm not complaining, really. Blistering sunshine still beats gloomy, drizzling rain. Plus you don't need an excuse to eat ice cream. So not all bad, but being at work sucks when the weather is like this. Having said that, if I wasn't here, I'd be sweltering at my flat...man, I want a beach holiday soooo bad. I'm off now to enter some internet competitions for holidays - I'll keep you posted with my progress

Eng-er-land!

2006-06-26T14:22:00.000-01:00

We're through to the quarter-finals! In the World Cup baby!

...not very convincingly though - watched the game yesterday and the tension was unbearable - as my Dad put it, watching England play is heart attack material. Thank god for Becks and his unbelievable ball-bending abilities and also for little Ashley Cole, who ran like a man possessed to intercept what would have surely been an equalizer from Ecuador. Phew.

If my nerves can take it, we're against Portugal next Saturday...come on lads!

We've got a sweepstake in the office, but I didn't get England as one of my teams - I got Germany (host nation, they might pull it out of the bag and secure me the prize fund - a whopping £15, I'd have to be careful not to spend it all at once), Togo - there wasn't ever much hope there, USA - sorry, but likewise, Switzerland - they're playing today - though even if they win, I can't see them going all the way, and Czech Republic, who didn't get through. So I'm officially rooting for England (obviously), but secretly hopeful for Germany's chances. I have £15 riding on it after all.

p.s. Could David Beckham get any more attractive? I don't think so.

Hidden dangers of healthy eating

2006-06-21T15:30:00.000-01:00

My hands smell of tuna. I've washed them several times, but the aroma of tuna lingers on. Before you all get smutty (oh don't deny it, I know what you guys are like), I decided to be all healthy this morning and fix myself a tuna salad to take to work for lunch. I prepared it at 8am, washed my hands, and then left the house. On the train, I realised with horror that my hands reeked of fish.

Comforted myself with the knowledge that I would be able to wash them (with what? Acid?) once I got to work. Of course, as soon as I walked into reception, of course I was introduced to a new member of staff, and of course we shook hands. Way to make a great impression - I'm the girl who smells like tuna. Excellent.

Over the course of the day, I've washed my hands a number of times in the manner of an OCD sufferer, and even now, even now I swear I can still smell a hint of tuna. See what happens when you make an effort and go all healthy? Had I bought myself a ridiculously over-priced hermetically sealed sandwich from M&S, none of this would have happened.

Scratch that

2006-06-14T09:41:00.000-01:00

Turns out he has a girlfriend. Albeit one that lives in Sweden, and has been out of the counry for 6 months, but a girlfriend all the same. He didn't volunteer this information freely, oh no.
It was only revealed that he had a girlfriend following a chance question from me on an entirely unrelated topic. I had been invited up to the flat again, and we were chatting away, then we got on to the topic of football, what with the Wolrd Cup being on, and he said something about how he was disappointed with Sweden's performance. So I jokingly said, 'Why, do you have some connection to Sweden?' and then he said 'Yeah, my girlfriend's from Sweden.' Imagine the difficulty I had in maintaining a neutral facial expression as I heard this news. He then told me that she has been in Sweden for the past 6 months, I said that was a long time (for want of anything else to say) and then he looked straight at me and said that sometimes 'it gets lonely'. Sheesh.

Next stop: internet dating?

Man ahoy!

2006-06-06T20:43:00.000-01:00

Yes, that's right, there is a man on the horizon. Just as I was about to resort to internet dating, I bumped into a guy who lives in the same building as me. I met him on the train home from seeing The Kooks a couple of weeks ago - what are the odds?

Anyway, despite the fact that he knocked on my door - twice - and I lost all power of speech and realised my inner flirt had gone on some sort of sabbatical without telling me, and neglected to invite him in - twice (the second time, it was raining outside - and I still couldn't engage my brain enough to invite him over the threshold - what was I thinking?), progress has been made. After I realised that he may not knock a third time without a modicum of encouragement, I suddenly galvanised myself into action and...wrote him a note. Lame, I know. LAME. Still, it had my name and number on it, and a subtle attempt at humour. It took me 8 drafts, and it was only two lines long. I put it through his door, and then tried to forget about it as I didn’t hear from him all week.

Then - you can all stop holding your breath - he knocked again on Saturday last, I finally managed to focus, and invited him in for drinks. Phew. So we had a nice evening, chatting away, and later on, we went up to his flat and I met his flatmate, and we all had more to drink and listened to some music and it was all very pleasant. At the end of the night, he walked me to the door and gave me a hug, and kissed me on the cheek.

So, I’m feeling quite hopeful. BUT - what to do, what to do? Should I be doing anything? Do I wait for him to call? I can hardly be casually passing by his flat as it is on the top floor, and I don’t have his number to send the traditional non-committal-friendly-non-threatening text message. See? I’m totally out of practice at this sort of thing. I know where he works, but does stopping by seem stalkerish, or friendly?

Feel like I need to go on some sort of refresher course....argh.

Not ready for my close up

2006-05-26T15:38:00.000-01:00

We're having video conferencing equippment installed at the office. I know that VCing has been around for ages, but we've never had to do it here, and I've avoided it in all my previous jobs so far. I came into the office to the headache-inducing sounds of intermittent heavy drilling, and then, just as I was about to nip out for lunch, was summoned for a 'tutorial'.

As soon as I sat down in the meeting room, I could see myself on the widescreen tv mounted on the wall opposite. The two engineers ran through all the functions and it all seemed quite straightforward, but seeing yourself on screen is so disconcerting. I was trying to focus on what was being said, but all I could think about was how weird my nostrils looked. I've never before had a problem with my nose - of all my imperfections that I obsess over on a daily basis, my nose has never really bothered me. Now it does, and most specifically, my nostrils. Which looked weirdly uneven, and noticably large on the screen.

It could just have been the camera angle, right?

But that wasn't all I noticed. I now have a complex about the fact that I seem to naturally tilt my head to the right. It seems to be my default head position. I look oddly lop-sided and as though I am permanently considering a serious issue. Not the case, obviously. To counteract this, I kept adjusting my head throughout the tutorial, but got confused by the left-right reverse camera angle, and kept tilting even further to the right, then jerking my head back to the left. Like a nutcase. I think the engineers thought I had a twitch.

Also, when trying not to laugh at my colleagues' techno-phobic questions, i.e. after the engineers showed us 3 different ways to press the mute button, 'so how do we turn the sound off?', I quite obviously press my lips together, which totally gives the game away. Later caught myself rolling my eyes at further idiotic questions; not subtle.

I also blink. A lot.

I'm really looking forward to our first conference...

They're kooky

2006-05-16T20:27:00.000-01:00

Very cool news - after having a spectacularly shitty day - everything that could drag about work was dragging, I felt generally crappy and didn't get enough sleep last night, and spent most of the day dealing with he company website - no walk in the park, let me tell ya. Anyway, after that, was just packing up for the day and had a sense that I should check my mobile - and there it was - a text message from Rachael, saying she had a spare ticket to see The Kooks on Thurs, and would I like to go? Hell yes, in two words.

So - seeing The Kooks on Thursday eve - how fabulous is that single Naive? Mmmm, am in love with that track, though I have started cheating on it lately with Valerie, by The Zutons, which is also just make-your-heart-sing-and-jump-around sublime.

...and I miss your ginger hair and the way you like to dress
Oh, why won't you come on home, Valerie?

You can't beat lyrics like that.

However, back to The Kooks and Thursday eve, which, only after I had gratefully accepted the spare ticket, presents me with something of a dilemma. A double-booking situation. I have to go to the Romantic Novelists' Association Summer party on Thursday eve with work. Now, whilst it will no doubt be a rather wild and debauched affair, as per usual, it doesn't usually go on all night, so escape after a decent interval is quite feasible. So, wherein lies the rub? I hear you ask. Dress codes. Doesn't it always come down to the dress codes? For the RNA, I will, of course, be donning a two-hoop skirt, acres of organza and tulle, a splash of taffetta, an elaborate tiara festooned with the highest quality cubic zircona and feathers, and a tasteful, yet subtle corsage. Just to blend in, you understand. Now, how am I to escape at 7.45, clad thus, and get across town to the Astoria for The Kooks gig, at 8pm and manage a costume change along the way? I can't very well enter a mosh pit in such an ensemble, as I'm sure you'll agree. Something decidely more 'rock' will be in order for this particular social engagement. I'll have to bring a change of clothes, which will in turn create a further dilemma, of the 'big bag' variety. You can't dance, or look cool, for that matter, when toting a huge bag. It just isn't done.

Since the Astoria is a music venue, it will be scuzzy, as all rock venues are - as an aside - why so grimy, rock venues the world over? Why the same stick-to-your-shoes flooring, the frankly disturbing and usually flooded toilets areas, why? I see no reason why they couldn't glam up a bit, but I'm getting off track. Since it will be scuzzy, I won't be able to stow the bag anywhere for fear of beer soaking and god knows what else.

Tricky.

I'm going to call the Astoria tomorrow and enquire as to their cloak room facilities, and report back.

How it's done

2006-05-12T11:12:00.000-01:00

Winning 19 goals to 4. That's how it's done. I'll just say it again in case anyone missed it: 19 goals to 4. First win of the netball season, and it feels pretty good. Plus the weather is good enough to play outside now, so perhaps Summer really is here and everything is going to get better generally.

I'm 'working' from home today, on my unofficial lunch break, enjoying the sunshine: it's all good. With amazing foresight, which is most unlike me, I had arranged to work from home this Friday since I knew we had book group booked for Thursday night. Since I still shudder at the memory of the morning after the inaugural book group meeting, I didn't want to be caught hungover on the tube again, feeling like death at work and having to sneak sausage and egg sandwiches into the office so I don't keel over. As it is, we were all much more restrained last night, and spent more time discussing the book than drinking. (Don't get me wrong - wine drinking did constitute a major part of the evening, but we stayed focused this time, this is book group, not wine group). It was Abi's choice : Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. It's a very strange book in that all the characters are mental/oddball/sociopathic to some degree, but it is very funny, and without giving anything away, has one of the most satisfying endings I've ever read. Despite choosing the book, Abi couldn't make it, which is a shame, because everybody got quite animated, and although we were occasionally sidetracked (found myself arguing for the necessity of the love story in Gladiator, the movie, and for the importance of love interests in general in action movies - oddly, the men disagreed...), it was a great book group night.

Next selection is Arthur and George by Julian Barnes (which I think Mikey chose just because he owns it, but I'm looking forward to it anyway).

Right, suppose I should get on an do some work, since my lunch 'hour' is about to overrun somewhat spectacularly. But then again, no one's watching me...perhaps I'll mix myself a refreshing Sea Breeze first, as a motivational aid.

I love working from home.

Here comes Summer, or not

2006-05-08T08:38:00.000-01:00

I don't think it could get any rainier, or more grey, or more miserable than it is this morning in London. But I could be wrong. It probably could.

Ugh. Monday has not started well. I woke up late following a bizarre dream in which I kept keying in a series of codes in order to stop an annoying beeping sound. Of course, it then transpired that I had turned off my alarm in a half-awake half-sleep state. My brain was trying to keep me in bed. This happens to me a lot. Sometimes I dream that I have got up, got dressed and gone to work, only to wake up in a panic at 8.59am, with no hope of getting to work on time.

So, quite apart from the alarm debacle, it is raining, and with the rain came the discovery that my shoes leak, which was lovely. Nothing nicer than tramping into work with squelchy toes.

On the up side, my boss is still away, so trundling in at 10.28 - not a problem.

Well,

2006-04-26T08:43:00.000-01:00

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.

Hell is other people

2006-04-21T12:57:00.000-01:00

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.

Is it ok...

2006-04-12T08:15:00.000-01:00

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.

Can't get no sleep

2006-04-06T12:47:00.001-01:00

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?

Busy doing nothing

2006-03-24T20:36:00.000-01:00

Ah the joy of the 4 day week. I’ve had the whole day off today, and it’s been non-stop, let me tell you. First off, there was a serious lie-in, man, I pretty much had to stay in bed until 11am. Then I had to take a call, well receive a text message, then I had to reply to that, so after making some toast and then eating it, well, that was the morning taken care of. The afternoon continued at the same furious pace; there was some lounging around in sweat pants, some bathing, which was naturally followed by some dancing around in underwear to some Motown classics. I did eventually get dressed, and then, because I had nowhere to go, and no-one in particular to see, I got all glammed up and headed to Lewisham to wander aimlessly around the shops, looking fabulous just because I could. Disaster loomed when I couldn’t find the Primark shop - but then I got sidetracked by the orchids on display at M&S. Spent about half an hour staring at various orchid plants, toying with the idea of treating myself to one of them for my bedroom. It was a big decision, because if I went for it and bought an exquisitely beautiful and elegant orchid, I’d be forced to tidy my room. You can’t have a lovely orchid surrounded by piles of crap - there’d be no point.

I decided to go for it, and the orchid is lovely, and I did tidy up my room, and now it is lovely too. Why can’t I be tidy all the time? Why? What stops me putting things away? I just don’t understand. Took me over an hour - and it was mostly just clothes, scattered over every surface. So, as I said, big day. And it’s going to get better, because I am away for the weekend up in the wild lands of the north, and apart from a 4am start tomorrow to catch the plane, it’s all good.

In case any of you forgot, consider this your official reminder IT’S MOTHER’S DAY on Sunday. It is in the UK anyway. Me and Tom got it all sewn up remarkably early this year - we sorted the pressies last weekend, and I’m delivering them in person tomorrow. Are we good children or what? ’Course, we’re good because she’s so good.

Love ya, Mum.

What a swizz!

2006-03-20T16:21:00.000-01:00

God, I know, I feel terrible. I say there'll be no stopping me, and then...zip, nada, niente, rien. In the somewhat paraphrased words of the Terminator, this time, I really will be back. Soon. Honest.

There'll be no stopping me now

2006-02-28T10:28:00.000-01:00

Couple of things today: 1. I am so bored I can barely summon the energy to type, but that's easily explained away by the fact that I am currently in the office, there's no radio, and the silence is making my ears melt.

2. Much more exciting, and I'd even go so far as to say a source of joy, is the news that we have had a land line installed at the flat. Hallelujah! Rejoice! Etc.! This means I can now get online whenever the fancy takes me, and all from the comfort of my own home. Apart from the sheer convenience of being able to blog in my pyjamas (or in the nude, what the hell), at 3 in the morning, I also see many, many ebay purchases in my near future. It also means I will be able to post more regularly, which I know will also be a source of joy for all of you.

Be back very soon, probably later on tonight - get me.

The rich are different from you and me...

2006-02-20T16:19:00.000-01:00

...they've got more fucking money. Ahem.

Have been plagued with financial woes since my last post, and have been doing lots of juggling with my money (or lack thereof). It has been both harrowing and time consuming, so I been a bit lax on the posting front. Since I'm feeling a bit drained from all that, and what with the flashbacks to the airless, windowless room I spent two hours in last Thursday in a nail-biting attempt to refinance my bank loan, I'm going to post a poem, buy a bit of time and gather my thoughts.

Here's Invictus by W.E. Henley - it's a bit like getting a shot of instant moral fibre:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbow'd.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Aaah. Deep breath, that's better.

Back soon...

Decisions, decisions

2006-02-09T09:04:00.000-01:00

I choose debt. I choose to live in London, I choose to scrape by, be unable to afford a holiday and to think twice before treating myself to a glossy magazine. I choose an interesting and challenging job with very low pay. I choose to worry myself crazy over my poor financial situation on a regular basis. I choose to feel sick to my stomach when I call the bank; I choose to get tight-chested and short of breath whenever I check my balance. I choose to count amongst the paltry possessions I have amassed in my lifetime one chest of drawers from Ikea; one bookshelf from Argos; one CD tower from Ikea, and a laptop which does not belong to me yet, but is still owned in part by Dixons. I choose debt. Apparently.

*Sigh.

That money talks
I’ll not deny.
I heard it once.
It said ‘Goodbye.’
Richard Armour

I choose good health, lovely family, good friends and fabulous shoes too. But why is there always so much month left at the end of the money?

Aye Carumba!

2006-01-25T13:58:00.000-01:00

Big news this week. Big news. I’ve actually done something that is on my New Year’s resolution list. And no, it isn’t the one about eating more pizza. I’ve actually stepped completely outside of my comfort zone and joined a netball team. Yes, you read that right. How did this happen? Well, as with most things, alcohol was involved.

At one of the many Xmas parties I attended, I got a little drunk, and apparently agreed to join the team. Naturally, I had only the vaguest recollection of this, and was filled with horror when reminded of it in the sober days of January. After wrestling with the notion for a while, I decided to go for it, bearing in mind my resolution to get fit.

This is not like me. I am not usually a sporty person - the competitive side of things frightens me off, as it reminds me of evil sports teachers and bitchy girls in high school. I have never had a gym membership and I doubt I ever will. I do the occasional bit of yoga – so occasionally that when I went to pack my yoga mat for when I moved house recently – I found a spider’s nest in the folds. Yep, that’s how often I do yoga. I did go swimming regularly a couple of years ago at the local pool – but then I got a verucca on my foot, which had to be frozen off with a nitrogen spray, and thus decided that the pool was a germ-infested whole. Plus, shortly after that, I got my hair highlighted – and, well, chlorine wreaks havoc on coloured hair, as we all know. So, me – not the sporty type.

However, as with most things in life, it turned out to be an opportunity to buy new clothes. I don’t own any sportswear, and tend avoid sportswear shops as I find them oddly intimidating. Of course, I do own a pair of trainers, but they are essentially a fashion item, and not even waterproof. So, I arrived at the hallowed doors of Footlocker the Saturday before last, and was confronted with row upon row of trainers, deafening music and the requisite 16-year-old sales assistants. I asked one of teh spotty, long-haired boys if the shoe I had picked up would be suitable for playing netball. I think he misheard me, as he began a long explanation of teh shoe's merits and told me it was good for ‘dribbling with’...I assume this is a football reference and not something more sinister. However, they were in the sale and they fit, so, dear reader, I bought them.

I was on a high after this successful mission and headed straight to Debenhams, where, serendipitously, a whole window was devoted to a new product line called Shock Absorbers – a range of sports bras. I got to the underwear department and was immediately pounced on by one of the ‘bra specialists’. She was wearing a tape measure round her neck, so she was well-qualified. She asked me what size I was, I told her, and then she gave me a long, appraising look, and told me she doubted my measurement was correct. I was stunned – I told her I’d been measured at Marks & Spencer – as all Brits know, Marks & Spencer may have made many mistakes over the past few years – the entire frill-me-to-death ‘per una’ range, for a start, but no-one, and I mean, NO-ONE knows underwear like they do. However, the bra specialist was very bossy and authoritative and followed me into the dressing room, wielding the tape measure…she measured me, and lo and behold, told me I was BIGGER! Apparently, I’m a double D cup! All those ‘I must, I must’ exercises must have paid off – either that or taking the pill. So a sports bra was definitely a necessity now – couldn’t have them bouncing up and down on the pitch – might have someone’s eye out...

Another successful purchase complete, I decided to brave Nike Town - which is like a small village on four dizzying floors - very confusing layout, plus one of the escalators wasn’t working, and I was told I had to exit the store via the ‘Sports Culture Zone’ – eh? – but there was another sale on, so I got 2 sports tops, I set of sports bottoms and a sports zip up thingy to wear on top. I didn’t get quite the same rush as when I buy designer shoes, but it was a positive shopping experience overall.

The league starts proper in Feb. O lord. What have I let myself in for?

Word up

2006-01-20T15:35:00.000-01:00

Very frustrated as I don't have any time to do proper posts at the moment - work is ker-azy with a 'k', and we still don't have internet access at the new flat (hint, hint, Red). So, to keep things moving along, I'm going to post one of my favourite poems. I'm a big fan of poetry, and I can't think why I haven't posted any before. Anyway, without much further ado, here's I may, I might, I must, by Marianne Moore(1887-1972) :

If you will tell me why the fen
appears impassable, I then
will tell you why I think that I
can get across it if I try.

Back soon!

Back in the grind

2006-01-09T12:40:00.000-01:00

Aaaaaagh. Back at work. Finally back at work. I did take quite a long break, so I guess I should have anticipated the colossal shock to my system returning to the daily grind would be. First off, there was the whole ‘getting-up-early’ thing, which is not really my thing, even at the best of times. I just feel like getting up early is like a secret no-one has let me in on, you know? I’ve been trying it my whole life, and it’s never taken. Anyway, managed it somehow, and got here vaguely on time, as is my custom, despite the best efforts of London Underground who chose to strike the day I go back to work - thanks you guys! (Note to self: today may not have been the best day to break in my new shoes – try to think ahead in future).

So, the whole ‘getting-to-work’ hurdle over with, I get to my desk. Next obstacle: over the Christmas break, my office got redecorated (just to be clear, when I say ‘my office’, I don’t mean it’s my office, just to be clear). So that the decorator could get to the walls, we had to pull the fire-hazard manuscripts off all the shelves that fence my desk in (- sometimes it’s like working in a small paper fort, but, more often, it‘s like working in an office with lots of manuscripts - eh, tom-ah-to, tom-ay-to). So, naturally, since I chose to go back to work after everyone else, my desk has been transformed into a general dumping ground. Next time I go away, I’m investing in one of those ‘No Fly Tipping’ signs.

However, I’m not sure how much good it would do since the ‘Out-of-Office-Assistant’ feature on Outlook seems to be no deterrent WHATSOEVER to people consistently emailing me a variety of junk, spam, essential documents I won’t have time to read and utterly irrelevant crap. Have had to spend all morning just going through the email inbox, going through over 200 emails. Honestly, you’d think I was being paid to be here or something. Chuh.

So, taking refuge in the sacred space that is the holy and sacred Lunch Hour, I’m taking a moment for a little reflection, and, a little late, here are my New Year’s Resolutions (I never make them on 1st January - I‘m always too hungover, what would be the point?).

1. Okay, first up, get up on time EVERY DAY.

No, I’m just messing with you, that was a joke. Ok, ok,

1. Learn to drive (don’t laugh, I‘m really going to do it this year, I promise)

2. Write Oscar-winning screenplay (how hard can it be?)

3. Win lottery (it could be me - though, to be in with a chance, I really ought to make the effort and buy a ticket once in a while)

4. Quit smoking (this should be a whiz, since I don’t actually smoke - you have to include achievable goals, isn’t that what all the self-help gurus say?)

5. Buy more fabulous shoes (I owe it to myself)

6. Go on the London Eye ( I say this every year, I want to do it, but I don’t want to do it with a bunch of dumb tourists. Though wanting to do it kind of makes me one of them. Hmm, tricky, very tricky.)

7. Get fit. Do yoga at least 3 times a week, become super-toned and incredibly bendy. (Oooh, also buy that new ‘Chillates’ DVD they keep advertising - that looks really good, plus, also buy some really cool keep-fit clothes...)

8. Eat pizza at LEAST once a week (back on the whole ‘achievable goals’ thing).

9. Meet and date mentally stable and incredibly attractive man. (I know, I know, I live in a dream world. What the hell, I put it at 9).

10. And finally, uh, well, I can’t think of a tenth resolution - so, suggestions welcome...

Wish me luck...

Have yourselves a Merry little Christmas!

2005-12-24T09:22:00.000-01:00

Hello one and all - feelin' all Christmassy! Yeah baby! Let's get all holly-jolly-baubley-mistletoey-tinselly-presenty-turkey...ey and so on and so forth

Oh yes. I'm back at the old homestead in the wild lands of the north, and, judging from the provisions in the kitchen, my Mum and Dad clearly have my brother and I confused with a small army. Yeah, yeah, we'll eat all the food anyway - It's Christmas! A time for eating brie, gorging on chocolates and drinking from 11am everyday. It can't just be my family, right?

Well, what with all the eating and drinking and present opening, plus my rather hectic relaxtion schedule, including all the TV-watching, I'm not sure how much posting I'll be able to fit in. So, hope you all have a blast, and I'll see you the other side...probably a few pounds heavier, to be honest.

It's Christmas! Tell everyone you know!

And god created visa...

2005-12-16T16:41:00.000-01:00

And she saw that it was good. Took the day off on Tuesday for a whole day of Xmas shopping. On Oxford Street. Yes, some may call it madness, but there was method in my madness. First port of call was the cash machine outside the station – after having selected the cash option, it shockingly displayed the words that send a chill down the spine of card carriers everywhere: ‘insufficient funds’. Egads! There I was, all set for a day of shopping, and disaster had stuck before I had even stood in the shadow of the hallowed doors of Libertys or Selfridges. I wandered around dazedly for about five minutes, trying to figure out how this could have happened, how I was going to shop, and slightly more importantly, how I was going to eat until pay day. Started to feel a bit pissed off about it all, and then I felt a change coming over me, and I reacted the way I always do when confronted with a lack of funds. A little voice in my head says ‘Fuck it, it’s only money!’, and I decided to hit my visa card in an act of rebellion and with nothing less than wild abandon.

Mini financial crisis thus temporarily shelved, I mentally regrouped and prepared to put my military-style shopping expedition into action. Entered the first shop at oh-nine hundred and forty-five hours, and immediately happened on a pair of boots so heavenly I shed a tear whilst trying them on - they had been reduced from £60 to £20 and I was overcome with emotion when they had them in my size. Snapped them up, moved on to the next shop and proceeded to find the fabled, lesser-spotted pencil skirt of myth which has eluded me for weeks, then hit the jackpot with a silky-satiny-black-lacy vesty top that will go with EVERYTHING in my wardrobe, which was also reduced, and as I was queuing to buy that spotted a Matthew Williamson cardigan with fluted sleeves out of the corner of my eye - added that to the pile of purchases. Took a break for lunch, gazed appreciatively at my bags whilst waiting for my food to be served and then realised I had not, as yet, bought any Xmas presents for friends and family. Hmm. Military precision clearly somewhat lacking – I lose all focus when I enter a shoe shop. Pulled myself together and spent about 30 mins whizzing round doing the gift buying, agonising over extras and stocking fillers etc, but got it all done…then continued buying things (for myself). Haven't had such a good shopping day in ages. Absolutely exhausting though.

Later on discovered there was a problem not with my cash card, but with the cash machine. I do have sufficient funds and will be able to buy food and survive until payday. As I related this story to Red, about how I had unnecessarily hammered my visa card, she said ‘Oh well, you can just pay off the visa next month.’ Yeah, right. Hasn’t she ever heard of the two words that make all visa card carriers feel warm and happy inside? Minimum payment...

Partay season

2005-12-12T16:04:00.000-01:00

I know, I know, I’ve been a bit lax with the posting over the past week. I’ve got a good reason though – although many of you will find this hard to believe, I’ve been having to use the work pc for real, actual, well, ‘work’. That’s right. The office is in a frenzy of ‘getting-everything-done-before-xmas’, and I just got carried away – filing reports, working on the website, writing copy, you name it – I’ve been a whirling dervish of activity, barely even stopping to bid for things I don’t need on eBay, or continue my research to find the cheapest CD & DVD sites (done and done, if you live in the UK: BangCD.co.uk, and dvd.co.uk – both do it with free p&p – I don’t know how they do it, and I don’t want to know). I’m fairly astonishing myself with how much work I can get done when I put my mind to it. I have to be discreet about how fast I’m getting through the work load though – wouldn’t want to give my colleagues unrealistic expectations for the New Year – this is just a one-off, clear my desk before the holidays type of deal.

So to business. Well, I was quite exhausted following the flat pack activities of last weekend – the ASPELUND wardrobe proved more than a challenge, and I think my love affair with Ikea may be coming to an end. My brother helped me put it together, and, although it is standing now, injuries were sustained to both parties and the word ‘harrowing’ wouldn’t be far off the mark. Still, all that assembly (shudder) is behind me now, and in the whirlingly dervishly busy run up to Christmas means lots of parties to attend. Most of them are for work, so drunkenness would be ill-advised, though is probably likely, what with the alcohol being free at these events. It all kicks off tonight with a party for our clients. As the food is usually inedible whenever my company hosts an event, I’ll be sticking to the champers, sorry, that’s M&S Cava (my cheapskate company never splashes out on the real thing). I’ve taken the liberty of taking tomorrow off. I have big plans for Xmas shopping. I also had big plans for a lie in. But – that would just be too easy, wouldn’t it? The week I am attending no less than 5 parties, we are also having the central heating fitted, and thus will be without hot running water for 2 days. Of course. The central heating guys start at 8am tomorrow morning, which nixes the lie-in plans, but that doesn’t bother me as much as the possibility I may have to attend one or more party a little, um, ‘unkempt’, shall we say. Having said all that, we do desperately need the central heating, what with the arctic temperatures London is currently enjoying. So, I’ll just get on with it, hot water or no hot water. Gosh life is hard.

After tonight’s big ‘do’ – which despite the free alcohol, I’m not looking forward to as many of our clients who I would happily cross the road to avoid RSVP’d within hours of receiving their invites (they’re the kind of people who would attend the opening of an envelope, to be frank), then it’s the departmental lunch, which will be very formal, but that’s followed by Lena’s Xmas drinks, which I am looking forward to, but shouldn’t drink too much since I will be meeting my Dad (he’ll be fresh off his flight into Gatwick, well, I say ‘fresh’…) the following morning for breakfast, then it’s the Arty Party in the Crypt (more free alcohol), then it’s Amy’s Xmas party, which, rather handily, is walking distance from my house, so that should be a very good night. And that’s it, until the next week. If my liver is still functioning after all that, I’ll be back with a full report.

Party on. Be excellent to each other.

Flat Pack fun!

2005-12-01T10:45:00.000-01:00

The best thing about Ikea, as everyone knows, is the silly names they give to the furniture. Red and I went to Ikea last week, and I bought the MALM 3 drawer chest of drawers, a BENNO CD tower (I flirted briefly with the BILLY CD tower, but it doesn’t come in oak veneer, so BENNO won on points), and a FELICIA throw for the bed. Red bought me an ASPELUND wardrobe. I’ve capitalised the names because a) that’s how they are on the ridiculously large labels, and b) it encourages you to say the names in a silly voice, enunciating each syllable (come on, you know you want to). We also bought a couple of MOTTO cereal bowls, an IRIS oven mitt, looked longingly at a lamp called TRUNNA, and realised we already had a bedside table called HALO.

So to the fun of assembly. I’ve not tackled any flat pack stuff since I first moved to London, when I bought a GLADIAT set of desk drawers. I managed to put it together alright, but I also remember losing several hours of my life to the project. But, you know, keeping my CDs in cardboard boxes is starting to get kind of tired, so, throwing caution to the wind and armed with a hammer and a Philips screwdriver, I gingerly opened the box containing the CD tower – I thought I would build up to the bigger items. It really wasn’t too difficult, I’m pleased to report, and probably would have been easier and quicker had I not been putting it together whilst keeping half an eye on the TV, talking to my Mum on my phone and drinking a glass of wine (what can I say, I just can’t help multi-tasking).

At a crucial point, I realised one of the screws was missing, but I’ve come to realise that a vital missing component is tied in with the whole Ikea culture. That’s right. They do it on purpose. Ikea is not simply a furniture store with oddly named stock. Oh no, it’s a lifestyle and a philosophy and an experiment all in one. How else would you explain the fact that the wardrobe doesn’t come with handles? Of course it doesn’t come with handles – that would be against the whole ethos of Ikea, apparently. They are clearly trying to encourage active thinking, a philosophical enterprise of some sort if you will. To me, and maybe to you too, a wardrobe is not complete without handles, but to Ikea, handles are merely ‘accessories’, to jazz it up post-assembly. Likewise, including the correct screws and fasteners in the box, or even detailed instructions would be wrong. As your heart sinks at the prospect of having to return to Ikea to get the improbably named handles, you find yourself questioning how necessary they really are…and then you’re off, pondering the meaning of life and the sound of one hand clapping.

I did feel a sense of triumph when I finished BENNO, but no spiritual awakening. On balance, I think that MALM and ASPELUND can stay in their cardboard boxes for a bit longer.

Tell me why I don't like...

2005-11-28T10:27:00.000-01:00

Oh Monday, how do I love thee? Not at all, actually. I have no love for the Monday. And the (bitter, evil, dawn of a new Ice Age) cold weather is making Mondays even worse. Even though I am all moved in to my lovely new flat, and sharing with a sane person (which is really important, much more than people think), as yet, we do not have heating. Yep, that’s right, and it was minus 8 last night. We’ve got some of those little electric heaters, which you can sort of hover over and warm one body part at a time, but it’s not the same. Mostly it is ok, but getting out of bed when it is still dark and stepping onto a cold floor – that’s not so good. Also, although getting into the shower is ok, it’s hard to get out, because you know that as soon as you turn the taps off, you will be covered in goosebumps. On the plus side, I’ve noticed I get dressed a lot quicker – less of the standing in front of the wardrobe and pondering over the perfect ensemble, and more of the grabbing the nearest jumper and shivering into it.

Despite all these odds against it, (the weather, the comfy bed, the weird dream I was having about buying a samurai sword; for what purpose, I don’t know), I did make it into work, and at least I had a good weekend, the memories of which are keeping me warm as I sit here, typing in fingerless gloves, hunched over a cup-a-soup, much like Bob Cratchit (a modern-day, über-glamorous, female Bob Cratchit, but you get my point) . So what happened this weekend? Well. S is back from India! Hurrah! And her boyfriend managed to pull off a surprise ‘welcome back’ party for her on Saturday night. We went to Elk in the Woods bar in Angel, which was very nice, if a bit tricky to find. They serve lovely food and they even have lovely bar staff, which is always a refreshing change. Also saw Sho, and went to the pictures – saw Mrs. Henderson Presents, which is a lovely film, with Judi Dench and Bob Hoskins, about the original Windmill Theatre in Soho, which kept going through WW2, with a nude review and variety show – very popular with the soldiers on leave, less so with the then prime minister. At one point, Judi Dench’s character makes a speech, and she is just so damn good, that she only had to make her voice break on one word and I found myself in tears. She’s just that good. We went to the Crown and Goose in Camden after that – they have a real fire in there! Sat as close as we good without becoming a combustion hazard.

Much of Sunday morning was lost to a quite gentle hangover, which only troubled me with a headache, and requested that I stay in bed ‘til at least 1.30pm. I think I got off lightly. When I did drag myself out of bed, I managed to go to a little arts centre that Amy told me about, which is literally round the corner from my new flat. Some of the art was actually quite good, which I hadn’t been expecting, and there was also music, and a Turkish woman gave a speech all about London as part of some ‘ephemeral cities’ project. It was all rather good. Would be fair to say the day improved when we left there though, and sojourned to the pub across the road, for a couple of brandies and a satisfyingly large stone-baked pepperoni pizza. Almost forgot it was Sunday evening, and that the dreaded Monday was approaching. Came home to find that Red had been to Ikea (on a Sunday! Is she mad?) and my new wardrobe is in boxes waiting to be assembled. I think it will be a while before I am up to attempting that. All in all, a good value weekend, but I still don’t feel any better about it being Monday. Damn you, Monday.

What the cool kids are listening to...

2005-11-22T11:48:00.000-01:00

Went to a concert recently, to see Hard-Fi – they were amazing. They rock. They sounded great and there was a really cool atmosphere at the venue, and a good time was had by all. Highly recommended. I brought Sho along as there was a spare ticket. I had no idea at the time how much this was going to cost me in the long run…

The following week, she tells me she has got the tickets to see Jamie Lidell. I’d not really heard of him, but agreed to go – she came to my rock concert, after all. Jamie Lidell himself is pretty cool – he sings and is kind of jazzy and bluesy, BUT he throws in the occasional hard, pounding dance and electro beats into his songs at odd moments, which seemed a bit unnecessary to me, but the rest of the crowd seemed quite happy, so when in Rome, etc. However he didn’t come on stage until around 10ish. Before his appearance, we had to endure 2 support ‘acts’. I kept trying to tell myself to keep an open mind. Okay, this isn’t my usual kind of music, but maybe I could just go with it – try something new, you know? Yeah, right.

The first support act was fairly inoffensive. True, he was just playing monotonous, deafening dance music from a little set of spot-lit decks in the corner, and it was impossible to tell when each song had finished, because they are all mixed together, but I could just about handle him. The rest of the crowd had clearly experienced this kind of thing before, as they seemed to instinctively know when to clap, despite the music sounding exactly the same throughout his seemingly endless set. Anyway, he eventually left the stage, to rapturous applause – mainly from me, I was very keen to applaud him exiting the stage. I remember thinking to myself, well, at least that wasn’t too bad, and now we’ll have the main act, and we’re getting closer to when I can leave the building. Oh, folly, folly, how wrong I was.

This is when the second support act took to the stage. A very short Japanese guy ran onto the stage and screeched ‘Hello London people!’ into the mic a few times. He was joined by another guy, who went and stood by the decks. Predictably, a repetitive, loud techno beat started to issue forth from the massive speakers. I braced myself. Then the little Japanese guy took centre stage and just began to yell, really loudly, not to mention tunelessly, into the microphone. That’s all he did. He just kept yelling. Then he mixed it up by screaming. Then he stopped (but the beats didn’t), and stood on the stage nodding his head in time to the ‘music’, and a recording of him yelling was then played back over the track. Then he put a big, pink, floppy hat on, and repeated the yelling and screaming combo. I thought that my ears were going to start bleeding. And it was relentless; their set seemed to go on forever. I’d gone way past trying to keep an open mind at this point. I surreptitiously rummaged around in my bag for my phone to check the time, and my hand closed around my pen. I briefly thought about stabbing myself in the eye to make it all stop, but then I reconsidered; I’d die, but not quick enough. Then I started running through a string of possibilities in my head, like, could I set off the fire alarm? Could I engineer a power cut? Alas, the crowd was too dense for me to try either of these actions. I was in for the long haul whether I liked it or not.

When they finally left the stage, to some applause, and to my great relief, some booing (I wasn’t alone; other people thought they sucked too, including Sho), I was ready to go home. But, Jamie Lidell was yet to come on! After the support act ordeal, he could have come on and strangled a cat and I would have applauded wildly; anything would sound good after that. As I said, he was ok, but his set was marred by the trauma of what came before, for me anyway. The whole thing was exhausting.

Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer live acts to play instruments and sing. I know, I’m clearly not down with the kids, but I’d rather be the girl at the rock show 'cos I like my music with guitars, goddammit! Rock on.

I'm back!

2005-11-18T13:55:00.000-01:00

Yes, you can all rejoice and be merry as I return to the cut and thrust world of blogging once more. I know, I know, I’ve been away for too long, but honestly, moving house, not quite the breeze I was hoping for. So anyway, back to business. I have, as you may have gathered, moved house. I’ll just type that again because it feels so good: I’ve moved house.

Yes, I managed to flee the evil clutches of Tall One and Short One, making my escape in a transit van with all of my worldly possessions crammed into the back. It was a close run thing however; on the morning of my planned escape, I found a hand-written note outside my bedroom door. I will speak plainly with you; it consisted of stern stuff, this note. Not only was it riddled with grammatical mistakes, which are shocking enough before breakfast, it also accused me, in plain language, of stealing 4 drinking glasses from Tall One. There was not a shred of diplomacy in the content of the note – there was no implication that I might have mistakenly taken her glasses, oh no, just a bald accusation of theft.

Well, it so happens that the glasses in question were already packed, nestling amongst several layers of newspaper and sundry kitchen equipment in one of my many cardboard boxes. It also happens that the glasses in question are in fact, mine. MINE. Many responses ran through my mind, as I stood with the note clutched in my hands, just outside my bedroom, hovering in the liminal space between the much-debated and much-maligned pre-ordained shower-rota times. Many of these responses carried variations on a theme i.e. I wouldn’t touch your crap with a barge pole, you insane bitch/you can stick your glasses where the sun don’t shine, you insane bitch/write me another note and I’ll stab you in the eye with your own biro, you insane bitch and so on and so forth. In the end, however, I decided to go with ripping the note to shreds and then not mentioning it, to see if she would have the nerve to confront me on this glass issue face to face as it were. So the subject never came up, naturally, and I left the house with the allegedly contraband glasses.

Strangely, since I left, my headaches and chronic neck pain have almost completely eased off. Curious, no?

Off again on again

2005-10-26T09:48:00.000-01:00

Much too busy to post right now. Moving house, stressing about moving house, packing everything in boxes, redirecting post, stressing, etc., etc.

No, really, that's all I have time for. I'll be back when the stressing subsides to normal daily levels.

I will say this: if you're ever bored, why not try moving house? It's more fun than you can poke a stick at. Well, more fun than poking a stick in your eye, but it's a tough call.

London welcomes me back in style...

2005-10-19T10:20:00.000-01:00

Well, I’m returned from my little break in the wild lands of the north. Had a lovely time, but now the cold reality of work and London itself is hitting me roughly about the head. I think I had convinced myself that after taking a little break, I might find my work a bit more fascinating on my return. Not so. Not yet anyway. Not whilst there is still more HTML to be painstakingly keyed into the archaic database our time-warped boss refuses to update…but let's not get me started on that.

I’d also hoped that when I came back, perhaps the tube would have sorted itself out, and there would not be any problems on the Northern line. I know, I know, it was a foolish notion. On Tuesday evening, after a VERY long day at work, I descended into the depths of Goodge St. station, only to find the platform uncharacteristically rammed and the temperature roughly 105 degrees. It was that old chestnut: signalling problems. Although I am not usually claustrophobic per se, being sandwiched between a vending machine and two tall men wearing bulky rucksacks, who were in turn hemmed in by everyone else, I started to feel a leetle beet tight-chested. The awful thing about these situations is that when you suddenly realise that you have to get out, and you can’t bear to be underground a moment longer, you have to resist the urge to panic since you can’t simply run out of there. Oh no. You have to slowly push past, round and through a sea of people, most of whom aren’t at all keen to give way. So. Twenty minutes later, I get back up onto to Tottenham Court Road, having made no progress in my journey home whatsoever. Hit by a flash of inspiration, I take the bus down to Warren Street and get on the Victoria line. Actually get a seat in the carriage, get my book out and start to feel a little bit smug about my triumph. Oh, folly, folly. Get as far as Victoria and the driver announces there is a ‘signalling problem’ and that everyone has to get off the train. Scream inside. A couple of beleaguered tourists lose their rag and start shouting and swearing about what they have had to endure in their journey so far. I’d sympathise, but you don’t associate with people making a spectacle of themselves at rush hour; you just move on. Decide to try to catch an overland train, controversial, but needs must. Go from Victoria to Clapham Junction. Of course the train is delayed, but at least I’m not underground any more. So. Get to Clapham Junction, or as I like to call it, the sixth circle of hell. Because I don’t use the station regularly, I never know where I am supposed to go to get the connecting train, and am usually forced to walk the entire length and breadth of it until I unwittingly stumble onto the correct platform. Managed that, got the next train and although it was just as rammed as the tube train, elbowed my way off at my destination. Of course, I wasn’t actually home yet. Now I had to catch a bus. Bus arrives, all going well. I sit down and breathe huge sigh of relief – it’s nearly all over. I regret taking a deep breath as it immediately becomes apparent that one of the passengers has not washed for many a year. The smell was completely over-powering and permeated the entire bus. There was a uniform opening of the windows, but it made no difference as the bus was stuck in traffic. All the women, including me, were holding their scarves to their faces and trying not to breathe at all. I can’t describe how bad the smell was. I just can’t. Finally get off the bus and start to walk towards my home, and it starts raining. I do not have my umbrella with me. I left the office at 5.45pm, it’s now 8.30pm. Oh how I love this city, let me count the ways…

There must be some way out of here

2005-10-11T12:37:00.000-01:00

Work is killing me today. I'd make a break for the door, but no-one would cover me. I'm working on the company website today - it is so thrilling that I am losing the will to live with every piece of HTML I write. To make matters worse, the phones are down, so there is an eerie silence, and no hope of a distracting interruption. There's an engineer working on the phones right now, but if he's the same guy they called out last week (3 times), and yesterday (twice), then I don't hold out much hope of getting it fixed.

Oh, so bored. On the upside, I seem to have got over my cold - hurrah. But on the downside, time seems to have slowed to the point that it is actually going in reverse. But that could just be all the clocks in this building...

Signs

2005-10-03T19:38:00.000-01:00

There are all these little signs that winter is officially here now. Quite apart from the mean drop in the temperature, which makes it that bit harder to get out of your lovely, warm bed in the morning, there's all these other charming little signs that herald the change in the seasons. Like when you go to Sainsbury's, looking for the peanut butter, only to find they've moved it to another aisle, without warning, and leaving no forwarding address, to accommodate 22 varieties of xmas puddings/speciality xmas biscuits/racks of xmas card box sets and tinsel. Who buys their xmas pudding now? Or the sudden increase in adverts on TV for kids toys - which are always all priced £39.99, whatever it is, and ker-azy fun board games, intended to keep the family entertained over the holiday period, but which will almost certainly be the trigger for the mother of all family rows...

And there are other, more subtle signs, that winter, and indeed xmas is on its way. For example, when I got on the tube this morning, all I could hear was people coughing, spluttering, sniffing and sneezing. Yep, we're here again, that most wonderful time of the year when people like to share...their germs. I know catching colds is pretty unavoidable if you use public transport and have day to day contact with, well, people, but some people are just a bit too keen to share, if you know what I mean. What happened to covering your mouth when you cough, you sickos? And if you are sneezing with such force behind me that you cause my hair to part, then you should be in bed at home, NOT breathing on my neck. Take the day off! Yeuch. So I blame these people for what feels like a cold coming on. I've been in denial about having this cold - I've been upping my vitamin C intake, doubling up on the zinc, drinking Lemsip instead of tea, and pretending these are just 'precautions'...I feel like I am fighting it off, but it is probably just 'hovering', waiting until I have plans at the weekend to become a fully-fledged, streaming head cold. Something for me to look forward to, eh?

And I know no-one ever needs a cold, but I really don't need one right now. I'm in the middle of trying to escape the flat from hell and the evil clutches of Tall One and Short One, which involves not only showing prospective tenants round the flat, but continuing to keep the cramp twins on side so they don't scare off said prospective tenants. It's more than a bit stressful, I can tell you - I'm acting my socks off: 'oh yes, they're lovely people, so down to earth and not petty at all...no, no strange ticks, and certainly, neither of them suffer from OCD, and no, I never caught either of them watching me sleep, ha ha, what a suggestion, etc.' Ahem.

Also, feel so goofy when showing people round, like some eccentric tour guide who constantly states the obvious: ‘this is the living room…as you can, er, see/this is the kitchen…in case you were wondering what we call the room where we keep the oven and the fridge/this is the bathroom and shower, obviously’ and so on. Hopefully I'll get some takers soon. Please. God. Soon.

But you know, it's not all doom and gloom here, oh no. I mentioned my trip to Sainsbury's earlier. I went there to replenish my peanut butter supply. I've recently found that if you have a jar of peanut butter in your house, then things can never be that bad. Seriously. In case that sounds odd, let me try to explain. I have come to peanut butter rather late in my life, having only discovered what all the fuss was about in the past month or so. For some random reason, I never ate it as a child, and not at all until 4 weeks ago. I had a mad urge to buy a jar of the crunchy variety and try it on...toast. The results were outstanding. I am now a serious devotee, and am telling everyone, from my closest friends to random strangers, in a similar tone to the way weirdos tell you they have found god, that I have found peanut butter. My life will never be the same again, but in a good way.

It's so good - how did I never know before? Maybe it even boosts your immune system? Think I'll just go get a bit of toast and try that theory out.

Installing Haloscan is a bitch!

2005-09-28T08:00:00.000-01:00

Or I am just really slow and do not understand code...yep, that's more likely...

Lordy.

2005-09-26T13:02:00.000-01:00

So, the date – how was it? Oh, you know, fine, we had drinks at Bar Soho (we had to sit outside since, being Friday evening, and him wanting to meet me at the ridiculously early time of 7.15, all of Soho was rammed, which would have been ok except for the ‘decorative’ palm trees they have by the doors (why?), the fronds of which kept attacking me every time I leaned forward in my chair), then we went to have dinner at a little Turkish restaurant, which he waxed lyrical about – the food was fine, but the restaurant staff seemed to be trying their level best to win ‘the surliest waiters in all of London’ award. Don’t get me wrong, there’s some pretty stiff competition for that award, but these guys were serious contenders. However, all that was fine, and conversation was flowing fairly well, so we decided to go for drinks after the restaurant….

So, we’re chatting, and covering all manner of topics, as you do, and then he casually throws into the conversation that he was gay for ten years, but ‘thinks’ he is straight now. In case anyone missed that, it was TEN YEARS. 10 years. T-e-n y-e-a-r-s. So that’s that.

Oh, don’t tell me, I know what you’re thinking: I’m so picky, right? Sheesh.

Happy Friday!

2005-09-23T09:16:00.000-01:00

Morning campers! It’s Friday – feel the joy. As previously reported, I am moving (another reason for joy, joy, joy), and will soon be free from the evil clutches of my evil housemates, Tall One and Short One. So, all week, I’ve been showing prospective tenants round my room and lying through my teeth about what a lovely, relaxed household it is….The flat itself is actually really nice – very spacious and has a little garden out the back (gardens being like gold dust in London), and it is very close to the tube, but none of that can make up for the fact that Tall One and Short One are in fact, clinically insane and make sane people’s lives a misery as a matter of course.

I have to find a tenant for my room before I can move out, so I’ve been in a frenzy of cleaning, and, using the knowledge I have gleaned from all those annoying yet addictive property shows, have been ‘dressing’ the flat when people come to view it: fresh flowers in the living room, scented candles, no clutter – I’ve even gone as far as to have a fresh pot of coffee on the go, but I draw the line at baking bread. There’s been a fair bit of interest, which is very comforting, and I am beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

So to tonight, and the date. Yes, the very posh guy I met in Gerry’s called last night and offered me three options for the location of tonight’s date. I chose door number 2, which is near where I work. I didn’t really think it through though. This meant I had to get my date outfit together this morning and bring it in a carrier bag. Which made me at least 30 mins late for work, and caused a bit of a wardrobe meltdown. Why are all my good clothes in the wash? Why do I have tons of clothes that don’t seem to suit me? (And why am I only realising this now?) How come I didn’t get my favourite heels fixed 2 weeks ago, when they actually broke? And so on. So, I’ve brought along a black top, a green top, a pair of silver heels and my advanced make up bag (as opposed to my regular make-up bag). However, I’m still planning to nip to the shops at lunchtime ‘just in case’ I spot the outfit… But as all women know, the actual chances of finding an outfit at short notice on Oxford St during your lunch hour are slim to none. I'm going to try anyway - wish me luck.

Do the Hustle!

2005-09-21T09:04:00.000-01:00

Last weekend, saw possibly one of the best films I have ever seen. I would say it is definitely going into my all time top 10. The film was the mighty Kung Fu Hustle, directed by the even mightier Stephen Chow (who also directed Shaolin Soccer). I love Kung Fu movies anyway, but this one is something special, and everyone should go see it. It was produced in Hong Kong, so it isn’t some awful ‘hollywoodised’ version. It is set in 1940, in a small town in China. Two local criminals try to pass themselves off as members of the notorious ‘Axe Gang’ (a gang who kill people with…axes), to extort money from the locals. The locals fight back, and then the real Axe gang turns up and all hell breaks loose. It is a total thrill-ride of a movie with amazing fight sequences, looney tunes style humour and action, and a really cool story. The film also pokes gentle fun at American kung fu movies, and also has references to The Shining, and also makes fun of the Matrix. I was more than impressed and am urging everyone to see it. You won’t be disappointed.

On the other side of the scale, and as part of the whole public service posting with regard to films, DO NOT go to see RED EYE. My sincerest apologies to you if this warning comes to late. It is possibly one of the worst films I have ever seen. It was just so silly! The storyline was utterly preposterous for a start, and although it started ok, it rapidly disintegrated. The serious ‘action sequences’ were so badly directed they were unintentionally hilarious, with ‘Thunderbirds’ style sets, and very shoddy explosions. All the main actors were laughable, and on reflection, the actors playing the air-hostesses, only in the film for maybe 5 minutes between them, were the best and most convincing thing in it. Absolutely dreadful.

Bloke joke (or Why women are better).

2005-09-20T13:30:00.000-01:00

Big Dipper has a 'blonde' joke on his blog today, so I thought I should even things up with a joke at the expense of men...

Here goes:

Adam and Eve are in the garden of Eden with God. God is handing out favours to them but can't decide who should have what, so he tells them he will say the favour and whoever shouts the loudest gets the favour. God clears his throat and says the first favour,
'To be able to pee standing up'. Adam jumps up and down shouting 'Me! Me!' and is granted the favour. He then does a little victory dance.
'Damn,' says Eve, 'that would have been really useful.'
'I'm sorry Eve,' says God, 'but all I have left is the multiple orgasm.'

Boom-boom!

Troubling oversight

2005-09-19T16:06:00.000-01:00

It has been brought to my attention, that in my account of last weekend’s activities, I failed to mention the minor yet crucial role played by my Bro. I met him for coffee with Nev on Saturday afternoon. He brought this oversight to my attention.

Back in the game

2005-09-13T12:54:00.000-01:00

It’s all good today – we won the Ashes for a start. I’ve no idea how, since the scoring of cricket will forever be a mystery to me, but I do know that the delicious Freddie Flintoff had a lot to do with it, as did the rest of the team, including Kevin Pieterson, but they’re just not as pretty. So – hurrah to us! We are so kicking Australia’s arse at the moment, and that’s no bad thing as far as I’m concerned.

Quite apart from the excitement over the cricket, I had quite the action-packed weekend. Went out on Friday with Nev after work – we were supposed to be ‘just having a couple’…but you know how that goes. Kicked it all off with some cocktails in mybar – we were celebrating the start of the weekend. We then decided to be sensible and go get something to eat, which we did, and then sense went out the window as we decided to round off the evening with another ‘couple’ of drinks at Gerry’s in Soho. Nev is a member, (I’m just the hanger-on) but we still got harassed by the door staff, who were muttering darkly about non-payment of member subs. We sidestepped them and Nev just blagged us in, though she admitted to me once we were safely over the threshold that she had only ever paid a one-off fee, years ago. I asked her to keep her voice down.

It was dead at first, but then filled up all of a sudden with lots of rather eccentric types. In particular, there was a scarf-wearing, Byron-quoting Keith Richards wannabe who claimed to be a cartoonist by trade, and referred to Nev and I as ‘creatures’, but then bought us drinks, so we tolerated him. Until, that is, that he told us quite earnestly that he only really likes to sleep with seventeen-year-old girls, because they are less ‘complicated’. He was forty. I said I thought that was a shame and quite sad, and so ended the complimentary drinks section of the evening. But by that time there were lots of new people to talk to, including Cary, a man with such a bad stammer that talking to him was exhausting, not least because when you had deciphered what exactly he was trying to say, you realised it was not worth the effort. There was also much to look at, including a woman of, shall we say, advanced years, wearing a sequinned pink and silver catsuit, giving an impromptu T’ai Chi demonstration. Or at least I think it was T’ai Chi. Then we met a very interesting man, who impressed Nev and I by singing not only ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ by Britney Spears…in Yiddish, but also Jumpin’ Jack Flash by the Rolling Stones…in Greek. That’s entertainment, alright. I was very much taken with him, so we talked and drank some more, and I was having such a good time that I didn’t notice how much time had passed. It was time to go, and yes, yes, he did ask for my number, and because he was ever so charming, I gave it to him. Back in the game.

Soon as Nev and I stepped outside, the heavens opened, and we took an executive decision to run to Balans and eat breakfast (well, what else do you call a meal that you eat at 4.30am?), which worked as a very good hangover preventative measure. Saturday was spent in various stages of recovery, mainly watching the Home and Away omnibus on Channel 5 – if you haven’t watched it for a while, I wholeheartedly recommend it – it’s got everything, romance, murders, high-school angst, adultery and dressmaking. Give it a go.

Sunday was a big day, because I went to meet Red to view her new flat, with a view to taking the spare room. Freedom is in sight! The room is great, I’m taking it, and I am so relieved. Finally, I can leave the cramp twins. I told them I was leaving last night. I kept a straight face, played up how much money I would save by moving, rather than the real reason, which is how much sanity I will be saving. So, now all I have to do is organise the move. Yay! May have to buy a new pair of shoes to celebrate. Wait, I already did that.

Oz-ter-ALIEN

2005-09-08T13:13:00.000-01:00

It’s all off with Oz. His list of misdemeanours begins with him getting very drunk and ‘overly amorous’ shall we say, on the second date, and suggesting he stayed the night with me – despite the fact that my arm was still in a sling at this point. At the time, I let it go, because I figured, he was drunk, and even with my arm in plaster, I’m still pretty irresistible. But really, it should have set some of those tiny little alarm bells ringing. They started ringing proper when he called to cancel our third date at very short notice because he was, and I quote ‘too hungover’ to see me. How lame is that? Which was followed by him calling me sporadically, never on the day he said he would, and the gist of these calls was generally Oz talking about himself and about how much alcohol he had consumed that particular day. So, eventually I surmised that he had an ego the size of Australia, and that I would never come between him and his beer. I know beer is important to men, but really, I’m looking for someone who feels up to making a bit more of an effort. It all makes me feel a bit weary – are all the good ones really taken already? Right, deep breath, back into the dating game, back to square one, next contestant please!

Katrina Appeal

2005-09-06T09:32:00.000-01:00

Donate to the Red Cross here:
http://www.redcross.org.uk/standard.asp?id=49121
We all should, because, you know, Bush doesn't seem too bothered...and he's the president. Could do better, Mr. Bush.

Revelations

2005-08-30T13:12:00.000-01:00

Back in the capital. Had a very chilled out week up north, lots of R&R, not to mention a goodly amount of TLC from my Mum. Whilst back home, my cast broke, so we went to A&E, and I was thinking, oh well, it’s annoying that it broke, but at least they’ll take this behemoth cast off and put a new lighter one on. Oh no, nothing like that. First of all, some abuse from the triage nurse, who was wearing so much fake tan that she just appeared to me as a blur of orange and blue. She implied that it was my fault the cast had broken! The nerve. So I said, ‘listen lady, I ain’t been doing no karate, so drop the attitude bee-hatch’. I didn’t really say that. Instead, I stood there meekly whilst she said I shouldn’t have been showering or bathing since steam can weaken the plaster of paris. I’ve been wrapping it in plastic as I was advised when I first broke it, and if anyone thinks I’m not going to wash for 6 weeks, well, they’ve got another think coming, that’s what I say. I communicated this to the triage nurse through my eyes. When I (finally) got to see the real nurse, all she did was put MORE plaster on top. So now the freakin thing is EVEN HEAVIER. Result.

Anyway, tomorrow I have my appointment at the fracture clinic and I am praying that the doc will think it is time for the lighter cast. Since the fall, I’ve been trying to see the bright side, which, until Friday, was eluding me. I mean, sure, I’m off work, but I can’t take full advantage of that with my arm in plaster, so where’s the silver lining, I was asking myself. Then, everything became clear as I realised, with an almost inexpressible joy, that breaking my hand meant that I wouldn’t have to go on the company away day. I’ve been trying to think of a way to get out of it ever since the announcement that we would be travelling en masse to Belgium for a day of hell. You may think I am exaggerating how bad these away days are, but I am not. S didn’t want to go either, so she left the company last month, and is now in India. That’s how bad she didn’t want to go. And now I can’t go, and it’s the perfect excuse. I had to pretend to be very disappointed when I told the Evil One’s PA, and I think I was pretty convincing. I had to keep pretending I was wincing with pain as I tried to keep from grinning from ear to ear. So, huge sighs of relief, I don’t have to go. I’m going to say that again because it feels so good: I don’t have to go. Aahhh.

I had another revelation yesterday when I got back to the flat. I had to change the light bulb in my bedroom - due to a really high ceiling and a maddeningly short flex, I had to move my bed and employ a pair of stepladders. After much precarious swinging to and fro, I had light again. When I started to reposition the bed, I was hit with a blinding flash: if I moved the bed just a foot to the left, I would not only have room to open my wardrobe doors with ease, but also, more crucially, be able to avoid cracking my shins on the corners of the bed frame - which is pretty much a daily occurrence. Why didn’t I think of that when I moved in? I’ve been here since last December, and only now have I discovered the optimum furniture layout for this room. Still, focus on the positive, it’s moved now, plus the light is working, so it’s all good.

Anyone wondering about Oz? Me too, but I've reached my threshold for one-handed typing for the day, so tune in tomorrow.

Oh the irony

2005-08-16T11:49:00.000-01:00

So, I meet a new man, buy a new laptop, what naturally follows? Anybody? That's right, I fall up some stairs at work and break my fucking hand. Those of you who guessed correctly win nothing - am not in the best of moods. I can barely describe the pain at the moment of impact. I heard a crunching noise, but instantly went into shock and denial, started hyperventilating and trying to convince myself it was just 'badly bruised'. Alas, it was broken, as an X-Ray at A&E proved shortly afterwards. To get a bit technical, it is a transverse fracture of my metacarpal. Basically, I fell with all my weight onto the side of my hand and broke the bone that connects your little finger to your wrist. I'm wearing a cast - a really fucking heavy cast, and typing this one-handed - the novelty of which has already worn off, let me tell ya.

Have not been able to sleep much since I did it as it is so freakin uncomfortable and I'm supposed to keep it 'strictly elevated', according to the handy leaflet they gave me as I left the hospital. I'm also not allowed to get it wet, which makes washing my hair, let alone the rest of me, something of a challenge. (Not to mention eating/getting dressed/shopping/anything that requires both hands, i.e. everything).

I did it on Thursday evening, and I was supposed to be going on THE date on Saturday. Don't worry, I still went. I just dosed myself up on painkillers, spent about 50 mins in the shower, juggling with shampoo and conditioner bottles, and miraculously managed to make myself look presentable. The date was good - the diamonds were pretty amazing - I think Oz was even more impressed than me - especially when we got to the 'industrial uses of diamonds' part of the exhibition. I saw his eyes go wide as we approached the stands with all the (very boring looking) gadgets that have diamonds you can't see in them, but all perform some gadgety/boys toy function. He was all 'Check this out: diamonds can be conductors AND insulators!'...I was all 'Fascinating, yeah, I'll just be over by the solitaire rings.' So, it was all good, and he wasn't put off by the fact that my arm was in a cast at all. But then he is a guy, so when I thought about it afterwards, it would only have made a difference if I was in a full body cast. After the museum we went for pizza - have eaten nothing but pizza since Thursday - no knives or forks required! We later progressed to a pub, had some more drinks (not too many for me - was already a little high off the painkillers), and whiled away the rest off the day. Good overall, and he'll be calling me in the week.

So, the cast is on for six weeks. SIX WEEKS. I've been signed off work for four weeks and just don't know what to do with myself. When I'm feeling less tired, I might look for another job...
Posts will not be so frequent for a while, since typing one-handed sucks and takes twice as long, but I will be checking in as much as I can. And to think that on Thursday I was thinking I was stuck for something to post about. Good one, powers that be - thanks a bunch.

Cheshire cat

2005-08-09T21:10:00.000-01:00

Yep, I'm still grinning. I can't help it. I might have to go to the doctor - I just can't stop smiling to myself. Isn't it sickening? It is, but I'm going to give myself a break because it has been a while since I had a cheshire cat grin plastered across my face for days on end.

In case you were wondering, and god knows I was, Oz called. Again. To confirm our date at the weekend. This will be date number two, people. And get this - he's taking me to the diamond exhibition at the Natural History Museum. I don't know about you, but I don't know many guys who would be secure enough to take a girl to a diamond exhibition on a second date. Not that I'm expecting him to ask me to choose one or anything, but you know...

Ah me - right, I'll get a hold of myself now and bring you up to date on everything else. Big news. I finally got a laptop. Now I can join all of you who post at ungodly hours and encourage the insomnia. I got it from Dixons, in one of those 'Buy now, pay when the moon is in the right house' deals. Due to the constellation configurations on the day, I only had to pay £10 up front and walked out with this very pretty laptop that I'm typing on *right now*, but also a printer, a shiny bag for the laptop, an extra mouse, and some software packages that I will never use. So all in all, a very good deal. A little eyelash batting at the sales advisor got me some ink cartridges at half-price, so all I have to do now is steal some paper from work and I'll be away, finally writing that Oscar winning screenplay that you're all waiting for. And if things don't work out with Oz, I think I'm onto a sure thing with the cutie who served me at the Preston branch of Dixons.

I suppose I could have bought the laptop in London, but everything seems so much more bargainous when I am visiting up North. The weather for my break was lovely by the way, and not, as S erroneously predicted, grim at all. I also got my hair done - got a colour and a cut for less than £60. I had to resist the urge to laugh as I handed my card over. As I said, mucho bargainous. How sad/girly is this though: I actually wondered if Oz would recognise me with my new hair, and if he would like it. Only for a nanosecond, but you know, slippery slope. Gotta keep my edge.

Other cool things that happened up north (where it is not grim): 1) saw The Skeleton Key. Ok, I don't want to ruin it for anybody, but I will say this: it wipes the floor with Dark Water. It is very entertaining, maybe not as scary as a hardened scary movie fan such as myself would like, but certainly worth your ticket money. Buy some popcorn too, have fun.
2)Went to the beach! Not to sunbathe or go swimming - it may be August, but someone seems to have forgotten to let the powers that be know. But, the sun was shining, and the beach was sandy and beautiful and the sea was all shimmery and clean. Listening to the glorious sound of the waves, I (almost) forgot about my psychotic housemates. Oh, it was heavenly.

I came back late last night, so I avoided them. This morning, I stayed in bed until they left the house. This evening, I was lucky again, and they've both been out. I know my luck won't hold forever, but it's 11.30pm, and I'm still wearing that Cheshire cat grin.

Escape from...London

2005-08-04T12:53:00.000-01:00

Yep, I’m heading back up North again. Getting the hell out of dodge for a few glorious days – no tubes, no pollution, no terror alerts or any of that crap for at least 4 days. Most importantly of all, no housemates for 4 days. Even though I didn’t think it was possible, over the past week they have become even more annoying. I’ve been gritting my teeth so much to keep from saying what I really think that I have a constant pain in my jaw. They are just the most awful people – why didn’t I see it when I moved in? Shouldn’t there be a law that people like that should have to wear tags that read: ‘freak – stay away’? I’d support that law. They’re also the nosiest people I have ever met – just because we are sharing a living space does NOT mean they should be privy to every aspect of my life. Nor am I interested in theirs. At all. Oh man, the urge to scream FUCK OFF at the top of my lungs was so strong this morning, I almost passed out with the effort to keep it in. I still feel a bit light-headed now.

Right, before this turns into an I-hate-my-roomies blog, I’ll move onto something else. Something far more exciting, actually. Remember the guy-who-didn’t-call-me, but then called me after three weeks, and then we agreed to go out? Yes? No? Do try to keep up, honestly. Well, the date was great, which was a nice surprise, and I smiled to myself all the way home. He’s a very pleasant Aussie, and more attractive and funny than I remembered from our first meeting. I even managed to avoid being cynical for the whole date, and it wasn’t too much of an effort. So, at the end of the date he said he’d call me, and here’s the big news: he actually called me. Can you credit it? A guy saying he will call, and then actually calling? Once I got over the shock, I was thrilled. And we’re going out again. So, psychotic housemates aside, I’m really feeling pretty damn good.

Here’s to the weekend, see you all back here on Tuesday (happy, happy, joy, joy, etc. sorry, keep coming over all girly).

Yummy!

2005-08-02T11:28:00.000-01:00

I just had to share this with you all:

Weight Watchers Recipe Cards From the 70s

Absolutley hilarious. Not sure yet whether the aim was to put slimmers off food altogether, or dazzle them with the 'exotic' alternatives they would never have considered in their wildest dreams. Unless they were on acid, perhaps.

Her comments on the cards are the best part, my favourite being the one accomopanying the recipe card for 'celery log' : 'you could eat this log, or stick your hand in a kitchen blender, you know, have fun'.

Check it out!

What gives?

2005-07-29T14:03:00.000-01:00

Okay, so, that guy called. I met him at a party three weeks ago, he asked for my number, I gave it to him. He didn’t call, so I deleted the number. Then he calls yesterday at 5pm. Is this a new thing? I was still working on the ‘if a guy doesn’t call within three days he’s not going to call. Ever’ assumption. I left the number on my phone for a whole week to be on the safe side, but nothing. So what's he thinking?
‘Oh, I really would like to go on a date with that girl - I'll leave it three weeks and then call at 5 in the afternoon on a random Thursday’??
Hmm. Does this mean he’s really shy and a slow starter, or all the other girls whose numbers he took blew him out and now he’s finally getting around to me? He is Australian – maybe they do things differently over there…who knows, but what the hell, I’m in.

I was surprised to hear from him, and I have a really busy weekend lined up (thank god – didn’t want to give the impression I had been staring at my phone since the party), so I couldn’t work out when we could meet up, and told him I’d get back to him later. By the time I got in from work, he’d texted me to say he’d changed his plans so he could meet up with me sooner rather than later. I thought: he’s keen. According to S, by seeming unavailable on the phone, I’d instantly made myself more attractive to him, because guys are perverse like that. Obviously I’m not going to overanalyse this too much…and to cut a long story short, I have a date with him on Saturday night.

So, what to wear, what to wear? My initial plan is to go with the pink heels, and plan the rest of the outfit around them. Next up, wrack brain for flirting skills; they’re in there somewhere. I’ll let you know if I find them.

My name is...

2005-07-28T12:31:00.000-01:00

…Just and I am addicted to crosswords. At first I was just doing one every other day, you know, or helping my flatmates finish their own crosswords. It was under control. Or at least I thought it was. But then I found I was buying the paper every day, and not for the news. Sure, I read the cartoons on the way to the crossword page, but even though they are often highly topical, it isn’t the same. I buy it at midday and then do the crossword in my lunch hour; if I don’t finish it by the end of lunch, I just carry on doing it, covertly, of course. So, I’m neglecting work, and sometimes, more seriously, even running out of time to blog on my work pc.

I only recently got over my addiction to glossy magazines, and part of my reason for quitting them was how expensive they were. Comparatively speaking, I know crosswords seem like a harmless, victimless addiction, but I figured out yesterday that in buying the paper every day, I am spending more than I was on magazines. That’s money that could be feeding my shoe addiction, people. I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say my crossword obsession is taking over. And I can’t stop…and I don’t want to.

In honour of confessing to my less than thrilling hobby (next time, to even things up, I’ll do a post about my more, er, extreme pastimes; reading and crochet, I mean, um, surfing and bungee, just being the tip of the iceberg), here are some teasers to ponder over/drive you crazy:

What is a ‘ginnel’?
What item of clothing does the term ‘keks’ refer to?
If I said I was potless or peppered, what would I be lacking?

I’ll get back to you with the answers later…when I’ve finished the crossword.

Don't go to see Dark Water

2005-07-25T13:18:00.000-01:00

You will be disappointed. I promise you that. It starts well, has an engaging middle, builds lots of tension, and then the end descends into melodrama and the surreal. Also, I was waiting throughout the whole film for Pete Postlethwaite/Dougray Scott/Tim Roth to actually be put to some use. As it is all three of these actors were utterly wasted – with all of their storylines going nowhere and their motivation a mystery. Jennifer Connelly wasn’t bad in the lead, but really all she had to do was look thin, pale and upset for nearly 2 hours. The child actors were incredibly cute, and, in all honesty, acted everyone else off the screen, but I’m not saying it was a challenge for them.

Oh, and does it rain on Roosevelt Island all the time? And is it really as grim as the film made out? It looked like a place where people would go once they had lost all hope. The view from Jennifer Connelly’s apartment in the film was the scariest part as far as I was concerned.

Maybe the original Japanese version is just as bizarre at the end, but I’m guessing it is a hell of a lot scarier, which is what I was hoping for. I was in the mood for a REALLY SCARY film, dammit, and Dark Water did not deliver. Has anyone seen The Skeleton Key yet? Don’t ruin it for me, but is it scary? And I mean having-to-sleep-with-the-lights on scary? It’s had good reviews, but so did wishy-washy Dark Water (did you see what I did there?).

A low-down dirty shame

2005-07-22T09:01:00.000-01:00

Just imagine how embarrassed those would-be suicide bombers must be feeling today? Sheesh. Not only do they fail to kill themselves in the name of fuck only knows who, thereby forgoing their seven virgins in paradise (one for every day of the week?), they also fail to kill anyone else. Oh, they must be kicking themselves. One of them was even chased by a bunch of commuters who tried to rugby-tackle him to the ground (how brave were they?). Bunch of amateurs – you can just imagine the other terrorists sneering at them – they blew up the detonators instead of the bombs – rookie mistake or what? Then they left loads of forensic evidence behind – the fools.

I’m so sick of all this shit.

An apple a day

2005-07-21T09:41:00.000-01:00

Isn't it dreamy? It's my I-deserve-a-treat new necklace. Other ways I have chosen to justify this purchase come under the following reasons:
I've not had a foreign holiday this year (so far); I've been wearing the same old necklace for years (kinda); I had to do something to mark the fact that the bank sorted the loan out; It's so pretty; It'll go with everything (really); it's kind of a late-birthday-present-to-myself (from myself); you can never have too much jewellery; and last but not least, it's all ebay's fault.

Damn you, ebay.

I love the bank

2005-07-15T15:31:00.000-01:00

You won’t hear me say that very often, so make the most of it. Normally, like everyone else, I hate the bank. Hate it with a vengeance. But today, I love the bank, because they have *finally*, after a record-breaking amount of red tape, managed to sort out my loan and refinance it so I could pay off the (biggest) credit card, and my overdraft and still have enough money left over to fritter away on luxuries, like food and travelcards. I’d got to the point where I had been hacking away at the ice in the freezer, trying to extract a pack of frozen sausages, only to find they were out of date. It was a bitter moment, as my hands were pretty much numb by that stage, and the ice seemed to simply close in again once the pack had been removed, and I hadn't the energy to try to retrieve the mini pizza I had glimpsed in the right-hand corner. I briefly considered risking cooking them, but then came to my senses; why add food poisoning to my woes? So I’ve been surviving on Jacobs Thai bites and Baby-bel lites – they’re a meal in themselves, honest. I’m thrilled the money is in today, since all I have left is a loaf of stale bread, a calorie-free pot of Greek yoghurt, which I must have bought in a moment of madness, and some olives marinated in cumin and orange oil...Obviously, I wouldn’t have starved, but it wouldn’t have been pleasant.

I checked the balance on the internet this morning, and I was overjoyed, but also surprised, because I only returned the forms on Tuesday, and I had visions of the forms sitting quietly in someone’s in-tray for who knows how long/being used to balance a wonky desk/accidentally shredded/etc. So today I love the bank, and I’m going shopping after work. The sales are on. I may or may not buy food…

Aaargh

2005-07-14T08:53:00.000-01:00

Mini rant time. Okay. This is going to be short and not so sweet. Not to generalise wildly, but men, really – what’s wrong with them? I mean, really? It’s a rhetorical question – there aren’t enough hours in the day for the answer to that one.

If you aren’t going to call a girl, then don’t ask for her number. Got that? DON’T. ASK. FOR. HER. NUMBER. It actually makes sense when you think about it, and will save memory space on your phone for, say, take-away restaurants, or your mum.

Aaargh. When he asked for my number, I wasn’t even that bothered – I was flattered, and thought, ‘ooh, he’s actually quite hot, okay then’. So, even though my life does not depend on me getting that call, the knowledge that he has my number and the possibility of him calling has me glancing at my phone at increasingly regular intervals, ‘just in case’. Sheesh.

But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not bothered, as I said…and I have plenty of places to go and people to see. So, you know, whatever.

What's scarier?

2005-07-11T10:59:00.000-01:00

One big, fat spider in the corner of the room, about the size of a fair-sized frog, but who appears to be minding its own business, OR roughly 20-30 teensy, tiny spiders that appear to be marching in some strange formation up your curtains?

The correct answer is B. I came in quite late the other night, and was just getting ready to go to bed. I went over to draw my curtains, and saw what looked like a straw-coloured ant determinedly making its way up the curtain. I then recoiled in horror as I noticed that it was not alone. There was loads of them, baby spiders - I couldn’t see where they’d come from, nor could I fathom where exactly they were going or what their purpose was. I was also wondering, if these are babies, where’s the ‘mama’? I was trying to stay calm about this – I don’t have a spider phobia per se, but when you are being invaded, it’s a different matter. I tried to rationalise it – perhaps they would make their way to the top of the curtain and then crawl out of the window? Maybe they would find a hole in the skirting board and be out of sight, out of mind? As I was pondering this, one of them swung from the curtain onto the wall, and with others following its example, it proceeded to make its way to my lampshade and abseiled from there onto my bed.

That’s when I started to hyperventilate. Visions of them advancing between the sheets, into the sacristy of my wardrobe and into my shoe-boxes galvanised me into action. Like the true, independent woman that I am, I called my Mum. The lateness of the hour made her instantly think that something was seriously wrong.
‘I’ve got…um, spiders’ I told her, in a tremulous voice. She understood. She told me to go the shop, buy some bug killing spray and then nuke the little buggers. Filled with (shaky) resolve, I ran to the corner shop. The only bug killer they had was for ants, but I figured it was worth a try. I came back and used pretty much half a can. I’m not sure if they actually found the spray poisonous or that I was spraying so heavily that they merely drowned in it. Nevertheless, I got ‘em all. By this time I was having trouble breathing again, not to mention feeling somewhat light-headed, having inhaled the bug spray. I then realised I’d probably covered my bedspread and the clothes on my chair, and well, everything with bug spray. One of my flatmates was away that night so she told me to sleep in her room. Feeling twitchy and scratchy despite the major killing spree with the Raid, I decided to take a shower and wash my hair. It was probably about 2.30am in the morning when I sank gratefully onto her bed, having first inspected it thoroughly for bugs, and fell asleep.

My ordeal was not over though. I awoke the next day to find that my damp hair had somehow managed to make the colour run on my flatmate’s (obviously very cheap and non-colourfast) pillow case. It is a pale pink cover set, and my damp hair had caused the pigmentation to go a strange, deep purple colour. Who has non-colourfast sheets?? For the love of god. So not only does my room still reek of Raid, despite me washing everything several times over, it also looks like I’m going to have to shell out for a new cover set. Aaargh.

Still, the spiders are dead, and they’ve not come back. Yet.