I really want to eat goats cheese... mmm... goats cheese

A bit of a funny weekend to be honest. I’ve had such massive mood swings that I have been driven myself mad. For example, on Thursday, coming home from ballet, I was in such a good mood that I was almost laughing to myself. But yesterday, during the day, I felt so utterly rubbish that I wanted to cry. I didn’t though. I haven’t cried in ages (other than at films or books- which doesn’t count, as I always cry at films). I used to cry all the bloody time but it seems that I’ve grown up a little bit. Which is a relief, being nearly twenty-two and all.

After work on Friday I headed over to LSE. I only had about a fiver in my wallet, but I figured I could just go for one drink. I jumped on the bus (not paying, of course- as I said, I’m poor!) and went there. I wasn’t really in the mood for it when I got there. I was just being grouchy, especially as some moron knocked a drink over me. Anyway, S was there and although she wasn’t going to drink, she saw someone she didn’t want to see and decided to get pissed. I was just drinking pints with M. S told me that M only dances when he’s really pissed, but I’ve danced with him before (to be honest, that was in Camden when we were really pissed, kinda proving S’s point) and we danced again, to some awfully cheesy music. All the cool kids were giving us disapproving looks. Understandable really. Not only were we not wearing skinny jeans and super-cool tshirts, with asymmetrical fringes, but we were, shock horror, DANCING TO NOT COOL MUSIC. Much fun, anyway. Incidentally, I’d gone for less of a childish look than normal (that is to say, I didn’t choose my normal got-dressed-in-the-dark look, with all manner of colours thrown together, and instead I tried to look like an adult). It didn’t really work all that well on me, though SH told me I looked like a film star. I think she might have just been saying that to be nice.

Some other people came along- some of the boys who were in the year above me, which was just as well really as both S and SH were talking to other people most of the evening. Me and the boys drank more pints, I ‘borrowed’ a hat from one of them (it looked far better on me than on him, even if I do say so myself), one of them tried to do self-defence on me (or more like, pointlessly attack me)… M and I contemplated trying to find some Ritalin, but decided against it. SH tried to get me to talk to some random guy who was literally staring at me, but I didn’t want to. She tricked me into changing places with her and he started talking to me, at which point I made a lame excuse (something along the lines of “excuse me, I have to and talk to that person over there”). I wasn’t happy that SH had tried to force me to talk to him, especially as she knows that I’m seeing J (or whatever it is I’m doing with J). Anyway, I wasn’t too annoyed and drank more beer, which made everything okay.

Eventually I got too pissed off with being there, and decided to go home. SH was leaving at the same time, so we walked down to the Aldwych together. We spent twenty minutes or so having a chat about everything- or pretty much everything anyway- and then I took the bus home. Thanks to my (suspected) tapeworm, I was really hungry and couldn’t wait to get home. However, I did manage to take my boots off before going in the front door, which I was pleased about. Camp Mansions has wooden floors, and with my boots, it makes a lot of noise. I managed to fall over while barefoot, but I didn’t burn myself while cooking. I then read a couple of pages of my book before passing out on top of my duvet.

I was woken up, not by a steam train this week, but by the sunlight pouring in my window. I hadn’t shut my curtains the night before, and my legs felt warm from the sun. I was actually pretty excited by it, as I haven’t seen proper sun like this for ages. I bounded out of bed and went to the kitchen to wash up last night’s plates and drink tea with camper#1. She wanted her hair cut, so we checked out where she should go and got her an appointment. I tidied up my room a bit, put some laundry on, that kind of thing. I suddenly had an urge to listen to this one particular song, so I rummaged through all my cd’s until I found. It’s by AM60, and it’s probably one of my favourite songs. It was a pretty cool morning and afternoon really- getting stuff done, drinking vast amounts of tea, sitting in the sun, listening to happy music, and speaking to many different people on the phone.

Normally, I am always the youngest. For example, at work, I’m one of the youngest in the whole office. R and C (my smoking buddies) are 28, T is 31… the only one who is roughly my age is K, who’s 23. At home, I’m the youngest too. Even other friends from uni are older than me- Wolf is 26 now. So I’m used to being the silly one, the one who’s allowed to be stupid and drunk, the one who can have moments of utter madness. It also means that I get given lots of advice, which sometimes I appreciate, and sometimes I don’t. I’m pretty stubborn and bloody-minded, and often I’ll plough ahead with things despite knowing that it’s probably not the most sensible move. That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate other people’s wisdom. For example, T’s housemate gave me some of the best advice ever. It does get a little wearing sometimes though. However (I did have a point to this, I promise), on Friday night- and thus Saturday daytime on the phone- I felt like the eldest, as I was the one giving advice. I was probably still one of the youngest (M and the other boys are at least a year or two older, and SH is older), but I felt very mature on Saturday afternoon, when on the phone. I don’t know whether that’s because I was sharing my insightful words of wisdom, or whether I was deluding myself. I like to think the former.

J sent me a text to tell me that he wouldn’t be coming round after all so I made yet another pot of tea and turned up the AM60. I wasn’t very pleased, as I hate it when people say that they’ll do something, only to not do it. In fact, I’d say that it’s #1 on my list of pet hates (I will put the list on here at some point, if I can remember). I was quite annoyed at first, as it riled me that he’d made a conscious decision to act in a way that would prevent him from coming round (ie. get hammered and not go to sleep). After ten minutes or so, I wasn’t really pissed off about it. I know I’ve done things like that too. And it’s surely nice that he didn’t want to come when he was tired and crap. He said he’d come round the next day (Sunday) anyway, so I think that eased my mood a little too.

Camper#1 got back from the hairdressers, looking lovely. She has very thick, long blonde hair. We decided to go out and show off her fab new look, just locally. I got in the shower, as I still had yesterdays makeup on. Camper#2 was playing Kylie Minogue really loudly, which made my shower a bit more interesting. We went off to Escape, a bar/gallery just next to the train station. The plan was to give men marks out of ten, but Escape was lacking in anyone worth even considering. The man at the table next to us had the most hideous jumper on, and we tried to figure out whether he was wearing it to be ironic, or whether it was a present from his grandmother. Next, we went to the Commercial, which is quite a cool pub. It was packed, and as we were looking for somewhere to perch, a man came over and told us about some dude doing magic tricks that we should check out. We went to check this out… and my god, they were amazing. I’m normally very sceptical about magic tricks and find them infuriating (I hate not knowing how to do things). When we went to see Derren Brown, we all picked holes in everything he’d done- even though I really enjoyed it. Anyway, this guy was amazing. He made a cigarette disappear into someone’s jumper, did some card tricks and put a rope back together. He was asking people for money, and then moving to the next table. He must have made a fortune. After he’d gone, we talked to the people who’d told us about the magic tricks. They were all on a football team and most of them were complete wankers. One of them told me repeatedly that I was stupid and wrong, and said the immortal line of “I’m not a racist, yeah, but…” #1 and I were really sick of them but #2 thought they were funny. #1 and I went to stand at the other side of the pub and had a drink and a chat. When #2 finally came back, she was really drunk. Then the moronic men came over again and we got in arguments with them. I was told that I was young and stupid, so I told them that I was actually 27. It wasn’t all that convincing as I had my hair in pigtails. Another of them was trying to impress #1 with his knowledge of who Hamas are. I was glad to get home. #2 fell up the stairs. #1 and I made some food and had some more beer, and then she passed out on her bed. I decided that I wanted to get stupidly drunk and got some vodka from my room. I was feeling a bit destructive and figured that vodka would be the only way I would ever get to sleep. I started worrying about J again, even though I’m pretty sure he likes me. I ended up drinking so much that I couldn’t see, and I felt a lot happier.

At one point I fell over, and as I was falling, I had a thought. I only remember this because I wrote it down in my notebook: ‘I may be a fuck up but this is the most at home I’ve ever felt and I never want to leave… Amazingly, I’m happy’

In the morning, I woke up feeling really crap. Instead of staying in bed and dwelling on it, I decided to get up. I cleaned the kitchen, made some tea and chain smoked for a while. All four campers sat in the kitchen feeling shitty. I decided to rename Camp Mansions ‘Camp Death’ as it seemed more apt. I made some food, which made me feel a lot better, and then I had a nap. I didn’t think J would get in touch, because I was being really paranoid. When he did, I still didn’t think that he would come round, so when I got a text from him, and I was still sat in my pyjamas with yesterdays make up on my face, it was a bit of a shock, to say the least. I have never showered and dressed so quickly! Luckily he found his own way to Camp Death, and we had a lovely evening. It’s funny. I’d been mildly annoyed with him on Saturday and had convinced myself that he didn’t like me on Sunday, but when I saw him all was forgiven. We cooked some food (well, it was more him than me as he’s a great cook and I’m pretty rubbish) and watched some more ‘Peep Show’, and were asleep by midnight (actually no, I wasn’t, I had a migraine and I lay awake for bloody ages, but he held me anyway so I didn’t mind half so much).

This morning my five alarms managed to wake me up, and I made tea and had a shower before J got out of bed. It was all still really nice, and we spent lots of time hugging, before snogging on the train like teenagers and probably pissing off all the commuters (yay!!). I feel very happy about the whole thing with J, though I still don’t know what that ‘thing’ is.

Of course, the good mood disappeared pretty fucking rapidly when I realised that our chairman had been on tv yesterday, and we now had loads of bloody emails about it… a battle with the media department commenced… I can’t be bothered with it… It seems vaguely under control now. Tomorrow we have a team building away day thingy. It’s at a hotel in Southwark, and we get all our food for the day. Although I get paid tomorrow, I’m still going to make sure I get my money’s worth (after all, just cos I’ve got paid doesn’t mean I should spend it all at once, or something equally responsible… probably very sensible). I don’t know when I’m going to get a chance to go to the supermarket, so I might have to carry on eating my measly (and unappealing) rations until the weekend… though I hope not!!

On a very uplifting and excited note, I’m going to see the Royal Ballet tonight!! And Darcey Bussell will be performing. I cannot wait!!

I think I have a tapeworm

I think that I have a tapeworm. It is not right to eat this much, or to spend so much of my time thinking about food.

*she says while tucking into a sandwich*

Proper piss poor fen girls

Ballet class last night was, yet again, really good. I managed to get there late as I was having a struggle with the printer at work, which chewed up my application form. Still, I rushed into the class and got stuck in, and laughed almost the whole way through. For some reason, I found almost everything really funny, but I also worked really hard. The floor was very slippery and at first I nearly fell over, but then I put so much rosin on my shoes that I could hardly turn at all. I decided to stand at the front during centre, instead of lurking near the back, and managed to muddle through most of the exercises. Some people admired my shorts, which was pretty cool. Instead of wearing black thick wool shorts, I was wearing snoopy shorts, with a thermal vest on over my leotard. I’m a real fan of thermal vests. In fact, I don’t think there are many outfits that can’t be improved immensely by wearing a vest over the top. I really am a proper fashion icon.

After the class, I walked to the bus stop with three of the other girls. As we were leaving the building, I rolled a cigarette and was promptly laughed at, being told that I was having a proper Geri Halliwell moment. Anyway, we’re always really raucous after class, and we had a very animated conversation about penises, what to have for dinner and the Celts while walking down Battersea High Street. One of the girls kept asking who the Iceni were, but I don’t think she got a particularly satisfactory answer as we kept telling her they were from the fens, and she didn’t know where that was. I am- or, at least, was- a fen girl, and so is/was another girl in my class. I’m also a proper Celt, though we were having a bit of an argument about who was classified as a Celt. I still maintain that I’m totally Celt. It’s better than being totally fen.

It’s been bloody freezing lately. I thought my hands were going to drop off on the way to Clapham Junction, and I had to keep my hands rammed in my pockets the whole way.

I got home in time to watch trashy tv and cook some food. I cooked some quorn as I felt that a bit of protein wouldn’t go amiss, but I put too much balsamic vinegar in once again. In the end it tasted alright, and it hit the spot. I found some marshmallows in the fridge, which were much appreciated. I have such a sweet tooth. A guy at work calls me ‘Charlie’, as in ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ (which I suppose is better than him calling me Willy Wonka). He’s always amazed that I only have two fillings. To be honest, though, I’m sure I need more. I’m too scared to go to the dentists. Plus, it costs money! I think it’s £8 for a ten minute check up, and that’s before they do anything at all. I started filling in a job application, but got bored, and just had a cup of tea and cigarette out the bedroom window before going to bed.

This morning I once again managed to amaze myself with my stupid morning time management. The alarm went off at 7, but I ignored it. At 8 I actually got up, which left me 57 minutes to get ready and be at the station. Plenty of time, you would think… I made some tea and sorted out my packed lunch, then hung up my laundry. So far so good, you’d think? I had a little chat with camper#1, who split up with her boyfriend last night (his response- and this is awful!- was “gee… if that’s what you want”) while finishing my cup of tea, and then got in the shower. By the time I got out of the shower it was 9:02. Yes, I’d missed the train. The next one is at 9:23, which I thought would be no problem. But no. I spent so much time faffing that I got to that time and I saw the train pull into the station. “Okay,” I thought. “I can get the 9:41. There’s no way I can miss that one.” I’m not sure how, but I managed to miss that too. In the end I got the 9:59. Which means it took me TWO HOURS from getting out of bed to getting on the train. Bearing in mind that the station is a minutes walk from the flat, that is an appalling length of time. And if you factor in that my alarm first went off at 7… I really need to do something about this. This is poor time management. How do other people manage to do everything they need to do in half an hour? Even if it took me an hour, that would be fine. I should really try and make a plan and stick to it. How long does a shower take? I spent half an hour in the bathroom today- just brushing my teeth and having a shower. I’m clearly doing something wrong.

Despite realising that I need to do something about my massive time-wasting every morning, I also realised that I need to sort out my finances. I am so poor. I didn’t used to be this poor, even as a student (having said that, I didn’t go out very much- I used to stay in and watch films with my cat). Before Christmas I spent far too much money, which I now regret, as I now have nothing- literally nothing. This morning I have applied for a bank loan and for a credit card. I’ve been turned down for the credit card. I am literally up shit creek without a paddle. I feel sick whenever I think about my finances. I just applied for another Barclaycard (I cut up my old one). I’m behind in my rent. I still owe NatWest vast amounts. I need another job.

Other than this, I’m very happy at the moment and am really enjoying myself. If only I could enjoy myself while someone else paid my rent. If anyone reading this feels like helping a lamb in very desperate need, please send me some money…

A good class, at last

I didn’t mention this yesterday as I didn’t want to jinx it, but I was very excited about my ballet class all day yesterday. Not just because I woke up next to the lovely J (and therefore got the day off to a fabulous start), but also because for the first time in two and a half months, my ankle wasn’t hurting. Normally I have to force it into the right position (it doesn’t like either pointing or flexing), but not any more. So I was very excited, as I would finally be able to do allegro.

To try and distract myself from thinking about the class- I didn’t want to build it up in my mind to something really great, only for it to go horribly wrong by me breaking my leg or something- I decided I would tidy my desk. That’s so sad, I know. But it was really messy. I’m planning to make my great escape from this place sooner rather than later, so I want to be ready to go at the drop of a hat. I can’t believe how much stuff I’d been hoarding. Here are some of the things I found, along with the endless papers:

- a pair of pink and black stripy socks (the type with the separate toes)
- nail varnish remover
- my Chairman Mao pencil case
- lots of sachets of lemsip
- some old payslips
- various business cards, none of them mine, of course
- a packet of instant noodles
- several spoons
- 38p
- lipgloss

I thought it was quite an impressive haul actually.

Anyway, back to ballet. I got there really quickly, amazingly, and had a bit of a chat before class started. When I went into my class my friend told me I was looking pretty but I think she was joking. I was wearing a skirt, for once, which I suppose does look alright, though I wouldn’t say I looked pretty as such. It’s hard to look pretty when you’re wearing a leotard, pink tights and leg warmers, even if you have a nice skirt on. Still, it’s probably more feminine than the shorts I normally wear, so I suppose I’ll give her that. As I get older, I get more and more conscious of what I’m wearing in class. I feel really fat and sometimes I think I would be happier wearing a burka so no one could see my stomach- though, of course, that would not be very conducive to ballet as you wouldn’t be able to see ANYTHING. It’s like the clothes that I wear outside of class as well. It’s easy to tell when I’m feeling fat, as I’ll either wear a dress over my jeans, or I’ll wear this one particular black shirt, which shows a fair amount of cleavage but doesn’t cling to my stomach. I’m wearing that shirt today (and have done a fair few times recently- I really need to do something about this).

The class got off to a good start, although I felt a slight twinge in my ankle during the first exercise. I thought that I might not be able to finish the class, but it was fine after that one small incident. I wasn’t feeling particularly strong, and my balance was quite off, but I really enjoyed the class anyway. My teacher gave me some useful corrections. I do something weird with my rib cage sometimes, and I’m always being corrected for it, but normally my teachers just put it in the right place without explaining to me what it is that I’m doing wrong. This time I made my teacher explain it to me, and I have more of an idea what it is that I need to do. The other thing is that I’m slightly twisting my knee on my left (I think it’s left anyway- I really need to learn to tell these apart) side as my weight is in slightly the wrong place. I can work on those…

I used to prefer my Thursday class to the one on Wednesday’s, as I found it easier and the people and teacher friendlier. Now I like both, though I still think I get on better with the Thursday people, as we’ve bonded more. Last term I used to cry after almost every Wednesday class, and if it weren’t for the other class, I would have quit. But now I’m not being so emotional about it all, and I’ve got a tiny bit more confidence, I’m happy in both classes. Having said that, I cried last Wednesday, and nearly during the class too. I was seriously considering quitting as it felt like I wasn’t improving at all, and my ankle was still very sore. I think it was a psychological thing.

So, a good class. I managed to do quite a lot of the steps. My pirouettes are nothing like they used to be and petit allegro was rubbish, but I had fun. I can feel that my ankle isn’t very strong, so I’ll keep working on that. It ached a bit this morning, which isn’t surprising really considering that I haven’t used some of those muscles for two months. Oh, and I finally killed my shoes. The small hole made by my big toenail has turned into quite a big hole. I suppose it matches the holes in my tights… I must look like a real tramp in class.

When I got home, I completely forgot to call my mum, as I’d promised. I chatted to camper#1 for a bit, who’s having some boyfriend trouble. She apologised for saying stupid things the other night. To be honest, I couldn’t remember what she’d said, but then I remembered that we all seem to have a bit of a knack for saying the weirdest possible thing when introduced to each other’s love interests. For example:

1) When my ex came round to collect some of his stuff, camper#1 said “So, how’ve you been?” despite the fact she’d never met him before.
2) When I met camper#1’s boyfriend, the only thing I could think of to say was “I had a really weird dream last night where I accidentally left all my luggage on a train in Poland.”
3) J, the other night, said to my housemates that he really liked the flat, camper#1 said, “That’s weird. People normally hate it.”

Clearly we are all completely incapable of having normal conversations. Actually, it seems to be mainly me and camper#1. Maybe we subconsciously don’t want each other to have boyfriends, as it means we can’t sit on the steps and smoke fags together while whinging about men. But that’s crazy talk. Camper#1 has had a boyfriend for ages, and we still manage that. Admittedly I haven’t had a boyfriend in the time I’ve lived in the flat, but then again, I hardly ever invite anyone round, so how would she be able to scare them off? Perhaps subconsciously she is sending them weird-vibes… I don’t know.

Just before going to bed, I had one of those shared house dilemmas. I knew for a fact that camper#2 was asleep, and camper#1 was in bed, so I figured I could make a dash from the bathroom back to my room without putting my top back on. Admittedly there would be a chance that they might choose this exact moment to come out of their rooms, but then it would be their own fault for seeing me topless. Just as I opened the bathroom door, I heard the front door open, and camper#3 and her boyfriend come in. I immediately put my jumper back on, trying not to let the door slam and wake up the whole house. I went into the corridor and camper#3’s boyfriend made a comment about my hoodie, which was a little bit weird. I suppose I’m the only one in the house who wears them, but I only really wear most of them to keep warm around the house, although I do wear some of them out. Still, is it so weird to wear a hoodie? It’s not like I look like some asbo’d youth.

As I was typing that I realised that I’m actually wearing a hoodie to work today. As well as my vain-attempt-to-hide-my-figure black shirt. I bet I look really classy.

A happy lamb!

I had the most productive day ever on Monday. There were only two of us in the office but I got through everything in the inbox, so I was pretty pleased with myself. Mainly because it meant that I felt completely justified in doing nothing all day yesterday, apart from waste time searching through the internet for amusing things, and attempting to stalk people.

On Monday, J was meant to come round, but he still wasn’t feeling well so he decided not to. I, of course, immediately got paranoid about whether he wanted to see me or not, but my housemates had some words with me and I stopped being stupid. He said that he’d come over on Tuesday instead, so I suppose I didn’t really have any grounds for worrying- not that that ever stops me! I had to call my ex to cancel dinner with him. To be honest, I was glad for an excuse, as I didn’t really want to see him. The last few times I’ve seen him, he’s been very rude to me, and he does nothing for my self-confidence. That’s really not what I need. Anyway, he’s leaving the country on Tuesday, so I won’t have to see him for a year or so. Hopefully in that time he will grow up, although I don’t think I’d want to be friends with him even then.

In the end, Monday evening was really nice, and pretty productive. I got home relatively early and made some food. It wasn’t the nicest food- I had to use up a whole leek, so it was mainly leek, with a little bit of pasta, garlic and mozzarella. My camper#1 (I have decided to call my housemates camper#1, #2 and #3 as I am sick of referring to people by an initial- it's confusing even me!) checked my personal statement for my masters application (which I need to send off today). Later in the evening, there was a documentary about Ian Brown on Radio One, which I really enjoyed. I love all of his music, and although it didn’t say a hell of a lot, or anything new at all, it was good to have a whole half hour devoted to him. I even managed to keep my room tidy!
As I mentioned, Tuesday at work was far from productive. I got a missed call from my mum at about midday, which was a bit odd, but it turns out she was in London for the afternoon, going to the theatre, and had some free time before the play started. As it was, I couldn’t meet her as I had my lunch really late. At lunch, I went into the kitchen to heat up the food I’d brought from home, and there was a vast amount of curry in the kitchen. A couple of people from my department came in, and started picking at bits. It all looked very oily, but I took some naan, and a little bit of rice. I’d actually brought in a curry with me, but mine was far nicer, and I got some envious glances as people tucked into their slimy curries. I don’t know where the curry came from. It was devoured pretty quickly, actually. People in this office are like vultures sometimes.

Anyway, much time wasting, emailing and semi-stalking later (oh yeah, and a bit of work), I headed home. No one was there when I arrived home, so I listened to music really loudly to try and calm my nerves. Of course, right then, my housemates got back from work. I drank tea and chatted, wishing I’d given more thought to what on earth we were going to eat that night. S sent me some text messages, asking if I wanted to go out for a drink, which I thought was a bit odd seeing as last time I heard from her, she had decided to give up drinking. She didn’t seem very impressed that I already had plans, and moaned that everyone she knew was at home, cooking dinner for their boys. I hope she’s okay and not too pissed off. I got another text much later on (I left my phone in my room when I was cooking) saying simply ‘I’m fed up’, which doesn’t bode too well. I will make sure to call her tonight.

J finally arrived and we treated ourselves to a bottle of wine that- shock horror- cost more than the normal three pounds. It’s amazing how you can taste the difference. I’m so used to drinking vinegar that to drink something that wasn’t breaking trading standard regulations calling itself ‘wine’ was brilliant. I had a really good time with J. We didn’t really do anything, but we get on well pretty effortlessly. I started cooking, but I freaked out a little as he’s a really good cook and I was sure that he would think my food was awful. He assured me that all I needed was confidence, and he helped me to make it. It was far nicer than I thought it would be. Normally I cook, yes, but it’s more like throwing ingredients together into a pan, which isn’t quite the same as cooking a proper dish. I think I should not be so scared of more ‘difficult’ seeming recipes, as I’m sure they’re not so hard after all. J also told me that I should use salt in my food, rather than studiously avoid it, as it enhances flavours and so on. I suppose if I ever want to know how to cook properly, I should.

After we’d eaten, and watched the last part of the football, we watched some of ‘Peep Show’. I still find it really funny, even though I’ve seen it a fair few times. J hadn’t seen the first series, which is the one I have. I can’t decide which episodes I like the best. I think the one where they go to the Superbowl, probably. I managed to spill wine on my bed, but only a little splash went on the brand new bedcovers, thankfully.

Before J had come round, I’d been a bit stressed, as I was running low on condoms, and I really begrudge buying them when you can get them for free at the doctors surgery. I mentioned this to camper#1, who said that she had some, and that next time I go to the doctors, I could just get some for her. Then of course, I completely forgot about it. In the end, it wasn’t a problem, but this morning I noticed that I had a text message from her telling me that she’d put a condom out on her shelf in the bathroom. We obviously look like really classy ladies in our house!!

This morning I woke up with J still hugging me, which was lovely. I let my alarm go on snooze for a while, and then realised that that was really inconsiderate, and got up, made tea and had a shower. J managed to sleep through all of this, though his defence (that my bed was just TOO comfortable) was pretty good, so I’ll let him off. He told me that I was having the “breakfast of champions, albeit unhealthy champions” (ie. cup of tea and a cigarette). Slightly late, but no more so than on a normal day (I’m late for work four days out of five, so I guess they’re used to it. I’m normally only 15 minutes late or so, which isn’t horrendous, I reckon), we went to the train station, where we saw one of the Orient Express style trains. Apparently the steam train I saw on Saturday wasn’t such an anomaly- it was part of the Orient Express group of trains. The one today was going to Bath for the day. My internet research shows that this is a £280 day trip. Extortionate.

At Elephant J went to get the bus back to his and I headed off to work. I wanted to skip up the road but decided not to just in case he saw me and thought I was a lunatic. I suppose that you could say that I’m a very happy lamb today!

ha ha ha

I just had a funny but ultimately weird and disturbing moment. Despite the fact that I am rushed off my feet today (obviously not literally, I am sitting down), I managed to find a moment to go through all the various bits and bobs that I always do on the internet: namely myspace and facebook (there’s nothing like a bit of cyber stalking to help pass the day). Anyway, I was trying to do it subtly, and I was doing quite a good job until I read something so funny that I just knew that if I wasn’t careful, I would burst out laughing and give the game away…

I can’t write it down, as I will just start laughing again. Also, it’s about someone who (I think) reads this blog, and I don’t know how impressed they would be to read about me finding their life quite so hysterical.

What I had to do to stop myself from laughing was pinch my nose and cover my mouth. Yeah, it prevents breathing, but if you can’t breathe, you can’t laugh. It kinda backfired as it made my ears go pop. I really should try and find other ways of not laughing at work. Last week I was (yet again) wasting time on wikipedia and had to disguise a laugh as a sneeze. I don’t know what I was laughing at- I think it might have been South Park. I haven’t dared go back and read the myspace message that started all of this.

Another random thing- clearly I was more drunk than I thought last night, as I’ve managed to burn my hand. I was taking some sausage rolls out of the oven for my housemate (which is an indication that I was pissed, as surely otherwise I would not have touched any meat based products), and yet again, stuck my hand straight onto the grill. I quite clearly have no spatial perception.

This morning at work has been alternately fine and annoying. It’s not been too busy, but there’s only two of us in, as one is ill and the other is in Norway. And then I keep being asked to do things for other people. Wow, that sounds like I’m a really mean person. I’m not!! I’m just not paid enough to give a shit, and I tend to use work as a means to spend all day on the internet… and maybe do a LITTLE bit of work. In the press meeting this morning we were discussing the police officers who were docked three days pay instead of being sacked for gross misconduct (for racist emails they’d been sending- or something- I wasn’t listening all that closely). The thing I was most interested in was that three days pay was £320. That’s more than I get a week!! I really do need to stop pissing around and get another job.

Right, back to my enormous pile of letters and emails (I do really work quite hard, it’s just far more rock and roll to pretend I don’t).

blah blah blah blah

Sunday night, and I have, quite unintentionally, managed to get a bit tipsy. I say unintentionally as 1) I hadn’t planned to drink, and 2) I didn’t plan to drink this much, even if I did have a drink. However, there we go.

On Thursday I met J after work. We went to the Monarch for some drinks, and then went back to his. He really is amazingly lovely. We didn’t end up going to sleep until pretty late, which was a bit silly really as I had work the next day. In the morning, I felt really shitty so decided not to go to work. J is quite phenomenally ill and gave me some more germs to help prolong my cold. Much appreciated. I’m sure drinking beer and doing coke didn’t help, but I don’t normally feel that rough when I wake up- its not like we drank a lot- so I’m pretty sure it was some sort of mutant cold. Everyone at work is ill- about a third of the staff (or so it seems) have been ill this last week. One of the press officers had blown his nose so much that it was bright red. Anyway, I called in sick and lay on the sofa at J’s house, feeling pretty sorry for myself. He cooked some food, as he was having massive cravings for pork chops (so much so that he got the Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall meat book and brought it to bed to help him decide what exact part of a pig he wanted to get. Although I wasn’t really all that hungry, I appreciated the food (obviously not meat for me!), and proceeded to spend the entire afternoon safely ensconced on the sofa, like a lazy bastard.

We decided to watch a film, and after some pretty idiotic behaviour on J’s part (not putting the sound on on the dvd player), we watched ’28 Days Later’. I’d watched this ages ago… I think it was back when I lived in Wood Green, so it really must have been quite a while ago (why I remember that I watched it there, I don’t know- you would have thought I would have tried to erase that horrible house from my memory). Anyway, I remembered that I’d enjoyed it. Especially the shots of a deserted London at the beginning. I know it’s quite sad, but I’m fascinated by this city. It really is more like home to me than anywhere else I’ve lived (admittedly that list is not huge- the fens and Cambridge). Going back to the film: it was far better than I remembered. I had completely forgotten about the middle. It was, in parts, quite gory, but it was fabulous- though in a gratuitously violent way. I’ve watched quite a few zombie films (it was pretty much the staple diet of things to watch when I was with G), and this is one of my favourites. Having said that, I don’t know whether my taste in films is all that great. I don’t think I’ll ever be a movie critic anyway. For what it’s worth, I would highly recommend ’28 Days Later’ to those who haven’t already seen it.

On my way back from J’s, I decided to pop in at B’s house. I’d completely forgotten that they live on the same road- only about 100 metres from each other in fact. The light was on in B’s room, so I called, and went round for a cup of tea. B is a friend from sixth form who I had a strange encounter with months and months ago (that’s detailed way, way back in this blog). It was nice to see him, though he was very stressed. He’s always quite stressed. He’s been a dj for about as long as I can remember, and it seems to be going pretty well for him. He plays at all sorts of venues across London. It’s not really my type of music, but it’s still pretty impressive, especially as he’s also doing his degree.

On Friday night I somehow managed to get pretty slaughtered on wine, by myself. At some point I tried to do the guardian crossword, and I actually managed about half of it. Clearly that’s the way to do it- although if I could find a way to make my eyes stay in focus, that would really help. At about 2, my housemate and one of her Geordie friends got back, and I went to her room to drink beer and laugh hysterically. We were being pretty loud, and one of my other housemates was obviously pissed off as she kept getting up to slam doors. It was fun though, despite the fact I couldn’t understand some of what they were saying. Sometimes, with strong accents, it really is like a different language. They invited me to sleep in their bed, but I recalled how cramped it was the last time I shared a bed with two other people, and went back to my own room.

In the morning I was woken up by a steam train. At first I thought I was hearing things, but no. it was a steam train. I have no idea why a steam train was going through Herne Hill station on a Saturday morning. I decided to head into Soho for the afternoon, just for a wander, so after a very long shower, I set off. It wasn’t all that great. I browsed some bookshops and saw a tourist fall over and nearly get trampled. I then came back home and attempted to understand my housemate’s boyfriend’s explanation of the offside rule. He’s a Spurs fan, like J, so I took the piss out of the game last weekend (which constitutes my entire knowledge of football). My ex rang and asked if I wanted to go out for dinner on Tuesday. I told him I had no money, but he said he’d pay. I don’t really want to see him, but he’s going away for a year or something so I suppose I should, seeing as he wants to see me. He kept calling me ‘sweetheart’, which I was getting a bit narked about. He said that the meal would be ‘no strings’ and that I shouldn’t think he was being ‘too forward’. I told him fat bloody chance. How can you be too forward with someone you lived with for three years? And ‘no strings’- for him to even think that I would think it was anything more is stupid. I don’t want to be his friend, let alone anything more. I don’t think he is a nice person, and he certainly isn’t one that I want in my life. Which begs the question- why meet him for dinner? Well, I will get a great deal of satisfaction out of showing him that I’m far happier without him and that although he shat on me for years, I’m not that little girl anymore.

Then I cracked open some more wine and watched ‘Final Destination’. I’d seen the sequel, but not the first one, and I reckon the second is better. The deaths were all funny though. Blood and guts galore. Gosh, I’m pretty weird like that…

After the film, I started to mope around, feeling sorry for myself. I was getting super paranoid. I was also trying to decide if I was crazy and whether I should start taking my medication again. I really have no idea what I’m doing with my life and it’s getting me down. In the end, I decided that I would apply for my masters, try for funding, try and sort out China, apply for jobs, and various other things (none of which I’ve actually done today). I decided not to take my medication again as I have spent the last month and a half trying to come off the stuff, and although I don’t like feeling like crap, I hate the withdrawal of the drugs even more. With the SSRI’s, you have to choose whether to take them properly or not at all. I’m not getting back in that cycle of taking them again, as it will take me a month to get used to them again, and however long to come off them eventually. As long as I’m not killing myself, it’s okay. If I do start feeling really bad, I will just ask for some diazepam or something. No more bastard SSRI’s. My other decision was that I really wanted to watch ‘East is East’, which I remembered I had on dvd. ‘East is East’ is possibly my favourite film. I’ve seen it about twenty times and know the lines well before they’re said, but I love it and I still find it hilarious. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t find it so funny if I hadn’t have been with my ex (a British Pakistani, with the family to match) or if I didn’t have a pretty dysfunctional family of my own (though of course, nothing like the Khan family). Then I fell off the bed (I’m not sure how) and fell asleep while on the phone.

Today has been quite a lazy day. We all went to Escape, a pub in Herne Hill, as it has wireless internet, but we couldn’t get it to work. My housemate told me that her friend had said that she would never wear what I wear, but that it looked good on me. I then started to worry that I look like a tramp. I don’t think that was helped particularly by the fact that I was wearing a nightdress over jeans in the pub. I did a bit of reading for the masters that I may or may not ever do. I cooked a pretty fabulous curry and ate far more than I should have. My housemate laughed at my bedroom so I spent an hour or so tidying and cleaning it. I also had a nice chat with J on the phone, who might be coming round tomorrow (I suppose would be lying if I didn’t admit that part of the reason I was making my room less skank was because of that). Having spent most of Saturday night convincing myself that J didn’t like me (I’m paranoid like that), it was really cool to talk to him and think to myself that- oh my god, maybe he does like me? Which’d be good as I like him. It feels good just going with it actually- although it’s not something that I do naturally as I worry too much about everything. I think that as long as I don’t let myself get overtaken by paranoia, then I will really enjoy whatever this is with J. oh, and if he learns to mumble less on the phone as he is damn near incomprehensible when he mumbles!!

This evening, as I already mentioned, I got pissed. My housemate suggested having some vodka as she was pretty wound up and wanted to chill out before going to sleep. Instead, we ended up behaving like silly girls and we drank lots of vodka, sang stupid songs and tried to decide whether we could get away with putting the plug that had fallen into a pint glass of water into the mains ever again. I didn’t really see a problem with it, but she pointed out that the danger of death was quite high. And I think that’s my weekend covered. I still have a cold and I’m horribly congested still. I continually feel like I’m going to sneeze, and my nose just will not stop running. The earache and swollen glands have gone though, so I suppose that’s some improvement. I think I have acquired a drinking problem. However, that is not something I am willing to deal with, now or in the immediate future, as at the moment, I’m having fun. Right, now bed, as I need to try NOT to sleep in in the morning. Good night!!

Appreciate this, as it's my entire day's work!

I had one of those really horrible dreams last night, the type where you feel like you’re walking through treacle. I have variations on this dream quite a lot, though the setting is usually different. Last night, I was back in Cambridge, and I was walking to my old work, but it was taking me so long as I could hardly move through the treacle, and no one would help me. I often wonder why on earth I have these dreams. I think that this time, it was because yesterday I was walking up Coldharbour Lane, against the wind, with the sun in my eyes, and I was thinking about how much easier it would have been to be walking the other day. Talking of Coldharbour Lane, I was unpleasantly surprised at how long it is. I was in Camberwell, and wanted to go to Brixton (or, more specifically, to the book shop, the art shop and the bank). I’d always thought that it was a short road, but it was a fifteen-minute walk. To be honest, it probably would have taken less time had it not been so windy.

Anyway, Brixton was quite a success. I got everything I’d planned to get and paid off another instalment to the debt recovery people. I’m certainly far further on with that than I thought I would be, at this point. I’ve spent two years avoiding their calls, so to have paid off one-third of what I owe is a real achievement. Obviously if anyone else would like to pay the rest off, I would be more than happy to send my payment book to you for you to deal with! Likewise, I wouldn’t mind someone paying my rent for me too. I don’t know how I’m ever going to save up enough money for travelling. For my birthday I have asked for individual components of my travels, in a similar vein to the scheme run by the government during the 2nd World War (for building spitfires- basically the government set a price for all the different parts, so you could donate money and say it was for a wing, and then you’d know what you’d done for your country… except I reckon they lied, and just bought what they could- the prices in no way reflected the cost of the planes, for a start- and I am not going to do that… anyway, hope that rambling explanation has made some sense as I am too lazy to go back and read it again). So far I have an Interail ticket and one years travel insurance, both from previous birthdays. This year, on my list I have: some immunisations (I have already spent shitloads and if no one buys me any more, I will probably die of some nasty tropical diseases); malaria tablets (though possibly not, I’m sure I’m hardcore enough to deal with something stupid like malaria- also I have been slightly put off after seeing someone puke in their bin after taking these tablets!); train ticket from Helsinki to St Petersburg; ticket from St Petersburg to Moscow; loads of other assorted train tickets; Russian visa; Mongolian visa; other stuff that I can’t remember but I’m sure I’ll need.

More about my plans for travelling another time- I have far more pressing issues to write about at the moment!

Yesterday, as everyone knows, was Valentines Day. I didn’t get a card, not even from my mum! I was a bit disappointed, as I’d sort of assumed that when I got home, there’d be one waiting for me from her. Perhaps she thinks I’m too old for that now? Or even worse, perhaps she thinks that I’m too bitter to want any romance. Last time she came to London I was ranting on a bit, though that wasn’t directed at men (much), it was more because I was pissed off with my job. However, I was mighty pleased to get home just as Neighbours was starting. I haven’t watched Neighbours in bloody ages, and it was just as good/bad as I remembered. Ah, the good old student days when I could watch Neighbours, Doctors, The Daily Politics… Life was good.

Going back to Valentines Day, the Camp Mansions Valentines Singles Night was a great success. I baked some of my special biscuits (which I cut in the shape of hearts, ahhh- though not having a heart shaped cutter was a bit of a pain, as I had to use a knife and the hearts looked a bit jagged!). Other food we had included cheese and pineapple on sticks, vegetarian sausages, garlic bread, dips, marshmallows, Angel Delight and a whole host of other full-on party foods. I drank some vodka and ate far too much, and ended up feeling sick.

While lying on the living room floor (floorboards are not very comfortable, but it was the only way that I could feel marginally less sick!), we watched ‘Holiday Showdown’. I don’t normally watch crappy programmes like this. I know my enthusing about Neighbours et al above would indicate otherwise, but I really don’t. This programme was funny though, really really funny. The premise is that two very opposite families go on each other’s holidays… Family #1: bisexual, anti-gun couple with their kids, who planned to go to San Francisco to film a video art project. Family #2: gun-mad, misogynistic, red-blooded homophobic family, who were looking forward to going to Texas and shooting things. You can imagine how that went down. The most disturbing character was not the dad in family #2 (ex-RAF, handlebar moustache, kept the wife at home, called gay people “wufters”), but his son, who looked like he was about to cum in his pants at the thought of firing some of the guns, and was rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of shooting a pig. He’s got to be fairly high up on the list of potential future prisoner abuse scandals, surely. The other funny bit was when the woman in family #1 was saying how guns were bad, and the woman in family #2 said, "guns don't kill people"... of course, we all shouted out "RAPPER'S DO!"

I am finally feeling a bit better from my cold- although I don’t sound it! So I will finally write about my weekend, as it really is something I should write about. I’m still a bit cautious about writing about one particular thing (namely, the person I fancy), as I’m still worried he doesn’t like me. I’m less worried than I was, as we texted each other a couple of times last night, and he seemed (as much as you can seem in a text message) to be interested in seeing me again. So what the heck- I’m not used to writing my blog any way other than being brutally frank and describing my life in what is quite possibly mind-numbingly boring detail.

On Friday, I went to the Southwark Tavern with two girls from work, R and C. We talk every day as we’re all smokers, and hang out in the smoking room together, but normally we don’t really go to the pub together. For those who’ve been reading this in the long term, you’ll remember that most of my drinking antics with work people has been with T and K. Anyway, me, R and C booked a booth- or, in the case of the Southwark Tavern, a cell, it being an old prison- and headed down there as early as we could. We each had so many things we needed to get off our chests, so we decided that we would have to have it like a proper meeting, with each person taking it in turns to have a rant about something, and then moving on. I went first as I only had a couple of things to rant about (incidentally, one of them was T’s ex, who is being a complete bitch to a woman that I work with for no reason other than the fact I suspect she is a sociopath). After a couple of bottles of wine, we had completely forgotten what on earth we were meant to be talking about. C kept falling on top of R, and then decided to go home. She looked pretty hammered, but I thought she would be able to get home okay… however, on Monday she told us that she’d not only fallen asleep on the train and gone to the wrong place, she’d been sick at her station, cried, been carried home by her boyfriend, thrown the crumpets he’d made her at him. Quality.

Anyway, I was horrifically late to meet S in Camden, so when R suggested getting a minicab, I jumped at the idea. Never mind that she wasn’t really going in that direction… We somehow convinced the driver that detouring to Camden would only cost an extra fiver, though I suspect they only agreed to shut us up. I apparently managed to get in an argument with the cab driver, but I don’t really remember that. I’d drunk nearly two full bottles of wine by this point, so I suspect I did try and start what I probably thought at the time was a debate, but was far more likely to be a full-on argument. I also remember thinking, while in the cab, that the driver was a tosser, which I’d say is proof that I was having an argument with the man.

When I finally got to the Lock Tavern, S seemed quite pissed off with me. I could kind of understand, as I was very late, but she wasn’t by herself, and her bad mood with me lasted all evening (and beyond). With her were two guys I knew from my first year at uni, who’d been in the year above me. It was so cool to see them again. I’m terrible at keeping in touch, so I really appreciate being thrust into contact with people again- whether they feel the same is another issue altogether. They’re both really sound guys, and I feel bad for not keeping in touch. We went on to the Barfly, where I danced around like a fool, completely disregarding the fact that my ankle is not cut out for this kind of thing. I lost S several times, only really finding her by the bar, where we did shots. Despite declaring I would only do shots of sambuca, I somehow ended up doing a shot of Archers, which I wasn’t pleased. It’s such a chav drink. Much as the taste of sambuca makes me feel queasy, it’s better than bloody sickly sweet Archers. I used to do lots of shots with my friend M, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were. Probably just as well really, as I remember getting pissed out of my skull in Walthamstow on them (and I certainly do not want to be repeating that night any time soon- the vague memories I have of the evening are not altogether pleasant).

And the most important- or exciting, or I don’t know what adjective- event was meeting J. I don’t remember how we started talking, and I certainly don’t know why on earth he wanted to talk to me, as I was being a horrible drunk. And I wasn’t particularly nice to him, which was stupid, as by the time we left the Barfly, I realised I really liked him, and that I thought he was lovely. He’d taken my number and I was insisting that he wouldn’t call me, but actually, I think I might be wrong on that one.

Anyway, by the time we left, S had found herself some random boy who seemed to have learning difficulties. I don’t know what on earth was wrong with him, but he didn’t seem able to speak properly. Me and S had a minor skirmish, and now she isn’t returning my texts. I don’t think I was that out of order to her, but I do recall her saying that I was over reacting, and then she walked off and didn’t say goodbye. I don’t know what to make of that one, to be honest. J invited me and my other two friends (who’d been getting on really well, which was really sound) back to his, but they decided that they would make sure S got home okay. So it was just me.

I really wish I hadn’t been so pissed and that I had a larger vocabulary. Not so pissed, because then I wouldn’t have done silly things like be a drunken fool, be really argumentative (who can see a recurring pattern?), kiss J’s housemates girlfriend… And a larger vocabulary because I had a fantastic time at J’s all weekend. We stayed awake until about midday on Saturday, and then I slept until about 10 in the evening. On Sunday we watched football (not really my thing) and he cooked the most amazing curry. In between that pretty poor description of the weekend, we had (in my eyes, at least – can you see my paranoia??) a great time. I like J. I’m not going to write any more about him, or what I think of him, as I am getting all bashful, which is a sure sign that I like someone. Most people think it’s very unlike me to get bashful or shy, as they- for some reason- seem to think that I’m a loud mouthed cocky fucker. I’m not though, or at least, I don’t think I am.

I have been writing this entry over the course of the whole day, and it really shows. It’s quite obvious that this morning I was far more awake. Right now I can feel my eyelids drooping, and I would really like a nap. It’s actually really annoying, as I wanted to write about J. But maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t. I’m looking forward to work finishing so I can have a little sleep on the bus on the way to ballet. That’s quite a sad existence really. I’m so shattered though. One of our windows broke in the wind last night, and the wind and rain was really noisy. I’m still not feeling completely better, anyway. I have earache, as I always do when I get ill. It’s always in my right ear, which is a bit odd. I'm really annoyed that I'm not feeling 100%, to be honest. I took lots of coke at the weekend, and I always like to think that these things have no effect on me (cos I'm so fucking hardcore, or something). Being ill is not making me feel very cool, even though I know it's a cold- unless, of course, everyone in the office has been snorting coke all weekend too? It's just a cold, you stupid lamb, it's just a cold...

Instead of moping and feeling sorry for myself any longer, I am going to publish this blog (finally!) and then maybe make some lemsip. Oh yeah, and I have a backlog of emails to write as well, as all I have done today is write this blog and look things up on wikipedia. Not all that productive.

Happy Valentines Day, everyone!

Arriving at work this morning, we were each given a plastic bag with a mug, mouse mat and some chocolates. I’m not convinced about the mouse mat, but I suppose the mug is useful and the chocolates were much appreciated. Though my friend got more than me, which I don’t think is very fair- especially as we’re working in equality!

So far this week I have managed to write a couple of entries without actually getting to the main point. I had such a great weekend and I am almost letting myself be optimistic, but I don’t want to, because that’s the best way of having your hopes blow up in your face. Wow, that’s pretty cryptic… I shall try to summarise: I met a boy this weekend and I really like him, and I think he likes me too, but I’m so paranoid that even if he called me right now and said he liked me, I still would worry. So I don’t want to say anything more about him (other than that I think he’s brilliant, and I would really like him to call) as I don’t want to jinx it, or however it works.

Other reasons for not writing anything coherently in my blog of late include: my brain being completely saturated by lemsip; not being able to type as half the morning I had my fingers crossed for my housemates theory test (it worked- she passed!); constant sneezing; worrying that I have actually had a big falling out with S on Friday night (she now isn’t returning my texts); and bizarre work-related drama every five minutes.

Anyway, must dash. I have a physio appointment and then we’re having the First Inaugural Camp Mansions Valentines Singles Night (ie. eating vol au vents and cheese on sticks, while drinking wine out of ‘boys are stupid’ mugs). Adios, and much valentines love from this minted lamb.

Wallowing in self-pity

Hours and hours on from my previous post, I am still feeling ill and still can’t face writing anything of note in my blog. I have drunk so much lemsip I think I might be sick, and I have had a horrible day at work, with loads of moronic people calling up and being mean to me. One man even called me stupid. I have since discovered that he is a serial pest and should be ignored. Still, he pissed me off.

I can’t wait til I can get in bed with my pyjamas on and watch dvd’s. I have a little stockpile of films reserved for when I’m feeling ill, though they’re always too highbrow for me when I’m not well, and I end up watching stuff like ‘Shrek’ or (for the millionth time) ‘Peep Show’. Actually, the ‘Peep Show’ dvd isn’t even mine, I borrowed it from Legend ages ago. I really should return it, not least so I can justify borrowing series 2. Incidentally, despite living in a shared house, I still haven’t fully utilised my housemates cd and dvd collections, which I really should do, as they have pretty good taste (and I am rapidly running out of music). Maybe that’s a plan for the evening.

Other things I have to do tonight (‘have to’ is perhaps not right, but my lemsip addled brain can’t be arsed to think of the right word):
- cook a large pot of food (probably chana masala as it’s cheap and simple, plus I’m sure curry is good for a cold, or something like that)
- do some washing as amazingly, I am running out of clothes, or at least, I’m running out of clothes I actually like
- buy some milk so I don’t have to steal my housemates every time I want a cup of tea (I hope they don’t read this- it’s only been a few cups, honest!)
- try and sort out my new phone, as I got it nearly a week ago now and I still don’t know how to even switch it on and I have to use the old one
- fill in job applications so I don’t have to stay in this horrible job for the rest of my life
- laugh to myself about the really good reference I just got for my masters
- obsessively check my phone every ten seconds to see if a certain someone has called.

There’s other stuff I should probably do as well, actually, but it’s all sensible stuff like cleaning my room, retrieving my ash tray (it fell off my window ledge and is lying in the garden… it’s probably been nicked by now actually), calling my mum, etc etc.
Pretty fucking amazingly, I have actually been able to write quite a lot. The two possible options are that I am either feeling okay (unlikely as I feel like I’ve been trampled by bulls) or I am desperately trying to pass the time until home time. I wonder which.

I have a horrible cold

If I didn't feel really grim, I would write more about my weekend. As it is, I don't feel tremendously well and I am stuffed full of lemsip. I want to have a nap under my desk. But I can't, so I will have to write more later and try not to make everyone else ill.

To be honest, the office is like the Marie Celeste today as about a third of the staff are off. Looks like HN51 has finally come and got us. And there was me thinking I would be immune to mutant flu.

Hee hee, look what just came through on the email:

Dear all,

I ordered lunches from M&S for a whole-day meeting which is taking place in the Boardroom today. These were delivered earlier than expected and was left unattended in the breakout area on the second floor for a short time before I was able to collect them to put in a safe place until I was ready to lay these out.

When I eventually collected the lunches, I was extremely surprised to find that someone had the audacity to open one of the sandwich platters and helped themselves to a sandwich or two. This is not only rude but it's also called stealing.

I hope this will alert you that in future when your order lunches there are people around who will help themselves without permission.


It's official. I work with thieves.

Why does everyone keep biting me?

I just wanted to ask the question: why do I keep being bitten? As if it's not bad enough that I'm always being bitten by insects, people like biting me too. Which I think is quite funny, as I'm always being told that I have very soft skin. Why would anyone want to hurt me?! C always tries to bite me, and once left proper teeth imprints on my back. I didn't realise until my housemate pointed it out.

Oh- on the plus side, there is a photo of my neck on Friday night in existence. I'm trying to get hold of it and I will post it up here. I vaguely remember seeing it on Friday and thinking how gross it was. As I'm such a caring individual, I will let you all see it. I wouldn't want you to go without, now, would I?

My normal monday rambles

My god, that was a bit of a fucked up weekend, which I suppose is how I like it. I left work right after writing my last post about the thick Irish sausages (incidentally, no one believes me when I tell them about it. I’ve started taking the letter to the smoking room with me as it’s become something of a legend) and took the bus over to LSE for a friends leaving drinks. It was really cool as there were lots of people I hadn’t seen in ages. I couldn’t stay for long as I’d promised S that I would come round to hers before going to Camden. Still, it was nice to chat with people, especially the ones I hadn’t seen in a long time. It turns out the guy I kissed last weekend had been reading my blog and he- fairly inexplicably- said sorry to me. Not for reading it, though, I'm not really sure why.

At S’s, we attempted to drink the wine in the bar but it was so empty and soulless that we couldn’t face it, so we went upstairs. In the end, we sat in the common room, where a bunch of first years were playing computer games (on a Friday night!!). Our other friend SH was there, and she very kindly went to find us a corkscrew, as we hadn’t really thought of that- though she tried to convince us she’d taken the cork out with her teeth. I’m pretty gullible and so nearly believed her. In the end we managed to convince another girl to come out with us, and we headed to Camden.

We took the bus as I’m a cheapo and don’t live buying tickets for things when I could just get on a bendy bus and not pay. There were some fucking morons on the bus- these boys aged about 18 or so, who thought they were amazing. They were really geeky and probably liked wanky guitar music and games like warhammer. They laughed a bit like this: “snarf, snarf”

We went to the Wetherspoons I always end up going to when I go to Camden, and then on to the Barfly. At first glances, I couldn’t see any pretty indie boys, just lots of really pretentious boys with asymmetrical fringes. S made me go up to a boy at the bar and find out his name, as we suspected he was the drummer in Bloc Party (it was him, but I made a bit of a fool of myself). I wasn’t really that into the whole thing to begin with, but gradually I started enjoying myself a bit more. I had an argument with a stupid Austrian boy, who said something to his friend (in German) along the lines of “why are you talking to this stupid girl?” His friend told him that I was really nice and spoke good German, but he carried on being an arsehole so I called him a war criminal and a fascist (which, to be fair, is a fairly good description of many Austrian politicians, so I thought it would do for him). I pointed out a boy that I like to S, who went up to him and did the whole “my mate fancies you” thing. He was very cute. I don’t remember his name and S is convinced he was Jewish because of his hair (though she thinks everyone is Jewish, she has a bit of fetish for it). He came over and we chatted while listening to the band. Then the Bloc Party boy got up on stage and started dj’ing, which was so cool. He played a mix of Banquet and the Pussycat Dolls “Don’cha” (which I find a hilarious song after me, K and T once practiced pole dancing too in an attempt to woo the guy in my office- needless to say, I never actually showed him my pole dancing skills as I didn’t have THAT much of a desire to make an arse of myself). Anyway, it was just the coolest thing. My beautiful Jewish boy went off and I didn’t think he’d come back, but he did and we kissed. I’ve never kissed anyone like that before. It was like being in Sarajevo, it was so violent. He bit my neck so hard it was bleeding. I’m not actually joking. Even today you can still see the teeth marks. I look like Dracula’s illegitimate love child.

S kissed the boy from Bloc Party. Afterwards, he said, “Can I tell you something?”

“No,” she said. “I know what you’re going to say!”

“No you ddon’t, how can you?”

“I just do. Say it anyway if you like!”

“Okay,” he said. “Did you know you’re the first ethnic girl I’ve ever kissed?”

“I knew you were going to say that!”

I managed to lose all my friends and the beautiful boy came with me to find them, but I figured they’d left. The boy wanted to come back with me but I didn’t want to be eaten alive so I did a runner. That kinda sums me up though. I meet a very very cute boy, kiss him, do pretty dirty things with him on the dance floor (how teenage), let him BITE ME and then the moment I think he likes me, I do a runner.

I found the others in a noodle bar halfway down Camden High Street and we started walking back to halls. S was so pissed, and told me that she didn’t want me to stay round hers, which was a bit annoying as I’d planned to stay and really couldn’t face the long trek to south London. We got back and I went to get my stuff from S’s room. When I came downstairs, me and S started kissing again, and that delayed me for a good half hour or so. I think S is pretty much like me: she gets drunk and kisses people. I like kissing S, especially as she doesn’t bite me. She was ridiculously drunk, which is always quite funny. In the end, SH and I left and walked down to Oxford Street. She very kindly offered to let me stay at hers, but by this point I just wanted to go home. SH is convinced that I’m selling myself short (she may well be right) and told me so. She’s so adorable.

I had a date on Saturday night with C, the short Irish guy. I managed to be so disorganised that I didn’t have time to have a shower. My housemate and I came to the realisation that there was no way I was going to be able to disguise the vampire marks on my neck, even wearing a rollneck top. I was fashionably late, though luckily C was even more late. We met in Brixton, as he had a surprise planned for me. We ended up going to the theatre, which was really cool, as it was nothing like the theatre. Here’s a link to the company’s website:

http://www.shunt.co.uk/

The audience gets split up, so I wasn’t with C for most of the performance. My group was all girls, and we all bonded, as girls do. There was the most beautiful girl there, and we kept looking at each other in a kind of lustful-but-I’m-on-a-date-with-someone-else kind of way. Afterwards, C and I had a drink with two of the girls from my group, and I took one of the girls email address. C offered to cook me dinner, so we went back to his. His housemate has loads of really nice red wine, so we (I lie, it was mainly me) drank lots of it. I didn’t’ plan to stay the night, but I did, in the end, as I was a bit too drunk and we’d got talking about emotional kind of stuff. I quite like sleeping at his house anyway, as he has the best pillows in the world (John Lewis, £40, if anyone feels like being generous to an impoverished lamb!), and I was exausted anyway, having only had 4 hours sleep the night before.

Last night, I went out to this free night being held near Warren Street. I'd been texting R, someone I knew from uni, since Friday when I'd seen him for the first time in ages. We arranged to meet in Covent Garden, and went for some drinks. It was very strange- in a good way. He seemed quite spangled, having been in the pub all day, so when he kissed me, I didn't think anything would come of it. Not that anything really did come of it- if that makes sense. We went over to Warren Street (though we didn't make particularly good time, as we kept stopping to grope each other), and met the friends I'd arranged to meet. Obviously I was no lady, and we went back to mine (after a blow job on the tube, which I THINK no one saw...). I really let lust get the better of me- but I'm glad I did. I know that he would shag literally anything, but I really enjoyed myself, and even if I knew that all the things he was saying (eg. "I really like you", "You're really beautiful") were a crock of shit, it was nice to hear them.

This morning we woke up and had some excellent sex, as I'd told work I'd be in later. He left about midday (he said he'd call- we'll see) and I left a little later as I had to go to physiotherapy. My friend at work asked me how I felt about all the people I've slept with over the last week, and to be honest, I don't really know. Obviously, with G it's easy, as we know each other really well, and I know for sure that he's fairly useless. I did go out with him for a year, after all. C is more tricky, as I think he likes me more than I like him. And R, well, who knows. I'm pretty sure I just got played (not that I mind!), but you never know.

The same friend and I just had a really unintentioanlly loud conversation about oral sex in the smoking room, which I'm pretty sure the whole corridor heard. She told me the worst chat up line she'd ever had was: "Would you like to go to the bathroom with me?" Out of context it sounds so wrong; in context it still sounds pretty terrible.

Right now I'm in my old university library, which is a very odd experience. I had a suitably frustrating time trying to find any of the books I was looking for, and have only managed to find one. Better than none I suppose though. Now all I need to do is read it!!

This is the kind of stuff I have to deal with every day!!

This is an example of the types of letters I receive at work:

To whom it may concern,

Why do you not say thick Muslim sausages, or thick English, or thick black, or any other racist remarks, but it’s ok to do so about the Irish.

How quality is that? Now I’m off down the pub.

Monkey see monkey do

As I was leaving work, I got a message from someone questioning why I write my blog, and pointing out that anyone reading it will think I’m at best, quite flakey, and at worst, a complete fuck up, and that I’d better hope to hell that no one I fancy ever reads it. Apparently it’s not what I do, it’s that I write it all for the world to read.

My initial reaction was “fuck off”.

Then I thought, “Blimey, life must be so much more complicated if you have some semblance of dignity!”

Then I thought, “hmmm, hang on a sec…. Complete strangers thinking I’m a weirdo does not bode well.”

The more I thought about it, the clearer it seemed that I do actually take a perverse pleasure out of putting myself in this sort of situation. The only explanation I could think of was that I was quite an angry person. To be honest, anyone could have told me that. I was walking to Elephant wearing a hoodie, for god’s sake, listening to some angry music and thinking about kicking things (the ankle situation means I can’t actually do anything about it- though I did accidentally kick G in the head when I was fixing my lampshade!!). Because I was in such a foul mood, I managed to convince myself that I had anger management issues, when in reality, I’d say I’m a pretty normal person. I reasoned that “fuck off” was not the normal response to every situation, and I shouldn’t be so defensive. Added to that, I have really fucked up my ankle from kicking a door, which is probably not a good sign. I also managed to convince myself that I didn’t have any friends and that no one liked me.

However, later on I completely changed my mind. I spoke to some of my friends about it and they said that I wasn’t an angry person, and that they loved me. My housemate pointed out that being annoyed at someone for what they’ve said doesn’t mean that you have anger problems. ‘Anger issues’ are when you start shouting at random strangers in the street. Fair point.

I nearly cried in ballet last night. Having been to physio that morning, and with a bandage round my ankle, I thought that I would be fine. Within about three seconds, I realised that I wasn’t. I was wearing some really skanky old shoes (they’re horrifically dirty, with holes, and the elastics are almost falling off… serves me right for doing such a rush job of it, with black thread, at that!) so my bandaged foot would fit in the shoe. Actually, I prefer those shoes as they have a full sole and so work my metatarsals more than my split sole shoes (though not as much as the hard shoes, obviously). I’m never buying split soled shoes again. Yes, they make the arch of your foot look nice (essential for my flat feet!) but your foot gets really lazy. Anyway, mine don’t fit very nicely and sometimes it feels like I have a plastic bag on my foot, rather than a shoe.

Back to what I was saying. Warming up, I did some echappées, which wasn’t very clever as I then got a shooting pain through my ankle. Even barre work was painful, tendues were a killer and pliés. In the centre, I tried to do pirouettes, but my ankle gave way and I fell off my relevé (I’m sure this makes no sense to non-dancers!!). As I landed I heard a loud CRUNCH going through my ankle, and I had to hobble off to the side. What’s more worrying is that as well as having pain in my anterior ligament, I now have it in other parts of my ankle. I’m not really all that hot on anatomy, but it feels more like a skeletal pain than a muscular one, on the top of my foot- though not on the inside, it’s more on the outer half. Anyway, it’s bloody painful and I can’t do my theraband exercises. I’ve been trying to walk lots but I think the whole thing will seize up soon and I will be a proper cripple.

I said that I nearly cried in class- not just because it fucking hurt, but because I was so miserable that I won’t be able to dance properly for ages. This has been going on for so long. I wouldn’t mind not being able to walk (I am, after all, quite a lazy person!) but if I can’t dance, I will go mad. That’s nuts, as it’s not like I’m very good. I’m just crazy about it!! I’m going to have to start taking much more care of my ankle if I ever want to get back to dancing properly, instead of hobbling around the studio.

I don’t know how I’m finding the time to write this blog today. There’s only me in the office at the moment and I’m rushing around like a Tasmanian devil, answering four different phones, using two computers and writing snippets of this blog whenever I get a second. Thank god I can type fast! I’m also talking to myself, but I do that even when there are other people in the office, though I try and do it a bit more quietly.

I think I have given up on the idea of going to watch the rugby tomorrow. I don’t really like rugby all that much. I think I might try and do something cultural tomorrow during the day, like go to an art gallery or something. Having said that, I’m going to the theatre in the evening, so I shouldn’t expose myself to too much culture- my head might explode!

Sex with an Ex

Regular readers will have noticed that my mood has been quite up and down lately. On Monday I cried for about two hours, though not for any reason that I can really pinpoint- other than still being a bit fucked up about the end of my last relationship.

So anyway, on Tuesday, I cheered myself up the way I know best: get really, really steaming drunk and have sex. As I mentioned in my last post, G was coming to stay. We went out for nearly a year, back in 2002. We haven’t really kept in touch, but then when I was out with a friend in Camden a few months or two ago, we decided to call him. Since then we’ve been texting each other quite a lot, but we hadn’t really had a chance to meet up as he works as an air steward (or ‘cabin crew’, as they’re now apparently known as).

I met G after work and we walked down to the Elephant to get the train. It was quite funny, as I’d been a bit worried that we might run out of things to say to each other, but we didn’t. In fact we were chattering away pretty much non-stop. Back at the Mansions, I cracked open the Zubrowka. Recently I’ve been seriously contemplating whether I might in fact have a drinking problem. I knocked back a couple of drinks (G drank a lot slower). He charmed my housemate, and then we went to drink in my room so we could smoke. It was lots of fun, just chatting away and drinking. There were so many things to talk about- there’s no point me writing any of it here as only the people from back home would know what on earth I was talking about.

G told me about ‘The Game’ (some sort of pulling technique that is apparently almost completely foolproof). I’d read a little about it, though not the actual book. G, of course, has read it. Apparently, the aim is to strike up a conversation- and then turn it round to sex. So, for example, you start talking to a girl and you ask her something like whether she thinks having sex with your cousin is right. She’ll say no. Then you say, kinda jokingly, “You’re not very adventurous!” She should then say something like, “yes I am, this one time….” blah blah blah. Personally I can’t see it working, but then again I always had a higher opinion of my intelligence than is really justified. I’m quite a sucker really, so no doubt in the real world (rather than in my opinionated state of mind while sat at my desk and not really facing any reality).

After quite a few vodkas, we went to get some food at the Mexican restaurant round the corner from mine. I’d heard from quite a few people that it was really good, but I’d never been. It’s known either as “the Mexican place under the railway bridge”, or “don’t siesta, come fiesta”, which is the big sign they have hanging up. It’s actually called Bandidos or something, but I will continue to call it “don’t siesta”. The food there was pretty good, and the cocktails are lovely. For the two of us, with drinks, was about £20, which is reasonable, even though it’s not very central or anything. In contrast, the Spanish place I went to with my mum was £25, without drinks. I reckon Don’t Siesta would be really fun with a big group of people, even though they were playing really dodgy Hindi-pop.

We went back to mine to drink more Zubrowka. We went through some of my old photo albums, and laughed at the pictures of G looking really mashed, and of loads of random nights out and so on.

At about 1 am, we were lying on my bed, smoking yet more cigarettes, and G leant in to kiss me.

“Woah!” I said, needing to clarify something. “I hope you don’t think that your whole ‘game’ thing is working on me!”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

“Good… so why are you kissing me?”

“I’ve not kissed you yet, stupid.”

“Yes, I know. But I just wanted to clarify that it’s not ‘the game’.”

“It’s not. It’s just something we both want to do.”

It was very nice to kiss him, very soft and just so more-ish. Not to mention nostalgic. He took off his tshirt and I was pleased to see that he’s no longer as skinny as he used to be.

I’m not very good at writing about sex. I’d clearly never be able to write pornography. Suffice to say, the sex was excellent. I’d not had sex in that bed before (and I’ve lived there for nearly four months!) but my housemate, who used to have that room, told me that the bed is really squeaky. And sure enough, when I was on top, it started squeaking away. I was worried that it might wake up the house (though my housemate once told me that if she heard the bed making that noise, she’d know what was going on and would just be pleased I was getting some action- pretty considerate, really), and I was also worried I would start laughing. A change of position stopped the squeaking, anyway, so problem solved. The other amusing thing that happened was that I realised that we'd been lying on my mobile, and it had rung girl S. It said 3 mins on the display, and I was hoping that that meant voicemail, and she hadn't just been listening to us. Either way, I know that some pretty hardcore stuff had been said in that three minutes, so I was hoping she didn't listen to the message. I rang her the next day and it turns out she hadn't (or didn't admit to it anyway). I apologised profusely. I'm sure (actually, I know for a fact) that people have heard me shagging before, but I've never accidentally called anyone before. I'm normally so good at locking the key pad. Clearly I got a bit too carried away!!

We had sex a few times in pretty rapid succession, and then decided we should probably get some sleep, it being quite late at this point.

I fell asleep really quickly, but poor G couldn’t get to sleep as he’s still jet lagged, and had a splitting headache. He asked me whether I had any paracetamol, but because I was asleep, I said no. I have a very long history of talking in my sleep, and can understand enough to always say no if someone is asking me for something. Pretty bad, really, as I had a box of paracetamol at the end of the bed. I’d forgotten to switch my alarm clock off, so at 7 am there was an almighty racket. I didn’t hear it, but I’m very good at sleeping through my alarm clock, hence why I have three alarm clocks (thankfully, only one of them went off- however, it’s a digital one, and goes off six times at ten minute intervals). G tried to wake me up to get me to switch if off, but I tried to switch the wrong one off- one of the ones I hadn’t set. He wasn’t particularly impressed with me. Once all the alarms were off, we went back to sleep, hugging each other, with him stroking my hair.

In the morning- well, midday- I was woken up by one of my housemates and her friend. I stumbled out of the room and they laughed at me. I called work to tell them I was sorry for not coming in, but that it really wasn’t an option, and then in a vague attempt to make myself feel like a human being, I brushed my teeth and had a wash. My housemate was teaching her friend a dance (they’re both dancers), so I watched them for a while. Then I went back to bed, and had more really hot sex.

We decided to get some food as we were both feeling pretty rough, though getting out of bed was difficult as G wouldn’t stop grabbing me and touching me (I wasn’t really complaining). Eventually though, we did get up and have some lunch, and then G left to go and meet a friend. I went home to get my hat (essential item of clothing when you’re out and about, I’ve found, especially as my hat has a little visor that I can pull down over my eyes) and sunglasses. I was feeling quite rough and needed all the protection from the world that I could get. I walked up to Brixton and sorted out some bits and bobs- paid the gas bill, went to Tesco. I felt really rough in Tesco’s and had to have a bit of a sit down. Damn hangover. Back home, my room was freezing as I was trying to air it (it stank of cigarettes, not very pleasant), and I had a five-minute power nap under my duvet. I woke up when my housemate called to tell me to look out of the window. There was a tramp going through our bins, and we shouted at him to stop. He claimed he was just recycling, but my housemate got her credit card cloned the other day, so we’re understandably a little sceptical about his claims of environmentalism!

I was still feeling rough as a dog, so I made a big vegetable stew. I could almost feel the vitamins and minerals fixing me! I watched a really weird programme about breast-feeding. There was a woman who breast-fed her daughter until she was nearly eight. That is so fucked up. I can understand doing it for a year or so, but by then babies should be getting some solid food too. When I have kids, the cut off point is going to be when they grow teeth. The only time I want my nipples bitten is when I say so, thanks! The weirdest thing was that the woman said her husband sometimes joined in. He looked so smug about it, and said that it was “quite common in breast feeding families”. Yuk. I’d rather be a single mother than have a weirdo husband who thought he was a baby. Actually, recently I’ve been thinking quite a lot about having a baby. I think it would be quite cool (pregnancy and childbirth aside- I think I should just adopt). I could carry it around in a sling and get people to coo over how cute it was. That’s quite a bizarre daydream to have, isn’t it- “I would like to be a single mother”. I’m a bit odd.

I texted G, telling him that I’d had fun etc. We’d left it with just a kiss and a goodbye, and that’s cool with me. Mainly. There’s a part of me, though, that wants to be loved and have someone to stroke my hair when I’m falling asleep, who I can have hot sex with. I don’t know. I always think that I would like to have someone like that, but the moment someone likes me, I run a mile. Not that there are people queuing round the block to get a bit of me. But theoretically, I would run away. That’s so counter productive. Anyway, G texted me back fairly sharpish, saying that he’d had fun too and hoped to see me soon and so on, so that’s quite… nice? I don’t know, what is it? Ah, it’s good. Of course it is.

I was meant to up early this morning, but I couldn’t get to sleep all that easily. I felt like I’d been electrocuted when I woke up (of course, it took all three alarm clocks!).

I’m sure I’ve already described why I have to go to physiotherapy (the whole kicking a door and tearing a ligament). Today was my first appointment. The physiotherapist said that I had managed to tear a ligament on the inside of my ankle, which is much harder to do than on the outside, and said I must have a strong kick! She gave me some theraband exercises and I'm going back on Monday when I'll get deep tissue massage and ultrasound treatment- which sounds quite cool. She also picked up on something else: I have very flat feet and the toes on my right foot really grip into the floor, especially when I'm trying to balance (usually fairly unsuccessfully). So we're going to work on that too. On the plus side, she said I had very nice feet and that they were very flexible and strong- so it's not all bad!

That’s pretty much me up to date. Work is boring today though I mustered up a slight laugh during the press meeting. There are only two of us in the office today, which is a bit of a pain, as I can’t go for as many cigarette breaks as I would like.

Just a few minutes ago, I got a text from my ex (not G, the other one). He’s going travelling to India and Thailand in a couple of weeks and says he wants to meet up before he goes. I don’t know why. Last time I saw him he told me that I was a mess and that he didn’t want to see me until 2007. Having said that, I had just thrown him out of my house for being rude to me, and he probably wanted revenge. I’m unsure of what to do. I will ponder it over lunch.

Actually, that’s a lie. What I’ll do over lunch is read the new copy of F1 Racing. Boys are stupid. Cars are good. Nice bit of philosophy there!!