... and I thought it was amusing. Enjoy
Also, I've put pictures of my birthday on facebook now so enjoy those as well.
Friday, April 28, 2006
I found this...
... and I thought it was amusing. Enjoy
Also, I've put pictures of my birthday on facebook now so enjoy those as well.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
My new plan
As an experiment to pass the time and otherwise amuse myself, I have decided to only wash my hair with soap and not brush it for a week. It now hasn't been brushed since Tuesday morning, and I last used shampoo yesterday. So far it feels a bit like straw.
Can you hear the sound of a barrel being scraped when it comes to making my work a little more interesting?
Can you hear the sound of a barrel being scraped when it comes to making my work a little more interesting?
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
I'm telling you, I'm bored, I'm dangerously bored
Hello world… I’m bored so I thought I’d write another entry. I don’t feel like doing any work. Every time I pick up the phone I end up getting more pissed off, as it seems like everyone I speak to is a moron. I just spoke to a guy who, at the end of the conversation, didn’t put the phone down properly, so I just heard him tell his friend (or family or whatever) that I was a silly cow who was talking out of my arse. Wow, thanks, dude. Would you like to take the last of my self-esteem while you’re at it?
Anyway, yet again, everyone else has gone home and I am in the world’s bleakest office by myself. I have just noticed that we have a giant calculator and a lamp in a cardboard box in the middle of the room. Scarily, I have no idea how long that’s been there.
I have been trying to make more of an effort to be nice, but just now I was sitting listening to my friends (seemingly endless) dating drama and I couldn’t even bring myself to listen. I feel like a terrible person, but I just can’t even feign an interest in it. And the worst thing was that afterwards, she thanked me. She thanked me. For what? Listening, I suppose. My purported ‘pearls of wisdom’. I wanted to run after her and shake her by the shoulders and say sorry, but instead I made some lame noise and sat down at my desk and stared vacantly at wikipedia for a while.
On the other hand, I do actually do nice things for people. I always look after sick people. Even when they’re vomiting or bleeding or whatever. I’m a proper Florence Nightingale. Or something. It’s hard though. I try to be as nice as I possibly can but it’s like the world conspires against me (that is a very typically me sentiment- blame the rest of the world but not myself) and sometimes I’m just awful. Even when I say things that I think are mature, and aren’t the sort of things I came out with at 16, I look back even five minutes later and I just think…. god, you dick. I’m not quite as cringingly awful as when I was 16 (for one, I’m not a communist, feminist, animal-rights-protesting, stoner A level student). Sometimes I think it would be good to have a time machine, just so I could go back in time and give myself a slap. I’d probably make my 16-year-old self brush her hair and I certainly wouldn’t have taken that Ritalin that night.
One thing that I do find quite perversely funny is that when I was 16 I spent a week protesting outside Gap, with placards and everything, even going so far as going up to shoppers and begging them not to shop there (because shoppers really ARE going to listen to jumped up teenagers with too much eyeliner and Oxfam clothes). Then when I was 19 I worked at Gap for five months.
If I was me I would hate me.
Anyway, yet again, everyone else has gone home and I am in the world’s bleakest office by myself. I have just noticed that we have a giant calculator and a lamp in a cardboard box in the middle of the room. Scarily, I have no idea how long that’s been there.
I have been trying to make more of an effort to be nice, but just now I was sitting listening to my friends (seemingly endless) dating drama and I couldn’t even bring myself to listen. I feel like a terrible person, but I just can’t even feign an interest in it. And the worst thing was that afterwards, she thanked me. She thanked me. For what? Listening, I suppose. My purported ‘pearls of wisdom’. I wanted to run after her and shake her by the shoulders and say sorry, but instead I made some lame noise and sat down at my desk and stared vacantly at wikipedia for a while.
On the other hand, I do actually do nice things for people. I always look after sick people. Even when they’re vomiting or bleeding or whatever. I’m a proper Florence Nightingale. Or something. It’s hard though. I try to be as nice as I possibly can but it’s like the world conspires against me (that is a very typically me sentiment- blame the rest of the world but not myself) and sometimes I’m just awful. Even when I say things that I think are mature, and aren’t the sort of things I came out with at 16, I look back even five minutes later and I just think…. god, you dick. I’m not quite as cringingly awful as when I was 16 (for one, I’m not a communist, feminist, animal-rights-protesting, stoner A level student). Sometimes I think it would be good to have a time machine, just so I could go back in time and give myself a slap. I’d probably make my 16-year-old self brush her hair and I certainly wouldn’t have taken that Ritalin that night.
One thing that I do find quite perversely funny is that when I was 16 I spent a week protesting outside Gap, with placards and everything, even going so far as going up to shoppers and begging them not to shop there (because shoppers really ARE going to listen to jumped up teenagers with too much eyeliner and Oxfam clothes). Then when I was 19 I worked at Gap for five months.
If I was me I would hate me.
I know a girl who remind me of Cher, she's always changing the colour of her hair
Last night I dismantled my wardrobe and put all my clothes in a suitcase and some bin bags, and have put them in the cupboard in the hallway. I changed my bedclothes and put as many of my belongings under my bed as possible. I was going to give up halfway through but amazingly, I didn’t (progress). Now my room looks nothing like ‘my’ room. But it does look very spacious. Why have I done this? When we get a new housemate, they will have my room, and I will have #3’s room, which is much larger. So my room has to look nice to entice a future housemate. But it made me think: why do I have all these belongings? Do I really need them? Maybe I should put all my clothes on ebay.
The phones are broken again in the office, so we have some peace and quiet. It’s a hell of a lot better than yesterday, when some stupid bint called up about thirty times and called me a slut.
I’ve really hurt my hip. I’ve been trying not to moan about it but it’s actually very painful. It didn’t hurt first thing this morning, but I’d only got into the next road before it started to really hurt, and by the time I got to work, it was pretty uncomfortable. Looks like it’s another trip back to the King’s College Hospital physiotherapy department for me then…
#1 and I were discussing how although our lives are not great (as in, we’re poor and have shit job prospects), at least we are not 17 any more. This whole line of thought was sparked off by some texts from my youngest brother, who’s split up with his girlfriend. Poor poppet. I can’t think of anything worse than being 17 again. Actually, I was trying to figure out whether being 17 was worse than being 16. Now that really was a shit age. Absolutely nothing good happened. So I suppose the only thing I can say to my brother is that it does actually get better (this tends to coincide with leaving home = freedom), and that 17 year old girls are stupid anyway (I know I certainly was). I’m sure he’s really appreciative of those words of wisdom. You’d think with my infinite wisdom and life experiences, I’d have something more insightful to say. I bet you all wish that you had me as a big sister.
Hmph. There’s nothing worse than not being able to help people. It keeps happening to me. I really want to be helpful but apart from making stupid jokes and generally being inept, I’m not really achieving my goal. For example, just now, my friend cried in the smoking room and I just held her hand and sat in silence.
This entry sounds really miserable but I’ve only just started feeling like that. I was actually quite perky earlier. Maybe my delicious lunch will cheer me up (some ryvita, as part of my I’m-22-now-and-need-to-stop-being-so-fat plan). Or maybe not. On the plus side, a friend bought me a bag of Konditor and Cook truffles for my birthday, so I might just screw the diet and eat chocolate all evening.
The phones are broken again in the office, so we have some peace and quiet. It’s a hell of a lot better than yesterday, when some stupid bint called up about thirty times and called me a slut.
I’ve really hurt my hip. I’ve been trying not to moan about it but it’s actually very painful. It didn’t hurt first thing this morning, but I’d only got into the next road before it started to really hurt, and by the time I got to work, it was pretty uncomfortable. Looks like it’s another trip back to the King’s College Hospital physiotherapy department for me then…
#1 and I were discussing how although our lives are not great (as in, we’re poor and have shit job prospects), at least we are not 17 any more. This whole line of thought was sparked off by some texts from my youngest brother, who’s split up with his girlfriend. Poor poppet. I can’t think of anything worse than being 17 again. Actually, I was trying to figure out whether being 17 was worse than being 16. Now that really was a shit age. Absolutely nothing good happened. So I suppose the only thing I can say to my brother is that it does actually get better (this tends to coincide with leaving home = freedom), and that 17 year old girls are stupid anyway (I know I certainly was). I’m sure he’s really appreciative of those words of wisdom. You’d think with my infinite wisdom and life experiences, I’d have something more insightful to say. I bet you all wish that you had me as a big sister.
Hmph. There’s nothing worse than not being able to help people. It keeps happening to me. I really want to be helpful but apart from making stupid jokes and generally being inept, I’m not really achieving my goal. For example, just now, my friend cried in the smoking room and I just held her hand and sat in silence.
This entry sounds really miserable but I’ve only just started feeling like that. I was actually quite perky earlier. Maybe my delicious lunch will cheer me up (some ryvita, as part of my I’m-22-now-and-need-to-stop-being-so-fat plan). Or maybe not. On the plus side, a friend bought me a bag of Konditor and Cook truffles for my birthday, so I might just screw the diet and eat chocolate all evening.
Monday, April 24, 2006
line of the day : a self help book written in braille
Oh god. The week has got off to an awful start. I want to go home and hide under a duvet and never ever come out. I really don’t need people being so fucking horrible to me. I know it is quite clearly my job for people to hurl abuse at me (that’s not me being masochistic or melodramatic, it is actually my job) but I am, for one, not in the mood, as I am feeling a bit thin-skinned, and for another thing, I am not being paid enough to feel like this. This job seriously makes me depressed. Just crossing the road to get to the office makes me feel anxious and slightly sick.
I haven’t really told that to anyone before. I don’t know what’s brought on this revelatory mood. Enjoy, anyway. It probably makes a change from the made up bullshit I often feel inclined to write on here.
So Friday was my birthday drinks and I got shit faced. I blame C and her “let’s just have another quick bottle of wine” when we were sitting by the river. We drank overpriced wine in the freezing cold and then I started a couple of arguments about shrews and Freud. Apparently I am a bad person for saying that shrews are like rats, but in my eyes they’re all nasty rodents anyway, and an animal that has a massive coronary attack in shock at the sight of a human has no right to dictate what it gets compared to anyway. I shouldn’t have started the fight about psychiatry though. It wasn’t very tactful, seeing as R’s parents are/were psychiatrists, and what with the whole being dead thing… yes, I am tactless. I forget that just because I am the crazy one, people don’t always appreciate large sections of science being castigated for my amusement. Anyway, that’s all gone tits up anyway. I didn’t go to my hospital appointment and was a rubbish friend to R this weekend. I think my contribution was to drunkenly slur “Mick? What kind of name is that anyway?” though I don’t have too clear a memory of that so god only knows. Whatever. I probably deserve to be shot in the head.
For those that were there on Friday night, you will have seen me in the godawful state I got myself into. For those that (wisely, in retrospect) stayed away, a brief synopsis of the evening is as follows: I got drunk, I cried… blah blah blah. Again, whatever. S tells me that I wasn’t a horrible drunk and that everyone thought I was funny and stuff, but I can’t help feel consumed with loathing for myself. I am fairly sure that all these lovely people who are, as of fairly recently, my friends, now think that I am a complete loser. And people who have known me for years now hate me. So I guess I’m onto a winner. Thinking about Friday is making me miserable. I suppose there were some good things. Before I got hideously drunk, I had a good time and I took some photos, which will be fun to look at when they’re developed. I was so hungry (thanks to only eating a cup-a-soup during the day) that I dragged A to Burger King and demanded the most vegetarian thing on the menu (which, for those who are interested, is not the bean burger, but the vege burger), but it’s okay because I was sick later on, so total burger count for the evening was zero. As it should be (unless it’s from Red Veg, in which case that’s totally different).
Hmm, so I was taken home by N who let me lie on his lap all the way home before I passed out in bed. In the morning I felt seriously fucking dreadful, like I had been steamrollered. Wolf and I used to have this dream where we would one day live in some decrepit old house and run people over with steam rollers. I think we plagiarised it directly from “Ripley’s Game” or some other such film. I don’t know why I just wrote that. Now I sound like I fantasise about murder. I don’t really (sort of). Anyway, yeah, I felt dreadful, and it was only by drinking a couple of pints of water and going back to sleep that I felt that aliens had returned my soul to my - admittedly shattered - body. I went back to my own flat and sat in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, but then I burst out crying and was pretty inconsolable for an hour. I watched Midsomer Murders, which sorted me out a little, but then I saw some leaflet from MSF which made me cry even more and temporarily reconsider my decision not to study medicine. I spent a lot of the day thinking about death and generally being very morbid, which no doubt did absolutely bugger all to improve my mood.
Eventually, however, I managed to sort myself out enough to stop crying and I even put some laundry on. I ate some Special K and felt a lot better. I wanted to hang out with #1 but she wasn’t there, and that was a bit sad. I had a torch-lit shower as the light in the bathroom is fucked and we’re all a bit too pathetic and can’t fix it. It was just like when I had a shower at the deserted flat, though slightly better as I didn’t keep checking behind me for ghosts (people know that I am gullible and tell me things like this… it’s not nice). One thing that was successful this weekend was that I finally changed the light bulb in my bedroom. It broke (or whatever the phrase is) about three months ago and I have been avoiding doing it ever since as I hate hate hate stepladders. But yesterday I thought “get a grip, you” and I changed the light bulb. It actually wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be but I still went and told #1 to get some congratulations. She duly obliged. I only felt vaguely retarded. I told her that I was scared about someone new coming to live with us. I’m terrified. What if they don’t like me? I am rubbish at meeting new people. Maybe they will like me for a bit and then decide they hate me. If I wasn’t so socially inept I would probably be excited about getting a new housemate. But no.
Yesterday I went to an exhibition at Kensington Olympia, all about dance. It was really cool. There wasn’t a lot of ballet related stuff, although quite a few of the shoe makers had stalls. I tried on a new pair of ballet shoes, but I didn’t really like them as I don’t think they make your feet work very hard. They do make the arch of your foot look great though, and at £6.95, they’re a lot cheaper than the last shoes I bought (I spent about £100 on shoes and other ballet stuff in one afternoon last year). Some of the stalls had cross sections of pointe shoes, which were very interesting. Most shoes are made out of paste and board, but there are some new shoes that are made out of plastic. I’ve heard very mixed reports on these, but I’d like to try them one day. Though they, too, make your feet very weak. I’d never seen a cross section of a shoe before- except in pictures- and it was weird to see what the hell was in the shoes. It’s such a crazy concept anyway, walking on your toes. I mean, yes, it looks good- an arabesque looks far better on pointe than not- but whoever thought it up must have been feeling particularly malevolent. Other than looking at the stalls, we saw some performances, which ranged from comically awful, to dull and lifeless, to very cute and “awww”, to inspiring. We also went to a lecture on complementary technique, which I thought was interesting but nothing was said that I didn’t know about already (thanks to having done most of them before, either as part of ballet training or music). The highlight of the day was an Egyptian belly dancing class, which was so much fun. I was probably not very good at it, but it was great, and I am contemplating going to a class. Having said that, I have decided I want to start doing contemporary dance again, so I will have to think about what I can actually find the time/money to do.
There are some other things that I want to write about here but I can’t. Despite me being in the mood to write frankly about things, it isn’t really fair that I extend that sentiment to other peoples business. Suffice to say, at the moment, that I disagree with the way some people are making other people feel. I hate it when people I care about are upset. I could write a hell of a lot more about this but at the moment I am not going to.
I guess it’s been a bit of a weird weekend. I have been very miserable, and the only thing that 100% made me happy was being with N. That’s not to say that other people don’t make me happy too- for example, S (of course- who looked after me when I was drunk and is honestly far too amazing to feel sad), A (who yet again was a voice of reason, although I am not convinced by his claims that I was ‘lovely’ on Friday), #1 (who is thankfully (on a purely selfish note) not moving to Newcastle)… But whenever I speak to anyone I am so worried that it’s all going to end in doom and fire and brimstone that I end up acting like a complete moron (for example, getting drunk and trying (and failing) to be funny or clever) that the only possible outcome tends to be that it WILL end in disaster. It’s only when I’m with N that I start feeling like maybe I’m okay and maybe this life of mine isn’t going down the pan (or to the dogs, for that matter). And I suppose that’s a good thing- it must be, if it makes me so happy, right? Though of course, heroin makes people happy too, and that’s not such a good thing. But it does mean that the rest of the day, when I can’t be with N thanks to formalities such as work and other such crap, I am near useless.
I’ve decided that I really don’t give a flying fuck that you all read this.
Oh yeah, and the grand prix this weekend was rubbish. Michael bloody Schumacher won, and the fat child came fourth. Unimpressive.
I haven’t really told that to anyone before. I don’t know what’s brought on this revelatory mood. Enjoy, anyway. It probably makes a change from the made up bullshit I often feel inclined to write on here.
So Friday was my birthday drinks and I got shit faced. I blame C and her “let’s just have another quick bottle of wine” when we were sitting by the river. We drank overpriced wine in the freezing cold and then I started a couple of arguments about shrews and Freud. Apparently I am a bad person for saying that shrews are like rats, but in my eyes they’re all nasty rodents anyway, and an animal that has a massive coronary attack in shock at the sight of a human has no right to dictate what it gets compared to anyway. I shouldn’t have started the fight about psychiatry though. It wasn’t very tactful, seeing as R’s parents are/were psychiatrists, and what with the whole being dead thing… yes, I am tactless. I forget that just because I am the crazy one, people don’t always appreciate large sections of science being castigated for my amusement. Anyway, that’s all gone tits up anyway. I didn’t go to my hospital appointment and was a rubbish friend to R this weekend. I think my contribution was to drunkenly slur “Mick? What kind of name is that anyway?” though I don’t have too clear a memory of that so god only knows. Whatever. I probably deserve to be shot in the head.
For those that were there on Friday night, you will have seen me in the godawful state I got myself into. For those that (wisely, in retrospect) stayed away, a brief synopsis of the evening is as follows: I got drunk, I cried… blah blah blah. Again, whatever. S tells me that I wasn’t a horrible drunk and that everyone thought I was funny and stuff, but I can’t help feel consumed with loathing for myself. I am fairly sure that all these lovely people who are, as of fairly recently, my friends, now think that I am a complete loser. And people who have known me for years now hate me. So I guess I’m onto a winner. Thinking about Friday is making me miserable. I suppose there were some good things. Before I got hideously drunk, I had a good time and I took some photos, which will be fun to look at when they’re developed. I was so hungry (thanks to only eating a cup-a-soup during the day) that I dragged A to Burger King and demanded the most vegetarian thing on the menu (which, for those who are interested, is not the bean burger, but the vege burger), but it’s okay because I was sick later on, so total burger count for the evening was zero. As it should be (unless it’s from Red Veg, in which case that’s totally different).
Hmm, so I was taken home by N who let me lie on his lap all the way home before I passed out in bed. In the morning I felt seriously fucking dreadful, like I had been steamrollered. Wolf and I used to have this dream where we would one day live in some decrepit old house and run people over with steam rollers. I think we plagiarised it directly from “Ripley’s Game” or some other such film. I don’t know why I just wrote that. Now I sound like I fantasise about murder. I don’t really (sort of). Anyway, yeah, I felt dreadful, and it was only by drinking a couple of pints of water and going back to sleep that I felt that aliens had returned my soul to my - admittedly shattered - body. I went back to my own flat and sat in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, but then I burst out crying and was pretty inconsolable for an hour. I watched Midsomer Murders, which sorted me out a little, but then I saw some leaflet from MSF which made me cry even more and temporarily reconsider my decision not to study medicine. I spent a lot of the day thinking about death and generally being very morbid, which no doubt did absolutely bugger all to improve my mood.
Eventually, however, I managed to sort myself out enough to stop crying and I even put some laundry on. I ate some Special K and felt a lot better. I wanted to hang out with #1 but she wasn’t there, and that was a bit sad. I had a torch-lit shower as the light in the bathroom is fucked and we’re all a bit too pathetic and can’t fix it. It was just like when I had a shower at the deserted flat, though slightly better as I didn’t keep checking behind me for ghosts (people know that I am gullible and tell me things like this… it’s not nice). One thing that was successful this weekend was that I finally changed the light bulb in my bedroom. It broke (or whatever the phrase is) about three months ago and I have been avoiding doing it ever since as I hate hate hate stepladders. But yesterday I thought “get a grip, you” and I changed the light bulb. It actually wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be but I still went and told #1 to get some congratulations. She duly obliged. I only felt vaguely retarded. I told her that I was scared about someone new coming to live with us. I’m terrified. What if they don’t like me? I am rubbish at meeting new people. Maybe they will like me for a bit and then decide they hate me. If I wasn’t so socially inept I would probably be excited about getting a new housemate. But no.
Yesterday I went to an exhibition at Kensington Olympia, all about dance. It was really cool. There wasn’t a lot of ballet related stuff, although quite a few of the shoe makers had stalls. I tried on a new pair of ballet shoes, but I didn’t really like them as I don’t think they make your feet work very hard. They do make the arch of your foot look great though, and at £6.95, they’re a lot cheaper than the last shoes I bought (I spent about £100 on shoes and other ballet stuff in one afternoon last year). Some of the stalls had cross sections of pointe shoes, which were very interesting. Most shoes are made out of paste and board, but there are some new shoes that are made out of plastic. I’ve heard very mixed reports on these, but I’d like to try them one day. Though they, too, make your feet very weak. I’d never seen a cross section of a shoe before- except in pictures- and it was weird to see what the hell was in the shoes. It’s such a crazy concept anyway, walking on your toes. I mean, yes, it looks good- an arabesque looks far better on pointe than not- but whoever thought it up must have been feeling particularly malevolent. Other than looking at the stalls, we saw some performances, which ranged from comically awful, to dull and lifeless, to very cute and “awww”, to inspiring. We also went to a lecture on complementary technique, which I thought was interesting but nothing was said that I didn’t know about already (thanks to having done most of them before, either as part of ballet training or music). The highlight of the day was an Egyptian belly dancing class, which was so much fun. I was probably not very good at it, but it was great, and I am contemplating going to a class. Having said that, I have decided I want to start doing contemporary dance again, so I will have to think about what I can actually find the time/money to do.
There are some other things that I want to write about here but I can’t. Despite me being in the mood to write frankly about things, it isn’t really fair that I extend that sentiment to other peoples business. Suffice to say, at the moment, that I disagree with the way some people are making other people feel. I hate it when people I care about are upset. I could write a hell of a lot more about this but at the moment I am not going to.
I guess it’s been a bit of a weird weekend. I have been very miserable, and the only thing that 100% made me happy was being with N. That’s not to say that other people don’t make me happy too- for example, S (of course- who looked after me when I was drunk and is honestly far too amazing to feel sad), A (who yet again was a voice of reason, although I am not convinced by his claims that I was ‘lovely’ on Friday), #1 (who is thankfully (on a purely selfish note) not moving to Newcastle)… But whenever I speak to anyone I am so worried that it’s all going to end in doom and fire and brimstone that I end up acting like a complete moron (for example, getting drunk and trying (and failing) to be funny or clever) that the only possible outcome tends to be that it WILL end in disaster. It’s only when I’m with N that I start feeling like maybe I’m okay and maybe this life of mine isn’t going down the pan (or to the dogs, for that matter). And I suppose that’s a good thing- it must be, if it makes me so happy, right? Though of course, heroin makes people happy too, and that’s not such a good thing. But it does mean that the rest of the day, when I can’t be with N thanks to formalities such as work and other such crap, I am near useless.
I’ve decided that I really don’t give a flying fuck that you all read this.
Oh yeah, and the grand prix this weekend was rubbish. Michael bloody Schumacher won, and the fat child came fourth. Unimpressive.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Young Hearts Meet at Art Noise Shows
As mentioned in my previous post, the phones are fucked. Always one step behind, the IT people have sent us the following email:
Hello everyone,
Due to a major telephone line fault we are experiencing only one - way communication, if you make a call the person at the other end cannot hear you.
This problem has been reported to BT, an engineer is on site and working to resolve it as quickly as possible.
Your patience is appreciated and we will keep you informed of developments.
Dudes. I could have told you this hours ago. I chose not to, obviously, because then it might get fixed and then I might have to do some work. And today is definitely not a day for working. Not only am I quite tired and a little bit blind in one eye thanks to a ruined contact lens but also I just joined LJ, which means hours and hours of future time wasting. Soon I will have joined every possible internet thing and I will never get anything done. But surely that is the best way to spend a day at work?
Anyway, I am well happy today. I love using the word ‘well’. I’m sure I used to say it in a non-ironic way back when I was 13 or so. Obviously, at the age I am now, everything I say is dripping in sarcasm. That’s not true. But ‘well’… it started with “I well love you” and now has taken over my speech patterns. I pick up other peoples speech patterns so easily, it’s really awful. I am such an accent whore. But I’ve noticed that other people do it too. For example, when I saw this guy I hadn’t seen in a couple of years just before New Year, he sounded pretty West Country, thanks to 3 years of living in Bristol. So I take heart in the knowledge that I am not the only one whose accent shifts like a sand dune, and that it is a curse inflicted on all of us middle class southerners.
Going back to what I was saying about being happy… Despite the fact that my hair is looking like a cross between my little brothers hair and a helmet, things are pretty fucking peachy. My mum called me on the way to work to tell me that she’d got a Merit in her Grade 3 Cello exam. I’m really proud of her. She only started playing the cello recently (can’t recall exactly when, but it was after she cut her finger off, which was half way through my 1st year at uni, so sometime in the last three or so years) and she’s doing really well, though she has started practicing in front of a mirror because she’s worried that she pulls silly faces when she plays. I love people’s facial expressions when they’re playing an instrument. I’m sure I look really stupid myself. I used to always play the violin standing on one leg, but I stopped that because it wasn’t conducive to actually playing properly. Now I find that I dig my toes into the floor, so it helps if I play barefoot. It’s just as well I’m not in an orchestra or anything. I’d look ridiculous.
I had a lovely birthday yesterday. At midnight exactly N brought me some chocolate cake with a candle in it. And no ordinary chocolate cake, I’ll have you know. It was bloody marvelous. It makes all other chocolate cakes pale into insignificance. And a candle in it. How sweet is that? Also at midnight, texts from S and cousin JS, and a little later, one from my brother, which was pretty cool (as a family, we’re pretty rubbish at remembering things like that- I’m thinking facebook may have been a contributing factor in helping him remember, but I’m happy to be proven wrong). In the morning I managed to be late for work, and while walking to the bus stop, eating a piece of toast with nutella (I fucking love that stuff… how did I not like it for years? What was wrong with me?), I got a call from SH, who’s in Abu Dhabi. I was very touched that she’d remembered my birthday.
Then I got to work and it was okay for a while. R and C sang happy birthday to me, and R gave me a card with a big lipstick kiss (much appreciated). I went over to the press office and everyone was very sweet and did the whole “aaaaah, you’re so young” thing, but were really nice about it. My mum rang me. Then it all started going downhill. I got bored. I got very melancholy. I moped around and complained a bit. I read a bit of my book and laughed so hard I nearly choked and got some very strange looks. Then I got more miserable. Just as I was feeling really rubbish, the woman I share an office with (there are 3 of us in the one room- me, her and a guy) came in with a cake with pink candles. R and C came along and we all had cake and juice and it was lovely. I even got a card from my directorate. I thought they’d forgotten about it but they had been really sly and everyone had signed the card without me knowing about it. Well, I suppose they were either sly or I was dopey. I’ll go with the latter, on second thoughts. It was very sweet anyway, and made me cheer up.
After work (which degenerated after that, as the others went home and I was left by myself to do all the work… grr) I met N, who’d bought me a beautiful bunch of flowers and some chocolates and that made me smile a lot. I’d missed him all day, but I didn’t realize quite how much until I saw him. We went to eat at Tas, which was very nice. I’ve been to the café before, but not the restaurant, and very nice it was too. So that made me very happy. Just spending time with N is amazing. I don’t really know what to write because I know he’ll read this and I’ve said all of it to him before. Also, it has come to my attention that his flat mate has been reading this too, despite the fact I’ve never met him. Now I am worried about meeting him. People tend to think that I’m weird if they’ve read this. Not that people who don’t know me properly don’t think I’m strange… but that’s slightly different. In a way. I guess. I mean, look at JA. He used to read this and he said mean things about me. Now I don’t think he thinks I am quite as fucked up as all that (unless he is very good at acting, in which case he should amend his CV to say so and take off the rugby related fabrications). I think what I’m trying to say is that this journal probably isn’t a true reflection of me. I am far less neurotic than this in real life. I’d like to think I am slightly less self-obsessed as well. Please take into consideration that I write this in a very strange environment (ie, at work). I sometimes forget that other people read this, and get reminded when people leave comments pointing out just how lame I am. I know this. You don’t need to tell me. Seriously. Which I suppose poses the question: why on earth do I write this anyway, and why do I choose to ignore the fact that other people read this, and when they call and say “how are you?” they already know- to some degree- how I am. In a way it is a little disheartening to know that not only am I incapable of having original thoughts (I am, after all, a historian and therefore a plagiarist), but also I am incapable of even articulating these thoughts first, before my cyber self has shared them with the world. That said, I’m not going to stop writing this. I do, in some strange twisted way, find it quite flattering that people would spend even five seconds reading about my life. Even if it is just to laugh at me. I honestly do appreciate the fact that people care enough to be bothered, perhaps because for so long I was convinced no one ever would. I have the most lovely people in the world who genuinely care about me, and that’s fucking amazing. I won’t stop writing this because I am bad at keeping in touch and maybe this way people can see, if they so wish, what I have been up to. I also enjoy reading other peoples journals, and that is another reason why I won’t stop writing this. Finally, it’s my journal. If people think that I’m a self-obsessed emo kid on the basis of it, well, fine. Or not fine. I don’t know.
Going back to the description of my birthday, a lovely time was had by all. Nighty Night was shown on tv and I laughed so hard and tried to speak while laughing but failed miserably because I sounded like a buffoon. We listened to the lovely Little Wings and fell asleep. I love N and I love how happy he made me on my birthday and every day.
I just had to go back to my flat to get some new contact lenses, which took an hour and a half. What a pain in the arse. I did see some interesting things from my vantage point on the bus, however, such as a man with the largest shoes ever, a woman with tits the size of beach balls (seriously) and a very pretty Chinese girl… and then, crossing the road back to the office, N appeared!! It scared the life out of me as I was listening to my mp3 player and he came running at me. It was very cool to see him although I was a bit spaced out thanks to an hour and a half on the bus. Still, it’s good to get a hug and a kiss in the middle of the day!
A very good development in the world of lamb is that #1 is cool with me again. She called today to say happy birthday and we’re going on a ‘date’ tomorrow (ie spending quality time with each other doing something quasi-cultural). I’m so glad things are okay again. It had been making me upset and I am sure people were getting sick of me moaning about it and probably thought I should shut up.
Anyway, it is my birthday drinks tonight so hopefully a fun time will be had by all. My grandpa has sent me a tenner for my birthday (“don’t spend it all at once!”) so I’m quids in, quite literally.
Hello everyone,
Due to a major telephone line fault we are experiencing only one - way communication, if you make a call the person at the other end cannot hear you.
This problem has been reported to BT, an engineer is on site and working to resolve it as quickly as possible.
Your patience is appreciated and we will keep you informed of developments.
Dudes. I could have told you this hours ago. I chose not to, obviously, because then it might get fixed and then I might have to do some work. And today is definitely not a day for working. Not only am I quite tired and a little bit blind in one eye thanks to a ruined contact lens but also I just joined LJ, which means hours and hours of future time wasting. Soon I will have joined every possible internet thing and I will never get anything done. But surely that is the best way to spend a day at work?
Anyway, I am well happy today. I love using the word ‘well’. I’m sure I used to say it in a non-ironic way back when I was 13 or so. Obviously, at the age I am now, everything I say is dripping in sarcasm. That’s not true. But ‘well’… it started with “I well love you” and now has taken over my speech patterns. I pick up other peoples speech patterns so easily, it’s really awful. I am such an accent whore. But I’ve noticed that other people do it too. For example, when I saw this guy I hadn’t seen in a couple of years just before New Year, he sounded pretty West Country, thanks to 3 years of living in Bristol. So I take heart in the knowledge that I am not the only one whose accent shifts like a sand dune, and that it is a curse inflicted on all of us middle class southerners.
Going back to what I was saying about being happy… Despite the fact that my hair is looking like a cross between my little brothers hair and a helmet, things are pretty fucking peachy. My mum called me on the way to work to tell me that she’d got a Merit in her Grade 3 Cello exam. I’m really proud of her. She only started playing the cello recently (can’t recall exactly when, but it was after she cut her finger off, which was half way through my 1st year at uni, so sometime in the last three or so years) and she’s doing really well, though she has started practicing in front of a mirror because she’s worried that she pulls silly faces when she plays. I love people’s facial expressions when they’re playing an instrument. I’m sure I look really stupid myself. I used to always play the violin standing on one leg, but I stopped that because it wasn’t conducive to actually playing properly. Now I find that I dig my toes into the floor, so it helps if I play barefoot. It’s just as well I’m not in an orchestra or anything. I’d look ridiculous.
I had a lovely birthday yesterday. At midnight exactly N brought me some chocolate cake with a candle in it. And no ordinary chocolate cake, I’ll have you know. It was bloody marvelous. It makes all other chocolate cakes pale into insignificance. And a candle in it. How sweet is that? Also at midnight, texts from S and cousin JS, and a little later, one from my brother, which was pretty cool (as a family, we’re pretty rubbish at remembering things like that- I’m thinking facebook may have been a contributing factor in helping him remember, but I’m happy to be proven wrong). In the morning I managed to be late for work, and while walking to the bus stop, eating a piece of toast with nutella (I fucking love that stuff… how did I not like it for years? What was wrong with me?), I got a call from SH, who’s in Abu Dhabi. I was very touched that she’d remembered my birthday.
Then I got to work and it was okay for a while. R and C sang happy birthday to me, and R gave me a card with a big lipstick kiss (much appreciated). I went over to the press office and everyone was very sweet and did the whole “aaaaah, you’re so young” thing, but were really nice about it. My mum rang me. Then it all started going downhill. I got bored. I got very melancholy. I moped around and complained a bit. I read a bit of my book and laughed so hard I nearly choked and got some very strange looks. Then I got more miserable. Just as I was feeling really rubbish, the woman I share an office with (there are 3 of us in the one room- me, her and a guy) came in with a cake with pink candles. R and C came along and we all had cake and juice and it was lovely. I even got a card from my directorate. I thought they’d forgotten about it but they had been really sly and everyone had signed the card without me knowing about it. Well, I suppose they were either sly or I was dopey. I’ll go with the latter, on second thoughts. It was very sweet anyway, and made me cheer up.
After work (which degenerated after that, as the others went home and I was left by myself to do all the work… grr) I met N, who’d bought me a beautiful bunch of flowers and some chocolates and that made me smile a lot. I’d missed him all day, but I didn’t realize quite how much until I saw him. We went to eat at Tas, which was very nice. I’ve been to the café before, but not the restaurant, and very nice it was too. So that made me very happy. Just spending time with N is amazing. I don’t really know what to write because I know he’ll read this and I’ve said all of it to him before. Also, it has come to my attention that his flat mate has been reading this too, despite the fact I’ve never met him. Now I am worried about meeting him. People tend to think that I’m weird if they’ve read this. Not that people who don’t know me properly don’t think I’m strange… but that’s slightly different. In a way. I guess. I mean, look at JA. He used to read this and he said mean things about me. Now I don’t think he thinks I am quite as fucked up as all that (unless he is very good at acting, in which case he should amend his CV to say so and take off the rugby related fabrications). I think what I’m trying to say is that this journal probably isn’t a true reflection of me. I am far less neurotic than this in real life. I’d like to think I am slightly less self-obsessed as well. Please take into consideration that I write this in a very strange environment (ie, at work). I sometimes forget that other people read this, and get reminded when people leave comments pointing out just how lame I am. I know this. You don’t need to tell me. Seriously. Which I suppose poses the question: why on earth do I write this anyway, and why do I choose to ignore the fact that other people read this, and when they call and say “how are you?” they already know- to some degree- how I am. In a way it is a little disheartening to know that not only am I incapable of having original thoughts (I am, after all, a historian and therefore a plagiarist), but also I am incapable of even articulating these thoughts first, before my cyber self has shared them with the world. That said, I’m not going to stop writing this. I do, in some strange twisted way, find it quite flattering that people would spend even five seconds reading about my life. Even if it is just to laugh at me. I honestly do appreciate the fact that people care enough to be bothered, perhaps because for so long I was convinced no one ever would. I have the most lovely people in the world who genuinely care about me, and that’s fucking amazing. I won’t stop writing this because I am bad at keeping in touch and maybe this way people can see, if they so wish, what I have been up to. I also enjoy reading other peoples journals, and that is another reason why I won’t stop writing this. Finally, it’s my journal. If people think that I’m a self-obsessed emo kid on the basis of it, well, fine. Or not fine. I don’t know.
Going back to the description of my birthday, a lovely time was had by all. Nighty Night was shown on tv and I laughed so hard and tried to speak while laughing but failed miserably because I sounded like a buffoon. We listened to the lovely Little Wings and fell asleep. I love N and I love how happy he made me on my birthday and every day.
I just had to go back to my flat to get some new contact lenses, which took an hour and a half. What a pain in the arse. I did see some interesting things from my vantage point on the bus, however, such as a man with the largest shoes ever, a woman with tits the size of beach balls (seriously) and a very pretty Chinese girl… and then, crossing the road back to the office, N appeared!! It scared the life out of me as I was listening to my mp3 player and he came running at me. It was very cool to see him although I was a bit spaced out thanks to an hour and a half on the bus. Still, it’s good to get a hug and a kiss in the middle of the day!
A very good development in the world of lamb is that #1 is cool with me again. She called today to say happy birthday and we’re going on a ‘date’ tomorrow (ie spending quality time with each other doing something quasi-cultural). I’m so glad things are okay again. It had been making me upset and I am sure people were getting sick of me moaning about it and probably thought I should shut up.
Anyway, it is my birthday drinks tonight so hopefully a fun time will be had by all. My grandpa has sent me a tenner for my birthday (“don’t spend it all at once!”) so I’m quids in, quite literally.
The simple things that make me oh-so-happy!
I got in to work an hour late today (I got up at 8.15 but then sat down (fatal flaw) and fell asleep and woke up at 9.45), only to find that the phones are broken and no one can hear us. This is so cool!! No work... all day... Apparently there is an engineer on site but we can't call him (obviously) and anyway, things always take hours to be fixed. I love the public sector! I think I might go for a cigarette. Maybe go and have a nap.
I will write more later, but very quickly, I had a fabulous birthday except now I am going a little blind. Get in!
I will write more later, but very quickly, I had a fabulous birthday except now I am going a little blind. Get in!
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Oh ma godd, it wasn't a dream...
By the time I’d been back at work for an hour, I was already really bored. And kicking myself that I didn’t bring any of my Easter eggs to work. A nice piece of chocolate would have gone down a treat right now. Anything to pass the time really.
Anyway, it was Easter break, which meant four days off work. My mum wanted me to go up to hers on Thursday night but I went on Saturday afternoon instead. I really didn’t want to go. Waking up on Saturday with the sun pouring in the window, I just wanted to stay in bed and hug N lots. On Friday night we went out and drank lots of red wine and I was a silly drunk. It was fun (very very fun actually, with lovely people) until I became too silly and then I cried. Damn wine. I’m not a good drunk.
Anyway, on Saturday morning everything was just so perfect that I didn’t want to leave, and I could have quite happily not gone to my parent’s house and faced her wrath… well, not quite. She can be quite fierce. So I went back to mine and packed a bag and then went to get the train. Of course it was bank holiday and they were doing engineering works, so what should have been quite a simple journey became far more complex than I would have liked and I didn’t get to my parent’s house until quite late. My dad showed me around all the new barns and asked me lots of questions about what I’d been up to, but I couldn’t really think of anything to say. In the end my mum told him that I didn’t want to tell him what I’d been doing, and that he wouldn’t understand what I do with my free time. That quite suited me. I went to bed quite early simply because I was absolutely freezing, and slept in a tiny ball with my head under the duvet.
On Sunday morning I woke up reasonably early and pottered around for a while. It was a nice day so I took some pictures of the house and the barns because I didn’t have any photos of the barn before. My mum and me left after lunch and set out for the countryside (even more countryside than where we were already). It took about two hours or so to get to the other side of Suffolk, where we went to see my little brother. He was on a music course that I used to go on when I was his age. I hated it so much but both my brothers enjoyed it. We had a cup of tea and my brother introduced me to his friends while my mum chatted to the guy in charge of the course, who I dislike immensely. Apparently he had to leave the school where he was teaching because he got done for sexual discrimination (I always said he was a pervert). He asked what I was doing now, and I told him I was working in London (to which he replied: “yes, like everybody else”, which I thought was a bit bloody rude seeing as he didn’t ask what I was working as or anything).
We said goodbye to my brother and drove to the youth hostel where we were staying. I’ve never stayed in a youth hostel before, but my mum has stayed there loads of times. The man in charge was this super keen hostelling enthusiast, who recognised my mum and chatted away about which hostel was better than which other hostel and other fascinating things like that. I wandered off to see the place, and was instantly struck by the other people staying there. For a start, the word “youth” (as in “youth hostel”) is completely misleading, as most of the people were quite old. Indeed, there were two cycling groups, all over the age of 50. Now, I have nothing against old people… but I don’t like seeing 60-year-old men in cycling shorts. It wasn’t pleasant.
We had supper at the hostel and then drove to Aldeburgh to see the sea. It was dark but it looked amazing- so many shades of blue. We walked for a bit along the high street and looked in all the shop windows. It was nothing like London, which I suppose shouldn’t have come as too much of a shock, but it just seemed so (and I hate this word, it’s just the only thing I could come up with) quaint. I suppose it’s nice to get out of the city, and certainly the colours in the fields were beautiful (spring is always the best time to see the country). It’s just not really for me.
We had a drink in a pub before heading back to the hostel, where I wished I had a cigarette with me. As we were sharing a room with four others, I put my pyjamas on (so as not to disturb anyone later on- why I was so considerate I don’t know, given the events of the night) and went to the TV room. I spoke to N for a while and then curled up on a sofa and read a magazine. I noticed that I’d trodden on a drawing pin several hours before, and had to pull it out of the sole of my foot, which was both an unsettling and vaguely interesting experience. I contemplated sleeping on the sofa, as I was pretty comfortable, but decided I would get too cold, and went back to the room when I got too sleepy. Inside the room it was pitch black and I had difficulty seeing where the ladder for the bunk bed was (yes, bunk bed… the first time I’ve slept on one of those in a very long time) so I had to sort of catapult myself at the bed and scramble up, hoping that I wouldn’t inadvertently kick the woman below.
There began a very long night. Just as I had settled down (which was no mean feat in itself as I am not used to sleeping in a single bed (or indeed by myself anymore) and especially not one up a ladder), someone started snoring. At first it was quite funny. Then someone else joined in. then another. Including the woman below me, which meant the entire bed frame was reverberating with the snores. Even with the duvet over my head, I could still hear it, and it took me two hours to fall asleep.
In the morning one of the snorers clearly decided that she hadn’t been quite annoying enough during the night, and she got up an hour before everyone else and rustled her plastic bag for a good 45 minutes, as well as opening and shutting the (squeaky) door several hundred times (or so it felt like anyway). If I hadn’t have been so tired, I would have sat up and said something, but instead I waited until breakfast time to give evil looks to all and sundry. Then I had a very long shower (the shower at my parents house is nowhere near passable as washing devices go- you hardly get wet at all- so the hostel shower was a relative luxury… I bet that’s something that isn’t said all that often, especially as the quality design of the thing flooded the entire bathroom).
We drove to Snape Maltings, which was only a couple of miles from the hostel. It used to be some sort of beer making factory type thing (hence “maltings”) but there is now a concert hall and some shops (handmade furniture and the like), as well as some rather interesting sculptures. My mum said something about the place being bought by Benjamin Britten, which I don’t know is true, but sounds plausible. When I was on the music course that my brother just went on (so, five years ago) they took us in a mini-bus to Benjamin Britten’s house, where we looked around and supposedly gained inspiration. I don’t recall having any epiphanies or owt, but I do recall the guide pointing out a sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace and saying that that was where Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears used to sit, which of course made us snigger. Ah, the simple things that amuse the immature minds of sixteen year olds.
After a look around, and some prime photo opportunities, we went on to Leiston, where my brother’s course was being held. Now, Leiston is a horrible town, famous only for its high level of heroin abuse. The course is held at Leiston Abbey, a mile or so outside the town. It’s a proper old abbey, with a couple of new buildings so that the musicians have somewhere to sleep, practice, perform, and all that. The concert was being held in a renovated barn, which I absolutely hate because it is as cold as a crypt. Anyway, we saw my brother play (Debussy and Ravel- the Ravel was better but he played very well in both) and some other pieces as well. Some of them were rubbish and I don’t know what they were doing on the course, but others were very good. It was very odd being back at Leiston after all this time. There was a big fuss when I was there because a bottle of whiskey was found in the grounds of the abbey, and I was blamed for it, along with cigarette ends and some roaches. I denied it, of course, not least because they weren’t roaches, they were filters for rollies. My mum asked me whether the alcohol was actually mine, and I told that of course it was, but I was hardly likely to admit it then (being sixteen at the time, and not allowed to drink by either the law or the rules of the music course). To be honest, it wasn’t solely mine, but I didn’t want to get the only two friends I had there in trouble.
Anyway, a complete digression… After the concert, my mum and I drove to Aldeburgh again where we walked along the sea in the blazing sunshine and had an ice cream at a proper old school ice cream parlour. We saw a queue for fish and chips that snaked down the road. It must have been a good half hour wait to get to the front.
We went back to Leiston to see the end of the second concert. Only it was raining, so I stayed in the car, planning to read a bit of my book and wait for the rain to subside, but I fell asleep and woke up once the concert had ended (and the rain had stopped). I blame the snoring the night before. Once we’d got my brother and all his belongings, we set off for home. He was pretty tired and I don’t know how happy he was. He looked a lot thinner than he did at Christmas, and I wondered whether he was stressed about his exams. He fell asleep in the back of the car, though he woke up when we stopped at a Little Chef to drink pots of tea and eat garlic mayonnaise. There, he proceeded to tell me that he didn’t like my hair and that I should alternate my shampoo. I told him I only used baby shampoo and he suggested that I used L’Oreal but not Pantene. How he has picked up this sort of valuable information, I don’t know, but I am considering installing him in my house.
On the way back to my parent’s I played ROADKILL, a fun-for-all-the-family kinda game, where you count how many dead animals you pass. Here’s my final tally:
Deer - 3
Duck - 2
Rabbit - 7
Pigeon – 5
Hare - 1
Crow - 3
Badger - 1
Indiscriminate rat type weaselly thing - 3
I was a bit rubbish at the game because I couldn’t tell what the different animals were and my mum had to keep telling me. At one point I nearly mistook a plastic bag for a bird. Clearly I am a proper city girl. My mum wasn’t really helping by pointing out live animals (along the lines of: “Look, a cow!” “Yes mum, it’s in a field, even I can see that”), though we did pass some pig farms, which were pretty cool if only for the piglets running around.
Anyhow, we got back and drank some more tea, and then I went to get the train back to London. The journey was pretty uneventful apart from a couple of things. My little brother hugged me so tight it hurt my neck. At Kings Cross I noticed that there was a man asleep on the train, so I went to wake him up, as the train was going to go back in the direction it had come from and that would be a pretty rubbish thing to wake up to. I tapped him on the shoulder, and then didn’t know what to say. What do you say? In the end I said “excuse me” but I thought it sounded lame so I tried “hello” and “wake up” as well. He woke up and told me that I was an angel, to which I didn’t know what to respond and scuttled off. Going through the gates at the tube station my suitcase toppled over and no one helped me- in fact one man nearly kicked my bag. Unimpressed. I had to take a very long route back to Elephant thanks to some cock up on the tube, but finally got back there and took a bus, where a girl was asleep and her two friends were holding her up so nicely.
The best bit of the whole journey was getting back to Peckham and hugging N. I was so so tired and after a cup of tea all I wanted to do was sleep, but then I kept smiling and laughing because I was glad to be back. This morning I laughed even more because it was gloriously sunny and N dropped the alarm under the bed and it didn’t even matter (although normally the alarm would have been intensely annoying) because of the sun and having N next to me, and only having four more days before the weekend and two days before my birthday.
Speaking of my birthday, I am having drinks on Friday night but I don’t know where. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know, as I am pretty clueless when it comes to these sorts of things. Yay for the last few days of being 21!!
Anyway, it was Easter break, which meant four days off work. My mum wanted me to go up to hers on Thursday night but I went on Saturday afternoon instead. I really didn’t want to go. Waking up on Saturday with the sun pouring in the window, I just wanted to stay in bed and hug N lots. On Friday night we went out and drank lots of red wine and I was a silly drunk. It was fun (very very fun actually, with lovely people) until I became too silly and then I cried. Damn wine. I’m not a good drunk.
Anyway, on Saturday morning everything was just so perfect that I didn’t want to leave, and I could have quite happily not gone to my parent’s house and faced her wrath… well, not quite. She can be quite fierce. So I went back to mine and packed a bag and then went to get the train. Of course it was bank holiday and they were doing engineering works, so what should have been quite a simple journey became far more complex than I would have liked and I didn’t get to my parent’s house until quite late. My dad showed me around all the new barns and asked me lots of questions about what I’d been up to, but I couldn’t really think of anything to say. In the end my mum told him that I didn’t want to tell him what I’d been doing, and that he wouldn’t understand what I do with my free time. That quite suited me. I went to bed quite early simply because I was absolutely freezing, and slept in a tiny ball with my head under the duvet.
On Sunday morning I woke up reasonably early and pottered around for a while. It was a nice day so I took some pictures of the house and the barns because I didn’t have any photos of the barn before. My mum and me left after lunch and set out for the countryside (even more countryside than where we were already). It took about two hours or so to get to the other side of Suffolk, where we went to see my little brother. He was on a music course that I used to go on when I was his age. I hated it so much but both my brothers enjoyed it. We had a cup of tea and my brother introduced me to his friends while my mum chatted to the guy in charge of the course, who I dislike immensely. Apparently he had to leave the school where he was teaching because he got done for sexual discrimination (I always said he was a pervert). He asked what I was doing now, and I told him I was working in London (to which he replied: “yes, like everybody else”, which I thought was a bit bloody rude seeing as he didn’t ask what I was working as or anything).
We said goodbye to my brother and drove to the youth hostel where we were staying. I’ve never stayed in a youth hostel before, but my mum has stayed there loads of times. The man in charge was this super keen hostelling enthusiast, who recognised my mum and chatted away about which hostel was better than which other hostel and other fascinating things like that. I wandered off to see the place, and was instantly struck by the other people staying there. For a start, the word “youth” (as in “youth hostel”) is completely misleading, as most of the people were quite old. Indeed, there were two cycling groups, all over the age of 50. Now, I have nothing against old people… but I don’t like seeing 60-year-old men in cycling shorts. It wasn’t pleasant.
We had supper at the hostel and then drove to Aldeburgh to see the sea. It was dark but it looked amazing- so many shades of blue. We walked for a bit along the high street and looked in all the shop windows. It was nothing like London, which I suppose shouldn’t have come as too much of a shock, but it just seemed so (and I hate this word, it’s just the only thing I could come up with) quaint. I suppose it’s nice to get out of the city, and certainly the colours in the fields were beautiful (spring is always the best time to see the country). It’s just not really for me.
We had a drink in a pub before heading back to the hostel, where I wished I had a cigarette with me. As we were sharing a room with four others, I put my pyjamas on (so as not to disturb anyone later on- why I was so considerate I don’t know, given the events of the night) and went to the TV room. I spoke to N for a while and then curled up on a sofa and read a magazine. I noticed that I’d trodden on a drawing pin several hours before, and had to pull it out of the sole of my foot, which was both an unsettling and vaguely interesting experience. I contemplated sleeping on the sofa, as I was pretty comfortable, but decided I would get too cold, and went back to the room when I got too sleepy. Inside the room it was pitch black and I had difficulty seeing where the ladder for the bunk bed was (yes, bunk bed… the first time I’ve slept on one of those in a very long time) so I had to sort of catapult myself at the bed and scramble up, hoping that I wouldn’t inadvertently kick the woman below.
There began a very long night. Just as I had settled down (which was no mean feat in itself as I am not used to sleeping in a single bed (or indeed by myself anymore) and especially not one up a ladder), someone started snoring. At first it was quite funny. Then someone else joined in. then another. Including the woman below me, which meant the entire bed frame was reverberating with the snores. Even with the duvet over my head, I could still hear it, and it took me two hours to fall asleep.
In the morning one of the snorers clearly decided that she hadn’t been quite annoying enough during the night, and she got up an hour before everyone else and rustled her plastic bag for a good 45 minutes, as well as opening and shutting the (squeaky) door several hundred times (or so it felt like anyway). If I hadn’t have been so tired, I would have sat up and said something, but instead I waited until breakfast time to give evil looks to all and sundry. Then I had a very long shower (the shower at my parents house is nowhere near passable as washing devices go- you hardly get wet at all- so the hostel shower was a relative luxury… I bet that’s something that isn’t said all that often, especially as the quality design of the thing flooded the entire bathroom).
We drove to Snape Maltings, which was only a couple of miles from the hostel. It used to be some sort of beer making factory type thing (hence “maltings”) but there is now a concert hall and some shops (handmade furniture and the like), as well as some rather interesting sculptures. My mum said something about the place being bought by Benjamin Britten, which I don’t know is true, but sounds plausible. When I was on the music course that my brother just went on (so, five years ago) they took us in a mini-bus to Benjamin Britten’s house, where we looked around and supposedly gained inspiration. I don’t recall having any epiphanies or owt, but I do recall the guide pointing out a sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace and saying that that was where Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears used to sit, which of course made us snigger. Ah, the simple things that amuse the immature minds of sixteen year olds.
After a look around, and some prime photo opportunities, we went on to Leiston, where my brother’s course was being held. Now, Leiston is a horrible town, famous only for its high level of heroin abuse. The course is held at Leiston Abbey, a mile or so outside the town. It’s a proper old abbey, with a couple of new buildings so that the musicians have somewhere to sleep, practice, perform, and all that. The concert was being held in a renovated barn, which I absolutely hate because it is as cold as a crypt. Anyway, we saw my brother play (Debussy and Ravel- the Ravel was better but he played very well in both) and some other pieces as well. Some of them were rubbish and I don’t know what they were doing on the course, but others were very good. It was very odd being back at Leiston after all this time. There was a big fuss when I was there because a bottle of whiskey was found in the grounds of the abbey, and I was blamed for it, along with cigarette ends and some roaches. I denied it, of course, not least because they weren’t roaches, they were filters for rollies. My mum asked me whether the alcohol was actually mine, and I told that of course it was, but I was hardly likely to admit it then (being sixteen at the time, and not allowed to drink by either the law or the rules of the music course). To be honest, it wasn’t solely mine, but I didn’t want to get the only two friends I had there in trouble.
Anyway, a complete digression… After the concert, my mum and I drove to Aldeburgh again where we walked along the sea in the blazing sunshine and had an ice cream at a proper old school ice cream parlour. We saw a queue for fish and chips that snaked down the road. It must have been a good half hour wait to get to the front.
We went back to Leiston to see the end of the second concert. Only it was raining, so I stayed in the car, planning to read a bit of my book and wait for the rain to subside, but I fell asleep and woke up once the concert had ended (and the rain had stopped). I blame the snoring the night before. Once we’d got my brother and all his belongings, we set off for home. He was pretty tired and I don’t know how happy he was. He looked a lot thinner than he did at Christmas, and I wondered whether he was stressed about his exams. He fell asleep in the back of the car, though he woke up when we stopped at a Little Chef to drink pots of tea and eat garlic mayonnaise. There, he proceeded to tell me that he didn’t like my hair and that I should alternate my shampoo. I told him I only used baby shampoo and he suggested that I used L’Oreal but not Pantene. How he has picked up this sort of valuable information, I don’t know, but I am considering installing him in my house.
On the way back to my parent’s I played ROADKILL, a fun-for-all-the-family kinda game, where you count how many dead animals you pass. Here’s my final tally:
Deer - 3
Duck - 2
Rabbit - 7
Pigeon – 5
Hare - 1
Crow - 3
Badger - 1
Indiscriminate rat type weaselly thing - 3
I was a bit rubbish at the game because I couldn’t tell what the different animals were and my mum had to keep telling me. At one point I nearly mistook a plastic bag for a bird. Clearly I am a proper city girl. My mum wasn’t really helping by pointing out live animals (along the lines of: “Look, a cow!” “Yes mum, it’s in a field, even I can see that”), though we did pass some pig farms, which were pretty cool if only for the piglets running around.
Anyhow, we got back and drank some more tea, and then I went to get the train back to London. The journey was pretty uneventful apart from a couple of things. My little brother hugged me so tight it hurt my neck. At Kings Cross I noticed that there was a man asleep on the train, so I went to wake him up, as the train was going to go back in the direction it had come from and that would be a pretty rubbish thing to wake up to. I tapped him on the shoulder, and then didn’t know what to say. What do you say? In the end I said “excuse me” but I thought it sounded lame so I tried “hello” and “wake up” as well. He woke up and told me that I was an angel, to which I didn’t know what to respond and scuttled off. Going through the gates at the tube station my suitcase toppled over and no one helped me- in fact one man nearly kicked my bag. Unimpressed. I had to take a very long route back to Elephant thanks to some cock up on the tube, but finally got back there and took a bus, where a girl was asleep and her two friends were holding her up so nicely.
The best bit of the whole journey was getting back to Peckham and hugging N. I was so so tired and after a cup of tea all I wanted to do was sleep, but then I kept smiling and laughing because I was glad to be back. This morning I laughed even more because it was gloriously sunny and N dropped the alarm under the bed and it didn’t even matter (although normally the alarm would have been intensely annoying) because of the sun and having N next to me, and only having four more days before the weekend and two days before my birthday.
Speaking of my birthday, I am having drinks on Friday night but I don’t know where. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know, as I am pretty clueless when it comes to these sorts of things. Yay for the last few days of being 21!!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
all is full of love
Without wanting to boast or anything, I am extremely excited today because N is now officially my boyfriend!! I am happier than I have ever been and I have been wandering around the office with a big dopey smile on my face. Words cannot really explain how I’m feeling right now. If I had a camera with me I would take a picture and post it on here, but I worry that people might retch on their keyboards. It is quite a cheesy smile.
Today is going so slowly because the only thing I can think of is being in N’s arms.
It’s my friends last day and we had some drinks and food and stuff in the boardroom. Thankfully he declined to give a massive speech (like one leaving party I went to, which bored the life out of me- it went on so long that I managed to drink a bottle of wine and then I wandered around being mildly offensive to all and sundry). There’s nothing like a glass of cava at midday. Now I’m feeling quite sleepy because of that one drink. Plus, it’s fucking boring here today.
On the downside, I had a weird phone call with #1 earlier on, who said that someone had left the gas on on the hob, and did I know anything about it. I pointed out that I was last at the flat on Tuesday for about an hour and a half and that I wouldn’t leave the gas on anyway. Do I look like a ditsy blonde? No, that’s the other housemates. I told her about N and she told me I should come home (even though she’s going to Newcastle tonight). I think she is annoyed with me. I really don’t want her to be. If she leaves that flat- which is a very real possibility what with her applying for jobs in Newcastle- then I will move out. It would be too rubbish without her.
So last night I was sick at a bus stop. Pure class. Some work people went out for some drinks at the Porter and I was a bit of a gobshite. Still, it’s nice to see people from work when not at work, and it was for the guy who’s leaving, to say bye and everything. We used to all go out every Friday but that kind of trailed off when T left. T was there last night and came out with some classics (such as: “I really like plane crashes. Obviously I prefer it when it’s a near miss because I’m human after all”) though nothing quite in the league of the brussell sprout joke the other month, when I seriously thought I would die laughing. Anyway, N came along and everyone loved him. Of course! I was very happy and when he looked at me I wanted to clap my hands and do silly things. The others stayed out til about 3am and look really rough today, but we went back to Peckham. I had to get off the bus a few stops early so I could throw up at the bus stop. Which I thought was pretty gross but N must really love me because it was after that that he told me he wanted me to be his girlfriend. Then I didn’t care that I’d been sick by the side of the road in the style of an asbo’d youth because I was so happy. So me and N are officially going out now, which is exciting and very cool and makes me grin like an idiot.
Me = totally and utterly irrevocably smitten. There's no way I could express in words how I feel inside.
Today is going so slowly because the only thing I can think of is being in N’s arms.
It’s my friends last day and we had some drinks and food and stuff in the boardroom. Thankfully he declined to give a massive speech (like one leaving party I went to, which bored the life out of me- it went on so long that I managed to drink a bottle of wine and then I wandered around being mildly offensive to all and sundry). There’s nothing like a glass of cava at midday. Now I’m feeling quite sleepy because of that one drink. Plus, it’s fucking boring here today.
On the downside, I had a weird phone call with #1 earlier on, who said that someone had left the gas on on the hob, and did I know anything about it. I pointed out that I was last at the flat on Tuesday for about an hour and a half and that I wouldn’t leave the gas on anyway. Do I look like a ditsy blonde? No, that’s the other housemates. I told her about N and she told me I should come home (even though she’s going to Newcastle tonight). I think she is annoyed with me. I really don’t want her to be. If she leaves that flat- which is a very real possibility what with her applying for jobs in Newcastle- then I will move out. It would be too rubbish without her.
So last night I was sick at a bus stop. Pure class. Some work people went out for some drinks at the Porter and I was a bit of a gobshite. Still, it’s nice to see people from work when not at work, and it was for the guy who’s leaving, to say bye and everything. We used to all go out every Friday but that kind of trailed off when T left. T was there last night and came out with some classics (such as: “I really like plane crashes. Obviously I prefer it when it’s a near miss because I’m human after all”) though nothing quite in the league of the brussell sprout joke the other month, when I seriously thought I would die laughing. Anyway, N came along and everyone loved him. Of course! I was very happy and when he looked at me I wanted to clap my hands and do silly things. The others stayed out til about 3am and look really rough today, but we went back to Peckham. I had to get off the bus a few stops early so I could throw up at the bus stop. Which I thought was pretty gross but N must really love me because it was after that that he told me he wanted me to be his girlfriend. Then I didn’t care that I’d been sick by the side of the road in the style of an asbo’d youth because I was so happy. So me and N are officially going out now, which is exciting and very cool and makes me grin like an idiot.
Me = totally and utterly irrevocably smitten. There's no way I could express in words how I feel inside.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
"What's wrong with a nice relaxing smoke of crack?"
I had a really beautiful experience this morning. After my shower I looked up at all the steam and I could see every water particle in the air. It looked like a snowstorm. I watched the steam chase its tail for a while and felt very peaceful. I could have watched it for hours but instead I had to open the bathroom door and it vanished.
It didn’t really matter. I still smiled and danced around while getting dressed, listening to the Flaming Lips. The only thing that was missing was N, who I wanted to hug so very badly but couldn’t as he’d left really early. Yet again I’m at work counting the seconds until I’m out of here and back with him.
M posted the following on his journal:
If you leave comment requesting a quick analysis, then I will respond to you about the following...
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll name something we should do together.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me (or just me).
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
Naturally I asked him to analyse me. Partly because I knew that he wouldn’t be able to be mean, as everyone would read it. If I thought that it would be brutally honest, I’m not sure that I would have suggested that he analyse me. M has known me for quite a while and I’m sure he thinks I am a bit strange. Not that there’s anything- per se- wrong with being strange. I just don’t want it reiterated. Anyway, I’m rambling, and I’m sure you’re all dying to know what he said about me. Read on…
1. I really like talking to you - you're a great conversationalist.
2. Blue Velvet! Or Glass Charms, by Fuck.
3. Lazily drift on a boat in a really nice country river, sipping some Rioja.
4. Vodka jellies on the stairs. Oh yes.
5. I think it must have been that walk round Soho and the South Bank with Ed and Mark and me and Adam? That was kickass.
6. 'Her looks should be in magazines/walkin' and talkin' like a movie queen/and her glass never said to me, 'I'll drink to that'
7. Lunch on Thursday? (haha how lame am I?)
Isn’t that nice? I was suitably impressed, and I will attempt to reciprocate at some point.
I smell really good today. I smell like N and so I keep taking surreptitious sniffs of myself. I'm sure I must be irritating everyone in the office, but sorry, let me just check my bothered pocket... nope, nothing there.
It didn’t really matter. I still smiled and danced around while getting dressed, listening to the Flaming Lips. The only thing that was missing was N, who I wanted to hug so very badly but couldn’t as he’d left really early. Yet again I’m at work counting the seconds until I’m out of here and back with him.
M posted the following on his journal:
If you leave comment requesting a quick analysis, then I will respond to you about the following...
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll name something we should do together.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me (or just me).
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
Naturally I asked him to analyse me. Partly because I knew that he wouldn’t be able to be mean, as everyone would read it. If I thought that it would be brutally honest, I’m not sure that I would have suggested that he analyse me. M has known me for quite a while and I’m sure he thinks I am a bit strange. Not that there’s anything- per se- wrong with being strange. I just don’t want it reiterated. Anyway, I’m rambling, and I’m sure you’re all dying to know what he said about me. Read on…
1. I really like talking to you - you're a great conversationalist.
2. Blue Velvet! Or Glass Charms, by Fuck.
3. Lazily drift on a boat in a really nice country river, sipping some Rioja.
4. Vodka jellies on the stairs. Oh yes.
5. I think it must have been that walk round Soho and the South Bank with Ed and Mark and me and Adam? That was kickass.
6. 'Her looks should be in magazines/walkin' and talkin' like a movie queen/and her glass never said to me, 'I'll drink to that'
7. Lunch on Thursday? (haha how lame am I?)
Isn’t that nice? I was suitably impressed, and I will attempt to reciprocate at some point.
I smell really good today. I smell like N and so I keep taking surreptitious sniffs of myself. I'm sure I must be irritating everyone in the office, but sorry, let me just check my bothered pocket... nope, nothing there.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Ooops
Having spent a good part of last week doing the test of U and Non-U words on people to determine their class origin, I saw this story today in the Guardian:
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/features/story/0,,1751277,00.html
Now I feel a bit bad. It's not that I hate the working class. I don't at all. As Kate Fox points out, people always hate the people in the class directly below or above them. Therefore my vitriol is reserved for the lower-middle class.
I hate the class system in this country. Thankfully I am not really a part of it (the class system or the country) and I like to think that I am being ironic in my references to it. I am, after all, the queen of irony. I have no idea where I fit in, in terms of geography at least. My mum always used to tell me that I didn't look like I belonged to a particular country (unlike a lot of my family, who couldn't look anything other than Irish... the most I have of that is a tendancy to have "Irish hair" that Dylan Moran talks about). Thank fuck I'm not English though. I can't think of anything worse. Rule Britannia and all that. What a load of bollocks.
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/features/story/0,,1751277,00.html
Now I feel a bit bad. It's not that I hate the working class. I don't at all. As Kate Fox points out, people always hate the people in the class directly below or above them. Therefore my vitriol is reserved for the lower-middle class.
I hate the class system in this country. Thankfully I am not really a part of it (the class system or the country) and I like to think that I am being ironic in my references to it. I am, after all, the queen of irony. I have no idea where I fit in, in terms of geography at least. My mum always used to tell me that I didn't look like I belonged to a particular country (unlike a lot of my family, who couldn't look anything other than Irish... the most I have of that is a tendancy to have "Irish hair" that Dylan Moran talks about). Thank fuck I'm not English though. I can't think of anything worse. Rule Britannia and all that. What a load of bollocks.
Navan - a beautiful place
Recently I have met lots of people (well, two people) who also have family from Navan. Here is a little Navan-fest:
(taken from wikipedia)
Navan (An Uaimh in Irish, meaning "The Cave") is the administrative Capital of County Meath, Ireland. Situated on the N3 National Primary Road, it is the 9th largest and fastest growing town in Ireland according to Census 2002 statistics which state the population of the town increased by 51.6% since the 1996 Census.
Navan is also known for being the childhood home of Pierce Brosnan, the fifth actor to play the celebrated role of James Bond, for eleven years after his birth in neighbouring County Louth. TV personality Hector Ó hEochagáin, creator of the Freenet anti-censorship software Ian Clarke, and comedians Dylan Moran and Tommy Tiernan also hail from Navan. Other famous people included Sir Francis Beaufort, famous for his wind scale.
Clearly Navan is where it's at.
(taken from wikipedia)
Navan (An Uaimh in Irish, meaning "The Cave") is the administrative Capital of County Meath, Ireland. Situated on the N3 National Primary Road, it is the 9th largest and fastest growing town in Ireland according to Census 2002 statistics which state the population of the town increased by 51.6% since the 1996 Census.
Navan is also known for being the childhood home of Pierce Brosnan, the fifth actor to play the celebrated role of James Bond, for eleven years after his birth in neighbouring County Louth. TV personality Hector Ó hEochagáin, creator of the Freenet anti-censorship software Ian Clarke, and comedians Dylan Moran and Tommy Tiernan also hail from Navan. Other famous people included Sir Francis Beaufort, famous for his wind scale.
Clearly Navan is where it's at.
Back of the what? Back of the NET!
I just got hit on the head in the press meeting. I asked three questions and they’d all been asked literally ten seconds previously. So one of the press officers hit me on the head with a bunch of papers. I suppose I should have realised that I wouldn’t be able to pay attention to what was being said if I was watching tv and daydreaming about N. But I had to watch the tv- there’s a large flat screen thingy in the press office that always shows BBC News 24, and I can’t help but watch it. Especially if there’s exciting things like the Italian election. Wow. I’m such a geek. Fun.
I’m in a good mood today though. Went to sleep ridiculously early as we were so tired. I was still zombie-like this morning, but that’s what I’m like every morning. I’m just not a morning person. It isn’t helped by the fact that I never take my makeup off before going to bed, and I wake up with black all over my face. Pleasant. So far I haven’t managed to ruin any of N’s pillowcases with my eye makeup. My own are pretty fucked and I have to wash them at 90 degrees (instead of the more environmentally friendly 40 degrees) to get the ingrained makeup off. I should just wash my face. I’m pretty gross really.
The debt recovery people called this morning, which I thought was a bit bloody rich, seeing as it wasn’t even nine. They wanted to know why I was already 11 days late with my payment. The woman was fucking rude actually, but there’s little I could do and I had to pay them something horrific like £275. Still, only one more month of being fucked up the arse by those bastards.
Anyway, so the situational doom happened over the weekend and last night. Not my doom. The other doom. I feel really bad. I gave S advice and it all went horribly wrong. Now she is upset and it’s all my fault. I don’t know why people ask me for advice. I mean, seriously. Particularly if I am pretty much to blame for the doom in the first place. It’s bad. I’m bad. I met S after work and we went to the Columbian coffee place. I felt horrible.
Pah. I miss N again. I miss him so much when I don’t see him, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.
I tried to pretend there was nothing bizarre about the fact I was really early for work this morning, but everyone just sort of gaped at me. Normally I start at 10:00 but I am always late. Yesterday, despite waking up at 7:30, I didn’t get to work until 10:30. Rubbishness. So today I am feeling sanctimonious because I was there before nine.
This is a really rubbish entry. Sorry folks.
I’m in a good mood today though. Went to sleep ridiculously early as we were so tired. I was still zombie-like this morning, but that’s what I’m like every morning. I’m just not a morning person. It isn’t helped by the fact that I never take my makeup off before going to bed, and I wake up with black all over my face. Pleasant. So far I haven’t managed to ruin any of N’s pillowcases with my eye makeup. My own are pretty fucked and I have to wash them at 90 degrees (instead of the more environmentally friendly 40 degrees) to get the ingrained makeup off. I should just wash my face. I’m pretty gross really.
The debt recovery people called this morning, which I thought was a bit bloody rich, seeing as it wasn’t even nine. They wanted to know why I was already 11 days late with my payment. The woman was fucking rude actually, but there’s little I could do and I had to pay them something horrific like £275. Still, only one more month of being fucked up the arse by those bastards.
Anyway, so the situational doom happened over the weekend and last night. Not my doom. The other doom. I feel really bad. I gave S advice and it all went horribly wrong. Now she is upset and it’s all my fault. I don’t know why people ask me for advice. I mean, seriously. Particularly if I am pretty much to blame for the doom in the first place. It’s bad. I’m bad. I met S after work and we went to the Columbian coffee place. I felt horrible.
Pah. I miss N again. I miss him so much when I don’t see him, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.
I tried to pretend there was nothing bizarre about the fact I was really early for work this morning, but everyone just sort of gaped at me. Normally I start at 10:00 but I am always late. Yesterday, despite waking up at 7:30, I didn’t get to work until 10:30. Rubbishness. So today I am feeling sanctimonious because I was there before nine.
This is a really rubbish entry. Sorry folks.
Monday, April 10, 2006
This IS outrageous, this IS contagious!!
I know how much you all depend on reading about my fascinating life, and half of you think I am dead, so I would like to take this opportunity to say that I have returned from my brief hiatus, primarily for your entertainment. And what a week it’s been.
I have, in all honesty, had the best week of my entire life.
I’m (almost) happy now, just thinking about it. I say ‘almost’ because I am sat at my desk, back in the office, and that is not conducive to being happy. So far I have done very little actual work, but even being here is bad enough. Particularly as I had to wade through 100 emails this morning. Not fun. Especially emails like the following:
Could you please let me know if you can see a Rapesco Model 2160 Hole punch in your area. This was borrowed from the legal section and we are in urgent need to it.
Its a Rapesco Model 2160. There is a tippex mark with Legal 1 written on it.
I swear one day people will notice me banging my head against the wall and then maybe they will stop pestering me with their pointless irrelevances.
Anyway, back to my amazing week. I guess it all started last Friday, when I wrote the previous entry. So I suppose that’s where I will start. S has written a really good description of the night on her livejournal (we’ve given up on the pretence of not reading each others, it just got complicated) so if you actually want to read about it in a slightly more coherent manner, read hers. Also she says nice things about me. Sweet. Basically, I intended to go round to hers and have a drink and then she had to go, and I’d go home or something. That was the plan. Instead we went to the Court and drank a bottle of red wine (good for the heart, or something- anyway, better than the filthy white wine I’m always being *forced* to drink). More people came. Transactions took place. Far more wine was drunk. I got a bit grumpy but soon got over it. I got groped on the stairs, which I wasn’t best pleased about. A while later, I was having a chat with S, again on the stairs, when some Asian youth grabbed her and kissed her, much to our mutual disgust. Tanked up on the vino, I vowed that I would go and have words. Cos that’s ALWAYS a good idea… right. Anyway, marched up to the big group of yoots who deny any knowledge and ask me to pinpoint which of them it was. I couldn’t really as they all look the same. I know that sounds really racist. But British Asian guys look and dress exactly the same. They need name badges. Anyway, things very quickly degenerated into me telling one particularly odious youth that his mother and sisters would be ashamed of him. He, of course, told me to leave his mother out of it, which I took as bait to taunt him even further and tell him that all his ancestors would be ashamed of him and that he and all his friends bring shame on their respective families. S had also come upstairs and so had her (male, large) friend and what with S hitting the yoots and me screaming “have some fucking respect, you inbred motherfuckers” and things of a similar ilk, a fight broke out. Now I don’t like fighting. I’m a pacifist. I’m also weak as fuck. I tried to get S out of the way but her friend got punched in the nose and we had drinks and bottles thrown at us. Etched in my brain is the very vivid memory of being halfway down the stairs, looking up and seeing fifteen Asian boys screaming and throwing punches, with S and her friend in the way and being absolutely terrified for S (more so than myself- I would never want her to get hurt in any way). At the same time, I was looking down the stairs to the crowded pub, all of whom were staring at us, especially JS and JA, who looked shell-shocked/disgusted/appalled/amused (I don’t know which). And all the time, I was screaming at the Asian boys that they brought shame on their ancestors. It was completely surreal.
I don’t know how we got away from them. JA jumped up and held S and made sure she was alright. S’s friend had blood all over his face and was taken upstairs to the staff room to clean his face. The Asian boys were thrown out, screaming as they were forcibly ejected. The police were called. I paced up and down the pub feeling agitated and then started crying. I couldn’t- and can’t- believe I started a fight. And that a friend of a friend got hurt. His nose was bleeding for ages. He had to talk to the police with pills in his pocket. I felt really bad, and everyone thinks I’m some super aggressive moron now. I’m seriously not. It’s the first proper fight I’ve been in (the other two incidents were more random attacks and I didn’t do anything in retaliation). I’m a lover not a fighter. I feel awful about the fight. Truly awful.
Anyhow, after we’d spoken to the police and drunk more wine and everything we went back to halls and got really shit faced (see last entry for proof) and I laughed so much. JS took lots of pictures that I’m still waiting to see. I talked a lot of shit but for some reason people thought I was funny. S and JS kept clamping their teeth together because it felt good. Fun and games. I finally fell asleep at about 3pm for a couple of hours, and woke up with the most excruciating headache, a bruise on my back and a pain in my hip that is still there. I went to sleep in S’s room for a bit but I was missing N and wanted to call him, so I went home. He’d been sleeping too but he finally came round at about midnight and we tried to stay awake all night but we fell asleep at about 4. He had to get up at 6 to go to Amsterdam, and I tried to wake up a bit and say goodbye properly but I was too damn tired and sad that he was going. The bed felt empty once he’d gone and I had to curl up into a little ball to get back to sleep.
Later on- at the far more respectable hour of 10:30- I got up and had a chat with #1, who I don’t seem to see all that much of nowadays. She was tidying her room frantically as her mum was arriving later in the day. #2’s mum was there. I don’t get on so well with her. #1’s mum is amazing. She’s the sweetest lady. She’s invited me up to Newcastle to stay with them- I mean, how cute is that? And she got us all Easter eggs. I went into Brixton with my giant rucksack (I had to go to Tesco’s) and nearly broke my back thanks to the heavy shopping. Next time I think I will take my suitcase. It has wheels = plan. Stupidly, I’d looked out of the window and thought, “oooh, it’s really nice out there!!” and put on flip-flops. The moment I stepped outside I realised it was not flip flop weather and it was in fact cold and wet. Pah. At least I bought a kettle though. No more boiling water in a pan. S had been laughing at me and calling me a tramp for that. Divine retribution means that her kettle is now broken. Maybe it’s a big kettle conspiracy? Mayhaps.
Went to Hammersmith to meet S and D and D’s friend to do a bit of Primark shopping. Didn’t I say that we were well into culture? Yes I did. And culture it was. I love Primark. You don’t get much better than that, really. I bought a very cool hat. Then we went back to halls and watched tv. You don’t get a better Sunday than that.
That’s not actually true. You do get better Sundays than that. I had one yesterday. I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy. It is. I have a big smile on my face.
I’d just like to reiterate how great this week has been. Not because I’m smug. But because I’m genuinely genuinely happy, and those that know me know that that is quite a big thing for me. I wasn’t happy all week. At one point I was desperately sad and wept uncontrollably. I guess that’s just me though. Even when I’m happy I have the spectre of misery so close behind me that to even notice it is unbearably difficult. I’m really trying though. Trying not to dwell on sadness, and to concentrate on the things that are making me happy. And there has been a lot making me happy- notably, N. I cannot even begin to articulate how he makes me feel. I know that I don’t have the necessary words and that I would fuck it up somehow. Until I know the words I should use, I won’t use any words at all.
I so wish I wasn’t at work today. For one thing, everyone is leaving. It’s a rubbish job. I want to do something more interesting, or if not, then just better paid. I should really get started on job hunting.
I also wish I wasn’t at work today because I miss N. I keep doing stupid things like look at his facebook pictures. “Oh how sweet”, I hear you say. No. Not sweet. I’m looking every couple of minutes. That ain’t sweet.
I’m really stuck about what to write about next. A lot has happened this week. I don’t know what to write about. It was JS’s birthday on Tuesday. We had a meal (that’s “mee-yal” not “mill” – think about it) and then went to the pub where drunken hilarity ensued (the term “hilarity” is used in the most ironic sense possible there). JS is 21 now. JA ate what looked like a plate full of mud. Squid ink risotto. I cannot think of anything I would like to put in my mouth less. I say “put in my mouth” because I cannot contemplate actually eating something like that and I would have to spit it out... That sounds far worse than it should.
I have eaten so well this week. I have never eaten like this in my life. We didn’t have nice food when we were growing up. Amazingly we didn’t grow up to be really malnourished. That’s not actually true. My youngest brother used to be a proper runt and my mum had to give him vitamins because his diet was so lacking (he really didn’t eat, it was only bread and sugary stuff). Then he missed a week or so, and decided that the best thing to do would be to neck the whole bottle to make up for it. My mum was annoyed. I think swallowing fistfuls of pills runs in our family. It’s always nice to realize that you’re not unique. Anyway, I’m completely digressing. Yes. Food growing up = rubbish. Food this last week = fucking amazing. On Thursday we went to Brindisa by Borough Market and I had this incredible fried goats cheese with orange blossom honey. Fuck me. It was damn good. N said he’d never seen me looking so happy. And with reason! It was truly incredible. And these amazing broad beans… And then a chocolate truffle. Fuck me indeed. I thought I’d died and gone to food heaven. On Friday we went to the Japan Cultural Centre (on Piccadilly) and had amazing Japanese food. I’d never eaten it before and didn’t have a clue what to order, but N has eaten lots of Japanese food before so thankfully he knew what he was doing. My god it was good. I think it might be my new favourite food. Apart from goats cheese with honey, obviously. And then yet more great food yesterday, at a south Indian restaurant in Peckham.
I’m getting hungry just typing all of this.
Apart from eating copious amounts of food, we did other fun things, like shopping and seeing bands. We saw The Evens on Friday and Little Wings last night, which was just beautiful. The guy’s voice is just amazing. If I could sing like that I would never stop singing. Yesterday we went to a really cool bookshop in Peckham. I’d never thought of Peckham as being remotely cool- think “Only Fools and Horses”- but it’s great. I think it’s the next area of London that I’ll live in (I seem to move at least once a year, so I might as well plan ahead- I’m certainly staying the right side (south) of the river). I bought Nina Bawden’s latest book (she’s Legend’s grandma) but when I tried to read a couple of pages of it this morning, it made me very sad. So I’m reading “In Cold Blood” instead, seeing as I was so inspired by seeing Capote the other day/week/whenever it was.
What else? On Saturday we went out to the pub and then went to Afterschool, which is always a mistake. It was far better than last time (committed readers may recall that I left and cried at the bus stop and swore never to go again). N got very drunk and I made lots of Jewish jokes and threw JA out of his own band for being generally rubbish though I can’t remember the exact reasoning behind why. I did yet more impressions of the shopkeepers in Stoke Newington. I got renamed Paddy. There’s nothing quite like xenophobia. We danced lots and I couldn’t stop smiling because N was making me laugh and I just wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him.
This is a horrendously long entry. Hats off to anyone who actually reads it. I suppose I have kept you all waiting, so you deserve a special long entry. Or something. And it’s given me something to do on my first day back at work other than skive, think about N and worry about S (who’s not having a fun time). I’m sure there is plenty more for me to write. I just can’t remember what.
Oh yeah, I figured out that actually, I’m an optimist. Make of that what you will- that’s my analysis anyway.
I have, in all honesty, had the best week of my entire life.
I’m (almost) happy now, just thinking about it. I say ‘almost’ because I am sat at my desk, back in the office, and that is not conducive to being happy. So far I have done very little actual work, but even being here is bad enough. Particularly as I had to wade through 100 emails this morning. Not fun. Especially emails like the following:
Could you please let me know if you can see a Rapesco Model 2160 Hole punch in your area. This was borrowed from the legal section and we are in urgent need to it.
Its a Rapesco Model 2160. There is a tippex mark with Legal 1 written on it.
I swear one day people will notice me banging my head against the wall and then maybe they will stop pestering me with their pointless irrelevances.
Anyway, back to my amazing week. I guess it all started last Friday, when I wrote the previous entry. So I suppose that’s where I will start. S has written a really good description of the night on her livejournal (we’ve given up on the pretence of not reading each others, it just got complicated) so if you actually want to read about it in a slightly more coherent manner, read hers. Also she says nice things about me. Sweet. Basically, I intended to go round to hers and have a drink and then she had to go, and I’d go home or something. That was the plan. Instead we went to the Court and drank a bottle of red wine (good for the heart, or something- anyway, better than the filthy white wine I’m always being *forced* to drink). More people came. Transactions took place. Far more wine was drunk. I got a bit grumpy but soon got over it. I got groped on the stairs, which I wasn’t best pleased about. A while later, I was having a chat with S, again on the stairs, when some Asian youth grabbed her and kissed her, much to our mutual disgust. Tanked up on the vino, I vowed that I would go and have words. Cos that’s ALWAYS a good idea… right. Anyway, marched up to the big group of yoots who deny any knowledge and ask me to pinpoint which of them it was. I couldn’t really as they all look the same. I know that sounds really racist. But British Asian guys look and dress exactly the same. They need name badges. Anyway, things very quickly degenerated into me telling one particularly odious youth that his mother and sisters would be ashamed of him. He, of course, told me to leave his mother out of it, which I took as bait to taunt him even further and tell him that all his ancestors would be ashamed of him and that he and all his friends bring shame on their respective families. S had also come upstairs and so had her (male, large) friend and what with S hitting the yoots and me screaming “have some fucking respect, you inbred motherfuckers” and things of a similar ilk, a fight broke out. Now I don’t like fighting. I’m a pacifist. I’m also weak as fuck. I tried to get S out of the way but her friend got punched in the nose and we had drinks and bottles thrown at us. Etched in my brain is the very vivid memory of being halfway down the stairs, looking up and seeing fifteen Asian boys screaming and throwing punches, with S and her friend in the way and being absolutely terrified for S (more so than myself- I would never want her to get hurt in any way). At the same time, I was looking down the stairs to the crowded pub, all of whom were staring at us, especially JS and JA, who looked shell-shocked/disgusted/appalled/amused (I don’t know which). And all the time, I was screaming at the Asian boys that they brought shame on their ancestors. It was completely surreal.
I don’t know how we got away from them. JA jumped up and held S and made sure she was alright. S’s friend had blood all over his face and was taken upstairs to the staff room to clean his face. The Asian boys were thrown out, screaming as they were forcibly ejected. The police were called. I paced up and down the pub feeling agitated and then started crying. I couldn’t- and can’t- believe I started a fight. And that a friend of a friend got hurt. His nose was bleeding for ages. He had to talk to the police with pills in his pocket. I felt really bad, and everyone thinks I’m some super aggressive moron now. I’m seriously not. It’s the first proper fight I’ve been in (the other two incidents were more random attacks and I didn’t do anything in retaliation). I’m a lover not a fighter. I feel awful about the fight. Truly awful.
Anyhow, after we’d spoken to the police and drunk more wine and everything we went back to halls and got really shit faced (see last entry for proof) and I laughed so much. JS took lots of pictures that I’m still waiting to see. I talked a lot of shit but for some reason people thought I was funny. S and JS kept clamping their teeth together because it felt good. Fun and games. I finally fell asleep at about 3pm for a couple of hours, and woke up with the most excruciating headache, a bruise on my back and a pain in my hip that is still there. I went to sleep in S’s room for a bit but I was missing N and wanted to call him, so I went home. He’d been sleeping too but he finally came round at about midnight and we tried to stay awake all night but we fell asleep at about 4. He had to get up at 6 to go to Amsterdam, and I tried to wake up a bit and say goodbye properly but I was too damn tired and sad that he was going. The bed felt empty once he’d gone and I had to curl up into a little ball to get back to sleep.
Later on- at the far more respectable hour of 10:30- I got up and had a chat with #1, who I don’t seem to see all that much of nowadays. She was tidying her room frantically as her mum was arriving later in the day. #2’s mum was there. I don’t get on so well with her. #1’s mum is amazing. She’s the sweetest lady. She’s invited me up to Newcastle to stay with them- I mean, how cute is that? And she got us all Easter eggs. I went into Brixton with my giant rucksack (I had to go to Tesco’s) and nearly broke my back thanks to the heavy shopping. Next time I think I will take my suitcase. It has wheels = plan. Stupidly, I’d looked out of the window and thought, “oooh, it’s really nice out there!!” and put on flip-flops. The moment I stepped outside I realised it was not flip flop weather and it was in fact cold and wet. Pah. At least I bought a kettle though. No more boiling water in a pan. S had been laughing at me and calling me a tramp for that. Divine retribution means that her kettle is now broken. Maybe it’s a big kettle conspiracy? Mayhaps.
Went to Hammersmith to meet S and D and D’s friend to do a bit of Primark shopping. Didn’t I say that we were well into culture? Yes I did. And culture it was. I love Primark. You don’t get much better than that, really. I bought a very cool hat. Then we went back to halls and watched tv. You don’t get a better Sunday than that.
That’s not actually true. You do get better Sundays than that. I had one yesterday. I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy. It is. I have a big smile on my face.
I’d just like to reiterate how great this week has been. Not because I’m smug. But because I’m genuinely genuinely happy, and those that know me know that that is quite a big thing for me. I wasn’t happy all week. At one point I was desperately sad and wept uncontrollably. I guess that’s just me though. Even when I’m happy I have the spectre of misery so close behind me that to even notice it is unbearably difficult. I’m really trying though. Trying not to dwell on sadness, and to concentrate on the things that are making me happy. And there has been a lot making me happy- notably, N. I cannot even begin to articulate how he makes me feel. I know that I don’t have the necessary words and that I would fuck it up somehow. Until I know the words I should use, I won’t use any words at all.
I so wish I wasn’t at work today. For one thing, everyone is leaving. It’s a rubbish job. I want to do something more interesting, or if not, then just better paid. I should really get started on job hunting.
I also wish I wasn’t at work today because I miss N. I keep doing stupid things like look at his facebook pictures. “Oh how sweet”, I hear you say. No. Not sweet. I’m looking every couple of minutes. That ain’t sweet.
I’m really stuck about what to write about next. A lot has happened this week. I don’t know what to write about. It was JS’s birthday on Tuesday. We had a meal (that’s “mee-yal” not “mill” – think about it) and then went to the pub where drunken hilarity ensued (the term “hilarity” is used in the most ironic sense possible there). JS is 21 now. JA ate what looked like a plate full of mud. Squid ink risotto. I cannot think of anything I would like to put in my mouth less. I say “put in my mouth” because I cannot contemplate actually eating something like that and I would have to spit it out... That sounds far worse than it should.
I have eaten so well this week. I have never eaten like this in my life. We didn’t have nice food when we were growing up. Amazingly we didn’t grow up to be really malnourished. That’s not actually true. My youngest brother used to be a proper runt and my mum had to give him vitamins because his diet was so lacking (he really didn’t eat, it was only bread and sugary stuff). Then he missed a week or so, and decided that the best thing to do would be to neck the whole bottle to make up for it. My mum was annoyed. I think swallowing fistfuls of pills runs in our family. It’s always nice to realize that you’re not unique. Anyway, I’m completely digressing. Yes. Food growing up = rubbish. Food this last week = fucking amazing. On Thursday we went to Brindisa by Borough Market and I had this incredible fried goats cheese with orange blossom honey. Fuck me. It was damn good. N said he’d never seen me looking so happy. And with reason! It was truly incredible. And these amazing broad beans… And then a chocolate truffle. Fuck me indeed. I thought I’d died and gone to food heaven. On Friday we went to the Japan Cultural Centre (on Piccadilly) and had amazing Japanese food. I’d never eaten it before and didn’t have a clue what to order, but N has eaten lots of Japanese food before so thankfully he knew what he was doing. My god it was good. I think it might be my new favourite food. Apart from goats cheese with honey, obviously. And then yet more great food yesterday, at a south Indian restaurant in Peckham.
I’m getting hungry just typing all of this.
Apart from eating copious amounts of food, we did other fun things, like shopping and seeing bands. We saw The Evens on Friday and Little Wings last night, which was just beautiful. The guy’s voice is just amazing. If I could sing like that I would never stop singing. Yesterday we went to a really cool bookshop in Peckham. I’d never thought of Peckham as being remotely cool- think “Only Fools and Horses”- but it’s great. I think it’s the next area of London that I’ll live in (I seem to move at least once a year, so I might as well plan ahead- I’m certainly staying the right side (south) of the river). I bought Nina Bawden’s latest book (she’s Legend’s grandma) but when I tried to read a couple of pages of it this morning, it made me very sad. So I’m reading “In Cold Blood” instead, seeing as I was so inspired by seeing Capote the other day/week/whenever it was.
What else? On Saturday we went out to the pub and then went to Afterschool, which is always a mistake. It was far better than last time (committed readers may recall that I left and cried at the bus stop and swore never to go again). N got very drunk and I made lots of Jewish jokes and threw JA out of his own band for being generally rubbish though I can’t remember the exact reasoning behind why. I did yet more impressions of the shopkeepers in Stoke Newington. I got renamed Paddy. There’s nothing quite like xenophobia. We danced lots and I couldn’t stop smiling because N was making me laugh and I just wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him.
This is a horrendously long entry. Hats off to anyone who actually reads it. I suppose I have kept you all waiting, so you deserve a special long entry. Or something. And it’s given me something to do on my first day back at work other than skive, think about N and worry about S (who’s not having a fun time). I’m sure there is plenty more for me to write. I just can’t remember what.
Oh yeah, I figured out that actually, I’m an optimist. Make of that what you will- that’s my analysis anyway.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
oh yes
My god. I am well fucked. I got in a fight. Now I have declared my undying love for Syma and Jamie. I am happy. Clamping your teeth together is apparently cool. Why are my friends so cool? I have so much insightful stuff to say. Oh yes.
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