Running through my head running through my head

The other day someone was telling me about how they'd called the police cos there was a dog on the motorway, and I thought that was quite a cool thing to call the police about. I said, "I've only ever called the police twice, once when I was broken into and once.... never mind". I forget sometimes that it was a whole different life ago that my ex smashed my door down and punched me in the face, and then punched me again when I called the police. Not really something for sharing in polite company. I'm not sure I would be understood properly. Though exactly what is there to understand? I just pretend none of it ever happened.

Actually I have just remembered another police incident, when I wound up in Bethnal Green police station with a random Swedish guy, shortly before we tried to break into his house. I have only hazy memories of this night as I'd been out at a friend brother's band's gig, but it involves a lost rucksack, inappropriateness, and me leaving him on a flat roof.

If I ransack my memory I can think of all sorts of trinkets and tales but most of the time I have absolutely no inclination as most of it makes me very sad. I'm the kind of girl who picks at a scab repeatedly but sometimes there are things I should just leave alone.

Orchestra

I really love orchestra.

T (to me) - I can never remember your name but you always look lovely.
R (to him) - Her name's Harriet and she looks like a scruff. Worse, a deliberate scruff.

I don't believe T though as earlier he'd told everyone he thought I looked like a noonday witch. The man is 71. Good stuff.

Less clutter, more productive?

I am trying to de-clutter my life (of physical objects at least). Today I made a start on the 2 crates I have of shoes. I'm not really a girly girl, I don't do shoes in the way that lots of other girls do. But it does amaze me that I have so many pairs of shoes when all I seem to wear are converse, completely destroyed cowboy boots or lambswool slippers. I have managed to jettison only 3 pairs of shoes, all plimsolls, bringing my plimsoll collection down to a measly three pairs.

Equally, I cannot get rid of clothes. I found a really old men's green velvet jacket, and the logical person would get rid of it, but you never know, it could become a wardrobe staple. Let's forget the fact that I have only worn it once, when I had really bad sunburn and could only wear sack like dresses and no underwear, and this was the only thing big enough to fit over that most attractive of ensembles.

Now I can't stop sneezing because of all the dust from the damn jacket. Next time you see me I'll be sartorially fantastic. Or a pile of dust. One or the other.

Nothing is ever lost or can be lost my science friend

Sometimes I think I know what is going on, I feel comfortably on top of things. Not in a knowing way, just in a "yes, this is how it is and I know how it is" kind of way. It's simple, it's straightforward, there's no drama. But then things happen that confuse me - or rather, then people happen who do things that confuse me, whether deliberately or not (this is irrelevant as the end result is the same) - and I wonder whether I really knew anything at all.

I guess it's not even that big a deal to me, even though it means I was wrong about everything. It's not my deal to be made big, it's not my decision to make. But still, if it was my decision then I would make it very differently.

I'm so overcome with something at the moment that I don't want to go out. Today I wore summer shoes and stepped in a puddle and got mud all over my feet. My french looking toes got smeared with slime.

It's my birthday at the weekend and I must say that I'm apathetic to say the least.

Shredded Wheat

Just to clarify, I am not in the new Shredded Wheat advert. Everyone keeps asking me, and I haven't even seen it. I am worried in case the person who apparently looks like me actually looks like the honey monster.

Dig!!!

Today I put on a dress and some heels and a necklace and prepared to be on my best behaviour as I was off to the scene of some past violence... but it was all cancelled, so my dress and heels were for nothing. It's okay because it's just postponed.

So I left work and walked through Soho, walking in the roads and never the pavements, and wound up in Covent Garden, where I decided to get my hair cut. And here it was amazing. My hairdresser spoke minimal english - he asked my name, I asked his name, he started cutting - and looked like everyone I knew at Full Tilt (back when I thought it was fun to go to goth electro nights and get off my face to the point I thought a man turned into a tortoise), the whole thing took 20 minutes - BUT MY GOD!!! MY HAIR!! The man is a genius! He's cut it so my cows lick actually works, made the ends not like straw, and shaved the back... and danced while he did it. I gave him a 50% tip and vowed to myself to get my hair cut every month...
... But then he smiled at me, and he had pierced teeth.

How do you pierce teeth??

So now I don't mind that my life is a shambles, that I sleep in a sleeping bag and have a crush on a one-legged pirate from a book. I'm at home, nothing ever happens but relentless low level drama and nuisance. But it's okay, I am drinking a beer and listening to Nick Cave.

Wise words

A wise person recently said:

"Every time he taps you on the shoulder, you punch him in the face. You are a bitch."

However, another wise person once said:

"It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes."

So there you go.