I had one of those really horrible dreams last night, the type where you feel like you’re walking through treacle. I have variations on this dream quite a lot, though the setting is usually different. Last night, I was back in Cambridge, and I was walking to my old work, but it was taking me so long as I could hardly move through the treacle, and no one would help me. I often wonder why on earth I have these dreams. I think that this time, it was because yesterday I was walking up Coldharbour Lane, against the wind, with the sun in my eyes, and I was thinking about how much easier it would have been to be walking the other day. Talking of Coldharbour Lane, I was unpleasantly surprised at how long it is. I was in Camberwell, and wanted to go to Brixton (or, more specifically, to the book shop, the art shop and the bank). I’d always thought that it was a short road, but it was a fifteen-minute walk. To be honest, it probably would have taken less time had it not been so windy.
Anyway, Brixton was quite a success. I got everything I’d planned to get and paid off another instalment to the debt recovery people. I’m certainly far further on with that than I thought I would be, at this point. I’ve spent two years avoiding their calls, so to have paid off one-third of what I owe is a real achievement. Obviously if anyone else would like to pay the rest off, I would be more than happy to send my payment book to you for you to deal with! Likewise, I wouldn’t mind someone paying my rent for me too. I don’t know how I’m ever going to save up enough money for travelling. For my birthday I have asked for individual components of my travels, in a similar vein to the scheme run by the government during the 2nd World War (for building spitfires- basically the government set a price for all the different parts, so you could donate money and say it was for a wing, and then you’d know what you’d done for your country… except I reckon they lied, and just bought what they could- the prices in no way reflected the cost of the planes, for a start- and I am not going to do that… anyway, hope that rambling explanation has made some sense as I am too lazy to go back and read it again). So far I have an Interail ticket and one years travel insurance, both from previous birthdays. This year, on my list I have: some immunisations (I have already spent shitloads and if no one buys me any more, I will probably die of some nasty tropical diseases); malaria tablets (though possibly not, I’m sure I’m hardcore enough to deal with something stupid like malaria- also I have been slightly put off after seeing someone puke in their bin after taking these tablets!); train ticket from Helsinki to St Petersburg; ticket from St Petersburg to Moscow; loads of other assorted train tickets; Russian visa; Mongolian visa; other stuff that I can’t remember but I’m sure I’ll need.
More about my plans for travelling another time- I have far more pressing issues to write about at the moment!
Yesterday, as everyone knows, was Valentines Day. I didn’t get a card, not even from my mum! I was a bit disappointed, as I’d sort of assumed that when I got home, there’d be one waiting for me from her. Perhaps she thinks I’m too old for that now? Or even worse, perhaps she thinks that I’m too bitter to want any romance. Last time she came to London I was ranting on a bit, though that wasn’t directed at men (much), it was more because I was pissed off with my job. However, I was mighty pleased to get home just as Neighbours was starting. I haven’t watched Neighbours in bloody ages, and it was just as good/bad as I remembered. Ah, the good old student days when I could watch Neighbours, Doctors, The Daily Politics… Life was good.
Going back to Valentines Day, the Camp Mansions Valentines Singles Night was a great success. I baked some of my special biscuits (which I cut in the shape of hearts, ahhh- though not having a heart shaped cutter was a bit of a pain, as I had to use a knife and the hearts looked a bit jagged!). Other food we had included cheese and pineapple on sticks, vegetarian sausages, garlic bread, dips, marshmallows, Angel Delight and a whole host of other full-on party foods. I drank some vodka and ate far too much, and ended up feeling sick.
While lying on the living room floor (floorboards are not very comfortable, but it was the only way that I could feel marginally less sick!), we watched ‘Holiday Showdown’. I don’t normally watch crappy programmes like this. I know my enthusing about Neighbours et al above would indicate otherwise, but I really don’t. This programme was funny though, really really funny. The premise is that two very opposite families go on each other’s holidays… Family #1: bisexual, anti-gun couple with their kids, who planned to go to San Francisco to film a video art project. Family #2: gun-mad, misogynistic, red-blooded homophobic family, who were looking forward to going to Texas and shooting things. You can imagine how that went down. The most disturbing character was not the dad in family #2 (ex-RAF, handlebar moustache, kept the wife at home, called gay people “wufters”), but his son, who looked like he was about to cum in his pants at the thought of firing some of the guns, and was rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of shooting a pig. He’s got to be fairly high up on the list of potential future prisoner abuse scandals, surely. The other funny bit was when the woman in family #1 was saying how guns were bad, and the woman in family #2 said, "guns don't kill people"... of course, we all shouted out "RAPPER'S DO!"
I am finally feeling a bit better from my cold- although I don’t sound it! So I will finally write about my weekend, as it really is something I should write about. I’m still a bit cautious about writing about one particular thing (namely, the person I fancy), as I’m still worried he doesn’t like me. I’m less worried than I was, as we texted each other a couple of times last night, and he seemed (as much as you can seem in a text message) to be interested in seeing me again. So what the heck- I’m not used to writing my blog any way other than being brutally frank and describing my life in what is quite possibly mind-numbingly boring detail.
On Friday, I went to the Southwark Tavern with two girls from work, R and C. We talk every day as we’re all smokers, and hang out in the smoking room together, but normally we don’t really go to the pub together. For those who’ve been reading this in the long term, you’ll remember that most of my drinking antics with work people has been with T and K. Anyway, me, R and C booked a booth- or, in the case of the Southwark Tavern, a cell, it being an old prison- and headed down there as early as we could. We each had so many things we needed to get off our chests, so we decided that we would have to have it like a proper meeting, with each person taking it in turns to have a rant about something, and then moving on. I went first as I only had a couple of things to rant about (incidentally, one of them was T’s ex, who is being a complete bitch to a woman that I work with for no reason other than the fact I suspect she is a sociopath). After a couple of bottles of wine, we had completely forgotten what on earth we were meant to be talking about. C kept falling on top of R, and then decided to go home. She looked pretty hammered, but I thought she would be able to get home okay… however, on Monday she told us that she’d not only fallen asleep on the train and gone to the wrong place, she’d been sick at her station, cried, been carried home by her boyfriend, thrown the crumpets he’d made her at him. Quality.
Anyway, I was horrifically late to meet S in Camden, so when R suggested getting a minicab, I jumped at the idea. Never mind that she wasn’t really going in that direction… We somehow convinced the driver that detouring to Camden would only cost an extra fiver, though I suspect they only agreed to shut us up. I apparently managed to get in an argument with the cab driver, but I don’t really remember that. I’d drunk nearly two full bottles of wine by this point, so I suspect I did try and start what I probably thought at the time was a debate, but was far more likely to be a full-on argument. I also remember thinking, while in the cab, that the driver was a tosser, which I’d say is proof that I was having an argument with the man.
When I finally got to the Lock Tavern, S seemed quite pissed off with me. I could kind of understand, as I was very late, but she wasn’t by herself, and her bad mood with me lasted all evening (and beyond). With her were two guys I knew from my first year at uni, who’d been in the year above me. It was so cool to see them again. I’m terrible at keeping in touch, so I really appreciate being thrust into contact with people again- whether they feel the same is another issue altogether. They’re both really sound guys, and I feel bad for not keeping in touch. We went on to the Barfly, where I danced around like a fool, completely disregarding the fact that my ankle is not cut out for this kind of thing. I lost S several times, only really finding her by the bar, where we did shots. Despite declaring I would only do shots of sambuca, I somehow ended up doing a shot of Archers, which I wasn’t pleased. It’s such a chav drink. Much as the taste of sambuca makes me feel queasy, it’s better than bloody sickly sweet Archers. I used to do lots of shots with my friend M, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were. Probably just as well really, as I remember getting pissed out of my skull in Walthamstow on them (and I certainly do not want to be repeating that night any time soon- the vague memories I have of the evening are not altogether pleasant).
And the most important- or exciting, or I don’t know what adjective- event was meeting J. I don’t remember how we started talking, and I certainly don’t know why on earth he wanted to talk to me, as I was being a horrible drunk. And I wasn’t particularly nice to him, which was stupid, as by the time we left the Barfly, I realised I really liked him, and that I thought he was lovely. He’d taken my number and I was insisting that he wouldn’t call me, but actually, I think I might be wrong on that one.
Anyway, by the time we left, S had found herself some random boy who seemed to have learning difficulties. I don’t know what on earth was wrong with him, but he didn’t seem able to speak properly. Me and S had a minor skirmish, and now she isn’t returning my texts. I don’t think I was that out of order to her, but I do recall her saying that I was over reacting, and then she walked off and didn’t say goodbye. I don’t know what to make of that one, to be honest. J invited me and my other two friends (who’d been getting on really well, which was really sound) back to his, but they decided that they would make sure S got home okay. So it was just me.
I really wish I hadn’t been so pissed and that I had a larger vocabulary. Not so pissed, because then I wouldn’t have done silly things like be a drunken fool, be really argumentative (who can see a recurring pattern?), kiss J’s housemates girlfriend… And a larger vocabulary because I had a fantastic time at J’s all weekend. We stayed awake until about midday on Saturday, and then I slept until about 10 in the evening. On Sunday we watched football (not really my thing) and he cooked the most amazing curry. In between that pretty poor description of the weekend, we had (in my eyes, at least – can you see my paranoia??) a great time. I like J. I’m not going to write any more about him, or what I think of him, as I am getting all bashful, which is a sure sign that I like someone. Most people think it’s very unlike me to get bashful or shy, as they- for some reason- seem to think that I’m a loud mouthed cocky fucker. I’m not though, or at least, I don’t think I am.
I have been writing this entry over the course of the whole day, and it really shows. It’s quite obvious that this morning I was far more awake. Right now I can feel my eyelids drooping, and I would really like a nap. It’s actually really annoying, as I wanted to write about J. But maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t. I’m looking forward to work finishing so I can have a little sleep on the bus on the way to ballet. That’s quite a sad existence really. I’m so shattered though. One of our windows broke in the wind last night, and the wind and rain was really noisy. I’m still not feeling completely better, anyway. I have earache, as I always do when I get ill. It’s always in my right ear, which is a bit odd. I'm really annoyed that I'm not feeling 100%, to be honest. I took lots of coke at the weekend, and I always like to think that these things have no effect on me (cos I'm so fucking hardcore, or something). Being ill is not making me feel very cool, even though I know it's a cold- unless, of course, everyone in the office has been snorting coke all weekend too? It's just a cold, you stupid lamb, it's just a cold...
Instead of moping and feeling sorry for myself any longer, I am going to publish this blog (finally!) and then maybe make some lemsip. Oh yeah, and I have a backlog of emails to write as well, as all I have done today is write this blog and look things up on wikipedia. Not all that productive.
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