Mark that frame an eight and you're entering a world of pain

According to my ballet teacher, most of my problems with certain steps are psychological. Cue me saying “is it because I’m a mentalist?” because I have been cast as the class joker. Anyway, there’s been this ongoing thing whereby everyone has been taking the piss out of me for ages , because whenever I do chainnees my arms go all weird and fold in on themselves (like when I am asleep, for those that have seen that), and basically I look slightly special and not at all balletic. However yesterday my teacher commented that I was turning really nicely. Then some other people said that my arms weren’t acting spastic and this girl said, in quite a surprised tone, that my feet looked really good. I got shy and made a joke but was secretly very chuffed and did it again, looking in the mirror. Of course, all good things come to an end, and in the next exercise, having told my teacher that I have a serious mental block with brisees behind you, I managed to smash my ankles together so hard that one ankle is swollen and a rather fetching blue-green colour.

Walking back to Clapham, I took the opportunity to complain to my friend about how I was going to need to buy new shoes. She did not look sympathetic but she gave me a packet of tobacco because she’s quit smoking. I went over to Peckham on a bus that smelt very strongly of B.O. and I listened to all my teenage music. Then I got the shock of my life. Well, not really shock. I’m being overly dramatic because I’m bored. Surprise, I suppose. Anyway, I won’t say what it is so as not to ruin it for everyone else (or just because I like not writing about things, if that makes sense). It was really lovely to see N and he liked my new “tan”, although he did first say that I looked orange. Jokes, eh. Oh, and apparently my “big news” is a bit rubbish, but I still think it’s exciting, and the “other thing” got a bigger reception, but I suppose that’s because it’s more relevant or whatever (nb. I am deliberately obfuscating here).

The other day, some of us at work were trying to decide what to do about Britain’s growing obesity problem. A tax on “unhealthy” food would be unworkable. A tax on fat people, would, however, be a good idea, as suggested on TV the other day. Other ideas we came up with were melting bits of them down to use as insulation, and my favourite, which was to use them to replace the Thames Barrier. John Prescott, one of the leading lardies, could be in charge of this one, because he can canoe and everything, and anyway, the Thames Barrier must sort of fall under the jurisdiction of what was the Deputy Prime Minister before all his powers got taken away. However, on closer examination, this plan is fatally flawed. Firstly, the fat people would have to stay in the water at all times, because if they were to get in and out all the time it would create a tidal surge- the very thing the Barrier is meant to prevent. Some sort of mechanism for keeping these fatties in the water whilst still allowing boats and so on to move about would be quite a challenge. Secondly, the most important bit of the barrier is underneath the water, and it is common knowledge that fat floats. I saw a woman yesterday whose arms were so fat, it looked like she had arm bands on. They were gross. So now I am trying to think of alternative uses for fat people. My colleague reckons we should send them to Holland for use on their dams. If anyone can think of any other ideas, let me know.

So far today, two people have offered to cut my hair, I danced at the bus stop, I have spent far too much time on facebook, and I am well excited that the Lido is reopening, although this means I will have to put in some serious effort on the whole diet thing, unless I a) want to get laughed out of the Lido, or b) chucked in the river a la fat people.

Everything I say or write shocks me with its banality. It’s like I have all these profound thoughts, but when I try to articulate them it comes out as blaaaaaaaaaaah. Still today I am not melancholic, or tomorrow either.