Friends Reunited

The essential problem with Friend Reunited is that as a person at the tender age of 24, it hasn't been that long since I left school. This means that the people who post entries about themselves are split into two categories; those who I still know and/or care about and those who I wish were dead. So every so often I log in and update my profile, trying desperately to think of something witty and upbeat, something that makes me sound wildly successful and yet humble, ever mindful of my roots and there they are, those who shall remain nameless, those who deserve to languish in Bromsgrove, feeling sorry for themselves and paying homage to african tribes people by pulling holes in their earlobes with the weight of all that revolting gold jewellary. (See what I meant about the long sentances with no full stops, but please, tell me where a full stop should have gone there!)

I just wasn't all that popular in school, I didn't follow on to my catchment area so I by the time I got to High School, all the cliques were already formed. I didn't live in the right area, I didn't wear the right clothes, I was one of those people who sang in the choir, participated in the plays and musicals. I wasn't any good at sport, but you couldn't have called me a swot either because I was useless at Maths and Science, I was good at English, History, Drama and those are just not cool, seriously not cool.

Nevertheless I log on and I hope that all the people I admired at school are doing well, because I want them to be, and I hope that everyone else crashes and burns, not literally, I am not wishing hideous burns related disfigurement on anybody (well, maybe a couple.....) but isn't it just human nature to hope in some small way that those people who found it easy a school, those to whom the A grades came easy, who were sporty and naturally beautiful at least found life outside the bubble just a little bit difficult.........?

And if he ever finds this, I do hope Russell Everton is doing well, because God knows he found life hard enough when I knew him.

And Gavin is a drag queen! Which rocks!!!

It's ok, you can come back now, I'm much calmer

Well wasn't yesterdays post a little bit dramatic? I was proper angry, but it's ok because a friend told me I was stylish and pretty and man, once the ego's been stroked I am back in the game! It's all going to be ok, she's got bad hair and I have pashmina's in three different colours.

So Glenn has been asking me to write about Saturday night and I suppose I should because it was his night, but to be honest, all the good stuff that happened happened around Saturday night. The ceremony itself was a little... urm... dull? Sorry honey if you're reading this but you know as well as I do that an award ceremony featuring such mind numbingly boring awards as 'Best Rental Catalogue 2005' can only hold a persons interest for so long before they start fantasising about ripping the pages out of the aforementioned award winning catalogue and making missiles out of them to throw at people as they head to the bar.

The champagne reception was good, well, it was good once we left the actual reception and went down to the hotel bar. The food was very nice, the man with the bag pipes was very loud (somewhat obviously), but the wine wasn't free which is a big negative. The best part of the actual ceremony was watching all these people get so very excited about winning an award, it's like there is a whole world of people whose lives revolve around the hire industry - I didn't even know such an industry existed until I met Glenn! But then I suppose I work in a world where Management Information Systems are as important as the air we breathe so I can't judge. The second best bit of the ceremony was seeing Sally trying to reign her giant kahoona boobs back into her dress (she had a baby 11 months ago and is still reaping the boob rewards), they were so fabulous, totally worth having a baby for. In fact I might just have a baby, give said baby to my sister and then just enjoy the giant kahoona boobs I get - actually I could just have a boob job, I wouldn't even have to have a baby then... hmmm... worth some thought, very definately worth some thought......

The evening ended in the hotel bar at about 4.00am, I was off my face and man, it felt so good. It was that awesome stage of drunkness all good drunks aspire to, the one where your face actually aches because you've been laughing that hard, and the greatest triumph of the night has to that I did not fall asleep!! I was so proud of me and I think you should be to. Yes, more ego stroking please, validate me, we like that.

It's a small world (and I'm not talking about the Disney ride where you go on a merry-go-round staffed by midgets)

So I received an email from a friend of mine today asking if I was ok, she had heard down a very long grapevine that I had had a falling out with a couple of friends of mine. She had also heard that one (we'll call her Girl C), has been frantically emailing the other (we'll call her Girl K) with details of all the things going on in my life. Girl C has access to such information because she is emailing me, she wants to 'keep in touch' because we have known each other for so long, and she is falling over herself in these emails to congratulate me about buying a house, she also wants to know progress on my endometriosis, which she calls my 'problem section'. I have been replying to these emails with curt, polite replies, in which I am also happy for her in her achievements; I have told her I am buying a house but I have not elaborated any more, and I have not told her anything about my 'problem section' because I have never felt more patronised in my life than when she called it that. When I offered more information about going on holiday with some friends, she asked who these 'mysterious friends' were, so such offers of more information have ceased.

The email from a friend of mine details how Girl C is telling Girl K that I am fat now.

FAT.

FAT.

FAT.

I am sat at a PC in Keighley, North Yorkshire unsure whether it is entirely appropriate to burst into tears while trying to clear data errors. Girl C is on a plane to Fuerteventura and she better hope that her flight back is cancelled, and all further flights are cancelled, and she has to live in Fuerteventura for THE REST OF HER LIFE because if I ever see her again........

All further email correspondance between myself and Girl C is from this moment on terminated.

The have's and the have nots....

Friday was also the day that I met the person I spent most of the weekend with owing to Glenn needing to work all weekend; this person's name is Sally, and she is lovely.

When I first arrived at the house Sally shares with her boyfriend Shaun and their 11 month old daughter Grace, I almost collapsed with jealousy; it is beautiful, on a gorgeous tree lined street in Solihull (where all the Haves liveand the place we just moved from), and has antique cream walls, dark oak furniture, chocolate leather sofa's and a garden that makes you think you should put on an outfit straight out of a bronte novel, play kiss-chase all day and feel genuinely decadent, anything pedestrian and BBQ like would be such a waste.

Sally and I went shopping on Saturday and I learned a valuable lesson in life; NEVER GO SHOPPING WITH SOMEONE WHO LIVES IN A £315,000 HOUSE BUT DOES NOT NEED TO WORK; NO GOOD CAN COME FROM IT. Don't get me wrong, Sally is very nice and although she obviously comes from money (bags and bags and bags of money) she never once made me feel like I was a have not (if only some of the other have's I have met could say the same) but there is something soul destroying about walking around shops with someone who just doesn't understand the phrase 'I'm buying this house you see and there is just no point in me trying it on because I can't buy it because I can't afford it', she would just look at me as if I was a bit tapped and say 'eh?', there were many 'eh?''s on Saturday..... By 3.00pm though we were sharing drinking a bottle of wine at a cafe outdoors with a great view of the castle and chatting as if we'd known each other for years, or at least days....

We talked about loads of things actually, mostly her daughter though, who is adorable and made me want one so badly I could practically hear my ovaries creaking into action. Unfortunately it made Glenn feel nauseous so I think my broodiness was badly timed. It proved one thing though; I am capable of being broody, that was something I wasn't sure about. I previously viewed babies with suspicion and EXTREME CAUTION, as they have a tendency to cry the very second they look into my eyes. It's if they can see that if their existence was up to me, they'd still be amoeba like in the bottom of a condom somewhere.

I picked up a valuable tip to getting rid of the pervert stare, that gaze that older men have when they see a pair of breasts on someone under 35 - just look them straight in the eye, lean over as if your going to tell them a secret and then say 'I haven't had a boob job, I'm breastfeeding and I'm trying to stop this weekend so they're huge and very painful, I've had to lever them into this dress with...' and I promise you, you'll only get that far into the explanation because Pervert Older Man will run to the bar so fast only his wife will remain, smiling at you with gratitude.

Like that scene in Home Alone, only Glenn is the screaming mother and I am the bored teenage son

This weeekend, Glenn I went to Edinburgh for his companies annual award ceremony. We flew up on Friday afternoon (and darling, flying is the only way to travel). Because we were only getting a domestic flight we didn't really pay that much attention to the time, so we checked our bags in and went to the bar for a few drinks. Two beers and some fudge cake later and we hear 'DING DONG, this is the final call for passengers blah, blah, blah, Davis and Keilloh, who have failed to board flight blah blah, please make your way to departure gate blah for take off'. I have never seen Glenn panic quite like it, we flew through the airport, bags flying this way and that, he nearly decapitated a little girl as he barged his way through the security check point, shouting behind him 'SORRY! BUT THEY'VE CALLED OUR NAME!' he payed no attention to where I was except for an occasional 'HANNAH! ARE YOU COMING OR WHAT?! THEY'VE CALLED OUR NAME!!' well I was walking behind him (I refuse to panic). The thing is, he was running, I was walking, he was barging through crowds, I was apologising to the poor souls left in his wake as I followed, and yet somehow, when I got to the gate, it was at least another minute before he got there.......

Six Degrees of Separation

This morning I recieved an email from Jennifer Aniston. Well, it was entitled 'Look who sent this email at the bottom'; and sure enough, scroll down and Jennifer Aniston sent it to some guy called Jeff who didn't send it to anybody but somehow, via about 50 people, it has made its way into my inbox. The attachments are pictures of Courteney Cox's baby's christening, I know this because I opened them and they were so pretty! Although in one Jennifer is being hugged awkwardly but someone she clearly doesn't know and/or is scared of.

I was annoyed at myself for opening them since I swore after the demise of the unspeakably beautiful Jen and Brad union that I would Never Again buy a celebrity magazine. I was convinced that I, in some small capacity, contributed to one of the many factors, that influenced one of the key moments which led to the break up (ah, the ego of the young; neither of them would know me if I beat them over the head with a shitty stick, but in my head, I helped their divorce!). I know celebrities court these things, that it is possible to be an actress and not be famous, that at anytime, any of them could just think, 'screw this for a game of soldiers', take their millions and run to a cat sanctuary in the hills (you laugh at this, but how many pictures of Doris Day and Bridgette Bardot running out of Starbucks barefoot have you seen recently?) but I can't help it! they're just all so pretty! And I am so very jealous of all the prettiness and the money and stuff.... It could be worse, I could look like Wendolina! (I may explain that joke some day, but not today).

Laters.....

South Tyneside - Responsible for so many of the evils we face.

I am at working in the north east three days a week all this month. That is a four hour drive to get here every Monday morning and another four hour drive to get home every Wednesday evening.

This does bother me, but it's not what's bothering me right now.

What's bothering me now is that I just received an email form my boss telling me that I should have received our annual pay review letter in the post today.

What's bothering me about that is that it is Tuesday afternoon.

I refer you to the first paragraph.

ARGH!!!!!!!

Whigfield,

Saturday night we went out with some friends of mine. Friends who have permanent places in the Top Ten Friends of my entire life list. We started at The Man in The Moon with two large glasses of wine, got ready at no. 14 over a bottle of wine, took the bus into town and had a cocktails at Santa Fe in The Mailbox, moved along to the Pitcher and Piano on Brindley Place for several Asahi's, I fell asleep.

This is becoming a regular thing when we go out, I fall asleep on the lap of the nearest person (usually Glenn's lap, hopefully Glenn's lap...) and then I have to get prodded awake by my friends who have long since realised I am not the achingly hip example of youth culture I long to be. Then there was the stealing; it was just a couple of cookies and a muffin or two from an unattended barista bar, but still, it was theft.

I blame the Asahi! Always blame the drink! As someone who will never reach the heady heights of my Top Ten Friends list once said; 'If you can't remember it, it never happened'. That was admittedly usually said to justify the wanton abuse we put ourselves through during our uni days, but it still works! So what if you woke up at 6am in someone's house, miles from your own with a raging hang over? Then had to escape through the window without waking the person you had woken up next to. Then had to walk in the pouring rain back home wearing only a pair of jeans and an inapproprately sparkly (and if you were really unlucky, backless) top, vomiting every tenth step? Who cares? Because if you couldn't remember how you got there, then it never happened. Those my friends, are words to live by.

Anyway, Saturday wasn't anything like as unfortunate. One distinct benefit of not being a pissed up student anymore is that;
1.) you can go home when you want to,
2.) you don't have to have a kebab (or a cheese burger from Mr Peppers on Beverley Road - although I kind of miss that....)
3.) you don't have to feel less of a person because there was no snogging
4.) you don't have to feel less of a person because there was snogging
5.) there doesn't have to be any aftershock, or any drinks that you set fire to before downing them and then instantly projectile vomiting.
6.) you can wear more clothes (hurray for the more clothes!)
7.) you can wear less make-up (no more looking in the mirror when you get home and seeing the less attractive sister of Lily Savage staring back at you)
8.) you can dance, and not kill people with your wildly flailing limbs
9.) you can wake up next to someone and not have to escape out the window, because you don't want to escape out of the window, because you love them.
10.) you don't have to wake up in a disgusting student house, you can wake up in the house of the people in your Top Ten Friends list, and they will make you breakfast, and you will feel warm and fuzzy, instead of sick and gross.

Although I would never, ever change anything I did as a student, I don't want to do it now, because now is really good, and now is just as much fun.

Now is certainly much cleaner.

Email

Him - I'm in a silly mood today

Me - Why is that then?

Him - Dunno, doesn't matter, it's gone now.

Me - Ok, I'm a bit fed up today.

Him - I skinned my arm on the mattress this morning, they should put warning signs on those things.

Me - What, like; 'Beware! Mattress! DANGER!! DANGER!!'

Him - Yes, exactly like that, and you could put it next to the sign that you stole from the company party and hung above my side of the bed, the one that says 'Hannah's guest'.

Me - That's such a good idea! That way everybody who sleeps there willl know to be careful, aren't we good people? Always thinking of others.....

Him - No need Davis.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

1. Alex Drum - Age 10, looked like a hedghog.
2. Tom Green / David Whittles - Ages 11 to 13, I just kind of flitted between the two, equally geeky, with equally bad hair. David was the superior of the two in retrospect. Tom dumped me for Mariah Carey more than once and there were those persistant rumours about his sexuality that became hard to ignore... although he is now engaged to Heather Latham so it is alleged and certainly not my opinion (his Dad had a lot of money, and someone who has that much love for The Mariahmight not be afraid to sue a person).
3.) Matthew Saunders - Age 13, HUGE nose, really, I can't emphasise enough the size of this boys nose, it was enormous. Nice guy though.
4.) Tom Hawthorn- Age 14, he was 15 and GORGEOUS, I thought he was going to be my peak until Hamish (see number 10), but alas, I was from the wrong side of the tracks for this boy, his mother viewed me with a disdain something akin to disgust when I appeared on the doorstep in my fringed hippyesque skirt, and at the time I was flirting with vegetarianism which made it even worse. It lasted 4 months and in all that time we did not have one single conversation, we did stand around the corridor looking at our shoes a lot but that alone does not a relationship make.
5.) Robert Deeks- Age 15, was a distant cousin of Barbara Windsor (that's true you know), he was and still is a wonderful person, despite getting caught selling marijuana to the kids in year 9. He now has a degree in peace studies so actually, the drugs might work, and I could have gone out with him for longer had it not been for
6.) Adam Harrison- Age 15-17, Now we get serious, the first person I ever fell in love with, I had admired 'Harry' from afar since the tender age of 13 and when he kissed me on the sofa in his mum's house my entire world collapsed and re-built itself in 15 seconds, and in the new world the sky was bluer, the grass was greener and love, (LOVE PEOPLE!) was the greatest energy source in it. I adored him for 18 months, until it all became too much and I was unceremoniously dumped for a girl called Becky Wheetabix (not her real name, but don't you wish it had been?) She had a drivers license, I had hormonal issues, I never stood a chance.
7.) Russell Everton - Age 17-20, here it all gets very complicated. I did love him, I really did, just not in the way he needed me to love him, but I tried; I tried on and off for almost 4 years. The problem initially was we were still in school doing our A Levels and I desperately needed him just be cooler than he was, I'll admit that, at 17 I was so shallow I couldn't bear to be in the same room as him and my friends. That is something I will regret as long as I live but you only realise mistakes like that when you're older. So I went to Uni and he went to the uni next door after a blissful holiday in Rhodes where we did nothing but sleep and have the kind of sweaty empty sex you only have when you're 18. I dumped him, he cried, so I un-dumped him, then he found some balls and dumped me but I cried so he un-dumped me and in between all the dumping and un-dumping there was
8.)Tom Starkey - Lovely, just lovely, I miss him and
9.) James Austin - Age 19. He was 24 (going on 44, he's actually got younger as he's got older and if you ever read this James, that's no bad thing). He is the one person I would reverse time to do things differently with, he was emotionally and sexually stunted it's true but whole heartedly lovely, and I still keep in touch with him, and we worry about each other in a kind and caring way, and the last time I saw him was at the end of the easter break in 2000, and sometimes I miss him. but you see the reason I would have to reverse time to do things differently was
10.) Russell Bloody Everton, and I would go back and I would find my past self and I would pin her up against the wall and I would scream 'NO, stop it! This is what is going to change you forever, this is what RUINS so many things', but I can't, and it did, and I'm sorry. We eventually tore each other into so many bits that one of us had to be strong enough to end it for good, and he did, and that is the single only thing I am grateful to him for.
11.) Here is where it gets hazy, I suppose you could just have a brief list of Tom (proud of that one, Captain of the rugby team, found him pissing him in the middle of the night in the corner of my room though), Colin (dull dull dull), Alan (tried to teach me quadratic equations on a serviette in a bowling alley), Tom (different one, tried, but could not conquer the inexplicable power of The Russell), Si (stopped half way through The Act to convince me he knew all the words to Muppets Christmas Carol, and you know what? he did!), Frank (kept waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me how BEAUTIFUL I was and how he JUST HAD TO MAKE LOVE TO ME, I couldn't be doing with that, I need more sleep), Hamish (BEAUTIFUL, but dull dull dull, and a penis no bigger than a wotsit), there were others but their names escape me, and so we move ever quickly to;
12.) David Fenwick, Age 22, he was 26 and far and away the single biggest mistake of my life, I spent roughly 10 months stoned out of my mind in a tiny one bedroom flat only venturing out for munchies and milk when he let me, he destroyed my self-respect and my confidence as he thought up new and ever more inovative ways to put me down, some physical, some verbal, but I was stoned that you know, whatever man.... towards the end I was only allowed to leave the flat to go back to work on Monday morning and why I ever went back on a Friday night is a mystery to me still, until one day, reverberating from him smashing my phone against the wall into pieces because I had been sent a message from, shock, a man! I left and never spoke to him again.

Which brings us to Glenn, and I am not going to say anymore about him here because he will at some point get a post just about him, and it's nothing close to what he deserves, because when I kissed him, my whole world collapsed and re-built itself in 15 seconds and in this new world the sky is bluer, the grass is greener and love, (LOVE PEOPLE!) is the greatest energy source in it.

Ja, jag vill leva, jag vill dö i Norden

So my weekend followed the pattern of most weekends of recent times, drive three hours to get home on Friday afternoon with Great Intentions of becoming Super Youthful Dirty Stop Out Wild Thing and then collapsing into sleep, exhausted at 10pm (now you see why there are all those posts about being terrified I am making the wrong life decisions - I don't have enough waking hours to change my mind about any of them). Saturday morning I wake up at 7.30, furious that I have lost the ability to stay asleep until mid-day; get up, go to Ikea, have a panic attack, am forced to leave the store, have another panic attack when I realise I can't find the exit and that is the fourth time I have walked, at speed, past that lamp, and how the fuck do you get out of this psuedo swedish hellhole? left the store, catalogue in hand, scribbled with what looks like aramaic, now where is the bloody car?

I don't understand panic attacks, I never used to have them and I have to admit to being slightly contemptuous of those who complained of them. You know the sort; 'Well there I was in the shower and all of a sudden - Panic Attack!'.
Sorry what? Was this shower in Baghdad? What exactly was the panic about? You live in the midlands, what excitement is there to panic about?
Then I had one, in the middle of Tesco, trying to buy wine for a BBQ. All of a sudden in the dog food aisle (and I don't actuallly have a dog so make of that what you will) a fog came down over my brain, I got incredibly hot and I panicked, there is no other word for it, there were too many people in the superstore and I don't know what I thought was going to happen but I dropped the basket, ran out of the store and went home, no wine, no nothing.
Now these attacks are not regular by any means, my life is not paralysed by the fear of having one, I am not writing in to 'Pick Me Up' magazine in the vain hope of winning £300 and being pictured, miserable, in front of a caravan; but every so often, usually in Ikea, there it is. Swedes have a lot to answer for.

The story of Saturday will some later.................

Is it just because we're grown ups now?

My mother said something to me at the weekend which I haven't been able to get out of my head; she said 'you used to think you were going to conquer the world and now it's like you've come down to our level'. She was talking about how both my parents think I have changed over the last 12 months, they're not the only ones, friends have commented on it aswell, some think this is a good thing, other's don't. I am apparently calmer, more 'centered', I seem 'at peace' with who I am.

I find this baffling, I am if anything more confused about the direction my life is heading than ever before, I've made some huge life decisions over the last two years, I got a grown up job, I moved in with my boyfriend, I'm buying a house (which in turn meant I decided where to live after being nomadic for months on end). I lie awake at night wondering if any of these decisions were the right thing. Am I doing any of it too soon? Will I look back in years to come and think I should have slowed down, taken more risks, lost control a bit more?

I suppose this is a side effect of the endometriosis, it's having someone else tell you how you have to think about living your life, forcing you to grow up. That year long career break you wanted? Think again because instead you have to have babies! Babies? really? I was the one who wasn't going to have them until I was 35, I was the one who was going to conquer the world! but there you go, maybe I was flying too high, my mother seems to think so.

On Christmas eve I saw a friend I hadn't seen in 6 years, when I told him about my job and where I was living, he looked shocked and said 'I'm disappointed in you, I thought you'd go further than any of us, you've sold out haven't you?'. I suppose I'm putting what he said together with what my mother said and having a mini early life crisis, have I settled? I never thought I'd stay in the midlands and yet here I am, about to buy a house within a stones throw of Redditch, I thought I'd have some wildly creative job to do with art, the theatre, writing maybe, and here I am at a computer 40 hours of the week fixing other peoples mistakes.

But does it matter? Surely the important thing is whether or not I'm happy, and I am, really happy. I love my (future) house, I love my family, friends, boyfriend, and I really like my job. Maybe buying a house isn't the end of the freedom of youth, maybe it's just roots, and these roots could be the foundation of anything I want them to be, so maybe that's something to get excited about again.

As for the babies... maybe one day.

It's all about the karma

I can't adequately express the anger that I feel when I realise that people who claim to know me, who have known me for many years, clearly don't know a thing about me. That people I grew up with, who I shared everything with for almost half of my lifetime know less about what makes me tick than people I have known for 1/20 of my lifetime. I don't think I am a vindictive person and I don't hold grudges (I have an inability to let things go, but that's not the same as holding a grudge), why is it that a person would seek to demonise a friend who has always tried to support them (even when they couldn't understand them) just to make themselves a victim, and win some mysterious competition that only they know about.

I hope that this person finds a way to be happy herself, that she can wake up in the morning one day and truly not be affected by another persons happiness or success in a negative way. That she can find a contentment in her own achievements and not feel belittled by others. Maybe one day someone will treat her badly, I hope no one does, but if it ever happens, I hope she will take a moment to recognise the difference between hurt at the hands of someone else and hurt at the hands of herself, because the only person who judges her as severly as she feels judged, is herself. If the day ever comes when she needs someone, I will be there, but I will take some private time out to feel smug, Nobody's perfect!

God knows I'm not perfect, I have my whiny and self-pitying days, but surely you have to try to be grateful for what you have and be glad when the people you love succeed, even when it surpasses your own achievements.

To those friends and family I have who love and support me, even if you're not reading this; thank you, I hope I can do the same for you.

But at least they've put the SOLD sign on!

I have decided (with help from The Talented One) that the purpose of this blog is going to be to document both my struggle to understand the Oh So Complicated procedures involved in house buying and the Oh So Unfair struggle with endometriosis. What this means is that the two people I know who are reading this blog may not want to because 1) the first purpose might be boring and 2) the second one might be disgusting. Both equally good reasons not to bother with it.. Oooh! Just thought of another one, my really bad grammar! Grammar (despite the english degree I have) is not something I care about, so sorry in advance for all the loooooong sentances with no punctuation, it's an afflication I have suffered since I was a small person.

To begin then, the house purchase continues with two loooong hours with a mortgage advisor speaking in his brummy/nigerian lisp explaining that this will basically cost us all the money we, ahem, I have saved over the course of my life. We, ahem, I parted with close to £900 on Saturday, before lunchtime (because of course usually I like to spend thousands of pounds after lunch) for a house we have spent a grand total of 25 minutes in. But never mind we thought, it's all going to be worth it in the end we thought. Glenn has been getting paler and paler since we were passed the piece of paper detailing the monthly cost of this mortgage and when the realisation hit that no, we can't go on holiday and buy a house in the same year, he almost passed out. Ah well, at least he can have his games room, with a leather easy chair (he'll get a bean bag and he will like it), a TV for the XBox sessions he's planning (the Tv's are going in the living room and the bedroom so I don't where that's coming from) and the football fixtures pinned on the wall (the wall I am most likely to have painted?! Now what do you think the likelihood of that is...?). Then the brummy Nigerian phoned this morning to say he has forgotten to take a copy of the wage slips we handed over last week, so the whole thing is delayed still and my nerves are slowly shredding themselves.

As for the Other thing (Ant, you should probably stop reading now, save your delicate sensibilities) , a letter from the consultant asking me to see my GP about some 'disturbing' test results that came back last month (which I did not open until three weeks after it was sent because he still has my parents address listed as my home address) resulted in a sleepless night and a panicked phone call to the surgery only to be told it was nothing, don't worry, and quote 'we treat patients, not test results and if you feel fine, then you are fine'; so that means my GP is high, and he's not sharing the doobies with me!!

So much crap to google.... so little time to google it....

So I'm back at work, and after about 4 weeks of either only working for 3 days a week or (bliss) not working at all, it is HARD! but I didn't even nearly fall asleep in the car this morning which is progress indeed.

I did however witness a murder; there I was, tootling along at recklessly over the limit speeds when the car in front of me (clio, never a good sign) swerved to narrowly avoid.... a duck.

In the middle of the motorway?

I avoided the duck also but in the rearview mirror caught sight of a transit van decapitating aforesaid duck.

And so continues the circle of life, God created Duck, God created man, man created car, car kills duck, man eats duck...? (possibly not this mornings duck but you see what I mean).

Friday Night's alright with me....

Friday 1st April 2005, Singing Karaoke at the house of some friends and wondering how I made it past 11 without ever realising how filthy some of the lyrics were to some of the songs we used to sing at no. 60.... Making a blog at 10 past two in the morning and beng called a nerd for the first time IN MY LIFE! But there could be worse things..... Instead there is feeling loved, Feeling valued, Good times.

Rick Astley is unappreciated....

Peace.