Facts, that's all for now.

In October I had a second laparoscopy, and on Friday I went to see my consultant about what he found and what would happen next, so here it is.

(Warning: on Saturday night, when talking to Tina about this, her husband Matt sort of gagged a little bit and walked off and I realised that not everyone is comfortable with this, so if you're a bit like him, just skip this post and wait for the next one, which I'm sure will involve me drinking too much and falling over, and may or may not involve a wedding dress and people who live in the carpet.)

I have several patches of endometriosis all through my pelvis, and a golf ball sized nodule in my small bowel (apparently there are two bowels, large and small, I don't just have one that's small, just to clarify... ahem... moving on...) this explains why I don't poo! And you always thought I was joking......

I'm having an operation that has two parts, the first part is led by my gynaecologist and involves keyhole surgery to remove the patches, the second is led by a general surgeon who will make an incision either across my abdomin or down the centre of my torso, then open the small bowel and remove the golf ball sized nodule.

The complications are that they don't know until they open the bowel how this nodule is attached, if it's easy to remove they just take it out, stitch up the bowel, stitch up me, job done, if it's not so easy and they have to make a larger incision then we're into slightly grey territory involving the dreaded temporary colostomy bag because the bowel will need longer to heal. They do some funky thing and raise it up to the surface of your body to 'rest' it.

Estimated time in hospital - 1 week.

Estimated recovery period - 6 to 8 weeks.

When can they do the operation - hopefully March but probably May because the two surgeons have to co-ordinate their diaries, and they both have huge waiting lists.

Chance of the disease recurring - 20-30% after 4 years, which I think is pretty good!

So there we go, it turns out that it's a much bigger procedure than I thought it was, I'll be in theatre for about 4 hours, it takes two surgeons, it's pretty much 50/50 whether or not I have to have the temporary colostomy (in fact, I think it's actually called an illeostomy but what the difference is I don't know) and it means I'll be pretty poorly for up to two months. That's kind of why this post is called 'Facts, that's all for now', because I've been processing this for the last couple of days and have ultimately decided that I prefer denial, denial works for me, so I'm going back there, ignorance is bliss and all that, frankly I just can't be bothered with all the shaking and spontaneous wailing that comes with facing the truth, you never get anything done!

I know that I had some pretty big things planned for 2007 that may not happen now, and I may have to let some people down, I can't say anything about this except I'm sorry, I'll do my best and I absolutely promise to fulfill my obligations to the best of my ability.

Ta da! That's it, could be worse, could be soooo much worse, just got to remember that.

STOP THE INSANITY!

Oh my god! Enough! Yes, I bought a vibrator, and I talked about it, and it pissed some people off and it made others curious and maybe it was inappropriate for me to talk about it and maybe some people thought it was entertaining up to a point and others just thought that I should have kept to it all to myself but stop! let's not have a row about it!

Ok, here it is, I bought it, I have tried it out, it was... different, because I'm not used to it and haven't quite got the hang of it just yet. I am hoping that this is enough detail to satisfy the curious ones but not so much that Chris vomits over his keyboard.

Now please, please, let's just let it go......

Instead we can talk about how someone smashed what looks like a brick onto the bonnet of my new car and scratched a sizeable amount of paint off, and how this made me push my face into my bed and scream for two hours on Sunday afternoon, because that's twice this year that some stranger has broken the law, invaded my life and cost me a not insignificant amount of money.

Let's talk about that! Because so far , Roger has brought happiness with an equal measure of confusion and should not be the cause of any bickering, where as the drunkern arsehole who tainted my car on Saturday night and then ran away deserves to have his balls ripped out of his body, and his penis put through a paper shredder.

If anyone could find it.

The longest comment ever

Chris,

I can only apologise, I'm very sorry you feel so violated, but I do recommend you remove the buttplug, they're not supposed to be premanent.

Span.

Say hello to my little friend….

Just under two weeks ago I bought a new car and it’s really great and very silver and blah blah etc, THIS week however, I bought something which is threatening my change my life forever, I may never leave the house again, I bought the all new, 2006, rabbit, I bought the ‘Thruster’ and it does, it really does…

Now I am back in Northumberland, me and my new friend, (we’ll call him Roger, because that’s childishly funny on several levels) and last night I decided to try him out. I drank two glasses of wine to try and lose the inhibitions that I strangely developed when the woman behind the counter at Ann Summers asked me if I wanted a box of ‘Buzzy Fresh Wipes’ and thought right then, this is a bit intimidating and kind of hard to wield on your own but YOU CAN DO THIS.

It does not come with an instruction manual, I mean you assume that you wouldn’t need one right? Because although it has a few speeds and two basic functions how difficult can it be? Turns out, it can be very difficult, the first time I tentatively tried it my legs shot out from under me at a 45 degree angle from my body and I couldn’t bend them for a full three minutes, this is not a toy to be taken lightly, you could probably do some serious nerve damage if you’re not careful.

This is all because I am trying to feel a bit sexy again, medical procedures and pain management aside, I think some of the problems I am having stem from just a deep rooted feeling that my body is no longer for sexual things, it’s damaged and diseased and if it all ever gets fixed then it’ll be fixed so it can have babies and I think it’s important for my head to get back to basics. I am 25 years old and absolutely not ready to throw in the towel in that department just yet, so! I bought a vibrator and a box of buzzy fresh wipes and set to work! If I re-condition my head to think of my body as a sexual thing, then I will be able to relax a little more with my unfortunate and woefully neglected other half.

So while you’re watching Eastenders tonight, there I’ll be, legs quite literally akimbo, attempting to steer what looks a lot like a glittery blue balloon animal and possibly needing medical assistance.

But what you should really do, is not watch Eastenders, you should go and watch Casino Royale, because it’s ace and Daniel Craig is hotter that a really hot, hot thing

Wherein I address the lyrics Moch posted on her blog and demonstrate just how different our taste in music really is.

How could that happen?
How could that happen again?
Where the fuck was I looking
When all his horses came in?
And he built a whole army
Of kamikaze

10,000 willing
Pilots flying
Interfacing
Space and beyond
Built an army
To come and find me

Beyond all reason
Beyond all my hopes
The call of duty
Another war zone (Makes me moan)

Kamikaze - you can't touch me,
kamikaze

Eight miles high
He walks his path
And I follow mine
One tooth for one eye
He's come to find me

10,000 willing
Pilots flying
Interfacing
Space and beyond
Here is his army
Interspace here we come

Kamikaze - you don't touch me

Space here we come

PJ Harvey 'Kamikaze'

Email

You know when we start our own business and take over the world?

Do we have to employ other people? Because I really think I hate other people, I like the people I like and I hate everybody else, most especially I hate people called Stuart and Sue, but I think I can extend it out to other people and say quite confidently, that I hate people I don't like. I feel that I can categorise the people I like as people I will send Christmas cards to, thus neatly boxing up all the people I like and leaving everyone else out in the cold to get frostbite on their delicates.

I think also, that I'm going to be quite selective with who I send Christmas cards to, only those who meet very exacting criteria will get one.

Hx

And I though South Shields was bad, I had no idea....

This week I have been in Northumberland, that's somewhere near Lapland for you geographically challenged folks. Wow, I'm sure the countryside is pretty and the villages are sweet etc etc blah blah blah but where I am? Words fail me...

But clearly words don't fail me that much because I'm still typing, so to describe... The college is slap bang in the middle of an enormous housing estate, the kind where every third house is boarded up, and every fifth car is a burnt out shell that sits on the front garden. The college itself is a sixties built, six floor building in dire need of refurbishment, but I only know that from what I've been told, because I haven't actually been inside the main building... You see, the office where I'm working used to be a house, there is a row of terraced houses next to the college that have been converted into offices to save space, when I arrived I was told the department manager's office was the front bedroom, I could work in the box room and the bathroom was across the hall, however, the next day I was going up in the world and could work in the living room, ooooh....

So yesterday I stopped on the landing when I saw a boy of about 11 collapse in the street outside, two men from the mechanics department came running towards him and I got the health and safety woman from the second office/house down to go and see what the matter was and if she could help, an ambulance was called and they attended to him. All the time I'm thinking, why isn't he in school? He's not even wearing a uniform.... the health and safety lady returns to tell me that the 11 year old has smoked so much dope that he's passed out.

Later that day and there are police outside the front of the main college building wrestling an old man to the ground, the snr cons returns from a meeting with the principal and I say "so why were the police arresting some old man then?", turns out, this old man had been driving around to the front of the college, getting out of his car, flashing towards the CCTV camera's, then getting back in his car, driving round the block, coming back to the college, flashing at the CCTV, and he continued this for about 6 or 7 round trips until the police arrived to TAKE HIM AWAY.

The hotel I'm staying in seems to have no central heating, just a large, obnoxious heater in the corner of the room which sounds like a 747, so either I don't sleep because I'm cold, or I turn the heater on and I don't sleep because I can't sleep inside the engine of large aircraft.

They send me to the most glamorous places.... Have to sign off now, I think I just saw Father Christmas trying to steal my car.

Conversations that made my eyes open up really wide.

1.

Me: Hi, I’m interested in the Renault Megane but I see that on the forecourt it’s priced at £7,495 whereas on your website it’s on for £6,995…

Car Salesman: That’s for the Pakis.

Me: looking at Glenn for help, he’s looking at me for help Sorry, what?

Car Salesman: We put an extra £500 on for the Pakis.

Me: I’m sorry, I don’t understand, how much is the car?

Car Salesman: For you love it’s £6,995. You see they’re always in here, the Pakis, asking, “What’s your final price?! What’s your final price?!” So we always put an extra £500 on the showroom price so we can take it off when they as.

Me: I see….

Car Salesman: Not that we discriminate against Pakis.

Me: Oh good Lord no

Car Salesman: It’s just that they like to barter, so we let them.

Me: How kind of you.

2.

At my father’s birthday dinner.

Mum: So, why don’t you have a boyfriend?

My Sister: 10 past six Mum, you did well, that was a whole hour you went without asking that!

Mum: But why don’t you love?

Sister: Leaning in to my mum’s ear really close, I’M GAY.

Mum: Oh don’t be silly dear.

Sister: I’m not being silly, I’m gay, I like to kiss girls.

Dad: chews silently

Sister: Dad? You’re not saying much about me coming out of the closet.

Dad: It’s not like we haven’t had our suspicions.

Sister: EXCUSE ME?!

Dad: If you repent then the Lord will forgive.

Me: Choking.

3.

Me: Hi, I’m ringing about the Dalek cufflinks I’ve seen in your catalogue.

Assistant who answered the phone to the Next customer service line: Mmm Hmm

Me: Can you tell me if you have any in stock at your Bull Ring store?

Her: Hang on.

Me: la la la la la

Her: Sorry, Garlic cufflinks?

Me: No, Dalek, as in Dr Who?

Her: Hang on.

Me: la la la la

Her: We have some in stock at the Bull Ring yes.

Me: Oh thank you so much I was wondering if

Her: What you will have to do now is you will have to go into the store and buy them.

Me: Uh, What?

Her: YOU, have to go INTO the store and BUY them.

Me: Right, right, yes, thanks, I’ll get on that right away.

Her: Goodbye.

Beautiful enough that it made me cry

Lying alone, in bed on a Friday morning, I should be in work but I have to see the consultant so I have the day off, I am cold, so I snuggle under the duvet, I notice the deep red curtains are glowing with the early morning light behind them so I reach out of bed and pull the closest one to me wide open, I lie in bed, alone on a Friday morning, it feels like the rest of the world is running to work, and I bathe in the beautiful light of the sun, as it shines upon my face.

Just when you thought it was safe to feel good about your job.

They send you to Northumberland, for 6 bloody days.

When the senior bod rang to ask me to go I asked him if he could see glaciers from where he was stood but he declined to laugh, I told him I wasn't joking, he however is equally unhappy at being there so we both just wallowed for a bit in self-pity and bitterness.

I know, this is my job, and I really had no business getting comfortable at a site where I get to go home every day. Things are stirring again, the re-structure which will eventually replace me is starting to kick into gear and I know it's a matter of time before I am back on the road. I just shouldn't have got comfy.

On the upside, I get to meet a whole lot of new hopelessly incompetant people! Each of whom will annoy me slightly more than the last. Today, one of the temps, we'll call him Stuart, because that is his name, starting mindlessly tapping his foot against the desk, what with there being only so long I can stand to hear aimless tapping I eventually snapped:

Me: "Stuart!

Stuart: "What?"

Me: "That's annoying"

The tapping stopped.

The, five minutes later it started again.

Me: "Stuart!"

Suart; "What?"

Me: "It's still annoying"

Stuart: "Yeah, but you didn't say it was my foot so how am I supposed to know what's annoying?"

Me: "Because you just told me it was your foot, so you know that I meant your foot, so stop doing it."

Stuart: "Oh yeah".

Do you think there's even the slightest chance people in Northumberland will be less, oh how do I put this? THICK?

I fear not.

This right here, is why I cannot possibly be properly depressed.

My hatred of everything about Friends Reunited was documented a while back, but, because I like to mentally torture myself I thought I'd have another look.

Lo! I am cheered!

For while I thought I was one more toilet cubical located cry away from medication, and the words 'happy pills' seemed more and more appealing, it has been proven that I AM NOT THERE YET.

This person might be though:

For those of you that actually care (I imagine this amounts to very few, if any of you) my life seems little more than a grotesque waking nightmare these days. I won't go into the thoroughly tragic details of why this is, but my days seems to largely consist of prolonged boughts of depression, followed by a near unresistable urge to take my own life. Needless to say I'm not doing terribly well presently, and I see little chance of positive change in the near, or indeed distant future. So, if you happen to see my name appear in the local obituaries any time soon, don't be surprised. It's only a matter of time. In all honestly it's probably what I deserve for a life seemingly devoted to self-pity, cowardice and unremitting failure.

YES! I mean sure, it's a shame his life is so shitty, and I do hope he doesn't take his own life as he seems so inclined to, but YES! I am SO MUCH HAPPIER THAN HE IS.

Now, I am going to get some ice cream.

The horror

1. Of realising that you are stood in the shower, hair and body dripping wet, and you have left your towel in the bedroom...

2. ...As it slowly dawns on you that you are in someone else's house.

I'm not being a crazy liberal, but...

I just want to put this out there, I just want to write it down and then send it out into the world, you may not agree with me, you may be made completely furious by this but I had the most alarming conversation this week, a conversation which rapidly deteriorated into a lecture, wherein I sat, speechless, unable to breathe, because if I did let my breath out I would not have been able to stop myself from screaming, screaming that no, you are not right, you are very wrong, and yes, everyone is entitled to their opinion, but frankly you are not entitled to that opinion.

FIRSTLY, the phrase "I'm not being racist but..." is usually, I have noticed, only used when the person saying it is about to be INCREDIBLY RACIST, really, you're not going to say "I'm not being racist but I believe all people are equal regardless of colour", but you might say "I'm not being racist but I think they should all be sent back".

SECONDLY, who are 'they', and WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO SEND THEM? Because if they were born in Birmingham, and you're going to 'send them back', the maternity ward at the Queen Elizabeth is going to get staggeringly full all of a sudden.

THIRDLY, I DO NOT AGREE, that while Hitler was admittedly 'one sandwich short', he may have had the right idea with 'that whole Jewish death camp thing', NO, I do NOT think, that if we send 'them', all to camps and 'finish them off for good', we wouldn't have to worry about 'this terrorism crap anymore'.

OH MY GOD.

Just... I mean... head... exploding... what the... FUCK.

We've been worrying about terrorism since 1916, if it's not one group it's another and, rather like how Hitler was a murderous, genocidal lunatic for trying to exterminate the Jews, we should probably try and think of a better solution than shipping every single asian off to another country, because I'm telling you now, I would worry far more about someone trying to kill me because they've suddenly have to live in a country they've never been to before, than someone sat in their living room watching Coronation Street with a cup of tea who just happens to be wearing a burka. Likewise, I think it might be a tad excessive to kill 'them' all off, where would you draw the line? Really, if this is your position, how would you go about deciding who lives and who dies? YOU CRAZY BONKERS LOON.

FOURTHLY, and I have listened to lots of arguments about this, and have spent a lot of time figuring out my position... I think that women who come to this country should be allowed to wear whatever headdress they feel appropriate, and if that means covering their entire body in swathes of balck fabric, leaving only a small tube for breathing purposes then so be it. No, we wouldn't be allowed to wander around Pakistan or Afghanistan in a bikini, they'd probably stone us to death, but THAT is exactly why these women have come to Britain, because we are liberal, and free thinking and believe that everyone has a right to practise whatever religion they want, in whatever way they want (within reason), and the very second we ban burka's, we become as oppressive and dictatorial as the regime these people have come to this country to escape. All right, if someone can't understand a teacher because she's wearing one then fair enough, she might have to take it off, everything in it's place, but wandering round the shops on a Saturday? let her wear what she wants! Isn't that what living in the west is all about?

Done, thanks.

Italy or bust

After much deliberation, lots of research and a few tears, we have finally decided on a destination for The Hen Weekend To End All Hen Weekends, no Blackpool for us, we are going for the class, after all, why fall on your arse coming out of a cocktail bar in the rainy north when you can fall on your arse coming out of a cocktail bar somewhere just a little bit classier....?

So we discounted Reykjavic, Krakow, Riga, Bucharest, Prague and Budapest and have decided on what is quite possibly the most expensive and excessive of all city breaks - Florence.

I AM SO EFFIN EXCITED.

We are going to sit outside a cafe on a palazzo wearing overly large sunglasses, drinking champagne and talking about the Prada shoes I just bought for three goddam days.

Liz is going to attempt to teach me about classical art, I am going to pretend to learn stuff, then we are going to engage in some serious heavy drinking and forget how to pronounce 'art' while we choose whether to order four cocktails next or play it safe and just have three.

Oh I think I might have to shut myself in a dark room for weeks afterwards because seriously, how do you top that?! Man, I'm going to need some new clothes.....

Three reasons why all is not lost.

1. Last night, while having a strop born of tiredness and backache, Glenn told me to "get bent", just prior to stomping up the stairs, slamming the office door and playing champs for an hour. Love him.

2. The chocolate croissant that's left me feeling a little bit sick this morning, no, I shouldn't have eaten it, but yes, it was totally worth the calories.

3. The rumour currently circulating the office that I am shagging the principal in order to get the recently vacated position of Director of Information, a post that would be a career leap of approximately 15 years and £30,000. I am planning on doing nothing to dispel this rumour, it's the first work related thing to make me smile all week. Bring on the wrinkly lovin'!

It's like this.

We're walking, all of us, we start when we're born, we get carried because we're too little to do it ourselves and then bit by bit we are let go to walk upright alone, people join us, some fall away and mostly we have to do it alone. There's nothing wrong with this, it's what we all do.

When great things happen to us we run, we sprint along the road under a sky filled with electric blue, hot pink and primrose yellow.... we bathe in the colours and they make us feel warm, time flies (cliches are cliches because they are true) and we never feel tired, it's like we could run forever.

I have stood still, this is the only way I can describe how life is now, why I haven't written, why I feel nothing, because I have stood still, one day I just stopped walking and now I am still, waiting to walk, I can see everyone around me walking, running, and I smile and laugh, because they want me to? because I want to? because you want me to be like you, to walk with you, to share with the reasons you are running, trips to far flung countries, weddings, exotic locations, romantic aspirations, I see them, they are wonderful, but I stand apart, I can see your colours and your race to get there, but I watch the grey around me and can see no reason to move.

Is it shock? That's a theory I have heard, that I had some bad news and now I have boxed myself up, wrapped myself in thick mist and will not think of it, but to not think of that means to think of nothing because that is everything, the reason and the solution. I cannot avoid any of it, delay any of it, there is damage and pain and I feel nothing about it, I am apathetic, truly. I was waiting to be a mess, I usually am about such things but this time.... the sky is grey, and I have stood still.

Maybe I don't want to move again, maybe still is ok. The sky has been black before, and I have forced a path through but this time, I think I will stay here.

Still.

Why I should not be allowed to interact with actual, live, people.

Me:

So here I am, just pleasantly working away, and the AP walks in to ask someone a question and he is yet again wearing the pink shirt that I always take the piss out of, so as we have been emailing recently I send one that says pink? again? really? and he replies with something like 'Alfie says it takes a real man to wear pink, sales girl did a good job besides, thought you were ignoring me?', so I say 'Alfie as in Michael Caine? wouldn't trust my wardrobe to an aging lothario, wonder if the sales girl did a really good job if you know what I mean, and it takes two to ignore each other Lewis!"

No reply, so then I think, oh God, I've been too familiar, implying he's slept with a sales girl for the sake of a pink shirt and called him by his surname, so I go downstairs to his office to apologise and walk in on him in a meeting, and his secretary has to literally stop me in the door way. So then I'm in the corridor, thinking, can I just die right here now please.

So then I think well now he's going to think I want something, so I send a very short email saying 'just wanted to check I hadn't offended you, think I may have been too familiar - apologies'. So now I've sent an email implying he slept with a sales girl for a shirt, called him by his surname, stalked him in a meeting, and sent yet another email apologising.

I just can't ever see or speak to him ever, ever again, I am going to haveto resign, there's nothing else for it, how totally and completely awful.

Her:

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. that made me laugh almost out loud. it's all so very bridget jones... i am sure he will laugh at your email(s) and won't think anything strange of your possible over familiarity or attempt to retrieve your foot from your mouth in an elegant way. it'll all be fine. don't quit, think of the mortgage. bet you will have had an email back by the time you read this.

Me:

Thank you, thank you, thank you, now have nice fantasy that he may think I am just funny / polite as opposed to nightmare Glenn Close type Stalker lady. Think the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle, ie; he will most probably think I am a bit odd. Which is fine, odd is sooooo much better than bunny boiler.

However, no email back yet, am pretending to myself that he's just still in the meeting, and that after this one he has another one and so on and so forth until I never have to come back here again. God why do these things happen to me? No one else makes college assistant principals change their perception of them from 'intelligent professional' to 'probable loony' all in ten minutes.

Oh thank god!!! Reply! I got a reply! he said:

No offense taken; even from an aging Lothario with my dress sense. Not wanting to be too familiar?.........but, She (sales girl) did do a really good job, if you know what I mean!

He totally wants me.

News from the insurance company

I have to pay a £75 excess on anything I claim for and they will only pay 20% of the value of anything because we were out of the home.

So for my Ipod, worth £300, I will actually pay more in excess than they will actually give me back.

I know it could have been an awful lot worse, I'm trying to hold on to small mercies, but I think I might just fall apart this afternoon, hopefully somewhere between skincare and the meal deals.

When Junkies Attack!

This weekend, The Glenys and I headed down to London to visit my friend Nikki and her boyfriend Paul, they’ve just moved into a swanky flat in the posh end of Brixton, a loft conversion type of thing with nice fourth floor views of the surrounding area and large velux windows (I am setting a scene here, can you tell?).

We headed out to the Windows On The World bar on the 28th floor of the London Hilton with fabulous views of Hyde Park and drinks costing a whopping £13 each. Then we went to a beautiful restaurant off Oxford St called Hush, the night led us to a rough student like bar and then Nikki and I decided to leave the boys to it and jumped on the tube home.

I couldn’t find my bag, we hunted the flat from top to bottom but it was no where to be seen, then I noticed the gold necklace I had taken off before we went out was no longer on the bedside table, Nikki had a look in her bedroom for my bag and found a small whirlwind of chaos had taken place on her bedside table, resulting in large holes where her grandmothers jewellery, her passport and about £40 in cash used to be…

Anyway, to cut a longish story a bit shorter, the resulting police visit and very glamorous CSI ladies think we were the victims of opportunistic junkies who are probably, as I type this, lying in some rancid bedsit, possibly overdosing on the profits they made from selling my Ipod and my friends Grandmothers jewellery on Brixton High St.

I have gone from furious anger (fucking, FUCKING arseholes), to slight hysteria (really? After the week from hell last week, THIS is what I get?), to just plain, old fashioned tears.

One of the loveliest people in the whole world asked me to be her maid of honour yesterday, and I have been so, SO thrilled about it. I am going to be the greatest, most accomplished, most coordinated, beautifully organised maid of honour in the whole world ever. So that is my bright, glorious ray of sunshine during a very, very cloudy time. I am going to try my best to make her proud.

Things will get better.

When it all just gets a bit much.

Never, ever, ever, work in an office full of women.

After two days of bitching, and dirty looks and people walking out of the office en masse to get a new ID card and then not coming back with an ID card, I have had it.

We have spent the last six months trying to create an atmosphere of calm productivity, where people get the job done but can have a laugh while they do it, and this is what we get for it. The last boss there ruled with a rod of iron, scared the shit out of the staff and worked herself into a nervous breakdown but was never, ever spoken to the way I have been spoken to today.

So fine, if being personal and getting on with people just gets you walked all over, then I won't do it anymore, they can take their pleasant conversation and shove it up their jellified arses.

I have tried so hard during the last week to maintain a dignified front, to not appear upset, to just get on with the job. I have cried at home, in the car, and once in Boots by the feminine care products, but I have never, ever let them know that they made it personal, and it actually hurt.

Fuck them, fuck them and their 25 tea breaks a day, fuck their fucking danish fucking pastry days, fuck their "what do you mean duck? me? nothing wrong with me!", fuck their dirty looks and their conspiracy theories and their assumed hatred of me and what I represent to them, fuck their unwillingness to do anything that seems like work, fuck their cheap fucking polyester trousers and gold jewellary, fuck their tesco jeans.

It's times like this when I miss Tom Starkey. When, more specifically, I missed Tom Starkey living in the room below my room, when I could just run downstairs and knock on his door and tell him what was bothering me, and he'd listen, and probably forget everything that I said pretty much the second I said it, but nod in an understanding sort of way that always made me feel instantly comforted.

I don't ever say it enough.

My parents are the kind of people who have never been handed anything. Everything they have they worked their arses off to get and the vast majority of the time they have done it for me and my sister.

This is a photo of the villa they have, where we just spent a wonderful week, and where they are going to spend many happy years retiring to.

Every single thing you see in this picture was paid for with blood, sweat and tears, I mean they don't work down the mines or anything but my mom is a nurse (blood), my dad is overweight with a Chandler Bing type of job (sweat) and they have both enjoyed many a screaming row during during the last 30 years (tears).

Seriously though, just for one tiny minute, I'm not great at telling my parents I love them, or how proud I am of them, or any of that sort of stuff, so I wanted to put out there, on the internet that neither of them really knows how to use, just in case one day they stumble on it, that if I can achieve half of what they have, I'll be very happy.

And thank you.

buy it. sell it. love it. obsess about it, lose sleep over it....

Yesterday I put a bid on a pair of seven for all mankind, crystal A pocket jeans on Ebay (retail price - £180, current bid - £19.95) and it's just about to end, I have 26 more minutes of staring at the screen and hitting refresh until my fingers are aching, bloody stubs.

I want them.

I don't know who Audrey6868 thinks she is but she sure as fuck cannot have my jeans.

What would yours be?

One of my girlfriends from Uni has come up with an amazing present idea for all of us girls. She has asked us to email her with our favourite two songs of all time and she is going to compile them into a CD and send us all a copy for Christmas.

How cool is that?

So I've been thinking and thinking and thinking and there are too many to boil them down to just two! I currently have a shortlist of about 30 and am trying to eliminate based on how often I can play them without getting bored.

So my question is - What would you put and why? It's got to be based on not just the musical merits of said songs, your favourite songs might be absolutely awful but remind you of something so absolutely fabulous that happened to you that you will always love them.

Come on, this is supposed to be all interactive 'n shit, so interact.

That means you too Glenys.

NB: I'm not going to steal anybody elses, I have plenty of my own, I'm just curious.

Stuck for words

I know, I know, I know, I have turned into a useless blogger, there are hardly any photos anymore, the posts are scarce and not particularly humorous and I have no imagination.

I don’t know what to say, I just can’t think of anything to write! And So much stuff has happened, I continue with my gym going (although why I am bothering when the total weight loss amounts to 2lbs – 2 fucking pounds – is beyond me), I went on holiday, work is insanely busy, Liz and I have a new business plan which will make us the next Bill Gates, things are moving forward with the house again. Really, I have motivation, content, I have funny anecdotes about my mother….

I just don’t have any words.

Must find words….

Anecdote about my mother.
My mother rang me yesterday morning at 9.15, while I was in bed with a horrible hangover, and then she cried for two hours about how awful my Dad is, and how she's lonely and has no one to talk to and I was like, holding the phone away from my ear to throw up and when I put it back to my ear she was still just hickupping and "your..hic... Dad... hic…just...hic...doesn't...hic...understand...hic...me...", and I'm like, no mum, he doesn't, your life is very, very difficult, I'm sorry about that, hang on a second... HURL.

She’s fine now, there will be no separation, my father has reached a plateau of understanding he hasn’t had before during the 30 years they have been married. Glenn is blaming schizophrenia for their 12 hour marriage crisis.

A thing that annoyed me.
Yes, I am aware there is a photo of me in a bikini on flickr. No, I am not happy about it. I am distinctly unhappy abut it. This is not a ploy to get people to post something about how I look fine, it’s not about that, it’s about me choosing to wear a bikini on holiday with friends and not choosing to have any photo’s taken of such a thing and then finding one on the internet. Clue – I am not smiling at the camera in the photo, I am reading a book. I am very happy for people who can feel confident when wearing two triangles and a pair of waterproof pants but I am not one of them.

Why work is insanely busy.
Apparently, after a pretty awful 2005, people like us again! The corporate giant crushes the independent thinker! You will pay us! You will like it! You will give us work!

Arse.

Hey, it’s ok, two punnets of frozen raspberries later and soon, I’ll be on the cover of Time magazine, it’s ok that you don’t understand that, give it time…

None of this bodes well for a novel though, really, how can I become the next Nadine Gordimer if I can’t find enough words for a regular diary entry...?

Books I read on holiday that were good.

'Running with Scissors' by Augusten Burroughs
'On Beauty' by Zadie Smith

A book I read on holiday that was amazing.

'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close' by Jonathan Safran Foer

A book I read on holiday that I wish I hadn't read because it was awful and I will never get that time back.

'A long way down' by Nick Hornby

Telephone conversation with my mother, calling from the pool side at her villa dans la Spain.

First of all she spoke to Glenn and all I heard was;

Glenn: “Hello… Oh hi!... You alright? You’re having a nice time then?... Yeah I bet it is… URGH! Oh that’s just… I mean… Talk to Hannah, talk to Hannah”

So he passed the phone to me with a face like he’d just cleared the gunk out of the drain on the patio.

Me: Hi

Mum: Hello, it’s Mummy, how are you?

Me: I’m well thank you, are you having a nice time?

Mum: Yes, it’s beautiful here, and I’ve just told Glenn that your father is naked in the swimming pool.

Me: URGH! Mum! Well no wonder he’s having to hold back the wretching… Mum! We’ve got to get into that pool next week!!

Mum: Oh don’t worry, it gets cleaned every morning, and the filter system is on.

Me: I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT WHY THE FILTER SYSTEM IS IMPORTANT WHILE MY FATHER IS NAKED IN A SWIMMING POOL.

Mum: hee hee….

Take it like a woman.

I don’t really know how to write about having a flexible sigmoidoscopy. It is unpleasant, but then you could have guessed that, things are not meant to go up that orifice, only out, and certainly nothing is meant to go up there which is the length of a six seater dining table.

But go up there it did, and it had an audience of two nurses, an incredibly old consultant who I had never met before, and someone who appeared to be being trained on sticking things up arses. The very odd thing about the whole experience was that to be able to watch what the camera could see, the consultant needed the TV the scope was transmitting to directly in front of me, so I watched everything, from when the scope was switched on while it was still on the other side of the room, to when it was gliding towards my bottom, like a missile heading towards a fleshy target, to when it was cruising through my colon and around my large intestine. Truly, a film worth renting again.

The nurse did not offer me sedation, she said they were not going far up enough to justify it so my going through the whole thing without being sleepy is not quite as noble as perhaps you thought, however, the consultant decided to do it twice because the first time the air flow wasn’t working (the scope blows air as it travels so the pictures are clearer) and then to go as far as he could to get a proper examination. This means that he went much further than the nurse thought he would, and I SHOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING SEDATED.

But I digress….. for those of you who may have to one day face a crusty old man shoving a cable up your bum, the only unpleasantness is as your stomach fills with air, but that is just like really bad wind, and simply means you have to sit in a room by yourself and fart it all out afterwards, and as the scope negotiates the turns in your intestine it’s quite painful, but it is temporary pain and as you can watch what’s happening on the TV you can see that nothing is wrong, that the pain you feel is nothing ripping or bleeding, that everything is fine, so it’s quite bearable really.

And everything really is fine, I have to admit to holding my breathe as I watched the screen, I was quite convinced that any second now the scope would show up a lesion and the whole humiliating experience was just the beginning, but no, there’s nothing, I’m clear in that department, so now I have nothing to worry about until the laparoscopy in October and I’ve had one before so I know exactly what to expect. It’s a piece of cake.

Now the enema, that was a WHOLE other story and you will NEVER be able to get me to talk about it.

Not. Ever.

Answerphone message left by my mum about two hours before 4 people stood and watched a 70yr old consultant insert 80cm of camera into my virgin anus

"Hello Hannah, it's Mummy... just phoning to say good luck for today, Now I've been thinking about it and I would say that sedation is mostly provided to old people, small children, and men, so you shouldn't have any, ok then? Love you."

So I didn't.

Remember what I said about a lack of dignity.....?

Got a letter from the hospital on Saturday, I have to have a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy on Thursday, as in this Thursday, I'm going to let you look that up to see what it is because the act of explaining it makes me feel sick.

I can choose whether or not to be sedated, can't make up my mind about that yet;

no sedation = 20 minutes of what looks to me like torture,

sedation = 24hr recovery period, can't go to work on Friday, can't drive, am miserable.

See if you can find some song lyrics about that.

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady.

Hold me closer tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

you had a busy day today

Could it be magic? No.

Last week I did two things I never, ever thought I would willingly do in my entire life. I feel that I should not be alone in experiencing these things, and therefore I think I should review them for you, so that you, dear friends, can share them with me.

1) I went to see a Sandra Bullock film, at the cinema, for which I paid for a ticket, with real money, money I will never get back.

There is very little I can say about ‘The Lake House’ that you probably haven’t already thought when you saw the trailer, thoughts which I hope went along the line of “my my, well doesn’t that film look like it sucks ass?”, and it does, it reeeeeally does, if it had chugged along any slower I would have been watching it backwards, and Dr Emit Brown would have crawled all over the giant holes in time travel logic displayed here. Seriously, it made my brain ache just trying to wrap my head around why someone would travel to a mailbox in the middle of nowhere, after they had moved to Chicago, to post a letter to a person who was living two years in the past, and never, ever, question the logic of it all? Indeed, at one point Keanu writes “Can this be happening?”, to which Sandra writes back “why not?”, uh, because it’s completely and totally impossible, you crazy bonkers people? And why does Keanu look so old? I was under the impression he was an F B I AGENT!

Anyway, so then we came out of the cinema and ran into as many other cinema’s as we could to try and watch the end of a different film, we saw the last 15 minutes of ‘Fearless’, the last 5 minutes of ‘Fast and the Furious 3’, two minutes of ‘Hard Candy’, and 30 seconds of ‘The Da Vinci Code’. That was a lot of fun, we may one day buy a ticket for something very early one morning and then just jump in and out of screens watching films for free! But not another Sandra Bullock film, oh no no no.

2) I went to see Take That. Ah ha! Ha ha ha ha! You should go to Moch’s pages for the full details, with photo’s, but all you really need to know is that I have a mug that has ‘got your lipstick mark still on your coffee cup’ and an accompanying lipstick mark written on it, and that kicks ass.

I was never a massive Take That fan, so I felt a bit of fraud at first. Actually, during the Sugababes supporting performance I went searching for food. I have nothing to say about the Sugababes, except they should eat something, they’re all ribs. I have to admit though, that during the encore, when Take That did ‘Never Forget’, with an enormous fireworks display and 60,000 people singing along with their hands in the air, I begrudgingly enjoyed myself.

Hannah Hearts Patrick Dempsey

Last night, while I was watching Grey's Anatomy, I wanted him so badly I had to turn it off for a few minutes so I could catch my breath.

It actually hurts a little bit.

I'm sorry Johnny, but while my love for you will never die, you may have to share a small piece of my heart, I think Patrick can see my soul through the television.

Sunstroke - apparently it does not involve actual stroking.

It was blisteringly hot this weekend. I know this to be true because I have an actual blister on my back from attempting to garden this weekend in the searing heat.

A valuable lesson was learned during my brief attempt at gardening;

I can’t garden.

Oh how I would dearly love to just wave a wand over the whole bloody thing and just ping it into an ordered, colourful mix of perfectly manicured lawn and decking.

According to my mother, I was the only child she ever encountered that hated the beach because of the sand, apparently I hated the way it got everywhere and made me dirty, I would sit in the car and cry at the very thought of sitting on the beach, and if I got there I would push myself into the very centre of the beach towel and try to flick all the sand off it. My parents always thought this was very funny, and regularly flicked the sand back onto the beach towel where it seemed to crawl perilously close to me, aided by the wind and my father. Sand: a tiny evil.

This goes someway to explaining why having dirt under my fingernails fills me with a kind of horror that most people only experience when faced with pools of their own blood. I dig a bit, then spend 10 minutes scrubbing my hands, then I dig a bit more, scrub a bit, dig a bit, scrub a bit until my hands are stinging and bleeding.

Then I stood on a paving slab that was not actually attached to the ground, slipped and ripped a chunk of skin off the top of my foot, which just goes to show why Charlie Dimmock never wears flip flops to garden, she may not be able to properly support her bosom, but the woman sure can pick sensible footwear.

Glenn is prone to sunstroke, because he is the colour of the milk produced by albino cows, I’m not entirely sure that albino cows exist, but they might, and if they did, their milk would surely be much paler than the milk of regular cows, you see what I did there…..

People who suffer from sunstroke also suffer from the lesser known ‘Fear Of Sunstroke’. This is rarer but much more disabling, sufferers are prone to an attack at the very hint of a sunny day, blistering heat leaves them paralysed inside the house, drinking gallons of water while lying down near a fan and murmuring “I think I have a headache…”. Glenn’s last serious attack of Fear Of Sunstroke was in Ibiza in 2004, the time he spent outside during the daylight hours reduced more and more each day until the middle of the second week, when all attempts to see Ibiza in daylight were abandoned and he caught up on his reading (mainly novels about some kind of fictional history, King Arthur is a particular favourite).

So yesterday we attempted to garden, me with my obsessive compulsive handwashing and Glenn with his Fear Of Sunstroke, and we dug shit up.

We are crazy sons of bitches.

Devil in a Blue...... Frank Lloyd Wright creation?

Last week ‘im indoors and I were off ill with a nasty virus that meant we both felt very sorry for ourselves and spent the week determined to prove that one was far worse than the other one. Anyway, that’s enough about that because frankly it was all a bit disgusting.

Saturday night was my university reunion, with accommodation at one of the halls of residence and a night at the union. So weeks and weeks ago I bought my ticket and arranged with my friend Nic to travel to Hull together. Then Evil Ex-Boyfriend, R, emailed me and asked if I was going, because he was going and maybe it would be nice to catch up etc etc. This threw me into a panic, I haven’t spoken to him for five years, and there is a reason for that, the reason being he is Evil and there is frankly, no place for Evil in my sunny disposition.

However, then I was poorly and to cut a long story short, Nic and I ended up driving to Hull, only to drive to Sheffield a few hours later because the state I was in meant I could cope with barbecue at her boyfriend’s house much better than a night a student union.

So at 10pm I get a text from The Evil One, he asked if I was at the union, I said no, I was poorly and hadn’t been able to attend, and then he rang me.

He rang me.

And then I answered.

Oh foolish, foolish me.

He told me everyone at the union was fat, he said the girls were at least a size 14, I mean really, imagine that! A size 14! How horrendous…

He asked me what I did for a living and I told him, only to get a 10 minute lecture on how I had sold out and had “no passion for anything any more, just some slick management type”, and my life had “no soul”, apparently everyone who does the kind of job I do is some kind of giant arsehole.

He is an architect, so we can all sleep easy now because this means architects surely have souls.

I told him it was a little unfair to make such a huge judgement, he after all hasn’t spoken to me for five years and has no idea who I am, or why I do what I do, nor can he say why anyone really does the job they do, each individual has their own reasons. He failed to see “how anyone can live without doing something they’re passionate about”. I said I was passionate about plenty of things, whether they factored into my professional life or not.

He asked me how the house was coming along and I said “oh just lovely, it’s nearly finished, it’s a three bed terrace, palace of a house”, to which he replied “really? Well I won’t tell you about how my newest client has a budget of 4 million and lives next to Jude Law”.

Oh right, ok, so why now, did you tell me?

Then he told me he had always thought of me touring the Midlands, playing Tina in an S Club 7 tribute band.

Surely the most hysterical thing about this whole encounter is that I was worried about seeing him in case old feelings were stirred up.

So, we can learn from this, we can learn that Evil lives, it thrives among us, it is embodied in the form of an architect, living in London, it has close proximity to Jude Law.

And that I have no soul.

Weirdest dream ever

Last night;

I leave Glenn and move into a ground floor flat by the sea with Ashley Cole, Ashley and I are very happy together, even though my mother is sat in the corner of the flat repeating "Glenn is a lovely boy" over and over again. I walk out of the flat to go shopping and someone shoots me in the back, I fall to the floor and realise I am paralysed. Ashley Cole comes out of the flat, throws a blanket over me and runs away. My mother comes out of the flat, she leans down to where I am lying on the floor and says, "what's it like? Being shot?", and I say, "it's like being punched really hard", and then I watch as she walks away down the street, feeling the blood pool underneath me.

I think at the next hen party, they should medicate me.

So yeah, Saturday night was Tina's hen party (see Moch's page for pictures), and we went out in Worcester dressed as Disney characters, or at least as close to our allocated character as we could get. I had been given Jessie (that's the cowgirl from Toy Story 2 in case you were thinking 'who the hell...?'), so not the most obvious character. There was Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Cinderella, Snow White, Tigger, Piglet, Eeyore.... and Jessie.

However, I soon realised I had lucked out, as everyone else was buying wigs and little bags and wrapping tails around themselves, I put on a Stetson and was off! Nice. Not so nice when a man tried to take it off my head later on, not realising it was tied round my neck and very nearly garroting me in the process, but you know, it could have been worse.

I didn't really know anyone there apart from Moch and Tina, and I realised I was with a very different crowd to the girls I normally go out with when they told me it was a Disney theme, not that the girls I normally go out with are hard core ravers or anything, but our themes have in the past been 'naughty school girls', or 'naughty nurses', I'm sure that if the theme had been 'naughty disney characters' I would have felt more at home, but I was prepared to take the action up to the next level if the night was as tame as the theme suggested it was going to be.

No need for that as it turned out, Tina apparently loves a good pole dance as much as anyone I've been out with before.

I'm not sure I made a great impression though, there was a card going round for us to sign with our thoughts about the night, so that Tina could read it the next morning and remember her hen party. I had had a little too much to drink I think and didn't really understand, so while everyone else wrote 'have a great night!', or 'you're great Tina!', or 'looking forward to the wedding!', I wrote;

'I saw you dancing with that bald man, you filthy whore'.

Are you sitting comfortably......?

One day, as Chicken Licken was walking along an acorn fell on his head, “oh my”, said chicken licken, “the sky is falling in, I must go and tell the king”.

So chicken Licken set off. On the way, he met Henny Penny and Cocky Locky, “I am going to tell the king the sky is falling”, said Chicken Licken, “then we shall come to!” said Henny Penny and Cocky Locky. So Chicken Licken and Henny Penny and Cocky Locky set off to find the king.

On the way, they met Ducky Lucky and Drakey Lakey, “where are you going off to?” they asked, “The sky is falling in!” cried Chicken Licken, “and we are going to tell the king”, “then we shall come too” said Ducky Lucky and Drakey Lakey. So Chicken Licken, Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Ducky Lucky and Drakey Lakey set off to find the king.

On the way they met Goosey Loosey and Turkey Lurkey (who were crying about the lack of imagination that went into naming them all), “where are you going off to?” they asked, “The sky is falling in!” cried Chicken Licken, “and we are going to tell the king”, “then we shall come too” said Goosey Loosey and Turkey Lurkey. So Chicken Licken, Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Ducky Lucky, Drakey Lakey, Goosey Loosey and Turkey Lurkey set off to find the king.

On the way they met a fox, “Where are you going?” he asked, “the sky is falling and we are going to tell the king!” they cried, “then follow me” said Foxy Loxy, “I know the way”.

So Chicken Licken, Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Ducky Lucky, Drakey Lakey, Goosey Loosey and Turkey Lurkey followed Foxy Loxy, but he led them to his den and his family ate them for dinner, so all those foolish birds never did get to see the king, but then the sky didn’t fall in either!”

Living out the fantasy of literally thousands of women.

I was in my last year at university during the last world cup, and all the England games managed to clash with graduation/end of year events, in particular, the end of year ball.

The lads got into their tuxedos at about midday and headed off to the pub to watch England vs. Argentina, they urged us to do the same, but instead we spent the day getting everything organised, getting cars ready, going to the hairdressers, last minute shopping, picking up flowers, debating whether underwear was required, squeezing into dresses, and it was all a giant pain in the arse, but I would still have rather been doing that, than watching the football.

So this leads me to Wednesday night, and a row with Glenn that got so horrible I ended up lying awake at 3.30am, looking at him passed out drunk next to me, thinking about where I could go if I just threw some clothes in a bag and left.

It really doesn’t matter what the row was about, I’m not going to talk about that now because a) it's nobodies business but ours and b) it was totally Glenn’s fault, and the problem with telling someone about a row that was completely one person’s fault is that the person you are telling always thinks ‘well that’s fine, but it’s just her side of the story and she’s not perfect, so it must have been at least a little bit her fault’, and you see, this time, for possibly the first and last time, it was not, in any way, my fault.

It was so not my fault, that yesterday, Glenn missed football so he could come straight home and sort things out, he bought me flowers from Marks and Spencer, a ‘Sorry’ card and a choice…

He is SO sorry, I can choose either of the following;

a) he will never drink again

or

b) he will only watch the football matches in the world cup that I want to watch.

Now we weren’t together during the last world cup, so he had no idea when he made this offer that I don’t care about the world cup any more than I care about any other football match that is ever played, anywhere, at any time, ever.

This gives you some idea of just how bad this row was, just how sorry he is, and just how much making up he has to do.

It’s really kind of a false promise, we all know that I wouldn’t pick option A because I like a glass of wine as much as the next person, and occasionally, I like to get so drunk my eyes cease to function in any useful way, I have difficulties remembering my name and sometimes I try on wedding dresses and launch myself out of windows. So that leaves me with no choice but to choose option B, and the problem with that is seeing it through, I mean there is genuinely not a single match that I have any desire to see, except possibly the final, and only then if England are in it, and probably then only the first and last 20 minutes.

I think really, it all comes down to how upset I am about Wednesday night, am I so upset that the feeling will last and no, there will be no world cup in our house and no, he can’t go and watch it anywhere else because I get to say what he can and can’t watch and I say no…?

… or, am I secretly a nicer person than you think I am, and will let it go and make sure he gets to watch the football he wanted to.

I have a feeling he thinks the latter, and although I’m sure he meant the gesture, he doesn’t think I’ll see it through…

… except that could backfire on him, because that could make me even more determined to make him pay…

Imagine, England win the world cup in 2006, and Glenn doesn’t get to see it because one night a couple of months before the final, he was so evil I got to ban it with no objection….

Wow.

Questions:

1. Am I that nice, or that evil?

2. How much is Glenn regretting a) Wednesday night and b) ever thinking that the flowers wouldn't be enough?

Conversation

T: putting down the phone She just called me Chicken lickin’

Me: Who did?

T: J, she just called me Chicken Lickin’

Me: That’s because she’s mental and a bit weird.

T: What the fuck does chicken lickin’ mean?

Me: Oh my aunty used to call me that, it’s that story, you know, an acorn fell on his head and he thought the sky was falling so he went to tell the king and blah blah blah

T: Oh yeah! I’d forgotten about Chicken Lickin’, I used to read it to my little sister,

K: joining in I hated the end

Me: Eh?

K: You know, when he gets eaten

T: Yeah, that’s sad

Me: Sorry what? Chicken Lickin’ gets what now?

T and K: Eaten

Me: Uh, no he doesn’t.

K: Yeah he does.

Me: No, he tells his friends and then they explain about gravity and they tell him that, see, the sky is in fact, not falling, and he goes home feeling much better about the situation.

K and T: laughing No! He gets eaten!

K: He finds Henny Penny and Goosy Lucy and Cock Lock (and ha ha to that by the way), and they go to tell the king that the sky is falling but they come to a river and Foxy Loxy has to help them, so they get on his back but the river is rising so they get on his nose and the river is still getting deep, so they get in his mouth and he eats them!

B: shouting from an ajoining office No! That’s the ginger bread man!

Me: See! He doesn’t get eaten! It’s a clever story that teaches us about gravity!

B: No, he does get eaten, just not like that, I think Foxy Loxy tricks them into going back to his house or something and…

Me: Well, that’s not right, Foxy Loxy never had a house.

K: Ok, so Foxy Loxy doesn’t have a house, but he does know enough to teach Chicken Lickin’ about gravity, is that what you’re saying?

Me: I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, I do know that I have to have a conversation with my Aunt though, if you’re all so sure that it’s a brutal tale of Chicken slaughter and not an educational science story about gravity, then I think she may have twisted the ending somewhere along the line...

K: Definitely, my daughter loves the bit where Chicken Lickin’ gets eaten, I taught her to make snapping noises when he gets gobbled up.

Me: And your daughter is how old?

K: 18 months.

Me: You’re a terrible mother.

K: I know.

NYC - Day Four

I should explain now that these diary entries were usually written over coffee the morning after the day I was writing about. This explains why Day Four is so short, because the night of Day Four was spent in a club in the meat packing destrict, and in Manhatten there are no such things as measures, they practise 'free pouring', which is genius, until the morning after.... So the morning of Day Five, when I wrote the following, was very unpleasant...

St Particks Day Parade - 150,000 people marching, Glenn Hearts Cheerleaders, V. Cold, V. Boring, Posh Americans claiming dubious Irish ancestry v. drunk...

Metropolitan Museum of Art - American Art, more modern art (Klimt, Klee, Picasso, Warhol!), had tour, very good, Frank Lloyd Wright room coooool.

Thai food - Yum

Irish bar in East Village - guiness, more yum.

went to some bars and club in Meat Packing Destrict (lotus) - no measures, free pouring, I really want to die right now.

That's it, that's all I wrote, I was in a very bad way the next day, I really want to tell this story though, when we were in Lotus, Glenn and Richard went to check out the upstairs and Catherine and I were chatting downstairs. Within seconds this guy comes over and starts asking us where we're from and can he have our 'cell phone number' (ha! so cool!), I glance up to a balcony and see Glenn and Richard watching us, they're stood next to two girls. Catherine spots them and we start sort of milking this guy's attention to wind the boys up, so Glenn says to the girl next to him "see those girls down there?" she says "yes", he says "they're our girlfriends", she nods, he says "can you wave at them for us?", she says "I think you should wave at them yourself!", he says "well you're no fucking help are you? Thanks for nothing".

Ever the charmer, the moral of the story; Free Pouring, at first it seems like a bargain, but there is a heavier price to pay than cash....

Email

Me: I have skittles! SKITTLES!

Him: You are on one today.

Me: I am just trying to be happy on a miserable thursday when I am stuck inside an office even though it's a beautiful day... Taste the rainbow! TASTE IT!

Him: You're a weirdo but I love you.

Me: Uh, thanks?

I'm Into Something Good - Herman's Hermits.

I have developed a new passion, rather like the way one of my colleagues is obsessed with the 'FWD' function in Outlook (LEARN YOUR FUCKING JOB YOU WASTE OF SPACE WHO IS PAID TWICE AS MUCH AS ME, I AM NOT YOUR BITCH), I have become enamoured with the 'Shuffle' function my Ipod.

I've heard people say that it's the one one function they never use, the humble Ipod is not a DJ, or a (searching for a word which describes a person who knows a lot about music... searching.... searching... finally settling on...) person who knows a lot about music, so you end up with a bizarre combination of tracks. There is possibly a way of selecting a category but I haven't got there yet, I have only just bought something to make it work in my car. I think it's great though, for the simple reason that it forces me to accidently come across music I never knew I had, I get 6 or 7 seconds into a track and I'm thinking, 'What IS this? When on earth did I buy THIS?' only to realise it's off a compilation CD that Glenn bought a few years back like 'Music to Watch Girls By', or 'The Sixties', but that's half the fun, I know I like all of it so it's like a little treasure trove I can dip into every so often to find something shiny and new.

I got tagged the other day, one of those list things you have to do; 'four jobs I have had', 'four foods I like to eat', and there was 'four things I can't live without'. I hadn't at that time got anything to make it work in my car so my Ipod was turning into a giant waste of money sat in my house and there was no reason to make it part of the list (also not part of the list was, uh, Glenn, yep, listed my mobile but not my boyfriend, I was not popular that night) but I think it will eventually sit pretty high on the list...

Four things I can't live without:

1. GLENN (are you HAPPY now?)
2. My family
3. My lovely, lovely friends
4. Mobile

Wow, four things does not leave you with much wriggle room, there's LOADS of stuff I can't live without....

5. Ipod.
6. Toilet paper
7. A toilet
8. my bed
9. my mums bread and butter pudding
10. My new bathroom floor, it makes me so happy. In the morning when I'm in the shower, I just sneak a peak around the shower screen and there it is, all new and on the floor - happiness is... grey slate tile effect laminate flooring, I just want to sit on it and stroke it all day, rather like what I would like to do to Johnny/Jake/David, but with the floor I actually can...

This could be heaven

Oh my God, Oh My God, OH MY GOD!

http://www.stevemadden.com/customization/default.aspx

First panic of the week

I have left my purse at home.

I don't have enough petrol to get home from here.

Sweaty goat balls.

Unleashed and Empowered – My new hobby, and the other reason Glenn’s not gettin’ any.

BODYCOMBAT™ is the empowering cardio workout where you are totally unleashed. This fiercely energetic program is inspired by martial arts and draws from a wide array of disciplines such as karate, boxing, taekwondo, tai chi and muay thai. Supported by driving music and powerful role model instructors, strike, punch, kick and kata your way through calories to superior cardio fitness. .

And it kicks your arse, and you have no time to update your blog, which is annoying, but strangely, you feel better than you have in a long time. I have written a few times about wanting to get fit, lose five stone and transform into Kate Moss but hadn’t found a way to do it which fitted in with my laziness, my unwillingness to spend a lot of money and The Job. However, my boss has granted me a reprieve from the travelling for a couple of months, the gym had a ‘bring a friend’ offer which Moch got for me (£25 a month all in), and the evenings are lighter now which means I am less likely to want to crawl into bed the second I get home.

The first time I went to Body Combat I spent an hour not really believing I was there, the instructor was taking it very seriously (with such gems as "give me your tiger, GRRRRR!", "Where's your guard? If you ain't got your guard, you ain't 'ard!" and "WEAVE! WEAVE! We go undetected....."), and there were lots of routines which I didn’t understand, but eventually you realise that everyone in the class is so busy concentrating on getting it right themselves, no one could give a damn about what you’re doing. My personal favourite is the one where you punch the head of an imaginary person you are holding against the floor with your other hand, with every punch you have to shout “HEAD!” as loud as you can, and it’s done to a track where the main lyrics are “It’s time to die” or something like that. Honestly, I couldn’t have wished for a more dramatic form of exercise, it’s absolutely perfect!

I can highly recommend getting a gym buddy though, someone who you have to go with, so you can motivate each other, I am incredibly weak willed when it comes to keeping this up, especially at the level we have thrown ourselves in at, so it's massively helpful to have someone who will leave you answer phone message that say "We're booked on Body Combat, pick you at at quarter to eight, NO EXCUSES!". Am unsure what motivation I am providing her with as I mainly lie on the floor after the class spluttering "no... more.... want... to... die... leave... me... alone", but I can tell you that she's certainly helping me. Her and her Big Gym Pants.

So the plan at the moment is to do at least 4 classes a week, and a mixture of combat (cardio, cardio, cardio), pilates (tone, tone, tone), yoga (if I could just remember to breathe….), and then a bit more combat (cardio, cardio, cardio).

This time next year I am going to be America’s Next Top Model, which is Glenn's absolute favourite TV show in the whole world... can't think why.... Although I do regularly hear him shouting "It's all about YOU Tyra isn't it?! All about you!" at the TV.

PS. I have been doing this for four weeks now and have not the smallest clue what it means when it says that you ‘kata your way through…’.

PPS. Try not to feel too sorry for him, he is getting some…

Length of Love

This could be destiny
Oh sweetheart
I've had no sense of time
Since we started
I got friends in need
Oh sweetheart
I've grown lengths and lengths and lengths of love
Since we started this thing out

Combat salacious removal
Combat salacious removal

There is a bitter breed
Oh sweetheart
They will be watching you sometimes
With their bitter hearts

But we are through with these
Oh we're shifting the heartache
We want strong summer love, the most robust blood
Just to stay awake

Combat salacious removal
Combat salacious removal
Combat salacious removal

NYC - Day Three

First of all, can I say, this is hard! I can't believe I'm only on Day Three! Does that mean I am lazy or very busy? I don't know, I think I'm very busy but that could be to make myself feel better about the laziness... who can say?! And the photo is the view of Long Island from across the Hudson River.

So we got up first thing and trekked down Fifth Avenue to the Empire State Building, we had been warned to get there early because the queue really builds up but luckily we managed to be on the 105th floor in about 20 minutes, which pleased Glenn no end, and that's a joke, because he hates heights and visibly shook the entire way around the top. He's actually been up there before and was going up again just for me so we must not laugh at his shakiness because he could have told me to do one. It was freezing up there but we tried to take our time and take some photo's, some man was shouting at his what looked like about 8yr old son to "STAND BACK FROM THE SIDE, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU FELL OFF?!" well if he wasn't thinking about it before.... there is a HUGE fence that goes way, way up all around the side so you would have to incredibly dedicated about doing it to actually fall off, and there are so many people around that I very much doubt even the most committed suicide jumper would manage it, but apparently there is nothing to match scaring the living shit out of your child.

Spectacular views by the way, but I guess you already had an inkling of that.

After the Empire State Building came my absolute favourite part of the day, if not the whole holiday, the Museum of Modern Art, there was a Munch exhibition on (they did not have 'Scream', but they did have 'Despair' and 'Angst', which are equally disturbing! So that was nice), there were countless works by Mondrian, Picasso, Matisse, Klimt, Dali, Hopper, Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock. And one of my favourite paintings in the whole world, 'Christina's World', by Andrew Wyeth, it was tucked away in a corner somewhere and when I noticed it it just took my breath away.

Glenn is a bit gay and very much enjoyed Monet's 'Reflections on a waterlily pond', which is HUGE by the way, but it was a very big thrill standing right in front of it.

A lot of people hate modern art and I think sometimes it's felt that it doesn't take as much talent as more traditional pieces, but can you imagine being in the world, say, 100 years ago and seeing something like a Picasso for the very first time, a world that had never dreamt of Mondrian or Warhol, where does an artist like Picasso come up with the idea for something like that? With no point of reference, how does he think to do it? I don't agree with the idea that modernism is not as accessible as more classic art, surely it's the most accessible, because you can make of it what you will. What is it? It's whatever you want it to be, what do you think and feel when you look at it? That's what it is.

Anyway, blah blah blah and all that...

Munch's 'Portrait of Inger' freaked Glenn out so much he had to leave the room, which was very funny.

After MoMA, we walked down Fifth Avenue and attempted shopping for the first time which was a disaster of mythical proportions, turns out in New York, I am just all the wrong shape, looking back they have the same problems we have n the UK, no proper sizing system, the size 12 jeans slipped on easily in old Navy but I couldn't get them past my thighs in Gap. As say though, it's on reflection that I have realised this, at the time I was not rational and thought only of changing my name to Lardy McFatArse.

Sachs was beautiful, really, really beautiful but not for people like us..... I asked Catherine where the 'Sex and The City' type of women were to be found because I hadn't yet seen any of these uber stylish, wealthy types yet, she said 'Sachs, they're all in Sachs', and she was right! Except close up they're just frightening looking... Like an extreme version of the make up counter attendants in Debenhams, very orange.

Back at the hotel to have an hour off from it all and we discovered that American news reporting is bloody weird!

"A father goes to court today to seek to legally relinquish his parental rights, is he right to do so? Or an irresponsible jerk?"

I want to hear Anna Ford say that!

Another gem:

"Convicted of his parent's murders 12 months ago, new evidence comes to light during his appeal showing his father's business partner could be to blame"

And that poor sod is sat in front of the TV, innocently watching to news, only to find out he's the new suspect in a murder case...

Now according to the diary, we didn't do anything that night. I think that means that that's the night we had a row and Glenn stormed back to the hotel while I stood aoutside the Rockefellar Centre wondering what to do, but I didn't tell you about that, shhhhhhh......

New Link

I have added a new link, a very funny site which asks people to contribute things they have overheard strangers say in New York....

My favourite is this;

Hobo: You have a quarter for a cup of coffee?

Suit: Excuse me, can't you see I'm on the phone?

Hobo: I don't have time for your games!

Sunset

The view from my parent's apartment in San Antonio Bay, Ibiza, August 2004.

A thought.

Of all the diseases, in all the world, that I could have developed, little ones and big ones and life changing ones, and life ending ones and life dependant ones....

... Why couldn't I have developed something with just a teeny, tiny, bit more dignity?

I remember being terrified of a smear test, so mortified that someone was going to have to go down there and have a look around, that I didn't go for years and years, not until my mother made me.

The only thing I can equate my attitude to now is how I imagine a woman views these things post childbirth. My dignity is thrown to the winds. Come one, come all. Poke me, prod me, investigate me, violate me, I'll just lie here, staring at the ceiling, and it will all be over soon.

Smear test? Pah!

NYC - Day Two

By the way, before I start this, can I greatly recommend Picasa, a photo editing application that I believe is made by the fine people at Google. It is free to download and the easiest thing to use ever, especially when cutting up photo's and injecting them with the daylight that was missing on the day the photo was taken. A lot of my favourite New York photo's now look like we went on a beautiful spring day rather than the PISSING FREEZING WINTER.

Anyway....

The second day of our holiday was the first full day we were there and we were determined to make the most of it. We decided to view the sight seeing as a kind of working arrangement so we were out the hotel every day by 8.30, back by about 6 and then out again at 7 for the evening. This was exhausting by the end of the week especially with all the walking you have to do to get around the city, but I honestly think it was the best way of doing things, I certainly never went to bed thinking I could have done anything more in the day, and that meant I went home happy.
We had won the batle with the jet lag and discovered that our local subway station was Grand Central Station, which was very cool. Turns out GCS is a lot smaller than you'd expect and not a great tourist spot as it's in the middle of a huge office filled area so is very much a working train station not best equipped for camera happy tourists. Very pretty though, the light shines through the crescent windows into the main area in the middle just like in the black and white images you used to be able to buy in Athena. I miss Athena.

The subway was horrible, really, it's cramped, smelly and the trains are really old. They don't seem to be far enough underground either, you can walk over grates in the pavement above ground and see the tracks through them, very disconcerting when the train shoots by underneath your feet... We navigated our way through the ticket buying system with the help of a lovely American man, don't worry, he did work there, I wasn't just randomly targeting American men for help... We bought a 7 day 'Fun' pass, which allows you unlimited subway travel for 7 days and proves that American's do in fact understand irony. As the train departed it lurched forward and a little old man shouted "SHIT!" so I began to inwardly panic, as you would do, that kind of oh sweet lord I'm going to die on the subway in New York sort of panic, but luckily another man shouted "Hey! Dude! Get your fuckin' ass outta my fuckin' way!" and I realised that actually, this behaviour was clearly pretty normal and would probably not result in death by underground rail system.

It seemed like we were travelling the world one Starbucks at a time when we emerged, alive, from the subway and found the nearest place that sold hot, strong coffee. What's odd is that there seems to be no other coffee house establishment over there, you can buy drinks from various deli places but there is no Starbucks equivalent like Costa or anywhere similar, Starbucks - officially taking over the world...

I asked Glenn to get me tea and he, confused by the different teas available asked for a medium cup of 'earl grey awake chai', the lady behind the counter was so confused and I was desperate not to laugh as I said "sweetheart, it's like a menu system? Just the 'awake' kind please..."

We sat next to two girls who looked suspiciously student like but were betraying their intelligence by perfecting their Paris Hilton impressions, I listened to their conversation and silently vowed never to litter my vocabulary with unnecessary 'like's ever again. Glenn looked at me, leaned forward and whispered "if I had a gun right now...".

We were in the financial district, the subway stops either right next to Ground Zero or one stop before it, at City Hall. We decided to get off at City Hall and have a look at that (big. old. City Hall like) and then have aforementioned earl grey awake chai before we made the final decision as to whether or not to visit Ground Zero. The truth is, if you're in that part of town, you can't really avoid it, New York is not that big and the financial destrict is just one part of it and the World Trade Centre was a huge part of that so how ever you end up near there you can't miss it. It's a huge, huge hole, no news footage or photographs I have ever seen had captured the sheer size of the footprint the terror attacks left in the city. We didn't take photo's, I couldn't justify that, after all, what are you taking a photo of if you do? We went into St Paul's Chapel which is one of the oldest pre-civil war buildings in the city and remarkably survived the attacks despite it's close proximity to the site. The chapel became a refuge for rescue workers during the aftermath and now has a tribute display to those who died and those who worked through it. I think that helped for me, you can't help but get emotional when you see the footage again, especially when you're standing where it happened but the tribute in the chapel really emphasises how people in the city came together in the following days and pays tribute to the strength of the human spirit. The fences that surround the site have placards telling you what happened on September 11th, they have included the names of the people who died on the aeroplanes that crashed and in the Pentagon. I'm not being dramatic when I say the feeling around the world trade centre site (that's what New Yorkers prefer that you call it, they find 'ground zero' offensive) is different from anywhere else, it's much quieter and I wasn't comfortable staying for long.

So we trekked to Battery Park after buying me a stupid woolley hat from Century 21 and went to the Jewish History Museum. There really isn't much I can say about that, you are either interested in the history of the Jews or you aren't. It's a very big and very expensive looking museum that tells you everything you ever wanted to know about Jewish history, the Jewish faith and culture, and the Holocaust. I have been fascinated by Judaism since I read 'My name is Asher Lev' by Chaim Potok for a module I took at Uni called American Jewish Fiction, so for me it was great but you know, if you've never given a toss then don't go. The Jewish History Museum - Does exactly what it says on the tin.

Side Bar - My sister asked me to buy her a 'I heart NY' T.Shirt, the museum had one that said it in Yiddish, I soooo wanted to buy her that.... The look on her face would have been worth anything it cost. Glenn wouldn't let me. Because he is a grumpus.

Favourite part of Glenn's day so far - The hot dog at the cafe in the Jewish museum that overlooked the Stature of Liberty and Ellis Island, and let me make that clear, his favourite part of that was the hot dog, not the view.

We took some advice then and instead of queuing up for the ferry to Liberty Island (Wow! $15 so I can freeze my arse off walking around the Statue of Liberty? Oh Goody!) we took the FREE ferry to Staten Island which passes very, very close to the Statue and best of all, HAS A ROOF! I sent Glenn outside to take photo's (which is probably why my mum has given him a new nickname; 'Poor Glenn') and we watched Manhatten Island get smaller and smaller. When the ferry got to Staten Island we were at a bit of a loss, I mean, what's on Staten Island? So we got off the ferry, walked across the harbour and then I said, for I believe the first time, something which was to become my catchphrase throughout the holiday; "Where the FUCK are we going? Because it is TOO BLOODY COLD to be just walking around AIMLESSLY, I am just. fucking. FREEZING!", so Glenn made an excellent judgement and we got back on the ferry to Manhatten. I think he bases these judgements largely on how wide I open my eyes when I am shouting at him, when the veins begin to bulge it's time to move on.

Manhatten looked amazing on the way back though, the skyline is like every movie set in New York you've ever seen, only better.

The next thing I've written in the diary is - 'back to hotel, freshen up, go to Madison Square Garden to watch New York Knicks vs. Atlanta.... something.....'.

The Atlanta Hawks! We went to Richard and Catherine's apartment on Madison Avenue (so. incredibly. jealous.) and then headed to the garden (as they call it in NYC, oh yeah), it was so cool! I was a total arse! Screaming and yelling and basketball is soooooo much better than football, I mean I know I hate football (more with every passing match of the fucking day, and that's false advertising by the way, it's not one match, it's like 15 or something, I will grow old and die while match of the day is on) but it's better, it's faster, they score every couple of minutes and every time they do the whole stadium goes wild! I have never seen a basketball game in my life before and I hold no allegance to any team but for that night I was a Knicks fan, as I was in New York, and I went mental. Each basket (not penalty) is worth 3 points and the final score was something like Knicks 111, Hawks 108 after three lots of extra time so it was really nerve racking and when the Knicks won, I nearly lost my head I was so happy.

I have also decided that when I grow up I want to be a cheer leader because they are AWESOME, the Knicks have the Knicks City Dancers. And I love them. Half time entertainment was Biddy Ball, where 2 teams of under 10's played a very short match, which must be such a thrill for them, in a packed Madison Square Garden for goodness sake! and there was a proposal on the big screen and people dancing in front of the camera's. They just really know how to entertain, it was a really, really good night.

By the way, America, Land of the Free, is also Land of the Commercial. The game was brought to us by a Multiple Sclerosis charity and Biddy Ball was brought to us by Malaria.

Glenn let us get a cab back to the hotel, which he hardly ever did all week because we had our 'Fun' passes and "why should we pay twice to get somewhere?", so that's a whole other reason why the 'Fun' passes WERE NOT FUN AT ALL, but I have to say, hailing a cab on Madison Avenue? Oh My God, just the biggest dream come true.

Those of you who don't particularly enjoy hearing about icky diseases should just stop reading...... NOW.

This afternoon I had an appointment to see my consultant gynaecologist, the one who filled my stomach full of gas, poked a hole through my belly button, stuck a camera in there and then moved my ovaries without permission so he could look behind them.

I fear him.

I told him things that I don't want to tell you and he asked me questions that I don't want to tell you and I gave him answers that I don't want to tell you and all in all it was a fun conversation! He examined me.... I yelped, and not in a good way.

All in all it boils down to this, he first examined me 2 years ago, and after the laparoscopy, he diagnosed me with moderate to severe endometriosis. Then just over a year ago, after 3 months of Prostap and HRT, he reduced the diagnosis to just moderate and advised I stay on the Prostap for another 6-9 months. Today he said that after examination, the disease has come back with avengeance and I'm straight past moderate and into the far side of severe. I wish this was just something I was dramatically over playing to get a reaction, or attention, or whatever people who pretend to be worse off than they are do it for, but I'm not. He is referring me to another consultant at another hospital, who will, in his words "try and cut it out". So I'm on another waiting list, for another operation.

Through all this, I'm very aware that no operation does anything to stop the progression of this disease, that all they can do is hold it back with medication (tried that) or cut out what it produces (apparently about to try that).

Did you see that documentary about a little village where adults with special needs live together? (IT'S SLIPPY JOHN!) And there was that man who could only ask questions, he couldn't hold a conversation, if you asked him a question he would only say a colour in answer?

Today is not black, I would not go that far, I don't have special needs or live in a special village, but it's certainly blue.

NYC - Day One

These daily diary entries are a bit bitty, some are longer than others but I thought I would start to wade through the confusion and try and share with you a little of out New York adventure.

I will begin with photographic evidence as shown above. That there is the Chrysler Building, and the photo is taken from the top of the Empire State Building, which by the way, is much more stable than the Eiffel Tower. No shaking in time with the wind up there, no, just sheer terror at the how the cars are so very teeny tiny, all the way down the 86 floors you've just travelled up.

Anyway, that was later, this is supposed to be day one, and day one was all about getting there. We flew with Virgin Atlantic and had the smoothest check in ever thanks to their online check in service which you can use 12 hours before departure. We boarded the plane, avoiding the stairs up to the section marked 'not for the likes of you'. Glenn was VERY excited about the onflight entertainment and spent the first half an hour reading the film guide while I studied every last detail of the safety manual - 'TAKE OFF HEELED SHOES', 'EMERGENCY EXITS TO THE REAR AND CENTRE', 'OXYGEN MASKS WILL DROP FROM ABOVE', I had already sent messages to my nearest and dearest and was sat, seat belt fastened, ready to die.

Then we moved seats because my TV thingy didn't work, and that was fine because the strange too-old-to-be-a-goth-but-was-a-goth man next to Glenn kept talking to him and if there's anything Glenn doesn't appreciate, it's being talked to. So I repositioned myself, tightened the seat belt again and sat, ready to die.

And then I didn't die, which was surprising, instead I watched The Constant Gardner (brilliant), Prime (not so brilliant) and The Exorcism of Emily Rose (just really awful). The best part was being able to choose which variety of tasteless airline food I could have and THE FREE PRETZELS, that came in very tasteful american style packaging, which reliably informed us they were made in County Durham.

We arrived bang on time at JFK after some monster turbulance, watched the too-old-to-be-a-goth-but-was-a-goth get into an illegal, non-licensed taxi and said a little prayer for him. This was where my first preconception about New York was shattered - those chatty New York cabbies they have in the films? Don't exist. New York Cabbies are rather like London Cabbies, or Brummie Cabbies, that is to say they are mostly recent immigrants who don't speak very good English.

They do drive those yellow taxis though, and we drove into Manhatten past lots of clapboard houses in Queens, and through the Queensborough Tunnel (have you ever seen that Sylvester Stallone film 'Daylight'? I have, rubbish) . Manhatten is.... just... huge.... I have tried to think of other ways of describing it but tht's the perfect word, it's not big in length or width (steady...) but it stretches up into the sky... and then up some more... and then up some more... You can tell who the tourists are because they are the ones with bad necks from getting out of the cabs and just looking up into the sky. The architecture, the sheer height, that's where the action is.

Our hotel (The Intercontinental Barclay) was in midtown and was very, very posh. A bit too posh for me, I felt like if I was allowed to have a room in a hotel like this then I should jolly well be allowed up those stairs on the plane... and they even let us check in early because I am a priority club member (lets face it, there have to be some perks to staying away from home so much). Our room on the ninth floor had a coffee maker in it which I thought was da bomb until I realised that that was because there was no kettle, ie; no tea, just coffee, this was to become a problem when we got home a week later, just a little bit addicted to the caffeine now... As cool as the coffee maker was though, what was not so cool was the 'Break In Case Of Attack Glow Stick' that was in the bed side drawer next to the bible.

In the diary next I have written 'Battle with jet lag commenced! Walked to Central Park not far away, central park very big... and very central... saw Strawberry Fields, the Dakota building and the 'Imagine' memorial, also saw young couple crying over it, yes, I agree, very sad, but not like you knew him... saw lake'

Apparently I was not impressed by the lake, I thought I was but there you go.

We headed back to the hotel via Times Square which is very impressive at night, during the day some of the specialness is lacking, I think it must all be in the lights, all that neon.

Next I've written 'back to hotel past Radio City - NO SLEEP! NO!'

Our hotel was a bit posh, as I've already said, and the nearest hotel to ours was the Waldorf Astoria which was just round the corner, I'm not bragging, I'm just saying that to illustrate how completely impossible we discovered it was going to be to eat a nice meal for less than, oh I don't know, A MILLION DOLLARS. So we began our New York culinary experience in an Irish pub where I found out that if you order steak rare, they bring you a large cow, and you nibble on it's bottom for a bit before you have to give in.

Portion Sizes + America = HUGE x Glenn = Happiness.

We never went to that Irish pun again, not because we weren't happy with the service or food, but because we realised the next day that we hadn't tipped enough and if we were to ever go back they would mostly likely vomit on our food. Always tip 15-20% and they pretty much never automatically add gratuity to your bill like they do here, you have to add it yourself.

Back at the hotel we made it until 9pm, which our bodies thought was 2am, having been up since 6, so we went to sleep...

V for Vendetta

I can't write about politics, I've tried and reading it back I just end up sounding either pious or just a little bit stupid. So I'm not going to write about the political aspects of the film we saw this evening, except to say that it confused, frightened and inspired me. I'm not so stupid as to see it as a realistic interpretation of any western nation's future, but I like to think that I would be one of those in the masks during the film's final frames.

In the meantime, if you would like to read a proper review, I can direct you here;

http://www.pajiba.com/v-for-vendetta.htm

It's a great review.