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.

Hi

Hello.

We're back.

However, I am in the middle of being slowly murdered by jet lag and am completely unable to form coherant sentances.

This entry is taking me a really long time.

I wrote a diary everyday we were in NYC though (see how I talk? NYC? I'm so New York now) so will type that up in the next day or so.

Have to go now, take much caffeine, STAY AWAKE AND DEFEAT THE JET LAG.

Peace out x

Wherein I ask you to admire my shiny shiny hair but ignore my double chin.

Shiny hair - Them there Aussie hair care products are gooood.

Double chin - That there chocolate cake is baaaad.

Birthday Photo's

This will be the last post in over a week as very early tomorrow morning, 'im indoors and I will be Leaving On A Jet Plane and going to enjoy a New York Minute on the Other Side Of The World. Yes, I will be fulfilling one of my new years resolutions and a life long dream by spending a week in New York City. And I am very, very, very excited. If you haven't already got that then let me just say it again, I am very, very, very excited. The only cloud on my horizon is the actual flight there (ARGH!) and the only thing that is getting me through the thought of that is the free pretzels Virgin Atlantic give you (yay!), chance of The Hideous Double Chin disappearing by the end of the week? Zero.

So if you want to know what happened on Saturday night, you should click on the 'Moch's Blog' link to the side of this, and see photo's of me, quite a lot of my boobs and Miss Moch getting more, more, and then a bit more hammered.....

I was very, very in love with my sister on Saturday night, this was largely because she actually came, because she brought Gay Lee (his fag to her hag), because she bought me sangria, because she told me she loved me roughly 724 times and because she had gold shoes on. They sparkled....

There were tears, what can I say? Glenn thought it was very funny.

She left at about 2ish to go to a gay club with Lee, after lots of discussion we decided to stay in the pub, this decision was made because there was a fee on the door at the gay place and no fee on the door of where we were, because we are tight. In the taxi on the way home Chris was heard to say "I'm not homophobic, I'm really not, I like the gays! But thank fuck we didn't go to that gay bar....".

We got home after The Long Trek To A Taxi and had burgers, chance of The Hideous Double Chin disappearing by the end of the year? Zero...

BIG CONGRATULATIONS to Liz and Gareth who got engaged this weekend! Big G Man whisked Liz away on Saturday afternoon to Venice as a surprise, I totally knew and it caused me great pain not to be able to say anything. She emailed me a whole plan for Saturday afternoon that involved sushi and Topshop, it was a GREAT PLAN, and I had to say that that sounded amazing, WHICH IT DID, and the whole time I was thinking 'but you'll be in Venice....'.

Gareth OWES ME.

Last night and this morning

So last night I went to a Pilates class. Moch is desperate for me to join the gym and I have always wanted to try Pilates after a brief love affair with Yoga that ended most acrimoniously when the Yogi tried to cleanse my chacra and got a nasty electric shock .

We went to the class and I discovered that I was born without any stomach muscles, this was a shock and not something I was expecting to happen. There the teacher was, lay on her side on the mat, legs together and bent back at the knee, arm against the mat at a right angle to her body, and lifting her middle off the mat as if an invisible rope was pulling her up in the middle. Then I tried. Nothing would move, nothing, I positioned my body and I could feel my brain tell my middle to lift but I just wouldn't , it stayed resolutely glued to the mat.

Same thing happened with the funny crunch type things, a lady who was at least 50 could lift her entire upper body off the mat, towards her knees, while I strained to get my head off the mat for longer than a second.

Pilates - not a success.

They assure me that should I make it a regular thing it would get easier and I would notice a difference in the way my body responds on an every day level, but it's just such an expense.

This morning I woke up and got out of bed at 6.15, Glenn doesn't get out of bed until 7.15. I got out of the shower at 6.25 and when I opened the bathroom door he was stood on the landing, a cup of tea in his out stretched hand, his eyes closed. He mumbled 'Happy Birthday, tea for you, going to back to bed'.

I haven't got any stomach muscles, and I may be 25, but life is good.

Question for you.

If you were going to go to New York, and your plan was to go and be a Proper Tourist, none of this 'finding the real New York', or any of that, you're going to go and do everything that they blatantly manipulate you to do in all the guide books, would you go to Ground Zero?

I have a friend who went to New York in early 2002, and she queued up for the viewing platform the city had set up to see it all with. The site was still smoking in places and they pulled out the remains of two people while she watched, and afterwards she threw up, disgusted with herself for having wanted to see it.

Now it's 2006, and Oliver Stone is making a film about it because he believes it is an historical event now, so does that mean that Ground Zero is now something we should see? Somewhere where we should go, pay our respects and promise to be better people? In the same way people go to Aushwitz?

Or would it be the morbid curiosity of someone who watched the disaster unfold from the safety of a living room, some 5000 miles away?

Things I have given up for lent.

The last ever day that I can say, with all certainty, that I am 24 years old.

Oh God, let it not be so, I know that the only alternative is death, but really, 25? Honestly? You're really going to do this to me? You're actually going to force me to wake up on a day when I have to be one quarter of a century old? A quarter of a century?

It actually hurts a little bit.

I have this conversation all the time with people, how do you feel about getting older? I ask this because it really, really bothers me, and it bothers a girl I work with who turned 29 a couple of weeks ago, and it bothers someone else I work with who turns 50 later this year, we often sit and whinge about the passing of time and the advancement of the odd grey hair that peeks through when we're NOT PAYING ATTENTION. However, I haven't got a single friend who it bothers. They just look at me like, just get over it, what are you going to do about it?

LIE

That's what I'm going to do about it, I am going to be the Dolly Parton of Management Consultancy, I am going to be 24 every single year from now on.

I like being 24, 24 feels like the age I should be, old enough to be taken seriously, young enough to have a lifetime of opportunity in front of you, It's a GOOD AGE. Nothing is expected of me, none of this marriage rubbish, none of that baby stuff, I earn a nice salary for my age and I am not expected to have really advanced any more in my career than I already have. This is where I like it. I can still drink tequila, I can still listen to radio one, I can still tick the 18-24 box, I can still wear a mini skirt (should my brain explode, we all suddenly appreciate the fashions of 1984, and I actually become imbued by the spirit of Dolly Parton). I can watch T4, I know who the bands are on Popworld, I can say "I am a graduate" and not have people think 'dear god,it's time to let that go now', I can paint one of the walls in the bathroom deep purple if I want to, Ok, that's going a bit off topic but just picture it, white suite, chrome taps and fittings, white tiles, white walls and then the wall opposite the bath in a deep, dark, purple, with four little round mirrors in a row across the middle, wouldn't that look nice........?

AND I DON'T SEE WHY I SHOULD GIVE THAT UP.

Happy St Davids Day

Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau
The Land Of My Fathers

Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi,
The land of my fathers, the land of my choice,
Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri;
The land in which poets and minstrels rejoice;
Ei gwrol ryfelwyr, gwladgarwyr tra mâd,
The land whose stern warriors were true to the core,
Tros ryddid gollasant eu gwaed.
While bleeding for freedom of yore.

Gwlad, Gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad.
Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
Tra môr yn fur i'r bur hoff bau,
While sea her wall, may naught befall
O bydded i'r hen iaith barhau.
To mar the old language of Wales.
Hen Gymru fynyddig, paradwys y bardd,
Old mountainous Cambria, the Eden of bards,
Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn i'm golwg sydd hardd;
Each hill and each valley, excite my regards;
Trwy deimlad gwladgarol, mor swynol yw si
To the ears of her patriots how charming still seems
Ei nentydd, afonydd i mi.
The music that flows in her streams.
Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwald tan ei droed,
My country tho' crushed by a hostile array,
Mae hen iaith y Cymry mor fyw ac erioed,
The language of Cambria lives out to this day;
Ni luddiwyd yr awen gan erchyll law brad,
The muse has eluded the traitors' foul knives,
Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad.
The harp of my country survives.

Wales - For a country so beautiful, it's language creates an awful lot of spit.

How it starts....

I'm going to have a hot chocolate, I can't drink tea this close to going to bed, too much caffeine, it keeps me awake.

You shouldn't drink too much milk though

Why not?

Milk is bad for you, you shouldn't drink too much of it

What on earth are you talking about?

I don't know how or why, all I know is too much milk does you no good.

Then why do they give it to babies?

Dunno

And how can babies live on nothing but milk for the first few months of life if it's bad for you?

Dunno

Really? How can something capable of sustaining life be bad for you?

Dunno

Are you thinking of coke? Because that's fair enough, too much coke is no good.

No, milk, I am thinking of milk, too much milk is bad for you.

And how do you know this?

Oh christ, I wish I'd never said anything, I don't know how I know but I know.

How is it bad for you?

I don't know!

Is it bad for certain age groups? Are you talking about all dairy produce?

Please let it go now.

I can't! I need to know if I should have this hot chocolate and I can't have it until I know!

So don't have it!

But I want it!

But that hot chocolate is made with water, not milk.

Oh... well that's ok then, I can have it.

Yes, yes you can.

But why can't I have milk?

Just fucking let the fucking milk go!

Don't shout at me.

I didn't shout.

Yes you did, you shouted at me about milk.

Well I didn't mean to shout.

Say sorry

No

What?

I said no.

You are so unreasonable.

I will not pander to your over sensitive nature.

I am not over sensitive! All I wanted to know was why I shouldn't drink milk!

Oh. My. God. Really? Are you still banging on about milk?

Well you're the one who started on about it.

I didn't start on about anything, all I said was that I heard you shouldn't drink too much milk.

You said you knew why.

Did not.

Did too.

Fuck me... are you 10?

I hate you.

I hate you more.

You cannot possibly hate me more than I hate you.

Stop talking.

You stop talking.

Fine.

FINE!

So I gave in and went to see a Quack.

So the Quest For A Poo today led me to the Doctor’s. I never go to the Doctor unless I absolutely have to, this is half to do with me being horrified at the thought of explaining things about how my body is going wrong to a man in tweed, and half because my Doctor is spectacularly incompetent. I know this because for almost the full 2004 year I had to go in for monthly injections to try and reduce the severe endometriosis I had been diagnosed with, and each and every time I arrived at the surgery I had to explain to him who I was, why I was there and what he had to do, this was after fighting my way past reception who kept making me appointments to see the nurse when my consultant had clearly specified the injections were to be administered by a Doctor. I know they see thousands of people every year and I have no problem with him needing his memory jogging but my notes were on the computer in front of him, all he had to do was read them as I was walking from the waiting area to his office, but no, every month we had “and how can I help you Miss…er….”.

So I don’t go, because I figure sleep cures most things and the things it doesn’t cure can be forgotten about if you consume enough Jack Daniels and/or gin.

Today however it all got too much and I was beginning to have to crawl rather than walk, which can be embarrassing, so I took myself off to Dr Tweed. I told him what the problems were and explained to the man who injected me with Prostap for a year that I had been injected with Prostap for over a year. As a response to this, he took my temperature and listened to my breathing.

Now I am not a doctor so I am unclear as to the links between your bum and your lungs, perhaps this is something you learn when you decide to become a GP, that you must check every patient to make absolutely sure that they are in fact alive and able to breathe before proceeding. I am delighted to report that I am one of the lucky ones and can still breathe, phew!

So after asking me something which I will never be able to say out loud or type, he asked which pain medication had alleviated the symptoms before, to which I replied “nothing, actually I really like Codeine but I’m not meant to have any more of that, I liked it a little bit too much…”, which is the truth but is about as helpful as me putting a dead badger on his desk and asking him to make it all better. So since Voltarol has never helped he has sent me away with Mefenamic Acid and a warning that (and bear in mind that Dr Tweed’s warning whilst I was taking Prostap was that it might reduce my bone density which is massively useless information that only seemed to mean that I shouldn’t audition for a part in ‘Jackass’) whilst taking it I should stay away from direct exposure to…. Sunlight.

Yes, that’s right, I should not be exposed to the sun. I am a Vampire. Which explains the checking of my breathing, turns out I could actually be dead after all… or un-dead… whatever, lets just hope I can sit down without crying in a couple of days, at the moment I would sell my house and my sister for that privilege.

Update

Black Eye - my eye is yellow now, apart from the bruising, the area around the eye is yellow, I look like I have a disease, and today I have to go to Peterborough and meet people I have ever met before - what an excellent impression I will make! Moch answered the phone last night with the words "Hello Rocky", to this I say ha ha, funny girl.

Poo - It's been 8 days. Now I am no medical expert, but I can't think that that's healthy, I mean what's going on? Is my body not producing it anymore or is it all just sitting there? These are questions with no answer, what with me choosing English Literature and not Poo Science at university. I can deconstruct 'Ariel', but I can't figure out why I can't poo, at this point I know which one I would prefer to be able to do.

Email

Him; Did you get there ok then?

Me; Yeah, I'm here, tired though, can't wait to go back to bed...

Him; Can't sleep when you get home, we've got stuff to do.

Me; Like what?

Him; I've got to do you.

Me; Ah, spontanaity, truly a lost art.

Him; Can't get out of it now, I've put it in my diary.

Me; Your diary? Really? The one that says 'Friday - got up late, snow! ran to train station, was late for work, ate some meat, worked a bit, hate everyone, ate meat, worked a bit more, went home, ate meat, shagged bird, ate meat, sleep.

Him; Did you find my diary?

Me; Sweetheart, I could write your diary every single day.

A poo, a poo, my kingdom for a poo.

The brilliance of Imodium, is that it has the exact opposite effect on your bottom system to what you are suffering from, providing sweet, sweet relief. A side effect of Imodium, is that it has the exact opposite effect on your bottom system to what you were suffering from.

To put it succinctly, last week I was doing it too much, this week I'm not doing it at all. Turns that when I rejected my boyfriend the toilet, it got all upset and now never wants to see me again.

This is a problem.

Unfortunately, it is a problem the women in my family suffer from anyway, and when put together with a endometriosis legion the size of a mobile phone (Samsung T610 to be precise) in an unfortunate place, this means I have gone from one extreme to another, from the sublime to the ridiculous, from a rock to a hard place, out of the frying pan and into the raging, screaming, almost the most uncomfortable I have ever been inferno.

Ah well, nothing to do now but wait it out.

Black Eye Update - the bruise whch was just in the crease of my eyelid has spread down and around my eye, you know that joke where someone puts boot polish around the lens of a telescope and the next person to use it gets a ring around their eye? That, I look just like that.

And no, there will be no photographic proof, you're just going to have to trust me when I say I look like an idiot who got drunk and smashed their face into a door frame.

Sidebar - I know some people by a marriage that is now a divorce who are not very nice people, and when I say not very nice, I mean the head of the family was in the SS, when you get the impression they would make good Nazi's, you're not wrong. They keep photo albums of family illnessess, accidents etc, and on the extremely rare occasions I have found myself in their home I have been shown the aforementioned albums while sipping weak tea and eating bundt cake, "and this is Robert's rash on day 3.... day 4.... day 6 is a good one, it's where it started to ooze....". I'm just not sure what I would do with a photo of my gross eye, short of donating it to them.

Glenn says next time I mention Ikea he'll black the other one...

So Saturday night Lovely Hot Ros and her fella came round to check out the swanky poshness of my palatial abode and much fun was had, I had finally made a clean break with my boyfriend the toilet and, although it didn't want to let me go, it finally resigned itself to moving on and I was free (imodium - get some - fucking amazing stuff).

We had some wine and we were talking about stuff and Ros mentioned an impression of this girl we all know that I do, it is an HILARIOUS impression, such is my talent for the lost art of the mimic (and by hilarious I mean cruel and by talent I mean I'm a bitch who is destined for hell), this impression involves lots of hair flicking and storming out of rooms to make a point so I duely stood up in order to flick my hair and storm out into the kitchen. I flicked my hair, I swung around, I lost my balance, I smacked my face into the door frame and....

now I have a black eye.

Which is an AWESOME thing to go back to work with.

Lurgy-tastic

God I'm so bloody bored.

This is my 5th day in my house, and for a place I usually wish I could see more it's slowly becoming somewhere I wish I could get away from... I can't go outside because my new lover, the toilet, cannot bear to be parted from me for more than half an hour. So I am stuck here, and I can't actually DO anything productive because I have to lie down and cry for a while if I do too much, like, you know, pick the post up off the doormat. Couple this with the 5 builders and their 10 friends having some kind of party involving loud machinery on the driveway and it's SO MUCH FUN BEING ME.

Shouldn't moan, really shouldn't, lots of people much worse off and blah blah WHY WASN'T E.R ON CHANNEL FOUR THIS MORNING? Seriously! That was the only thing I had to look forward to. Goddamn faschist TV programming bastards.

My mum rang and said she was going to come over to see how I was, then she said she didn't want to, then she said she would anyway, then she said she shouldn't, then she said she did want to, then she said she didn't want to catch it, then she said she'd see how she felt the next day, then I said she should stay at home. Please mother, just stay at home, PLEASE.

However, I have discovered that a distinct benefit of living with your boyfriend when you're ill means you can wear someone else's clothes, well I don't want to associate my clothes with feeling like this do I?!

Three things I got this week....

1. A pretty new driveway, mmmm, blockpaving and builder's bottoms, right in front of the bay window, nice....

2. A lurgy so incapasitating I feel like the toilet and I are entwined together, woven as one in a symbiotic orgy of disgustingness.

3. A pay rise, which is odd because pay review/bonus season is not until March, apparently what I have is a 'salary adjustment', that was right before I called in sick though.... My timing is quite something...

Which means if things continue in this pattern, by tomorrow lunchtime I should be hit by a bus.

Text Exchange

Him - What did I get you for Christmas when we were together?

Me - Soap, are you very proud?

Him - Where from though?

Me - Molton Brown and Lush, it was fancy soap! Why?

Him - Still soap though! Sorry, I owe you an ironing board at least... Just trying to justify gifts I have given to loved ones.

Me - You're going to find it hard to justify soap, especially as I bought you Star Wars Lego toys, which is an incredible gift by anyones standards, and you never, ever told me you loved me.

pause

Him - I still have the Star Wars Lego toys.

pause

Me - I still have the Molton Brown gift bag.

end

Quickly.

Gareth,

Unclench.

Really, you'll feel better.

Hannah

ROS!!!

Today we welcome a new reader, her name is Ros and she is very beautiful, everyone say Hi Ros!

For those of you keeping count, that makes 9 regular readers of Spanair, 9, n.i.n.e, NINE.

This picture does not do her justice, actually it makes her look like a raving loon, but trust me, when her mouth isn't opened quite so wide and her eyes are less 'I forgot to take my pills' and more 'I am buxom and blonde and naughty', she is a fox! It's the only photo I have of her on this PC and she can think of it as revenge for the photo of me with a puffy face she had on her wall for years and years.

Anyway, she's the best friend I made at uni, we used to drink squashed green frogs at Pu Na Na's in Hull and when we walked in the boys look at her and say 'man, I'd like to do her, those legs.... who's the other one?' and the boy next to the first boy would say 'Don't know, think they live together, that blonde one though... she's a fox.....'

I asked for this....

This week, well, for the next three days, I am working from home. I am working on this project which is going on in the south west and my manager arranged it for me to do my part from home. This is great! Although I haven't slept because I am so worried about it, so many things to do, haven't used the software before, no one to just look over and ask about anything......

I should not be worrying about this, the thing is though, I've realised that the longer I do this job, the more my self confidence is eroded, the longer I do the same three or four things in the same three or four places, the more I think I can't do anything else.

This is stupid, I can do anything I want to do, I just have to work at it, I just have to be allowed to try and not be held back because someone makes more money holding me back.

I just have to enjoy these next three days, and the three days next week. However, you have to set yourself rules, like no TV, and no sleeping (God I'd love some sleep, where has the sleep gone?), and no wandering aimlessly around the house, and no decorating the bathroom, and no chocolate HobNobs, and no re-arranging your wardrobe, and no re-organising your make-up box, and no planning your summer holiday, and no flicking through the Ikea catalogue (even though it's right there), and no filling out job applications, no no no....

Who am I kidding? I love the chocolate HobNobs....

Panic.

Get home after an unexpected reprieve from working away all week. I pull up on the driveway at 3.30, pull out the car keys, wait, those aren't my car keys, those are Glenn's car keys, Glenn's car keys don't have house keys on them.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Fuck it's cold.

Right, call Moch, she lives like a mile away, Moch's not answering, well why should she? Even teachers aren't home this early unless they have one of those transporter things like in The Fly, God that's a disgusting film, that bit with the ear......

Think woman! call mum and dad, dad might be working from home, they're not answering either, Aimee won't be in..... Man it's cold... Glenn won't be home for three hours... I am going to freeze to death in the car....

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Might as well eat those emergency peanut M&M's then..... yep, nothing like freezing to death in a Rover to make you comfort eat.... Paul Mckenna would ask you if you really are hungry..... Fuck that.

Turning the radio on.... Kanye West.... Turning the radio off....

Call Glenn again... yep, no help, not like he can send me keys in one of those transporter things like in The Fly, oh God there it is again, the ear..... Not as scary as The Wicker Man though... definately more gross....

So... very.... cold.... bet this is how those arctic explorers feel, nah, bet they're warmer, they have bigger coats....

Might have a look at those job descriptions I printed off yesterday.... God there's a lot of crap in this bag.... gum... pens.... keys.... sungla... wait a minute! KEYS!

KEYS! I HAVE KEYS! YES! KEYS! KEYS TO MY HOUSE! I'M GOING TO LIVE! LIVE I TELL YOU!

Next door neighbour is looking at me like I'm crazy... probably because I was sat in my car for nealy half an hour and then started jumping up and down in aforementioned car, and then got out of it.

Idiot.

Me, not the neighbour.

Possibly both.

Life Support

Haven't posted in a while, but I haven't sunk into the depths of despair or anything as the pattern of recent posts might suggest, I've just had nothing to write about, and also I was fighting the depths if despair, a little bit, not about to drive off a cliff or anything, just prone to tears a lot. Glenn just loves living with me at the moment.

My family seems to be going through the ringer at the moment, my cousin (whose father is my uncle who died) was walking out of the solicitors office the day after the funeral last week and somehow managed to smash her ankle into teeny tiny pieces. She was taken to hospital and had an operation which has left her with three pins and a metal plate holding her together. Prior to the op though, her foot had to be manipulated into the correct position, this took three Drs, one on her thigh, one on her calf and one pulling her foot. She has had two children and said that she would give birth to ten more rather than go through that again, when I visited her in the hospital her face contorted with the memory of it. I think it really is time that someone gave her a break, 2006 is not working out so well thus far.

Gripe about the NHS 1 - Less than 12 hours after my uncle died someone from the hospital that treated him rang my cousin (his daughter) to ask if they were satisfied with the service. My cousin, quite rightly, told them she didn't feel ready to answer that question.

Gripe about the NHS 2 - Although she is in a room on her own, and we are grateful for that, she has no clock and TV's are hire only (£3 for 30 minutes). So she wakes up in the morning with no idea of the time, nothing to take her mind off what has happened to her and has to wait on average an hour for someone to come and take her to the toilet. I know that there are many, many people out there suffering much more because of this heamoraging organisation but how about this - stop paying people to call grief sricken relatives in the hope of preventing future litigous action and instead, put the money towards more nurses (auxillary or otherwise) to help people with their most basic needs, you know, like going to the toilet.

Just a thought.

Girl, Interrupted.

It's been 5 years since anybody I was close to died, but I was kind of due for a respite. When I was 18 to 19 three close friends, my grandmother and my aunt died over two years, I sort of held my breath for a couple of years after that waiting for something else to happen.

I had forgotten you see, what I'm like when I'm dealing with something like this, and I have had no experience of dealing with it and having to work full time at the same time, painting a smile on every morning and all the while combating an aching sadness that seems to seep out of your chest, into your stomach and leave you stuck for words in very inopportune moments. I find that I either talk a lot, I mean, an awful lot, I seem to have to fill every minute with dialogue so that I can think about anything else but the thing which fills my brain, or I am totally disabled, I literally cannot make a single decision. Take last night, I went to Ikea to collect some living room furniture that (luckily) we had already decided on, and talked every single second of the hour or so we spent there, I talked about work, TV cabinets, Glenn, my mother, my grandparents, my weight, the mirror we've put in the bedroom, the car, it just went on and on and on. Then later at home, I couldn't decide whether or not to go to bed, I sat on the sofa at 11.15 and could not decide whether I should go to bed and try to sleep, or stay up and wait until I knew I could definately sleep, would I risk getting overtired if I did that? Would I spend hours lying awake if I went to bed? So I just sat there for about an hour, no TV on, just sitting and wondering what I should do, until finally Glenn came downstairs, I explained my predicament to him and he gently but firmly told me to go to bed.

So today was Uncle John's funeral and as someone said to me, it would be nice to think of funerals as celebrations of a persons life but there is so much emotion involved that it's very hard not to feel that pressure on your chest, weighing you down as you try and make cups of tea which people push a spoon around and watch their tears fall into. I looked through the photo albums of him as a young man on his wedding day and spent 20 minutes trying to decide whether I should sit down or not.

It's over now though, so eventually I expect I can start to feel like a normal person again, rather than a loose parcel which might fall apart if anyone pulls on the the strings too hard.

All I wanted was a nice photograph of the two of us.....

... but apparently, Glenn finds it impossible to take it seriously. So instead of a nice photograph of the two of us, I have a dubious photograph of myself and a bug eyed drunk, possibly under the influence of non prescription drugs.

Untitled

My Uncle John passed away this afternoon at 5pm. He was old and had been ill for sometime. His wife, Aunty Chenda, died four years ago and he had become a shadow of the man he had been.

I've spent the last hour trying to find a poem to post as a sort of tribute to him so I can stop thinking about how incredibly sad it is, maybe I'll be able to find one in a few days but as I sit here now nothing seems to do him justice.

He was the kind of hard working man who won't be remembered by anybody except those who loved him and those who he loved, but we are many, and we will always remember him.

SYMPTOMS OF BEING OVER 25

1. You leave clubs before the end to "beat the rush".

2. You get more excited about having a roast on a Sunday than going clubbing.

3. You stop dreaming of becoming a professional footballer and start dreaming of having a son who might instead.

4. Before throwing the local paper away, you look through the property section.

5. You prefer Later with Jools Holland to Top of the Pops.

6. All of a sudden, Tony Blair is not 46, he's only 46.

7. Before going out anywhere, you ask what the parking is like.

8. Rather than throw a knackered pair of trainers out, you keep them because they'll be all right for the garden.

9. You buy your first ever T-shirt without anything written on it.

10. Instead of laughing at the innovations catalogue that falls out of thenewspaper, you suddenly see both the benefit and money saving properties ofa plastic winter cover for your garden bench and an electronic molerepellent for the lawn. Not to mention the plastic man for the car to deterwould-be thieves.

11. You start to worry about your parents' health.

12. You complain that ecstasy's "not as pure as it used to be coz you know that if you have some it will take about 48 hours to recover and anyway,you might look a bit of an idiot.

13. Sure, you have more disposable income, but everything you want to buycosts between 200 and 500 quid.

14. You don't get funny looks when you buy a Disney video or a Wallace and Gromit bubble bath, as the sales assistant assumes they are for your child.

15. All Pop music starts to sound crap.

16. You opt for Pizza Express over Pizza Hut because they don't have anypictures on the menus and anyway, they do a really nice half-bottle ofhouse white.

17. You become powerless to resist the lure of self-assembly furniture.

18. You always have enough milk in.19. To compensate for the fact that you have little desire to go clubbing,you instead frequent really loud tapas restaurants and franchise pubs with wacky names in the mistaken belief that you have not turned into your parents.

20. While flicking through the TV channels, you happen upon C4's Time Teamwith Tony Robinson. You get drawn in.

21. The benefits of a pension scheme become clear.

22. You go out of your way to pick up a colour chart from B&Q.

23. You wish you had a shed.

24. You have a shed.

25. You actually find yourself saying "They don't make 'em like thatanymore" and "I remember when there were only 3 TV channels" and "Ofcourse??in my day...."

26. Radio 2 play more songs you know than Radio 1 -and Jimmy Young has somereally interesting guests on.

27. Instead of tutting at old people who take ages to get off the bus, youtut at schoolchildren whose diction is poor.

28. When sitting outside a pub you become envious of their hanging baskets.

29. You make an effort to be in and out of the curry house by 11.

30. You come face to face with your own mortality for the first time, and the indestructibility of the 20s gives way to a realisation that you are but passing through this life and if you don't settle down soon and have kids you'll have no-one to look after you when you're old and frail and incontinent and you can't go on pissing your life up against a wall forever and think of how many brain cells you're destroying every time a swift half turns into 10 pints, and look at that, a full set of stainless steel saucepans for 99 quid, they cost as much as 35 each if you buy them separately, and you get a milk pan thrown in, ...

31. You find yourself saying "is it cold in here or is it just me?"

The Great Gym Con

To join LA Fitness on the two for one premium package, you have to pay a month up front (£60), a per person admin charge ( totalling £50) and then pay another month (£60, which you get back when you leave but I'll be damned if I'll pay what is essentially a £60 deposit), so to join would cost us £170.

£170!!!!!!!

So I think we're going to give it a miss and I'll use the local pool and hotel gyms. Because I do not have many hundreds of pounds that I can just hand out to places in return for making me feel rubbish when I don't go.

£170!!!!!!!!!

Aren't these places supposed to sell you this service? Aren't they supposed to tell you you can join for practically nothing and then make money with sort of hidden costs like £1 to use a locker and £5 for a towel and £15 for a gym bag and stuff like that. Because if they did that, but let me join for nothing, I would feel so much better about spending almost £200 on feeling guilty when I don't go, because I wouldn't know that I was spending it.

Criminals.

The rambling thoughts of a Claire Sweeney impersonator.

The thing about working for a company like mine is they reward you for loyalty. If you do whatever they want, whenever they want you to do it and never complain, and you do this for a number of years, then the rewards they give you are really quite spectacular.

The problem with this is on the way there, you have to do exactly that, you have to go as far as they want you to go, for as long as they want you to be there and when you’re there you have to do whatever they ask. And the whole time you’re doing it, you’re waiting for this big pay off that you’re supposed to be getting, and you’re waiting 3, 4, 5 years.

I suppose that’s the price you pay for working for a large corporation, you’re one of hundreds of small fish in a very large pond, where the big fish are few in number but great in size and invariably have the two things you neither have nor want – a penis and a golf handicap.

The questions that are troubling me at the moment is, when do you say enough is enough, when do you decide that you’ve waited long enough and it just isn’t worth it? When are you justified in quitting? When you have kids that you never see? When you’re so exhausted from it all that you’re suffering recurring migraines? When conversations with your boss about the annual pay review always end with “but as with everything in life, I can’t promise anything”? When is it time to jump off the ledge and try something else? Can you ever go down the ladder without feeling and looking like a failure? Can you quit this job that was meant to be your big career and just wait and see? I mean could you look your mother and your best friend in the eye and say “I tried, but you know what? I’m not like you, I haven’t got a vocation, I don’t know what I’m doing and maybe I’m just a bit lost right now, but I need something that means I can wake up in the morning feeling good about the day”.

I’m 25 this year and it feels like a watershed year, I’m still young enough to change my mind and mess things up but I have too many commitments to just abandon everything and start again. I now you’re probably reading this and thinking ‘doesn’t she think this every couple of months and she looks around and then gives up?’ and you’re right, I absolutely do, but this year is the year that I’m going to figure it out, one way or another this year is the year I stick or twist.

Breakdance Mountain

Somewhere in America, several cinemas banned, or refused to show, the love story that is Brokeback Mountain.

The Guardian wrote this today;

"If you ask me he banned the wrong movie. Chronicles of Narnia made me think about Tilda Swinton riding me with a strap on. If that's not evidence of that movie brainwashing today's youth with unbiblical sexual practices, I don't know what is."

Overheard

Woman 1: Did you see 'Rebus' the other night'?

Woman 2: No, I liked that series though, with that nice man from
Four Weddings...

1: Oh it's not the man from four weddings anymore, it's the man
from Vice.

2: That's not Rebus

1: Yes, it's the new series, it's a new man playing Rebus

2: He can't be Rebus

1: Yeah, it's a new actor

2: Are you sure he's playing Rebus?

1: (exasperated now) Yes

2: You mean Detective Rebus?

1: Yes

2: 'Rebus' doesn't stand for anything, it's a man called Rebus?

1: Yes! It's the same show with a new actor.

2: I wouldn't like that, I like the man off Four Weddings

1: (who must be wishing she had never started this conversation)
Really? Well he's not in it anymore.

2: He probably is, you're probably thinking of something else.

1: Oh well then I must be... I'm going to the loo.

2: Oh I'll come with you!

1: That's.... grrrrreat.

The horror....

.... Of being compared to Claire Sweeney made me delete that whole 'Lost' post.

Cheers for that, am checking my reflection for toothy horse comparisons as we speak.

When incompatible morning people live together.

On Tuesday morning when the world went back to work, Glenn and I were struggling to get out of bed and deal with the day. We have very different attitudes to getting ready in the morning, I get up about an hour and a half before I have to leave the house, that gives me 45 minutes to get ready and 45 minutes to do lunches, have a cup of tea, throw things in a bag, by the time I leave the house I am calm and awake. Glenn's alarm goes of 45 minutes before he has to leave, he sleeps for another 15 minutes, then spends 30 minutes rushing around like a man posessed and then he runs out of the house but usually in a pretty good mood, we are both strangely mornig people.

Except for yesterday. Yesterday was a baaad day. I was ok, I did what I normally do and I even made his lunch which is practically unheard of, he however was not is a good place, he was in a donotspeaktomeforIamawakewhenIshouldbeasleepwhywhywhyareyoustill
talkingyoucrazyawakepersondon'ttellmeaboutlunchIcouldn'tgiveacrapabout
lunchdidn'tyouhearme?ISHOULDBEASLEEP! So me being awake and organised was the last thing he wanted to be around. Then he couldn't find things and the world crashed on top of his head and he was buried underneath it and no one could hear his screams. I happened to mention that perhaps he would find life easier if he got up just a little bit earlier, like 7 instead of 7.15, then he could have just a bit more time in case of times like this. That was the wrong thing to say. I should have said something like, oh I don't know, something like... NOTHING AT ALL. He shouted something ahout me NOT FUCKING HELPING and then stormed off down the road in a huff. He was a 27 year old little boy in a huff.

So this morning, I got my revenge. I set his alarm for 7am without telling him. and I chuckled, yes chuckled to myself in the kitchen when I heard him get in the shower at 7.06, and I giggled in the car as I imagined him all ready at 7.25 and then he rang me;

G: Where are you?

H: On the motorway?

G: Left a bit early didn't you?

H: Trying to beat the traffic.

G: Uh, did you set my alarm earlier?

H: Nooooo....

G: You bloody liar!

H: Now why would I lie about something like that?

G: Well I'm all ready but I've got like, half an hour before I have to leave the house!

H: But look at how relaxed you are!

G: I'M NOT RELAXED WOMAN! I COULD HAVE HAD AN EXTRA HALF AN HOUR IN BED!

H: But you can do things now! Like have a cup of tea and..... uh.... other stuff....

G: You are a control freak.

H: Well, I'll see you later then! Ok! Love you!

G: Weird control freak! That's what you are!

H: Bye! Love you! Bye!

Now he is threatening to set my alarm for 4.30am tomorrow morning in an attempt to get me back, but I am the winner! I win! He is a LOSER! And I am the WINNER! I am the Queen! Yes! Yes I am!

Head. Up. Arse. (but in a good cause)

WARNING: As you read the below post, you are most likely going to think, especially toward the end, that I have my head up my arse, like riiiiiight up there, up through the sphincter and a good way into the bowels. That's ok, it's something I can live with.

I think I mentioned before that Christmas for me is always the time for having to spend time with family who you never normally see. This can sometimes be a Very Bad Thing and at other times, an unexpectedly good thing.

On New Years Day the other ‘alf and myself went with my parents to see my mothers twin sister who lives in Deepest, Darkest, Wales. She lives in the kind of place which has no road numbers or street names, no tarmac or signs; one year we had to call an ambulance for another aunt who knocked herself out on some crazy paving and it took 35 minutes to get there, hedges had to be trimmed back to make room for the width of it. My aunt lives there with my uncle, who is her second husband, and her daughter lives in the nearest village. My aunt is a psychiatric nurse who co-ordinates mental health care for South Wales, she is a bristly woman and it took all of us by surprise when, after the deeply unpleasant experience of her divorce and her daughter’s emerging mental disabilities, she fell in love with UncleP, an eminent consultant psychiatrist; they married and set up a new home for themselves in a converted barn as far away from other people as they could.

My Uncle is an extraordinary man. The reason for me writing this blog has largely been to document my experiences, daft conversations, things I love, places I have visited, and this man is once of the most interesting people I have ever met, and I am so fortunate to have come to be related to him.

Uncle P (and I'm calling him that because I'm fairly sure he wouldn't appreciate being written about on the internet like this) can be found on Google as the co-writer of several books on Anorexia and Bulimia, he has dedicated his life to the safe practise of psychiatry and recently, he spent several years assessing defendants for trial. If you met him within a professional capacity you may guess the breadth of his mental dexterity but never the huge expanse of knowledge he harbours. He used to take part in war re-enactments, the kind of thing where you get dressed up as a round head or a cavalier and re-do the battles as they were fought at the time, but he got thrown out because he kept winning the battles he was supposed to lose by bettering the tactics. He has a library that is overtaking the enormous house they live in and is thinking of converting the barn opposite to organise it properly. He has an impossibly large collection of pots and can tell you how and where they were made and the potter who made each of them. He once placed the winning bid on something in an auction and found himself accidentally in possession of one of Prince Charles’ dining chairs. His prize possession (of the moment) is a prefect copy of the Lindisfarne Gospels.

A little while ago, he became aware he was about to collapse, mentally as well as physically, he slowly realised that something was very, very wrong. A few weeks later he suffered a stroke.

It was not the kind of devastating stroke that you see affecting the very old, he suffered no paralysis but he is not as mentally agile as he once was, he struggles for words where he used to find joy in playing with them and he has not worked properly since. This has not stopped the requests from existing patients though, or the tributes from past patients flooding in. On Sunday my father, Uncle P and myself shared a bottle of Vintage 1977 Port and some of the finest sweet dessert wine from his extensive, labelled and incomprehensible (to me) wine cellar, following a long lunch of seafood, roast goose and tiramisu. As the evening came to an end and my mother (the only sober one left) started making rumblings about going home, he talked me through how he was re-arranging his library and recited Yeats’ ‘Prufrock’, he complained that it was the only Yeats poem he could recite anymore. The only thing I could remember from Prufrock was the repeated refrain ‘In the room the women come and go / Talking of Micheal Angelo’, so the thought of being able to recite the whole thing, let alone more than one poem astonishes me.

I suppose I wanted to write about him because I have never been able to get to know anyone like him in a personal way before. He reminds me of lecturers at university who were alien to me, and I just don’t think people like him really exist anymore. Our society is too disposable, it’s too fast, no one spends a lifetime building anything like a library or a wine collection, no one my age can recite Yeats at will or explain why the Spanish eat so much Pork (something to do with the Mores apparently, in the 16th Century).

I have a hard time in the past wrestling with the question of why? Why are we here? Where did we come from? What is the point of it all? But history, the arts, architecture, music, these are the things which give it all meaning, these are the things are which set us apart from the animals, these are the reasons we are arrogant enough to believe we have a soul which can be saved or damned. This is what I realise when I look at what my uncle has spent his life appreciating, and how painful it is to see him fight to keep that.

No leather undies this year... Goddamnit it!

Christmas is a funny time of year. On the one hand you get, you know, loads of cool stuff, which is awesome (and my stuff was very cool this year, including the food processor to end all food processors with which I will process much food and force my friends and family to eat it while saying "this comes fron Kenwood, where they make make great electric things with which chop, and slice, and blend..." and my friend and family will be very bored and wish for me to SHUT UP), and there is all the food you get to eat and not feel guilty about, which is a massive bonus because food for me always comes hand in hand with a large helping of guilt. Then on the the other hand, there's all the family you have to spend time with which you wouldn't ordinarily spend that much time with, and certain people who will remain nameless spend it hung over, texting their friends and shooting you disgusted glances because they CANNOT BELIEVE YOU ARE EVEN STILL ALIVE, YOU ARE SO POINTLESS (I'm not naming names, no siree, I will not even be drawn on what relationship she is to me MY SISTER AIMEE, Oh whoops! Did I just type that?).

Glenn bought me the most beautiful coat, and a jacket (see how well he knows me, he co-ordinated the presents by season! Can you say "OCD is contagious"? Can you?), and the new Madonna CD, and he framed a photo of us and a photo of my family, which was incredible sweet (although it means I have a large photo of my head in a frame and a large photo of Demon Sister).

My parents out did themselves this year, traditionally they go a little crazy on the presents, my sister and I have woken up on Christmas morning to piles and piles of presents for as long as I can remember and this year was no different. except this year Glenn also got a stack of presents (to my absolute disgust, THEY COULD HAVE SPENT THAT MONEY ON ME!). My mother has a history of buying me slightly bizarre presents though, my first year at uni she said all my gifts were going to be practical, and I though that would be cool, I would get a nice bag, or a coat, what I did not expect was to open 150 individually wrapped tampons, no, that I was not expecting, but that is what she did. The next year she said she was going along a more fun route, and she bought me a leather mini skirt, two basques with matching thongs and suspender belts, thanks for that mom, about that career I'm supposed to be finding for myself? Think I may be going down a slightly different than you seem to be envisaging for me......

So since The Year Of The Tampon and The Year Of The How-To-Be-A-Hooker Gift Set, I have been wary of the present pile, but the woman, she did good! She pretty much got me everything for my kitchen that I hadn't got but also hadn't thought about getting, casserole dishes (sorry, what was that? I don't make casseroles? I Don't know WHAT you mean.......), serving spoons, a cake slice and I know that it all sounds very dull but you don't even realise you need these things until you stand there with a large chocolate cake, six people round the table and only a paring knife with which to serve it. And there were clothes and make up and suff too so she could say that she personalised it.

Dinner was fabulous, I'm not going to list what it was because I bet you had your own fabulous meal and everybody always thinks that they/their mom/their dad/their grandma/their guardian/adopted... oh for christs sake... cooks the best dinner, but I'm telling you, you have not eaten until you have eaten Christmas Dinner with Ma Davis, she might not consume food herself (Good God no!), but she sure knows how to cook it!

So I suppose I should mention Jesus, or the poor, or I should add a senstive poem or something, and I totally would but the thing is, Christmas for me is just a time to be happy and to see people who you don't normally see. I give to charity every month, on Christmas day we take a walk along the river in Stratford and give alcohol to homeless people (see how nice we are?!) and I subscribe to things and I care (I might not sound like I do, but I do, those TV appeal things make me cry EVERY SINGLE TIME) but I think the constant, preachy, ram it down your throat approach makes more people switch off than switch on. Everyone has their own personal demons, relatively speaking everyone suffers the same pain, we just get through each obstacle the best we can, so Christmas for me, is about recognising it, then putting it to one side and having a good time.

I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and that you have a great New Year, I hope that 2006 fixes all the things that were wrong with 2005 but makes all the good things greater.

And my personal gift to you all is this - ANTONY DZERYN CRIED DURING KING KONG! I SAW HIM! HE'S A BIG GIRLY GIRL!!!! ANTONY - BIG CRYING GIRL! hee hee!

Christmas Thanks

Dear friends and colleagues,

My heartfelt appreciation goes out to all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me "forwards" over the past 12 months. Thank you for making me feel special and bringing many a smile to my face.

Extra thanks to whoever sent me the email about rat crap in the glue on envelopes - 'cause I now have to go get a wet towel every time I need to seal an envelope. Also, I scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason. And i no longer drink CocaCola because it I know it can remove toilet stains, which is not exactly an appealing characteristic.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS. Or sit in cinema seats for the same reason. I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day. I no longer go to shopping centres because someone might drug me with a perfume sample and rob me. Or if I did survive the shops I would be grabbed, raped and murdered by a nasty man in the car park. I no longer eat KFC because their "chickens" are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

However, I no longer worry about my soul because at last count I have 363,214 angels looking out for me. Thanks to you I have learnt that God only answers my prayers if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes. I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl on the internet who is about to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time). In fact, I no longer have any money at all but that will change once I receive the £15,000 that Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special on-line email program.

Yes, I want to thank you all so much for looking out for me that I will now return the favour ! If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 7 minutes, a large pigeon with a wicked case of diarrhoea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbour's, ex-mother-in-law's, second husband's, cousin's beautician. Only then will you be able to enjoy the festive season with your special friends and family and prepare well for the new year.

Oh, and Have a nice day !

Best wishes for the festive season

Not a great role model

So I got home today to lots of Christmas cards, which was lovely, and almost all of them said something about having a great Christmas in our new home, which is really lovely.

Then I opened one which chilled me through my skin, into my heart and attacked my very soul....

It was addressed to 'Uncle Glenn and...... Auntie Hannah'

Holy Fuckin' shit, I appear to be an Auntie, how the bollocking fuck did that happen?

Thought of the Day

Never pluck your eyebrows when you're drunk, and have poor light.

Baaaaaad things can happen.

It's all the carrots.

Conversation in my bedroom last night, I had just set the alarm on my phone and turned off the bedside lamp.

Me; Hey, I can see really clearly, you know normally the light goes off and I can't see a thing but I can see everything.

Him; That's because the light is still on your phone so it's lighting up the room.

Me; Oh.

Him; Wait a minute, did you think you had, like, magic eyes or something.

Me; Course not.

Him; You did! You thought you had magic eyes!

Me; I did no such thing.

Him; leaning over me, Ooooh, I can see everything, your eyes and your teeth, and THE FUTURE!

Me; rolling away You are not very nice.

Him; I'M A SUPERHERO! WITH MAGIC SEE IN THE DARK EYES!

Me; I hate you.

Him; You love me.

Me; I hate you.

Him; You and your magic eyes LOVE me.

Me; SLEEPING NOW.

Him; Goodnight Baby.

Me; Arsehole.

Gareth Coombes

The man can be a little harsh sometimes, he's the kind of person who every so often, just ocassionally, you have to just hold yourself in check and say 'it's ok, he doesn't really mean it, he's just being funny', and this is the truth, I have no doubt.

Sometimes I have a hard time getting along with people who are very similar to me because the sarcasm and constant piss taking gets in the way, but I find that as long as everyone has their cards on the table, and says ok, I don't mean it, you're just going to have to understand that because I am not going to run after you and hold your hand while you tell me how horrible I am because I said something that went too far, I'll say sorry don't get me wrong but God knows I'll only say it once, then it's cool.

Basically all I really wanted to say is that he is a funny, funny man, and he doesn't have a blog, but if he did, I would read it, and I would link to it, and I would tell everyone about it, and he would win a prize, and that prize would possibly be lots of DVD's about rugby, or some pork chops, ar a large helping of Boob Of Liz, but believe me, he gets a lot of that anyway, so I guess he doesn't require that to be an actual prize, oh I know! His prize can be that I promise to tell Liz that she should never put tiger balm on his man bits, I discovered recently that you should never, ever put tiger balm on someone's man bits, apparently it makes them feel like they are dying, from the balls up, I don't know how a person could die from the balls up but there was lots of clutching of aforementioned balls and shouting of "MOTHERFUCKINGFISHSTICKGERONIMOCOCKBASTERDWHYWOULD
YOUDOTHISTOME?!".

This post was because the comment on the previous post made me laugh out loud unexpectedly, and because it was unexpected, I spat tea all over the desk in THE GAMES ROOM and so, because I am a great believer in giving lots of compliments (I am a stupendous giver, Stupendous. Giver.) then I just wanted to say that Gareth Coombes is a funny man.

Funny. Man.

Funny.

Now I have to throw Glenn out of the living room so I can watch something with the DELECTABLE David Tennant who is in love with me although he does not know it yet. One day David, one day.....

FOOS!!

Bonjour,

This morning I am writing to you from my study, no, sorry, I am writing to you from the games room (I was reprimanded on Saturday night for INSISTING ON CALLING IT THE STUDY WHEN WE HAD AN AGREEMENT AND IF I DON'T CALL IT THE GAMES ROOM HE WILL MOVE OUT SO HELP HIM), because I have the day off, days off are lovely, yesterday was a tremendous day made all the better by my waking up and knowing that it was not the last morning I could sleep in for a week, I had a whole other day to sleep in, ah lovely sleep.

Last night I full filled one of the things I have to do before I die and I saw Dave Grohl, there he was, stood right there, in the same room as me. (I know that there were about 10,000 other people there and that the room was the NEC, but stay with me) I was there, and he was there, and he was with the other Fighters that Foo and they were AWESOME. Just incredibly, totally brilliant.

They were supported by The Futureheads, who were very tight, a little repetitive, but I could not fault their tightness, as Glenn said, they were clearly brought up on a strict diet of The Clash, but hell, could be worse. I would say that on a summers day, they would make a more than adequate festival band, and that with a beer in hand, I could happily pass an hour listening to them.

But the Foo's (I can call them that because I know them now), they were stupendous, and the 15 year old inside me who was obsessed with Nirvana nearly passed out last night when he went a-drummin'.

So this morning, it's my day off and I am listening to Hey. Johnny Park and remembering how last night, Dave Grohl, Genius, sang this song only for me.

Men

You'd think they'd learn about the menstrual thing wouldn't you - its quite simple: once a month you have to be careful of me, but never ever mention why you are being careful of me, just do it, and without fail at some point during the week when the hormones are a pain in the arse, the man in your life is either a complete cock, or says "christ, its your hormones isn't it?", and it's not the hormones, cos when you look back less hormonal, they were still a cock.

(not written by me)

Reply to Very Girly Email (and by far my very favourite of all the emails I have received today)

I am worshipping you like a goddess as I email, in fact, I have a small altar set up on my desk, dedicated to you in a lots of candles and a photo of you and glenn torn in half so glenn is no longer visible shrine type way.

My hairdresser is called Bruce. It costs about £27-32 ish for a cut and blowdry i think. He oozes enthusiasm and gumption.

love, your biggest fan, me x

Very Girly Email (But before you roll your eyes like that, I'd just like to ask what the hell you expected, I mean I am in fact, A GIRL)

Alright Mrs Woman?

I have just this minute noticed that I missed a hair appointment last Saturday, I thought it was this Saturday at 11 and it wasn't, it was last Saturday, and I didn't remember, so I didn't go.

Anyway, thought this was the perfect opportunity to not go back to the woman who does my hair with half hearted resignation and find someone who, for a price that is around £30, will do my hair with enthusiasm and gumption, yes, gumption.

So what is the name of your hairdresser? Where is it? What does he charge (not including colour)? Will he have any weekend appointments before Christmas? Will he love and commit to my hair with all the energy of his fancy ass hairdresser being? If he will not, do you know anywhere that will?

These are important questions and they need answers, providing you are not terribly busy....

Love, me x

(Who by the way, has this morning bestowed genius like knowledge of Managment Information Systems upon the world and deserves to be WORSHIPPED LIKE THE GODDESS SHE IS)

Wasn't she lovely?

Everything is Illuminated

Please, please, please, if you are going to go and see the film, please read the book first, or even afterwards if you must, but please, please read the book either way. It's wonderful and from what I have seen about the film they have cut out all the best bit, the golden thread that runs through the novel, all the fantastical parts that make you laugh and cry at the same time.

Anyway, that's it, read the book, it's by Jonathan Safran Foer.

Writers block.

I have it.

That's why I put two book extracts on here, cause I can't think of a single thing to write.

Question - What do you get a 54 year old man for Christmas who has no hobbies and doesn't like music?