Saturday, December 31, 2005

Central heating

is overrated. I no longer have any and I don't miss it one speck. It was minus fifteen the other day (at least, Love-bird's mum called him to warn him it was) and we sat around our little plug-in electric heater in the living room enjoying the warm glow coming out of the TV and feeling all toasty in our multiple jumpers. Going into the kitchen for a beer you can see your breath, and in the hall, the condensation on the back door turned to frost overnight. At bed-time (all of us go to bed at the same time to save electricity) we carry our heater upstairs and stand it by the cold, clammy bed. Why do sheets feel damp when they're really cold? OK, that's the one problem. But since we've both got a week off, we don't have to get out of bed until the room warms up the next morning. If we had the money, we'd go to the cafe downstairs to stay warm (and pretend to be French intellectuals and philosopher over lattes amongst the bleached-blonde grannies of South Woodford.) But the supply of free (we live above!!!!) coffees has dried up for everyone but love-bird. And I'm not even sure they know he lives above, they just like his big brown eyes... How the mighty are fallen; my parents just got back from holiday to find there'd been a gas leak and all her heating and hot water had to be switched off till tuesday. So I had a call from my mum; 'Oh, hello darling, how are you?' Cut to the chase.... 'We wanted to borrow one of those electric heaters you've got, darling!' I explained there was one heater per two people in my place; one heater per four rooms in fact. 'Well we might pop by around the cocktail hour then, to say Happy New Year?' Oh? I can lay on Stella Artois... bit short on cocktails at the mo... 'Don't be silly, I'm not drinking that! Oh, and, we might need a bath at the same time, darling,' Oh well, spring will be here soon. I bet our place is lovely and cool in a heatwave... Happy 2006 everybody!

Wednesday, December 21, 2005


I'm too old (or too poor) for parties now, so i'm having a soiree. Tomorrow at my house, bring a bottle, all welcome...

Happy Christmas [to all my readers. This means you, Jack]

Family party

The Metro brought me the ground-breaking news this morning that your political leaning is influenced by the gender of your children. (I'm perfectly happy for the Metro to filch all its news of the internet, but surely there are much more reputable gossip-sites from which to source these things?) People with more sons are more likely to be right-wing, people with more daughters left-wing. The Metro included a picture of Margaret Thatcher with a classic Metro caption saying with one son and one daughter she probably voted Lib-Dem. Thanks for the insight, trusty morning paper. That's right, bring it right down to our level. Unusually, though, for Metro science-survey-shocker! stuff, it makes sense to me. At the end of the day, the world is currently harder for women to live in than for men, especially to have a life that one's parents would deem successful (education, money, power ...children). So parents with daughters would go for reform to help Bunty get ahead and afford childcare. As for Billy's doting mum and dad? Nah, things are fine the way they are, cheers. Query: does this mean life is complicated for the only girl in a family of boys or vice-versa, by the fact that their parents are subconsciously opting for something that goes against their better interests? Am I reading too much into my free morning paper?

Monday, December 19, 2005

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Bombay sapphire

and tonic followed by red wine when the tonic ran out is currently the cause of all my worries. And it feels so good to have no worries worse than the effects of what I drank last night that I'm positively relishing the experience. I think I drank a lot more than I should have because I was subconsciously trying to cause new worries to replace the old ones. Which have all been put on hold until the New Year.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

The Smell of New Books

Does anyone actually like new books? Ones with shiny covers and unbent spines? My boss is obsessed with them, insists on putting them on about eight displays around the library and throws out 'shabby' 'damaged' and just plain 'old' books constantly. It's like an obsession. He wants his library to look affluent. He wants people to think we've got so much money we can throw books away. This is all very reasonable, except The Public (his heroes) are more interested in the battered books in the for-sale section than the umpteen stands of glossy hard-backs. Although to be honest, all the new books are on reiki healing anyway.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

drink, drama and the emergency services

We moved house on wednesday. It was not a good day. It took us from 8am til midnight, and as the resident woman (am I serious?) most of my time was spent cleaning. Flatmate 2 had borrowed a van from a builder friend to move our shit. Unfortunately as he was driving to his mum's to borrow £300, he crashed into another driver and wrote the van off. Needless to say he wasn't insured. We had to pay fifty quid to hire a new van- but as 2 now has to pay three grand, the less said about that the better... Later lovebird passed a chest-of-drawers down the stairs to me, which I accidently let go of causing it to fall and hit me in the temple. I was stunned for the rest of the day. Our new flat has elecric heating which doesn't work very well. Actually the only electric appliance in the place which works is the meter, which ticks up steadily every bloody second. On thursday I was in shock all day at college. On friday the shock seemed to get worse. I kept screwing stuff up at work and becoming confused. The waves of worry were worsening and my head ached constantly from the chest-of-drawers incident; not just where I'd hit it but on the other side as well. I thought I'd heard about that with head injuries, where you get a mirror image of the pain on the opposite side. (I better google it later to check.) Every time someone spoke to me I found myself gazing blankly at them trying to remember what I was supposed to be saying. Eventually I was going so crazy I phoned NHS Direct to ask them if I should go and see Doctor Take-Your-Shoes-Off-Baby. They asked me a couple of questions and then sent an ambulance to my work. Wow, I love a bit of attention. Hunky ambulance drivers telling me its all in my head and hinting that I'm insane? As long as they keep on holding my wrist and staring into my eyes (allegedly to check if I am concussed) I like it. All evening at work after that we had the hunky ambulance driver jokes. Phwoarr.

Monday, November 28, 2005

cool blogs

check out maths and the meaning of life at how scary can a ten-year-old girl be at

As promised... why worry?

War was on the horizon. Two soldiers were discussing the situation."I hope I'm not called," said one. "I'm not the type for war. I have the courage of the spirit, but nevertheless I shrink from it.""But what is there to be frightened about?" asked the other. "Let's analyze it. After all, there are two possibilities: either war will break out, or it won't. If it doesn't, there's no cause for alarm. If it does, there are two possibilities: either they take you or they don't take you. If they don't, alarm is needless. And even if they do, there are two possibilities: either you're given combat duty, or non-combatant duty. If non-combatant, what is there to be worried about? And if combat duty, there are two possibilities: you'll be wounded, or you won't be wounded. Now, if you're not wounded, you can forget your fears. But even if you're wounded, there are two possibilities: either you're wounded gravely, or you're wounded slightly. If you're wounded slightly, your fear is nonsensical, and if you're wounded gravely, there are still two possibilities: either you succumb, and die, or you don't succumb, and live. If you don't die, things are fine, and there is no cause for alarm; and even if you do die... what is there to worry about??? . . . but why be afraid? There may not be any war at all!"

Friday, November 25, 2005

hmmmm... I'm an optimist of sorts and I like to think the human race is basically alright. That most people are actually quite nice, try to be good, have a logical and ethical moral code to which they adhere. But I work 'on the front line' (as my department phrases it) with The public, and they are the most unpleasant, bad-breathed, stinking, wandering-eyed, dirty, rude, drunken, incoherent, rambling, ranting, ugly, pushy bunch imaginable. So how come individual people are nice, people in general are nice, but The Public are horrible? I blame society.

Things that have the same name as you

I've decided to make the best of things today. (Yesterday I had an eventful evening after getting home at nine-thirty. Love-bird did not return home from his French lesson and I spent the evening phoning him, all his friends etc. I decided he had obviously been mugged, and upon his resistance the mugger had stabbed him. He was clearly lying in a gutter choking on his own blood somewhere. Before I could call the police he moped in, head hanging. I don't understand how he can know he'll be in the dog-house, know I'll be upset, know he'll get a bollocking and still not call me to let me know he's going to the pub. Really, it is a complete mystery to me.) But anyway, today I keep remembering that WW1 poem about worry. I'll look it up*, but the main idea was; some shit you can do something about, so don't worry, just do it. Some shit there's nothing you can do: so don't worry. *When I've finished looking up things that have the same name as me...

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Other things that happened today (and the Curse of the Blog)

We all lost our pay dispute and were given a highly unpleasant slap on the wrist by someone who has nothing to do with us at all. Who is in fact a vampire sucking 30% off every hour I work. And to continue asking for a raise will make him an enemy. Only bad things have happened to me since I started this blog.

currently reading

Dancing in my Nuddy-pants by Louise Rennison (at work) The Eustace Diamonds by Anthony Trollope (on the train) Full Tilt by Dervla Murphy (in my lunch break) Learning Teaching by Jim Scrivener (in bed) and I would recommend all of these... depending if you are a teenage girl, a trainee teacher, a wannabe round-the-world cyclist or a high society Victorian. (Go on, see if you can match the title to it's reader. Or guess which one(s) I am. Just remembered I forgot to get those chips.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Going home

I'm going to buy chips. Not a very interesting blogger so far, am I?

If you google my dad

It's always wednesdays, isn't it?

And so today I came to work late, resigned, threw my intray in the bin, burst into tears, told my boss I hated him, had a fag, was asked if I had been joking, had another cry, had a cup of tea, took my intray back out of the bin and had another fag. Not necessarily all in that order. It's always wednesdays, isn't it?