Thursday, August 31, 2006

Spaced out...

I'm thinking of getting a myspace. Apparently one fifth of internet traffic is now on myspace (I don't have any proof for that statistic, someone told me it in the pub last night). It's beginning to seem like a tempting proposition, like getting your own bedroom after sharing all your life. 'My own space to express myself'... can't do it today as my work blocks myspace. Everyone I know now has one, it's a crazy phenomenon. It's amazing how many bad people there are in the world. I always forget because all my friends are so nice. People need to start taking responsibility for being nice, it's so important and undervalued. I hear people saying horrible things all the time on the train, in the pub. Things about gay people, immigrants, 'pikeys', 'chavs'. It's not just a matter of thinking out your opinions before you open your mouth, or not believing what the Mail tells you, or not going along with what your neighbours say. Millions of people have made a conscious decision not to be nice, because they feel they can't afford to or don't need to or won't be until everyone else is. It sounds wishy-washy, but what single thing would improve our world more than everybody deciding to be nice?

This is the moment I've been waiting for!

Finally my last day! I celebrated early last night soI feel absolutely shattered...

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Anything but work

As I slide through my penultimate day at this job I find my productivity is down to an all-time low. Unfortunately I'm bored of the internet already. All of it that's not blocked (and the proxy server I was using has mysteriously stopped working) is dull. There's a large pile of work I could be doing but my colleague and fellow temp has been shirking for so long that I want her to have a big heap waiting when I leave. It's incredible that I basically do next to nothing all day, yet I predict that when I leave tomorrow she will find her work-load tripled. Considering spending all of tomorrow writing her little post-it notes explaining how to do my job ('To photocopy onto headed notepaper, rotate paper 180 degrees before insertion into tray') and leaving them lying around where she'll find them. But she's recently acquired a dangerous looking paper-knife (definitely not standard niceday issue, must have been brought in from home) and I'm not gonna mess with that...


Metro is releasing a free evening paper. Thank God for that. It's just what we needed- now London will actually look forward to going home from work! Is there actually enough Metro-style news to fill another paper? I mean, Metro traditionally fills its pages by copying and pasting from the Evening Standard from the day before. Now they could just recycle the same news forever. Maybe with different made-up celebrity gossip. Or what about a Metro that consists entirely of readers' letters? London Fascists, unite!

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Moving house

Even though Flatmate has not yet lifted a finger to pack or clean anything ( I predict the packing will start the night before we have to get out- the cleaning will be left entirely to Lovebird and me) the move is going well so far. Phyllis came round with her car yesterday and took all my boxes to my mum's house. I hope it's not a bad idea to leave house plants at my mum's. There are about fifty plants in that house, and every single one appears to be dead. Killed by the smell, I expect. I really don't want to clean the oven. I cleaned it a couple of weeks ago and then asked the boys to only use it if they were going to put their food in a pan or oven tray. Doesn't sound like much to ask, does it? I caught Flatmate cooking four chicken thighs the other day in an oven tray he had made by turning up the sides of a piece of silver foil. Dirty bastard. The fat was running freely into the fire (or electric element). The last two times I moved it was me who had to clean the oven. And, come to think of it, the last two times Lovebird moved. Hmmm. Phyllis is moving some more stuff for us on Thursday night. She's also bringing round an axe so we can destroy the sofa on our roof. I want that job, let someone else do the oven! I've said this before on this blog, but that girl is an angel. I have a lot of stuff. Specially considering I threw out all my ornaments, all my junk and a lot of crappy old paper (chucking the P60s turned out to be a BAD idea). It's only clothes, books, cds and pictures. That's all I own, but there's a lot of them. Despite recent purges I still own upwards of thirty party dresses. The van's coming on Friday!!! Then the landlord... (at 4pm, but we've told Flatmate 2pm...)

Just trying to fill up space now

What have I done?

Somehow I published a blog that has messed up the shape of my whole blog! I blame the council, they ruin my life even without doing anything! I don't know what to do to remedy the situation- except keep blogging desperately until that nasty blog is banished to my history. I've already spent some time looking anxiously at the blog template without understanding any of the bloody html gibberish. But nothing. So what else can I talk about? Suggestions on a postcard to our usual address...

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

What I do all day continued

I haven' t done anything since lunchtime today. Instead I turned my stapler into a shark by sticking on teeth and eyes cut from post-it notes. It's wicked. Stapling has never been so fun. If only I had something to staple... Five more days of this job...

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Flatmates and checkmates

Had a tense meeting to decide on the fourth person in our new house yesterday. New Flatmate suggested;

"I know, let’s make the boys fight like gladiators in costume they’ve knitted themselves like Mexican wrestlers!"

Lovebird was after more of a debating club system; each of us have five minutes to state our case. I wanted them to be set three tasks like princes in a fairy tale. We drank our beer miserably. Clearly a democratic vote was out; Lovebird and New Flatmate each had their man, and no one wants me to have sole responsibility for any kind of important decision, least of all me.

Finally we settled on tossing a coin. Long interlude while they discussed the relative merits of sudden death and best out of three. I decided not to move in at all; instead to cut my hair (ok, unnecessary) dress up as a boy and run away to sea to seek my fortune. Was dragged back to earth (from swordfighting with Johnny Depp) by Lovebird handing me a sweaty two-pence piece. The tension mounted. I flicked it once- heads. Michel. Twice... we held our breath. Heads again.

N.F hurried off to telephone the glad news to Michel. 'Can you definitely commit to paying rent every month?' she asked... and then it turned out he couldn't, due to cold feet. Honestly! 'Give it to the other guy,' he mumbled. 'I might need to stay with my parents for a bit and save some cash...'

I guess the best man probably won at the end of the day.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Plus ca change

Went out for a drink yesterday with New Flatmate and Lovebird plus a firend of Lovebird's -call him Jean Paul- who wants to move into the spare room in our Hackney mansion (can't believe we're escaping West Essex suburban hell in only four weeks!). Atmosphere seemed tense- partly because New Flatmate's oldest friend -can we call him Michel- has just announced he wants to move into the room. And they won't both fit, unfortunately. Lovebird put everybody at ease with his customary charm and goood manners. Actually he didn't. But he did tell New Flatmate I had had sex with Michel, which, if my memory serves me rightly, I had not. Apart from that he was on his best behaviour... Jean Paul is a very pretty art student who has to leave his Shoreditch flat in the next few weeks. He's very softly spoken, erudite and sincere. He's 26 and an old friend of Lovebird's from his modelling days. Now they go to a lot of gigs together. Michel is 23 and has just graduated. He has a mop of red hair and could not be fairly described as softly-spoken. He's been friends with New Flatmate all their lives, and their mothers are best friends too. I don't know him so well but he's very good fun, even if you get the feeling he might not always wash up. I found myself doing what I like to do when everyone is acting like the Treaty of Versailles has got to be decided around that table tonight (and the topic of conversation is not me) -staring into space, drinking my beer, humming to myself, looking at the pictures. Not necessarily a constructive way to behave, but hell, I don't mind if you don't. Just booked flights to Carcassonne for our two weeks holiday. Lovebird is distinctly underwhelmed about that- hasn't even asked for the time off yet. All he can think about is our housewarming, which had better be the party to end all parties. I can't wait to go back to Andorra and get cheap booze in for it, or to wander round Barcelona. I hope there'll be time to go to Madrid but somehow I doubt it... I haven't had two weeks off in two years. Lovebird hasn't since the day I met him. It amazes me how people can get by without a holiday. Here at the council people take annual leave when they're sick to keep their sick records clean. Now that's what I call sick...

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

My boss

has a very hands-off approach to training. 'Have you ever photocopied from plain onto headed notepaper before? No? I'll show... no, don't worry, I'll do it myself later.' Thanks a lot. Back to the internet again.