I'm a sick puppy

I was just reading back through my last couple of blog posts and I'm noticing a pattern here - I only seem to blog when I'm down with the sickness.

Why is this? What is there about me having a stuffed up, nose, feverish brow and rattling lungs that compels me to think "Wow, I feel awful. I must write this shit down!".

What normal people do in this situation - well I say normal people although I think I've yet to find one solitary person in all my 34 years that I would describe as truly normal, and what is "normal" anyway, who decides what is normal and by what measure normalcy is quantified, if indeed it can be?... but I digress. What, for the sake of argument I shall call most people would do in this situation is take as many pills and potions as possible and attempt to sleep until they feel better. But no, not me.

Don't get me wrong, I'll take all the pills and potions that are going and squirt whatever the hell you give me up my red raw nose until it bleeds (like it did rather explosively just a short while ago) but then instead of attempting to drift into blessed unconsciousness I'll sit here at midnight, watching First Blood, feeling like crap and tripping my feverish tits off on night nurse waffling on here to non-existent blog readers about it all.

What is wrong with me?

Oh, yeah that's right... I'm sick... again.

Out, damned snot!

OK, so that's a terrible pun, I admit it. But the sad fact is that this is about the level of wit I am reduced to these days. I blame it on my reduced mental capacity - well, I can only assume that my brain must be crushed up into an ever decreasing cranial cavity, the rest being filled with a seemingly endless supply of festering mucus.

After spending the first two months of the pestilent stink hole that is 2010 with some dreadful sinus-clogging malady, I finally got rid of it just in time for tree pollen season. So, every morning without fail I begin the snot-filled day with two squirts of nasal spray up each crusty nostril and an all day antihistamine swilled down with a berocca to fight the good fight against the various daily assaults against my ailing immune system. I am confident that Boots will ride out any recession based on my level of custom alone. My bank balance on the other hand, as well as my nasal passages, is getting a right royal kicking.

I resent this.

I don't want to be spending my hard-earned cash on not feeling like utter crap. Not even spending it to feel good; just to maintain some level of equilibrium above the point of a shuffling sniffly morlock. I want to be spending it on going out, travelling, eating, drinking or generally having fun in any way shape or form. Sadly though I spend my days at the pharmacist's counter buying various pills and potions to swallow or stuff up my nose, not to get high, just to get normal.

How utterly utterly despressing. Sniff.

Saturday night's all right

Yeah well, Saturday night may be all right, but I'm sure as hell not.

I seem to have acquired an ailment with the incredibly attractive feature of making me cough repeatedly until I'm in danger of either retching or bursting some kind of probably quite important blood vessel in my face.

On my way home this evening, having made an early exit from a mate's gig in Camden, I had some kind of coughing, spluttering seizure type affair in the back of a black cab. As I wheezed and whimpered, eyes watering and wincing visibly as yet another thick gob of festering green lung butter dislodged itself from my breathing tubes and ended up in my mouth, I could see the poor cabbie looking nervously in his mirror, trying to check surrepticiously whether I was going to expire in the back of his vehicle. This went on for about twenty minutes as we were stopped at just about every red light in heavy traffic on the way back to Whitechapel. Thank God he didn't try to chat to me. He must have known it was taking all my reserves of energy and effort to keep from collapsing in a crumpled heap just long enough to stumble home and pop some much needed pills.

Anyway, a couple of hours later and I'm here propped up on pillows on the sofa typing away whilst wrapped in a slanket, watching Robocop for what must be at least the eighth time (although I have to admit it never gets old - "Can you fly Bobby?") so it's clear that I did make it after all. My suppurating corpse was not left huddled in the back of a London taxi as a stark warning to those who ignore the perils of deciding to push on and go out even when they feel a bit rubbish. Not this time at least.

Oh dear, I feel another coughing fit coming on. Time for another hot drink I think. I wonder if I have any night nurse left... .

Rock and roll, eh? Livin' the dream baby. Livin' the dream. Sigh.

12 Aug 2008 - Tell me why, I don’t like... Tuesdays

What is it with me and Tuesdays?

The rest of the week my life seems to bumble along quite happily; making progress through my list of jobs at work and at home, feeling generally contented with my lot in life and feeling comfortable and secure in my surroundings and my place within them. All in all, quite a normal and pleasant existence without unduly frequent episodes of forgetfulness or clumsiness, although I do appreciate that these will inevitably become more frequent as the little grey cells deteriorate and the years advance, but that's normal and I'm pretty much OK with that. Pretty much. I could be quite happy and not feel like I wanted for anything if this was my perpetual state of being.

But then it comes to a Tuesday and it all goes horribly wrong.

I forget my security pass for work necessitating a 20 minute queue for the main security desk to get a temporary one then having to be let into my office by someone else as my office key is on the chain with my pass, or I leave my keys at home, or my wallet or my phone - the last two of which I did today - or I slam my thumb in a drawer, or I forget to post my parents' anniversary card (today again), or I get messages from three different people at work all with urgent things that need doing yesterday which throws out my list of jobs for the week and puts me behind on everything (yep, still today). You get the picture - and there's probably even more smaller things that seem to conspire against me, all building towards one shit-tacular, craptastic, arse-biscuit of a day - and always on a Tuesday.

It's got to the point now where I'm not sure whether it's the Tuesday that's doing it or whether I am making this into a self-fulfilling prophecy by being so unutterably pissed off at waking up to another Tuesday that my mood makes me clumsy and forgetful and generally just a bit more rubbish at everything all day. Whatever the reason, Tuesdays don't like me and I don't like them right back.

So if any one of you happens to bump into me on a Tuesday, please forgive me if I'm a little tetchy or flustered and above all be nice to me because I'm probably having a bad day.

27 Jun 2008 - Wonderful, wonderful Amsterdam

I'm quite a lazy person generally. It's just something I've come to accept about myself over time and now I'm pretty cool with that. One of the effects of this is that I don't blog very often. I message my friends or, shock horror, actually talk to them if I've got anything I want to say. So generally the only things that motivate me to muster the energy and effort to blog are extreme displeasure and irritation or crushing ennui. Usually this means I only blog when I'm hungover, however, today is different.

Today I had an absolutely wonderful day and that in itself has motivated me to write and share my lovely day with anyone who cares to read about it.

I spent the day on my own for roughly 5 hours wandering around Amsterdam in the sunshine - predominantly up and down the canals and over bridges in the red light district occasionally pausing for a drink and a sit. I've only been there once before and had a great time then too - but this time I just felt so at home. Normally when I'm shopping or travelling alone there is some point where I feel self-conscious, particularly in shops with pretty, slim shop assistants. I can honestly say that today is the first time that there was not a single moment where any thought like that even remotely crossed my mind. There is quite a lot of beautiful, slim (and some not so slim) flesh on show around there, but everyone I met was so friendly, smiling, helpful and complimentary that I was completely relaxed and felt fabulous all day.

I must just give a big shout out to one particular very funny, charming and helpful Dutch sex shop proprietor called Dimitri who I had a long conversation with. Very laid back - as you'd expect given that he was smoking a large spliff out the front of the shop (Red Rose) when I got there. I loved the shop sign, which is why I went over to it - glad I did. Had a great chat and I'm happy to have found a friendly, relaxed sex shop that doesn't feel sleazy at all (which is always my problem with places in Soho) and where I'd be happy to go with my partner and actually browse and ask questions and for demonstrations - on hands, it must be noted here! - without feeling rushed or like I needed to get out because there was a slightly uncomfortable feeling about staying there too long. I didn't feel uncomfortable as a woman going in on my own either - not at all. I will definitely be going back there at some point. If you're ever in Amsterdam, check the place out. It's on Oudezijds Achterburgwal, 129-A.

The upshot of all of this is that today was wonderful, and wonderful in a way that has left me smiling and relaxed and really looking forward to my next trip over there, which I will be organising very soon!

Just wanted to share. x

03 Oct 2007 - Confessions of Facebook junkie

Yes, I must admit that after the initial, albeit short-lived, resistance on my part that usually forms my almost automatic reaction to virtually every new in-thing, I am now hopelessly addicted to Facebook.

I hate it, but I love it, but I hate it, but I seemingly can no longer live without it.

It's like smoking without feeling like you look cool whilst you're doing it - although admitedly it's unlikely to kill me, unless I start using it on my mobile and refresh whilst I'm crossing the road - my blackberry's nearly got me that way a few times.

If it weren't for the fact that I do actually have more work to do than I can reasonably handle every day, I would take every quiz, add every feature and bite every chump's neck I could lay my vampire schoolgirl fangs on. I am now a Jedi padawan and regularly trade "glitter" with my boyfriend's mum. Every time I get poked I'm momentarily thrilled that someone is thinking of me. Then I feel dirty, but not in a good way. It's like the short-lived pleasure of masturbation followed by the brief but inevitable moment of shame - or so my male friends tell me... .

So how was I suckered in? How did I fall for it?

Well, the truth is that I'm a crap friend. I am rubbish at making any kind of social effort at all and Facebook is the perfect tool for the lazy friend. Why bother to spend the time and effort emailing, texting, phoning, let alone actually meeting, anyone ever again when you can placate them by throwing a sheep at them or sending them an imaginary fish for a made-up aquarium? After all, nothing shows you care quite like a cartoon crab.

Is there some sort of support group I can join? How do I halt this cycle of beguiling banality? More to the point, do I really want to? All suggestions welcomed, just post on my funwall or write me a sticky note.

04 Jun 2007 - I Love Sausage!

Contrary to first impressions this is not a proclamation of my admiration for the male member. Rather, it is an declaration of my profound love of what I regard as one of the highest forms of art (so definitely not the male member, my fella's excluded, obviously): B movies.

They don't even have to be what would traditionally be regarded as B movies. You know the kind I am talking about though. Those so-bad-they're-great monuments to cinematic tat, often, but not always, including some playboy bunny wearing glasses and speaking lines she doesn't understand very badly who is playing a scientist.

I love them in all their cheesey, badly acted, ropey special effects laden, out of tune synthesized incidental music ridden glory. I am a firm believer that you cannot have more fun with your clothes on in a room full of like minded mates. They stimulate conversation, belly laughs and are the best all round bonding experience you can have - and you don't even need alcohol, although generally it never goes far amiss (certainly in my house).

So, why "sausage"?

Well, I must admit I can't take the credit for that one. My dad coined the expression to describe the schlock horror, Japanese creature features and other dubious sci-fi nonsense that we used to stay up and watch together many many years ago when Channel 4 used to show stuff that was worth watching really late on a Friday night into Saturday morning, rather than that hideously unfunny west country nerk and his cronies or (shudder) Big Brother.

"Sausage" means something that is better than the sum of its parts. Something that you can't help but enjoy despite it being made up of total crap. As a description of this particular film genre, I think it's just about perfect.I can highly recommend "Megalodon", "White Fire" and "Shark Attack" (1, 2 and 3). Invite a couple of friends round, get some pizza, take the phone off the hook and enjoy.

12 Apr 2007 - Is it just me...

... who feels like they want to spontaneously vomit or perhaps claw out their own eyes with a teaspoon every time they hear a Queen song?

I realise now, after many years of hearing the same incredulous bleats of disbelief from friends who I would otherwise credit with a fair degree of music appreciation credibility whenever the full extent of my loathing of the purveyors of operatic "rock" wank becomes apparent, that I may very well be alone in this viewpoint.

Lord knows I've tried to like them, or at least tolerate their existence, but all sadly to no avail. My reaction to them is one of almost visceral disgust. Logically and objectively I can hear that they were talented musicians that played well together and that their songs are well-constructed blah, blah, blah... . There is not, and will never be, anything logical or objective in my reaction to Queen. Mere ambivalence is but a distant dream. In short, they invade and pollute my ear space.

I have no quarrel with their technical proficiency as musicians and songwriters, but in a way that's just it. That's not what I want from my music. I want something with a bit of grunt, something a bit dirty or raw or... something... anything with feeling. Oh, and most of all Brian May's guitar sound makes my teeth itch. Hairless, ball-less, soul-less, fiddley, widdley, theatrical, pseudo rock wank. In short, he sounds like what he is - a physicist with an electric guitar and stupid bloody hair. He has not been, is not, and never will be, cool. And anyone who thinks "A Night at the Opera" is an album by a rock band can bite me.

This is of course the much shortened and edited version of this particular rant. For the unexpurgated version, buy me a drink or three then put "Fat Bottomed Girls"on the juke box. I dare you!

03 Apr 2007 - I am having a day...

... of non-specific glumness.

You know, the kind of day where you just don't feel quite right and feel a bit "meh" even though there's nothing actually wrong - or at least there is no specific reason why today of all days you should be any more despondent than on any other given day.

Still, it has not developed into "one of THOSE days" yet - being a day where nothing goes right, in fact every little thing conspires to go as wrong as possible to create maximum annoyance, irritation, embarrassment and exasperation (e.g. getting squished in the ticket barriers on the tube, getting the hood of your coat caught over a door handle with a queue of people behind you so you are almost garrotted in front of a group of irate fellow corporate cogs who have to wait as you disentangle yourself, or outlook shitting itself before you manage to print off the documents you need for a meeting and having to sit there like a plum frantically trying to keep up etc etc) which is not a good thing when you feel constantly on the verge of tears as you often do on THOSE days. Oh, and coincidentally it always seems to be one of THOSE days when your ex calls just to see how you are doing - you know, the ex with whom you have had an extraordinarily traumatic break up but who you are completely fine with now, except they never quite believe it because they always catch you on one of THOSE bloody days! Anyway, it is not one of THOSE days - so I suppose it's not all bad.

I think I need a really good belly laugh to snap me out of this mood funk. Maybe I'll get lucky on the way home and see someone else having one of THOSE days and have a bit of a chortle - nothing like a bit of schaden freude to lift the spirits.

December 2005 - Of Divorce and not being bothered

Monday, December 12, 2005

D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

It is now official - well, it has been since last week actually - I am a divorced person.

Strangely enough I was preparing myself to feel just awful about it, but I don't feel that bad. In fact, I don't feel much of anything at all, which is strange. Good though. I suppose it just proves I am moving on.

November 2005 - Of Shame and Winegums and Decrepitude

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Shame, shame

Well, it has already begun. I've barely started blogging and already I'm trotting out the lame excuses as to why I can't blog tonight - I'm too tired, my hip hurts, I really must watch Booze Britain tonight because my home town is on it. I suppose I have been on holiday though for a week, so that may be valid.

The problem with holidays is that they just make you want to go on other holidays. That is why I booked tickets for my first ever trip to Australia in January today. Exciting - and kind of scary. It will be the first holiday I have ever taken on my own. I thought about asking my boyfriend to come - and i'm sure it would have been wonderful with him - but it was something I felt I needed to do on my own. A rites of passage type of thing. I won't be totally on my own as I have friends out there but there for some reason I just felt that I had to just be responsible for me and what I want and also not rely on anyone else for once. Liberating and fun - hopefully. And sunny, very sunny.


Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Bring on the Wine Gums...

... I am feeling poorly. Not at death's door, just a low grade, grumbly, piss me off kind of chest infection kind of poorly. I have the kind of cough that kids get and they sound like wounded seals for what seems like months at a time. Especially when they're sitting right behind you on a train, or at a restaurant or anywhere really.

But then, kids generally do my head in anyway.

Now I'm fast approaching thirty people keep looking at me in a knowing, smart arse kind of way whenever kids (and particularly my indifference/loathing - depending on my mood - of them) is mentioned. Comments like "You wait. Soon your biological clock will get you and you'll get all broody" just leave me cold. Yeah and? So what? At the moment I just can't see it. I appear to have no mothering instinct (well, going beyond wanting to organise my boyfriend's life for him and generally being a bossy cow). I just can't see the appeal of a mewling brat that soaks up all my money that you can't even leave in a kennels when you go abroad and do the stuff you want to do.

Still, watch this space I suppose. Who knows, by the time I'm 35 I may have succumbed to the urge to ruin my life. But not quite yet eh?


Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Falling to bits!

OK, so I knew things would start aching and ceasing up and generally wearing out as I got older - it is the way of the world and just something we have to accept - but I didn't quite realise that this degenerative aging process would start quite so soon.

I am currently sitting at my desk zonked on painkillers (for what I assume is the beginnings of arthritis in my hip, which by the way still hurts despite the vast amounts of codeine winging through my system), swigging cough medicine out of a brown bottle (for my chest infection that makes me rattle like a consumptive tramp) with a throbbing middle finger on my left hand (because I trapped it in the door as I was staggering out of my house this morning). OK, I accept that the last two are not really related to age but they go towards my general feeling of decrepitude and rubbishness today.

The only bright spark through this current period of malaise is my boyfriend, who has been wonderfully indulgent - coming round to look after me and listening to my whinging with a sympathetic, if slightly amused, expression. My fear is that he will tire of my various illnesses and stop being amused and become irritated with the ailing old woman that I have become. Let's just hope he can develop a fettish for women with broken hips and hacking coughs.

The thirties are the new twenties - pull the other one. Or on second thoughts don't, it might drop off!

October 2005 - Of Peanuts and Tuesdays

Monday, October 03, 2005

Peanuts - evil, evil!

I have a VERY severe peanut allergy.

This can really sway the balance of power when it comes to younger siblings growing up. I used to enjoy older sister privileges, like teasing my younger sister, getting the best toys, watching what I wanted on TV, until she learned about my allergy. Then as soon as my mum wasn't around she would chase me round the house with a spoonful of peanut butter until I had to lock myself in the toilet until my mum came back. She still laughs about that now. She is now 27. Grrrr.

If you've got a million allergies like me then you may be as irritated as I am when everyone in films or on TV with allergies is portrayed as a prissy, straight-laced fussy pants. Well, excuse me if I think that asking whether something has nuts in it is marginally less rude than collapsing in a wheezing blue crumpled heap at the dinner table. The paramedics arriving tends to be a bit of a conversation stopper (believe me, I know this to be true) - but a good way to end the evening abruptly - if a little drastic.

Oh, and by the way yes I have heard every possible joke about being allergic to nuts - har bloody har.

Do you remember choclate covered sweets called Revels with all different fillings? My friend (who also has a peanut allergy) and I call eating them Revel roulette. The Deerhunter would have been quite a different film if I was directing.


Tuesday, October 04, 2005

I declare this Tuesday null and void.

It is a rubbish Tuesday - again.

I appear to have left my brain somewhere under my duvet - which, coincidentally, is almost exactly where I left all of the important papers that I needed for work this morning. I only discovered this fact when I sat down at my desk to continue working on them and had to take a taxi home to get them then come back to the office.

As I said, rubbish.

Tuesday is a rubbish day of the week anyway. None of the optimism of a Monday, without the promise of the weekend to come that a Wednesday brings. Tuesdays are the teatime of the soul - without cake or scones. Poo to Tuesdays. Do away with them I say!

I declare today to be Wednesday Part 1. Who is with me?

September 2005 - Of Satsumas and Muppets and Toilet Roll

Thursday, September 29, 2005

WTF?

So why the title? [N.B. The title of my old blog was "I'm a Satsuma"] This is something I said out of nowhere to a bewildered group of close friends one Sunday afternoon more recently than I care to admit. At the time it made perfect sense and amused me so much that I almost fell off my chair - but I'm sure the booze and spliff I had about an hour beforehand probably helped. But only probably. So what is this blog about? Well, me actually - me, me MEEEEEEEEEEEE - it's all about me (sorry I came over all band frontman there - and I've known a few of those in my time, heavens I even married one but that's a story or several for another day) and where I find myself now - approaching 30 with a house, a good job, an almost final divorce, a new fella, the greatest and oddest set of friends in the world (more about them to come I'm sure) and a set of baggage that I'm working on. Is it just me that isn't quite where I thought I'd be at this stage? I think not. If you're still 12 in your head and you're wondering what the hell happened to land you where you've ended up closing fast on the big three-oh, then read on...



All my friends are muppets

OK, so how many of you can say that almost all of your mates (including yourself) look like, or have in fact been likened to a muppet? I would guess most of you have at least one or two, but I reckon my muppet to mate ratio is pretty well up there with the best of them. I have at least two Beakers (who are married to each other for an added kinky twist - although one of them has also been likened to Animal, as he plays the drums with a maniacal open mouth grin/grimace and used to have really big hair), one Ralph (the piano playing dog - you'd remember if you saw him), a Miss Piggy (sort of - well, she's scary anyway and could probably knock you for six with her handbag) who is going out with a Kermit (who is also a girl - ish) and to top it all off I used to be married to Dr Teeth but now I'm going out with Professor Bunsen Honeydew. Maybe I have a muppet fettish. Not surprising really, as I myself have been likened to the bald eagle (apparently it's my brows when I frown) by my boyfriend. I don't know quite what that says about him either to be honest. For myself I think I'm more like a cross between Scooter (fighting against overwhelming odds - and occasionally my own incompetence - to keep things running and get the show on the road) and Mad Harry (who was completely insane and seemed to spend all his time throwing fish at people and blowing things up - nuff said I think).



Friday, September 30, 2005

Work: Have you ever...?

Have you ever been so bored at work that you poked your thumbs in your eyes just for something to do? Have you ever sloped off to the loo for a quick afternoon nap and then woken up with your face stuck to the toilet roll an hour later? Have you ever delegated all your work to someone more junior than you because it was so boring that you couldn't face it and then spent all afternoon playing on ebay, on messenger or writing a blog? Have you ever gone to have a cigarette outside because you were bored and ended up staying and having three in a row just because you can't face going back to work?

Welcome to my world.

Here We Are Again, sort of

I started a blog back in 2005, posted for a bit, got some good responses, moved it to Myspace, left Myspace and then decided after a couple of years to come back to my original blogspot and continue, but by then I'd forgotten my log in details. So I'm reposting all of the various wurblings I already posted on here so they're all in one place. If you're interested, read them. If you're not, well that's just fine and dandy too. That about brings you up to speed.

Enjoy, or don't, as the mood takes you...