scratchie billie

'I say, do you blog?' I'm definitely going to start using that as a chat up line/ice breaker at parties.
It's actually a tough old do this blogging business – should you be funny (ha ha or peculiar), and if you usually are, can you get away with being deep and meaningful every now and again? Is it ok to whitter and rant or do you actually have to SAY something?
I'm obviously in a more sombre frame of mind today as I am using capital letters, which, as I'm sure you've already noted, do not figure much on this site.
So, a sensible, stiff-upper-case kind of day.
It's raining in London and we (the office we, rather than the royal one) are listening to Billie Holiday while trying to sort out our April issue.
Tonight I'm going for a curry and a pie. Which is a nice, waistbelt stretching combination. Actually I'm hoping to resist the curry nibbles (opening of a new posh curry house) and to eat the nimblest, if not humblest, pie possible.
Just realised that the Billie Holiday stuff I've downloaded is live and crackly.
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

make mine a double

it's a long story but a stranger once sent 2 glasses of champagne to my table because he'd overheard my date saying she'd got lost on the way and apparently last time he'd been lost someone had given him a glass of fizz. all very 'pay it forward'.
i bumped into the guy again a while back in some swanky hotel bar (which, as all Londoners will know is pretty amazing given that you never bump into anyone anywhere in this town) then i thought of him today because i saw a homeless guy who was his absolute spitting image.
then i started thinking about the whole doppelganger thing – that we all have a double somewhere in the world. and i found myself thinking how weird it would be if we all have a homeless double somewhere and how complicated it could all get if you, or someone you know, bumped into yours.
just a thought.

is there a doctor in the house?

'what the hell is that banging,' thought i, at 4am this morning, as i surfaced from a dream about the date giving a friend of mine a masonic handshake. the banging turned out to be the cat, which had somehow got herself shut in the living room. by the time i had let her out and returned to bed i was wide awake, natch (which, by the way, is a word i have banned from my magazine!).
so, spent the next couple of hours
seething at my sister for locking HER cat in the living room
fretting about how much i have to do today and how tired i'm going to be
wondering about what to wear
worrying about the date and the weekend (we aren't spending it together)
trying to be calm, and at one with the universe and all the great things in it
i finally got up at 6am and had coffee. went to the gym to do my legs but was pressganged into a boxing class as demonstration model for someone i used to train with. which i didn't mind at all UNTIL HE GAVE ME PINK BOXING GLOVES!
i ended up doing bare knuckle boxing - you should see my fists, they are very manly!
got to work full of the joys of spring at 9am.
by 9.20am the joys of spring had been ripped from me, chewed up and spat out, replaced by an acute bout of misanthropy and irritation.
this was caused mainly by trying to book a doctor's appointment for 2 weeks' time, when i have a day off.
the earliest appointment i could get was five weeks away. so i now have to 'just turn up' at 8.30am one morning and they'll give me an appt for that day.
which is patently ridiculous, as i pointed out to the stepford wife receptionist.
thank god it's the weekend.

fluffy pink clouds

apparently it takes 4,976 muscles to frown and only 2 to smile! whoever made that up had obviously never heard of botox.
anyway, have an acute attack of FBS (fluffy bunny syndrome) today - the sun is out, the sky is blue, i had a good night's sleep, nice date to look forward to this evening and all is well in the world.
so, to counter the list of annoying things i compiled a while ago, today is about the nicer things in life:
- beetroot, avacado and sesame seed salad
- laying in bed on a sat morning with a coffee and a magazine
- waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain outside, knowing i don't have to get up for work
- the feeling i get when i'm running and i think 'i can't carry on' and a song comes on my ipod and suddenly i feel like i can't stop!
- a perfectly chilled glass of chablis after a tough day at work
- laying on the beach listening to the sea and the martini that comes after a day frazzling
- a new jumper
- box-fresh pants
- walking home in the rain, splashing in all the puddles, getting totally soaked (for some reason, this doesn't have the same effect if you do it on the way to work!)
- being recognised by kids
i would go on, but i feel myself slipping into trite hallmark territory so shall stop here.

do do do

an ex boss once told me 'remember - people never aspire younger or downwards'. to that end i've always kept my eye on what 'the youth of today' (aka da youf) is up to, especially in music and art. so today's posting comes courtesy of Arcade Fire, a band much favoured by the kind of person who walks inside their jeans (you know, overlong legs, fraying at the back) and likes to show off the waistband of their pants.
their website (www.arcadefire.com) not only has some really great graphics, it also has nice entries from each of the collective's core members. some of the pages apologise for a lack of a mailing list (they are far too cool for that kind of pop-picker-palaver), others just include random photos taken on tour. the ones i liked most though are lists of touchy-feely imperatives like 'send postcards to your loved ones' or 'eat more fruit'.
here, then, Arcade Fire stylee, are my imperatives for the day:
'smile, even though you feel like shit. it works!'
'try and spend an hour at work looking like you are really busy while actually doing completely non-work related things - it's quite tough' (top tip: start a blog)
'remember we are all playing the same game, making up the rules as we go along'. as my sister Tracy says 'we are just beings trying to get on', which is a really nice thought, particularly when you're nervous about encounters with other people.
'before you bemoan the weather remember that no rain would mean no trees or flowers'
'press the wait button when you get to a crossing. not only will the traffic lights change more speedily, you'll avoid someone like me having an acute tack of pedestrian rage next to you'

who loves ya!

so, for the first time in years i find myself besotted by someone. which is all very nice. except it isn't all very nice at all. bits of it are great - you know, silly texts, sweet phone calls, secret smiles, sex etc.
but bits of it are frankly torturous.
'does he really like me?' 'are we exclusive' and if we aren't 'where is he, what's he doing and who's he doing it to?' 'is he only interested in me for my inheritance?' (actually that's one thing i don't have to fret about) etc etc etc.
so, it's lovely on the one hand, little cherubs are floating around the office, playing violins and smiling at me but they also keep giving me funny sideways looks, sniggering and saying things like 'yeah right!' and 'so, can't see you on Saturday, eh? i'm sure it's nothing but i'd be a bit worried'.
they don't tell you about that in Mills & bloody Boon.
elsewhere in my world i'm busy busy busy and in a bad bad bad mood.

something wriggly this way comes...

my sore throat is threatening to make a comeback. it is niggling. i am obviously low-level anxious about a return bout of ill health (as i believe it is referred to in middle age). i dreamt yesterday that i had gone back to my GP as i was feeling poorly again and was duly admitted to hospital. i remember feeling terribly weak and feeble in the dream, concerned that i had developed meningitis. when the doctor came to see me he informed me that i was suffering from an 'extremely severe case… of worms'! i was mortified.
mind you, i reckon worms would win hands-down in an ill-off (see earlier entry about how whenever one complains of illness, the person one is talking too has to have equally bad, or worse symptoms/ailments). i can't imagine anyone offering 'oh, i know, i've just vomited a 19 inch tapeworm, and i'm sure there's another one in there trying to get out', in response to my bemoaning my condition.
and on the subject tapeworms, i once read that in the Victorian times, when ladies would swallow a tapeworm in order to maintain their 'elegantly waisted' demeanour, that in order to get them out again they would hold a piece of rotting meat over their open mouths and the worm would smell it and come out. that is obviously utter rubbish!
i then dreamt that an old granny was admiring my glasses.
what does it all mean?
in the real world, all is lovely. the sun came out momentarily. i spoke to the date, who told me he was missing me A LOT this week, and i think i've recruited a new art bod for the magazine.
and i'm going away tomorrow so have a long weekend ahead.
must watch out for undercooked pork!

I heart Valentine's day

my Valentine's booty: a text message from the date saying 'happy Valentine's Day. I didn't send you a card'. bless.
as per usual lots of smug marrieds came into work clutching bouquets to their breasts like they'd just given birth to them. and someone at a nearby desk got a card that they 'honestly don't have a clue who it's from'. aren't mums great? heroes, in fact, just like Iceland says on the ad.
i bought myself a bunch of dafodils and am now going home to have supper with two single friends, who i always hook up with on feb 14!
at least we won't fight over the wet patch.

give me an o, give me an h, give me an m.......

OK, so the breath breaks are back – you know, those moments when you have to take yourself off to the loo and inhale deeply a few times in order to calm down, because you are so eye-bleedingly busy you can't ever imagine feeling anything but totally frantic ever again?
I've also been reading 'The Quiet' by that smug multimillionaire, I mean author, who wrote The Little Book of Calm. It's basically about meditation for the time-impoverished. Fast track Nirvana. He recommends making a moment in your day to just sit and be. I've set myself a reminder on my phone every afternoon at 3pm, which I'm sure isn't what he had in mind, but I figure that so long as I do actually step off the treadmill that is 21st century living at least once a day the end more than justifies the means.
I'm constantly amazed at how 'chatterbox' my mind is when I do actually just stop and turn inward. And so 'critical'. Honestly, with a friend like me, I really don't need enemies!

from the mouths of innocents, and Veronica...

to Brighton to check out a lovely hotel for work - well someoneone has to do it. Veronica managed to come out with not one but three - count em - classics in the space of 24 hours.
1. she tries on a cardigan in one of Brighton's seemlessly endless collection of bijou boutiques. said cardigan is fawn. the assistant who is serving her is wearing the same thing in brown. 'it's lovely, isn't it?' says the assistant to Veronica. 'i'm wearing the other colourway.' 'Oh,' exclaims Veronica. 'What colour is it?" cue much eyebrow furrowing by assistant. how i laughed!
2. next we pop into whistles because Veronica likes a dress in the window. running through a rail of clothes, label expert V turns to me and exclaims (in the same authoritative manner I imagine Louis Paster used when announcing the discovery of penicillin) 'so, basically, this might as well be a Whistles store!'. Bless. she claims that she hadn't noticed the (huge, neon) signage outside, nor that on the back wall. how i laughed!
At this point i feel it only fair to point out that VERONICA IS NOT VISUALLY OR MENTALLY IMPAIRED.
3. Veronica's hattrick came on the train on the way home. we were talking about the ethics and semantics of email when Veronica admitted she had recently made a discovery. no, not that the world is actually flat or a cure for cancer, but that those punctuation emoticons that people use as a sign-off are actually meant to be faces!!!! 'I thought it was bad punctuation…'
how i laughed!

microwave hell

'My goodness,' said my GP as he looked down my throat on Tuesday. 'You've been walking around like that for a month and no one's given you anything. That's dreadful!' I honestly could have hugged her and wept. Having been told twice already by our company doctor to go home and take Aspirin for a sore throat that felt like swallowing glass, that someone was finally going to give me a brown bottle of pills with my name on it was almost more than I could bear.
So, antibiotics are kicking in nicely (and making me feel thoroughly sick) and I'm awaiting results of blood tests and throat swabs. Who wants an ill-off now then? No takers, eh?
All of this meant that last night I actually got a proper night's sleep. Isn't it amazing the difference a few uninterrupted hours of shuteye can make to your mood.
A few observations and conundrums:
Aren't Mika's songs fantastically catchy?
Can a 10 year age gap really ever work? Will he just trade me in for a younger model at the earliest opportunity, in which case should I just say goodbye now while it's still lovely?
What do you pack when in London winter seems to be an outdated concept (12 degrees today) and you're going to Prague, which could give Narnia a run for its money in the weather stakes (-2 degrees today, apparently)? I've asked that on behalf of my itinerant sister.
Has my nan got her cooker working yet? The poor dear is restricted to microwave dinners with nothing but Trisha and Emmerdale for company!