ligthen up

can anyone tell me why we put the clocks forward on Saturday night?
was it for the farmers so they could work later?
or for the lovely little small children, so they don't have to risk the after-dark child catcher on the way home from school?
or just so we could invent silly sayings like 'spring forward to spring, sink into a deep depression, slash your wrists and put the clocks back for winter'?
i have to say i find it slightly irritating - not only is it dark again when i get up but my body clock is confused (yes, after just an hour - i'm sensitive!). i was wide awake at midnight last night and dead to the world this morning.
i must admit though that it is rather nice to be leaving work in 10 minuts and not have to put on a miner's helmet.

she might have!

I've just received a press release about a cocktail dress that might once have been worn by a famous actress, not in a film you understand, but for personal appearances. possibly to a drinks party some time in the 50s. And would i like to run a feature about it. how i considered laughing!
it was bizarre enough to rouse me from the stupor i have been in all day. almost.
i'm having one of those days where how tired i am bears no relation to how much i've slept. i didn't actually get up until 6.30am today – a whole extra half an hour in bed – but feel like i've been up all night and am about to crash and burn.
thankfully my evening plans have fallen through (i once had a dream and it never came true – name that cultural reference if you can), so i shall go home and just 'be' around the house.
by which, i of course mean get home, lay on the sofa watching crap tv before nodding off around 8.30pm and dragging myself downstairs to bed about 9pm. ready to wake up tomorrow at 5.30am and start all over again…

what you looking at?

what would you look like if you'd never taken any interest in skincare?
what would your body be like if you'd never done any exercise?
what would you be like if you'd never had any therapy?
i'm beginning to worry that i'd look exactly the same as i do now and i still seem to have the same hangups/demons/baggage as before, they just surprise me less.
discuss....

whose liver is it anyway?

So, I'm nearly 40 and learnt an important lesson on Saturday night. Sambuka, vodka and campari DO NOT make a nice drink. not even downed in one. (Especially downed in one).
I also learnt something on Sunday morning. Either other people are total lightweights and simply cannot take their alcohol or I have a cast iron bucket where my liver should be. I felt rough but not 'I can't move my head is spinning so much, please bring me a bucket' rough.
OK, so I wasn't going to go for a jog round the Heath (though it has been known - to paraphrase Nietzche 'you don't beat the mountain, you beat your hangover') but I still managed to get to the breakfast I had arranged.
Not entirely sure I had the last laugh though, as this morning I had mislaid something rather precious to me: my eyes. I was so tired I felt like someone was swinging on my eyelids while at the same time forcing my eyeballs back into my head with jousting sticks. While my fellow party-goers were giving thanks to god that they were back on planet healthy.
It's now 5.40pm and I am only just coming round. And also coming round to the idea of a drink. Which is rather fortunate as I have a dinner with PRs that I couldn't rearrange (imagine trying to cancel a dinner with a PR or a journalist because you're hungover!).
How we would all laugh...

share and share alike

now, you wouldn't guess it to look at me, but as well as a fat person, inside me there is a do-gooder desperate to get out. i indulge my 'helping the greater good' fantasies by visiting a local primary school and helping with their literacy programme.
this morning, during register, cute little Arnan put up his hand and, apropro of nothing, announced: 'last night, i went to my cousin's house and had porkballs. they were really hot and i burned my mouth. i had to ask my aunt for a glass of water. and it still burned.'
'thank you, Arnan,' said the teacher without batting an eyelid. 'we save things like that until sharing time, don't we?
'and what time is sharing time?'
sharing time, it turns out, is just after numeracy and is 15 minutes long. during sharing time, the kids sit in a circle and tell each other their news. i imagine it runs along the line of:
'still haven't found the thierry henry football card yet'
'i've got a pink hoodie for my birthday'
'my mum, yeah, she was late for work yesterday'
'i was involved in a porkball incident last night'
but what a great idea.
i think we should start having 'sharing time' at work. 15 minutes where you just tell each other what you've been up to/eating/doing etc. what would you bring to the table?

the sun always shines

isn't it incredible the difference a bit of sun makes to how we feel about the world and how the world feels about us? i left the house this morning at 6.40am and it was light. for the first time this year i didn't feel like i'd had to get up in the middle of the night.
on the train people smiled at me, little fluffy baa lambs gambolled around my feet as i walked to the gym where angels helped me lift those heavy weights. and all because the sun has started shining.
i then got to work where i have been so bloody busy that i haven't had a chance to get out and even look at the sky.
and now it's 6pm and it's STILL light.
i'm going to make a mercy dash for the last of the daylight

sights for sore eyes

just back from Paris, where i was reviewing a (lovely) hotel for work.
while there, i saw:
a woman who had accessorised her car to her outfit (maroon suit and matching blusher, maroon hat and maroon-framed glasses, maroon fiat)
clare danes in miu miu
a babapapa moneybox (which i bought)
endless black tights/killer heels combinations (on a sunday morning)
a blind man playing accordian in the gutter (yes, really)
a dog in earrings. i kid you not. earrings and a pink dress!
how we laughed