Ho ho ho innit.

It's Christmas again - almost. My last work day for the week - and then off for Christmas crackers and turkey with cranberry.

Glad work year is almost done. As Kev said, our job is "to construct something truly horrific with which we can bring humanity to its knees and shoot it in the back of the head." It's true. Today I wrote something so insipid that I actually choked on vomit as I typed. That is the nature of the beast.

What else can I say about the last couple of weeks? Been house hunting again. Looked at 2 places last night that seemed very promising. Both in Brixton again, but more Clapham North end - i.e. slightly less ghetto.

Lambeth borough is trying to attract yuppies and Guardian/Indie readers to the area by doing up places on the outskirts, but the heart of Brixton is still Coldharbour lane. Last Friday I took 2 steps down the street and someone offered me gear. Crack central. Even the squirrels are addicted.

I'm off to Cambridge for Xmas so this may be the last blog for a week. Looking forward to seeing Jeff and Anna. There's something special about Christmas in winter - mulled wine, mince pies, proper roast dinner. It all makes sense.

Hey, maybe I'll finally see real mistletoe! Last time I got fooled into a poxy horse faced Scotsman under a piece of green plastic. OK, I made that up.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with this chav Christmas tale.

There's this bird called Mary, yeah? She's a virgin (wossat then?) She's not married or nuffink, but she's got this boyfriend, Joe, innit? He does joinery an' that. Mary lives with him in a crib dahn Nazaref. One day Mary meets this bloke Gabriel. She's like `Oo ya lookin at?' Gabriel just goes 'You got one up the duff, you have.' Mary's totally gobsmacked. She gives it to him large 'Stop dissin' me yeah? I ain't no Kappa-slapper. I never bin wiv no one!' So Mary goes and sees her cousin Liz, who's six months gone herself. Liz is largin' it. She's filled with spirits, Barcardi Breezers an' that. She's like 'Orright, Mary, I can feel me bay-bee in me tummy and I reckon I'm well blessed. Think of all the extra weez gonna get on the social an' that.'

Mary goes 'Yeah, s'pose you're right'

Mary an' Joe ain't got no money so they have to ponse a donkey, an' go dahn Bethlehem on that. They get to this pub an' Mary wants to stop, yeah? To have her bay-bee an' that. But there ain't no room at the inn, innit? So Mary an' Joe break an' enter into this garridge, only it's filled wiv animals. Cahs an' sheep an' that. Then these three geezers turn up, looking proper bling, wiv crowns on their 'eads. They're like `Respect, bay-bee Jesus', an' say they're wise men from the East End. Joe goes: 'If you're so wise, wotchoo doin' wiv this Frankenstein an' myrrh? Why dincha just bring gold, Adidas and Burberry?' It's all about to kick off when Gabriel turns up again an' sez he's got another message from this Lord geezer. He's like 'The police is comin an' they're killin all the bay-bees. You better nash off to Egypt.' Joe goes 'You must be monged if you think I'm goin' dahn Egypt on a minging donkey' Gabriel sez 'Suit yerself, pal. But it's your look out if you stay.' So they go dahn Egypt till they've stopped killin the first-born an' it's safe an' that. Then Joe and Mary and Jesus go back to Nazaref, an' Jesus turns water into Stella

Update on Brixton

My hopes were too high. The house fell through at the final hour with one of the flatmate's friends moving in instead. It's been hard blogging lately because I used to do it first thing but transport has been stuffing me around so I get in late.

Been busy with not only finding a new room, but finding a replacement for my old room, so i can get my deposit back.

Some highlights of last week.

Had our work Xmas party last week. Managed to get ridiculously drunk after only 2 monster glasses of wine and did 3 things:
* Moaned on to HR about everything that I hate: Brixton house, London in general, work, my position in the company, my boss, my shoes and all life on earth.
* Got chatted up by ugly 'jug eared' DJ who held my hand when I put in a request, and didn't let go for a good 10 mins. Too pissed to be bothered moving away.
* Ran away from the police as they cautioned me for being 'drunk and incapable'.

Despite hang over I managed to get out to a club on Friday night in Brixton, where I managed to accidentally lose all G's drqs. £40 of marching powder and a couple of blue puppies. Still, there was more than enough for him to not be able to point his eyes in the same direction for a few hours. Ended back with the Searles Rd crew, with Ry and others, dancing to bad house and singing Oasis tunes when Ash brought out guitar. Occasionally one of the Aussies would ask for Midnight Oil, Crowded House or You Am I only to have Ash turn his relentless saucer plate pupils and gurning jaw to us, before launching into Beatles, Oasis, Beatles, Oasis blah blah blah. Fun night. Ash is a little scary.

Got a creepy comment from Anonymous comment. Own up, time to 'fess who you are. Otherwise I'm going to fancy that you are a talent scout about to cut me a book deal, or a psycho stalker about to cut me like a chicken.

It's not a crack house, it's a crack home

It's been an age since I've blogged, but I couldn't leave Thatcher and Spandeau Ballet on the home page any longer!

Busy times. I've been looking for a new place to live. Putney is nice, sleepy and pretty, but if I wanted to live in a place with too many Aussies, no nightlife and bad transport connections, I'd have stayed in Sydney, maybe moved to Castle Hill.

I'm moving to Brixton, the borough of Lambeth. "No, seriously". Jamaicans and Carribeans selling turtle eggs, aphrodisiacs and crack rocks at the station. Reggae and funk blaring out through the underground. Gurners spilling out of clubs at midday. Christians yelling about Jesus alot. It's mad and grotty, but it's the real London.

I had the choice of moving into a box sized room with shitty furniture in Clapham North (the equiv of Balmain) or a rambling mansion (as Romantics would put it. Realists may call it a shitty dive) only a short bus ride away in the heart of clubland (there is no Sydney equiv. Imagine Kings X, Newtown and Surry Hills get together with Jamaica and Africa, have a few drinks, get a bit silly and have a mutant child. That child woul be Brixton).

The place is incredibly huge and ridiculously cheap. By far the biggest place I've lived in. Bigger than the haunted place on Probert St (for those that remember. It had a desk that was too big to move). The front yard (or 'Garden' as English call it, even if it only contains one tree and some weeds) is easily 15 steps to the door. The house is 3 stories. Every room is coloured in mad colours, like they've let loose an army of children on acid armed with crayons. Hallway - electric blue with silver stars. Kitchen - lurid green. My bedroom - blood red.

There are 5 girls living there. One of them could be a prostitute - 'student, works from home' scantily dressed with blonde mullet, fake eyelashes, stone washed denim, Eastern European accent, says 'dahlink' a lot. She looks like she belongs on a 70's soft porn nudie calendar pumping gas in denim short shorts. Another is an art dealer. Her room is filled with oil paintings. (drug smuggler).

And yet it's a comfortable home.

In a box and lovin' it

Pandora is open and honestly the best site I've seen as long as I can remember. If you want me, I'm here.

Music and Politics

Thatcher belts a out a few 80's classics

Me: George and i were talking about the influence of Thatcherite Britain on music. His argument goes: Spandeau Ballet, Depeche Mode, Human League. shit shit shit.
Kev says: yeah but she also gave us the Cure, the Sisters, Ghosttown, Sex Pistols and Maiden!
Me: it also supports that theory. on the one hand banal synthesizer pop. on the other dark shoe-gazing depressive goth pop (or 'crap' depending on taste) and punk. All born from the same period of severe economic reforms. Punk and goth is protest music, the rallying cry of the dispossessed.
So what does that say about 90's drum 'n' bass and psytrance. What politics would that be attached to?
Kev: The politics of apathy. Empty worthless generation, dumb flag waving scum. Revolting quasi hippie mess. Fucking e-generation writing books about the good old days of the Hacienda: there were no good old days, you were just to fucked to notice. Awful awful time for music and humanity in general.
Shoe gazing wasn't politically empty, it was just a generation of people who'd given up, they new they'd lost and they had the decency to regret that loss. E generation were too stupid to even realise the war was over. They went and sat in the poppy fields unaware they were surrounded by corpses.
That dreadful place was considered a spiritual home, but it was nothing more than the birthplace of music for people who wanted to play guitar wearing a moustache. And there is no excuse for that.

If it wasn't for Thatcher, we wouldn't have The Clash - and today we wouldn't have Kaiser Chiefs.

"It's enough to make you stop believing when tears come fast and furious in a Town Called Malice". - The Jams

Thatcher's Legacy

Signs that you're old

* Everyone I work with has mortgages, except me.
* I'm actually concerned about that.
* No idea what was playing at London Astoria last night.
* Noise in the office is annoying.
* Need to sleep at night or cannot function.
* Prefer Mozart ringtone to Kaiser Chiefs.

The secret to feeling bling

Last week Kev dumped a girl via text message. We were all outraged. Doesn't matter whether he's only been seeing her for a few days, or that he may not ever see her again, it's a matter of decency. As revenge Roz and I cooked up a plan to dump him today in a prerelationship, preemptive dump. 'Sorry, I know you are uncontrollably attracted to me, but I don't see it working out because frankly you're a bit silly.'

Meanwhile G has turned the head of his 45 year-old client, who made some comment about wanting to be 'in the presence of George' and called him 'georgeous'. Work it, baby! Whatever gets you headlines.

Feeling decidedly un-glam this morning. Didn't sleep at home, so wasn't close to my shoe collection and girly cleansers, still got a lurgy cough, work is up to buggery, wearing the same clothes. Yet I can't stop grinning! What a great night of food, conversation, wine, couch wrestling and 90's Isreali drum 'n' bass.

Also happy because after many weeks of silence I had an influx of news from home. 30 mins call to sister, and an email from Mr T and Iain. Was starting to feel like I had no friends in Oz anymore and facing a pretty grim, cold Christmas.

Another big reason to be positive: it's been more than a month since I read the ex's blog - around the time that I emailed him and it freaked him out because he misinterpreted it and then i got defensive 'what's wrong if i had said that?' yada yada yada, and so it disintegrates. I'm quite proud of the self-discipline. It gets tempting, not because I'm interested, but because it's one of my only windows into Sydney life. Frankly, I didn't like the view. That sounds harsh, guess what I mean is I'm more interested in hearing about my old friends - Timbo, Claire, Marnie etc. Besides, I feel better about things and him when I don't read it. Of course that last misunderstanding jarred me a bit last week when I was all flu-ridden and feeling like a big lump of mucous but i shouldn't beat myself up for getting blue. It happens to us all.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about G's theory that change is better instigated from the bottom up, than the top down. I think i've always imposed change on myself by radically changing something big - my appearance, my house, my country. Like the girl that gets her haircut when she gets dumped, i've always gone in for big change without much thought. Organic growth, as opposed to forced dictating, has a more long lasting effect. Will post more on this later once I've thought it through, but it's interesting.

Cocaine in a tube

Here's a tribute to Natalie Dee and her comic stylin'. Love this one because it's what I always see when I look at the globe. South America says 'come here'.



In a better mood today. Had pro-active weekend house hunting and found 2 new possibilities. Looking forward to a change of scene, preferably with a better soundtrack. Also had a great chat to Lisa. Miss her so much.

Stupid email banter with Emilio gypsy.

E: To be honest I don’t we really spoke at the client party.

Me: Yes we did. You told me about your dad and being part gypsy. But I was too hammered, and then I got on to that Eskimo.

E: Oh, it’s all coming back to me now.

Me: Yeah, you were shooting MDMA into your eye so I’m not surprised the night is a little hazy.

E: Hope I didn’t make a fool of myself regarding the whole MDMA thing. Its something I’ve only recently been getting into. I’m trying heroin next – what fun.

Me: Scag head. Me, I prefer injecting the ground up bones of endangered animals.

E: Phew. That’s pretty intense. You’d like this FIGHT CLUB quote – “I’d like to put a bullet between the eyes of every panda that wouldn’t screw to save it’s own species”

Me: Wow. That’s so weird! I am going to have Panda steak for lunch!

E: Smothered in freshly clubbed baby seal juice? Enjoy. I’m having the supermodel lunch of cocaine, nicotine and coffee. I’m all out of one of the three though.

Me: Sainsburys sell all 3 in an easy to squeeze tube now.

In hindsight

The thing that has got me the most wound up is, in hindsight, that the ex has finally got that 3 months off to travel. If he'd done that a year ago, he could have come over to stay and travel, and then I would have come home after that.

Heh - in reality I'm better off the way things turned out.

Now to just get a real job and change my living arrangements and life will be sweet again.

Time for War of the Worlds video and G snuggle under warm duvet. Winter hugs.

Play chicken with my heart

Lately been feeling a bit of rage at boys and their belief in their own mojo.

1. Unnecessary moment with office crush - because he asked me out, and I said no thanks, but attraction still there. Watching him be the top dog with his friends, at their expense, playing pool with Fear and Loathing in his pocket, chatting up the girl in the Web department despite her boyfriend. Poseur. Quite like the guy, if he wasn't so incredibly good looking. Hope it doesn't get in the way of friendship. Hmm, I punched him in the stomach last night after he said I 'wasn't terrible' at pool. In truth, I whipped his arse. Stomach? Skinny, a little soft.

Funny moment - he's annoyed that Roz has a new boy

OC - 'That guy with Roz is irritatingly good-looking, isn't he?'
Me - 'It's not irritating me.'

2. Residue bitterness with ex. Didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but was peeved with his reaction to an email sent more than 2 months back. ie - ignoring it, then posting about it on his blog for all his friends to read.

Attraction is a two-lane highway, buddy. Call it what you want, but we loved each other and those feelings don't just go away. It's not just me that feels it so deal with it. Had nothing to lose by asking if there was a chance for us in the future, and what is wrong with that? It's not like he'll ever send me an email out of the blue or call for a coffee. He was my most significant relationship, and a major part of my life for 2 years, and now he's a complete stranger and that hurts sometimes. It was probably the last time we would be in the same country, and really I wasn't thinking about getting back together but about whether something still stirs in his soul. I was home, memories stirred up and I felt vulnerable. Maybe it was stupid, but why do I feel so goddamn dirty for doing so? Why should I justify it? Why say things are OK, explain myself. Well maybe things just aren't OK, and never will be and there's nothing either of us can do about it. I'm such a fool: always put in way too much muscle in that relationship, and always got hurt.

fark this shit. think I'm angry because of flu, cold dark weather, Coldplay, utter loneliness. Stupid thoughts like 'miss his crooked smile' deserve punishment, expunging with drqs and mindless weekend music.

Bmm tst, bmm tst, bmm tst, bmm tst. Post-punk funk and italo boogaloo. Techno techno techno techno. Hoxton fins and Brixton peddlers. Fetish clubs and glam mugs. Pill-munching, air punching, dance floor lunatics. Bring it on. It's the weekend. LONDON COME ON!!!

A REAL woodbunny

Italian artist group Gelitin made this. Love it.

Their press statement:

The things one finds wandering in a landscape: familiar things and utterly unknown, like a flower one has never seen before, or, as Columbus discovered, an inexplicable continent;
and then, behind a hill, as if knitted by giant grandmothers, lies this vast rabbit, to make you feel as small as a daisy.
The toilet-paper-pink creature lies on its back: a rabbit-mountain like Gulliver in Lilliput. Happy you feel as you climb up along its ears, almost falling into its cavernous mouth, to the belly-summit and look out over the pink woolen landscape of the rabbitís body, a country dropped from the sky;
ears and limbs sneaking into the distance; from its side flowing heart, liver and
intestines.
Happily in love you step down the decaying corpse, through the wound, now small like a maggot, over woolen kidney and bowel.
Happy you leave like the larva that gets its wings from an innocent carcass at the roadside.
Such is the happiness which made this rabbit.
i love the rabbit the rabbit loves me.

Weekend damage

Ruined myself on weekend. Too brain dead tired and depressed to post properly. Have bad 'cold'. Hallucinating on Monday night. Fever, sore throat, glands up and never ending cough. Can only do bullets.

* PsychoPat emailed me. "Realised about 6 weeks ago that I'm over it. Just sort of clicked." - it's only been 2 and a half years!!!

* Last Tuesday - amazingly good night out with Kevin and his friend. Saw a band called the Pipettes, which are like the Shangrilas. Get along with the guy so well. He's funny, nice and smart.

* Wednesday - date with George. Quite nice, good chat. Saturday - went to art gallery with George. Also nice, discussion about existentialism in Norwegian art. Taking things slowly. Think he may have had a fling in Scotland but trying to trust him.

* Monday - hallucincations and fever. LEft work, lay on couch and hallucinated I was drowning in sea, being pulled out in that rip like I was when I was 18. Think I may have thrashed around.

* Wednesday - had job interview. Still very woozy and sick and feverish. Hoping they take illness into account. It was like the job interview scene in Trainspotting.

* Miss home. Miss sunny climes, and less illness.

Fade to grey

Oh dear. If I was watching a movie of my life, I would have got up and left in disgust at the actions of the protagonist last week. It's the G, the effing G.

He came over Sunday. We had a cup of tea at the kitchen table and listened to the ticking clock. He talked about work, some of the clubs he'd been too, playing pool. Everytime there was a lull in the conversation, the clock would tut at me from the wall. I would ask 'what do you want?', him: 'i just wanted to see you. I missed you'.

I went upstairs because the flatmates were hanging about the house, but the bedroom was a mistake. He kissed me quickly and then looked at the wall.

Me: 'I came up here because it's private to talk. I'm keeping my pants on.'
Him: 'I missed you.'
Me: 'You said it wouldn't work. What's changed?'
Him: 'I don't know. I missed you. I miss your bed, and laughing with you, your sense of humour.'
Me: 'Do you know what you want?'
He bured his face in the quilt.
Him: 'I don't know. I just missed you.'
Me: 'I know what I want, but do you?'

I suggested a date during the week, once he's had a few days to think about things. We could talk and see if the spark is dead and gone. We know it's there in the bedroom, but what's the point if we can't hold a conversation. If I tell him about my interests and he says he hates all that 'goth crap' or 'pretentious and inane rock music is middle class shite'. What's the point of music that you need to take a handful of pills to enjoy? Music may seem like a small thing, but it's hugely important. It is like he is spitting on who I am and where I've come from.

Then he drones on about the summer of love, being part of that scene. Pilling 4 nights out of 7, double or triple headers, crystal meth etc.

I can't talk about work because I hate it. It's creatively deadening and just pays the rent. It's not who I am. At the end of the day I feel completely dirty and angry, while he thrives on his career. It's part of who he is, fair play, and it feeds his mind. Mine kills me.

Meanwhile we're still in the bedroom, and he's still touching my leg. He's still stroking my arms and looking at me with his stupid blue eyes, and asking for kisses with his liar lips.

Me: 'There's an expression about a cow.'
Him: 'What's that?'
Me: 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free. You see what I'm getting at?'
Him: 'I want the cow.'

Afterwards, when I just felt stupid and wanted him to leave so I could commence my head-to-wall interface, he suggested dinner at the local. How long until the first argument? Between the beer and the food arriving. He's jealous of my male friends.

I mentioned that I had a misunderstanding with this guy at work, and he got wildly jealous and suspicious. It was stupid of me, and perhaps a little mean and deliberate.

Him: 'You know I've turned down plenty of women in the past 6 months and you don't give me any credit for it'

also

Me: 'We always have the power to upset each other.'
him: 'Why do you think that is?'
Me: 'Because we care about each other.'
Him: 'no, why do you think we keep hurting each other?'

He left to visit some of our friends. He didn't tell them he'd just come over and begged me back. Wants to wait and take things slowly. In other words, he's got one foot out the door until he's sure.

2am, the phone rings.

Him: Are you awake? I've been thinking about the stuff you said over dinner. Have you been with anyone else.
Me: no babe. There's been noone. I wasn't interested in anyone and wanted time alone.
Him: Really? You can tell me?
Me: Nope. You?
Him: No. I guess you had every right to if you did, though.

True

1. I didn't screw anyone in that week after we split.
2. If I did, so what. I was single and could do what the hell I wanted.

Now I was the one lying awake.

Of course there was also the date, but I'm bored of self-vivisection and brooding. I know what I've got to do.

He tox update

I was doing sooo well. Saturday was a big day. I had a good 1.5 hour gym session and then shopped at Portobello markets, bought 4 skirts, a caridigan, a scarf, 2 cook books, one novel, one magazine, and a cookie.

Went out to meet John. He asked me for George's friend's number so I texted George for it. He txted back a bit.

Sunday got up and went axe shopping. Saw some great guitars but decided that based on my level of skill and athritis, I should stick to a beginners guitar and wait until i could afford it.

had a minor slip in the pedestrian subway, where I rehurt my toe. It really is killing me now. Must go to doctors tomorrow about it.

George called me. He wants to come over and talk. He's on his way right now. Nervous as hell. Didn't shave my legs on purpose to avoid getting naked with him. REally don't know what he wants, or how I'm going to feel. I think I could go on seeing him indefinitely and it would never be bad, but it would also never be amazing. It would be at times, but it won't lead to marriage or commitment or true love. It's basically good enough, but not perfect. I don't know. maybe perfect doesn't exist. all i really want is someone that is kind and funny and fairly handsome and outgoing, that wants to travel with me, be monogamous and is man enough to deal with how he feels... not run away one week after dropping the 'l' word...

shit. shit. shit... why did I say yes?

Interview gaffes and snafus

oh, and i had an interview today. did a shit job. had a proofing test and I got 10 out of a possible 30 correct. she said i was the only person to pick up the use of singular when refering to companies, but riddled with spelling errors, as is the blog. because i'm too hung over.

also she asked about weaknesses and i said shoes.

shit.

really, really shit.

Hangover and an interview. Great!

Bloody hell. Last night was a bit out of control.

Today I ate my way through a hangover as I repressed memories of the night before. Had a good time, I think. Realising got some very decent people at work.

The party theme was Folies Bergere, Moulin Rouge, French cabaret. Editorial (me) had to come up with witty name tags for clients. I thought up a few, including ‘absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.’

I met the guy that was wearing that tag.

Him: What do you do?
Me: Well, I work in editorial creative. I came up with your name badge, for instance.
Him: Yeah. I don't get it.
Me: Well, it's a bit of a pun, playing on the idea of Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it’s Absinthe because it's a French Folies Bergere themed event.
Him: Sure, sure. But it's so long. Couldn't you make it shorter?
Me: But then it wouldn’t make sense. It wouldn’t be witty and would lose its meaning.
Him: Right. But couldn’t you keep the pun but make it, I don’t know, [I swear to God he actually said this next word] jazzier.
Me: You, sir, are a cretin. You represent everything that I hate about my job. I curse you.

Ok, I didn’t say that last bit, but I thought it. Instead I made an excuse and left.

other highlights:

Got engaged to Irish guy that wants my visa, and i wanted his. Turns out one of the girls i work with has a bit of corsetry and slight goth leanings. Nice chat to emilio, half south african half gypsy. interesting cat. speaks spanish so good to practice with!

Met Kevin's cool house mates, but had a major fall out with one guy, Loz. Quite liked him at first, except that he said ‘you Aussies always…’ and dissed Aussie sportsmen every five minutes.

Danced on my sore foot. Got manhandles by arrogant journo. 'you are the client, you have to keep the media happy' as he sleazed all over me. So that's what it's like to work in PR. Poor George.

Found Kev looking lecherously at a real minger, and I made some comment that he should look at her face. Nice body, but she was in her late 40s and not blessed in the looks department. He was eyeing her up because she was with this fat guy that was rubbing himself all over her. Kev drunkenly figured she deserved someone better than him, therefore it should be Kev. I tried to dissuade him.

Told Loz about it, and he accused me of liking Kev. Sure, I did, but I'm not after a boyfriend and want a friend. Beside, I would warn anyone away from getting frisky with ugly when blinded by beer goggles. Tried to defend self, but Loz made ‘wooo’ noises over the top of me, didn’t listen and kept making innuendoes. Don’t remember much of the details, but I got extremely cross, and then started crying, which surprised all of us. It was just at the drunken depressive point when I was trying to get away from the conversations because I was missing George and feeling a bit crap about myself, basically. Tragic drunk escapades.

He was all concern after that and said he wanted to come to Brian Jonestown Masacre with me and that he liked talking to me. But think I made a fool of myself.

Of course, the stinger is I do kinda like the guy, but I'm not interested in getting attached. And I know it wouldn't work. It's just an attraction.

Got call from Kev, we all jumped in a cab. Kev rested with his head on my shoulder and I was thrilled about it. his hand brushed my thighs too and he asked me back to his place about 5 times. But I didn't let anything else happen and I went home like a good girl. He-tox working excellently!

Day 4 cont.

Last email of the day from him had me in a mood all day. 'I miss you, but I know it wouldn't work. Doesn't make it any easier.'

Day 5

Been strong all day. Possibly because stunned by awesome might of super hangover.

Kev and I have been talking about monkeys fighting robots. He made a cool picture.

Marketing guff - or reasons I hate my job

Here is a beautiful bit of marketing guff, my favourite for the week:

“When a Reggiani lighting device illuminates something, you see outlines, materials, and colours that other lights fail to reveal: you witness a revelation, you see objects appear forthrightly, you behold their extreme vividness.”

Unlike MS. This is the lovely letter Microsoft sent us after their launch. Is it possible to join someone's momentum? Can a place pulse with excitement? Is Microsoft really filled with frustrated 'rockstars'? Don't have the capability or the heart to increase the font size in its original style, and therefore do it justice, but you get the picture.

We rocked the house in San Francisco. Moscone pulsed with excitement, the many partners I talked to wanted to find for every way possible to join our momentum, and we’ve seen some tremendous press coverage. In addition to Andy’s glowing comments on UK below I’ve also heard from Adam that we rocked in Iceland. We’ll send more details on all these and other early launches in the next couple days.

We’ve built a set of customer evidence with depth and breadth unmatched in Microsoft history, we’ll reach more customers in the coming weeks than any other server launch, we’ve built customer excitement and anticipation to a fever pitch, our global ad campaign (which we kicked off yesterday) sets a new record for engagement and perception change, and we simply have a tremendous story to tell.

We are off and running – let’s kick some butt together in the coming weeks! And then let’s go out and sell a LOT of SQL Server!!

YOU ROCK.

Congratulations on an amazing launch. I know that in many respects, this is the beginning of launches round the world, but it such a tremendous milesone, I wanted to say congratulations and well done to an awesome team!!!!!!! You proved that you were READY to step up to the plate and make this the largest every launch for server and tools (2005 events to over 190k people, over 1000 SQL ISVs, over 250 VSIP partners, web casts, web content, learning content, … the list is too long!!!).

Here in the UK, the press and customer reaction has been great (with their big events starting tomorrow). I LOVE the customer evidence. I LOVE the partner breadth and depth. I LOVE the initial PR / analysts comments. I LOVED the event today in SF.

As I said YOU are ROCKSTARS!!!

Weak day

Last night was hard. I was cold, bored and lonely. My room is freezing, TV is boring but the room is warm. I ate too many carbs and got depressed. Have eaten almost a bar of chocolate a day.

Finally got an email from Claire. So good to hear from her, that I sent a long 'been in the woods too long' reply. She probably thinks I'm mad, but it was good to vent and it was mainly upbeat.

Day 4 He-Tox

Today I replied to his joke that he sent yesterday with 'was that meant for me?' because it seemed very random thing to send. He replied, 'Yes, probably inappropriate'.

That's when I should have stopped, but I didn't and made some joke. Then got so mad at myself for replying. That I wanted to walk so fast that I fell out of my skin. He replied and now I'm staring at my draft of angry vindictive and trying very hard to not send it. Taking myself away from PC now.

The thing is I'm mainly angry with myself, not him. So telling him off won't do anything. I'm angry that I went out with another guy that turned into a jerk - why can't i pick 'em? Angry that I believed him when he droppped the 'l' word last weekend.

Retro Electro

Got a list of music recommendations from the ex, but ended up listening to Roni Size Reprazent(so mid 90s), Sly and Robbie (cheesy), Gary Numan (my friends are electric), Nitzer Ebb, Meat Beat Manifesto (Barend DID have shit taste in music).

Limited to what's available on network. Nothing progressive or exciting. May be time for a proper Soho record store shop.

Day 3 He-Tox:

G emailed me pointing out a spelling error in some article he read. Attempt at light-hearted humour, and to show I'm still in his thoughts. Ignored it.

Had some more great epiphanys last night. I felt quite happy last night, catching up with friends. Steph and I are still good friends and it won't be impacted by this at all, which is a big relief.

Also may make Xmas plans with Wilko. Always good fun!

All by myself

Why is it that whenever I go through a break-up, I find myself going into shops that play the soundtrack to American Beauty or The Piano as I buy herbal teas.

Day 1 of He-tox:

* Rejected advances of Office Crush, and declined drinks invite. Excellent.

* Spent day proactively job search. Good idea but ended up crushed by more rejection.

* Sent G a last email getting stuff off my chest that I couldn't say in person on Sunday, which he replied to. Ignored his reply. Mediocre. He doesn't deserve an email at all. But it's all out there now and I felt better for it. Now walk away from the computer.

* Messaged the ex, after he got the wrong end of my email. Had a silly conversation, when all I wanted to do was indulge in self-loathing and get reassurance, I avoided it all to talk about people we knew, and his plans for future. Kept it light. Nice to catch up.

* Got call from Steph. She was brisk and brutal. 'Get some rest. Go to the gym. Snap out of it.' Resulted in tears once off phone. Terrible.

* Got on email and drafted and redrafted a reply to G's email. On the slippery slope. But I didn't send! Excellent

* Phone call from exhausted friend at 10, her aunt is very sick and about to pass away. Puts all this stupid he-tox thing in perspective.

Day 2 of He-tox:

* Disaster. Sent G a text about a lost book. Excellent he replied about my trousers, and then replied again saying it seemed 'symbolic' and asked how my toe was. Excellent 2 -1. Replied that my toe was sore and dislocated. Now equal.

* Steph's rough and impatient attitude has made me mad. I wanted a coffee, but she doesn't have time. Only the gym and then off to meet her other friends. Obviously now that I'm not with George, I'm not in the same tier of friends. Hate her stupid system.

* Office crush proposes throwing Steph in de Thames and asks me out again for drinks as mates. Excellent. Got a friend!

* Maggie takes me out for midday wine and chinwag about work prospects. Let's me tell the whole sorry boy tale. Good to tell someone, rather than only write about this to people who don't read blog, or email anymore. Put some more pieces in perspective. I'm more upset about losing a good friend than being single. Don't give a rats about being single, but I do miss having a group of friends, and sharing some laughs with George. I'm angry that he lied, more than anything else.

* Going to gym for swim. Shame I can't thrash it out in a proper session but toe is still in agony. At least I'm keeping active.

* Got a job interview for Friday.

The 60-day he-tox

Swore to myself that I would go 60 days without contacting George and without dating anyone. Also that I would give up wheat, alcohol, white sugar, caffeine and joy.

At 20.30 Kevin, aka office crush, asked me out for a Monday arvo beer. I said yes without thinking anything of it other than him being friendly. At 23.00 he called to invite me again, absolutely stonkers. Did he mean it as a date? Does he want to be rebound boy? why is he so drunk on a Sunday? The corpse isn't even cold yet. English lads are strange.

Read ex's blog. Suppose it did look a bit weird that I emailed him only a few hours before George and I split up, but that was a coincidence. I just want to know whether my stuff is safe. I miss those photos he has of my farewell. Sent him another email to explain it, but now think it will also be misinterpreted or something. Maybe I should not speak for the entire 2 months as well.

That's the pledge. Nothing evil or damaging shall pass these lips. Esp not the tongue of office crush boy.

Every rule in the break-up handbook

On Saturday I think I broke every rule in the break-up handbook.

He called at 4 to 'see how you were doing'. As soon as we parted ways he did about a thousand things with his multitude of friends that were free that day. I called a few of mine, but they were all busy. Took myself to the gallery to see Wildlife Photographer of the Year.

I cancelled on bonfire night. Did want to go, but couldn't handle the thought of 1,000 questions on George. Also, my toe was/is in agony. I think I kicked something in a fit of rage. The pain was getting worse throughout the day. Could have broken a toe.

I called him back at about 7.30. Sitting on the river watching the fireworks alone, and called to end it, because he hadn't let me that morning. But he jumped in before me and barreled out his big speech before I got a chance, said 'best to have a break'. I flashed angry with him about how I called him to talk. Him: Talk then. Me (Little Miss Inarticulate): I don't know. Umm... I'm just so angry. i feel used after last night.

He said we were on a 'break'. That he didn't know whether it was all over but he definitely wants to see me and be part of my life because he's gotten so close to me, and he always will love me. He doesn't want me to just not be there. The relationship was starting to 'fade'.

At 12.30am I tossed and turned. Txted him.

Me:'Can't sleep. Are you awake?'
Him. 'About to go to bed'
Me. 'This isn't a break, is it? This split is forever.'
Him. 'I think so.'

The next part shames me. I rang him. I tried txting but needed to hear him say it after all of our pussy footing around the subject. He was gruff and said he was about to go to bed. He was also a bit pissed. I said I couldn't sleep because the whole room stinks of him. Harsh, stupid and irrational, but true.

I got up and stripped the bed and opened the windows to clear it all away. Two in the fucking AM.

Sunday - I have a suit at his and an interview this week, so needed to get it back. He met me to give it back.

The awkward speech about how he's been having these doubts for a while...

Him: You must've been able to tell with how we've been this week. This is the longest we've not seen each other. You must've seen that I had doubts.
Me: Let's see, you worked back everynight, and I had plans every night. You emailed me everyday with messages like 'you're bling' and 'you're the bomb' and called me every night. You invited me around on Thursday. That's not really cooling off. You just wanted to fool around one last time on Friday.
Him: No. I was trying to save it. I was being cowardly.

Drunk old geezer gives me the eye, then approaches George as I go to the loo.

Geezer: You're girlfriend is very sexy. Is she a cop? She looks like a cop. I used to be a cop.

Life is too random for movies and fiction to capture accurately.

Later, we wait for the same train. I would've caught a later one, but didn't fancy waiting an hour. Why is it that when I'm angry I turn into a comedian, making jokes, trying to make the peace and getting him to laugh? Anyone that really knows me well (Claire, Tim and John) know that when I'm doing that, I'm actually fuming. It's only a device.

Me: I think you will regret this.
Him, steps forward, holds my arm and says: I already do.

Reach my train stop, he says 'This is where we hug'. I don't want too, but I don't even think fast enough to resist. Hug him feeling worn out like a limp cloth. The camera does not pan around us as the violins play. Instead a bunch of Londoners press around us, jostling. The train lurches. My arms barely touch him as he squeezes me. Again, I feel used. I get off the train and don't look back.

The rest of the day got weird.

Suddenly Single

Ended it again with George this morning. Quite suddenly too. We've had the same fight everytime we've seen each other, he started playing the stay the night and flee in the morning game. Told me he loves me last night, this morning i made him some tea and he announced the spark has gone but he still loves me. that it was hard for him, to feel this for me...that it was hard for him to be in a relationship, and he'd never been in a serious one before. 'Not like you'.

Not interested in boys that run from emotions or can't stay past the honeymoon period. I deserve a man that isn't afraid of how he feels and knows what he wants, and will do anything to take it.

As G gave me his 'think i'm going to go' speech, I told him not to come back. He said he didn't want to end it, but he didn't know what he wanted. Said he needed to think. He had doubts. He thinks the fault is not with us, but with the relationship. He left.

Was angry more than hurt (and not that surprised). Just feel like I keep meeting the same type of guy.

Trying to book a holiday to Marrakesh for xmas, but it's fiendishly expensive. Looks like an orphan xmas in London for me. And a cold one too...

Bonfires are cool

Been missing emails from home. I look forward to opening my emails in the morning and get disappointed at the absence of emails from Australian friends and relatives. I've even started reading the ex's blog again, just so I can get some news, picture of Sydney life.

Remember, remember the fifth of November.

It's Guy Fawkes day tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. I have hazy memories of Guy Fawkes before it was 'outlawed' in Oz.

There was the bonfire in the bottom park at Cromer. Someone always throws a bottle in, and everyone panics that it will explode. Don't even know if that's true, beer bottles explode in fires, but we always got in a flap about it. Once I threw a doll in the fire. Mum got mad, but it was worth it, watching its face deform and mutate in the flames.

My brother and sister got firework lighting privileges. Mum used to hold me back, which I resented. Sister burned a hole in the trampoline by lighting a Catherine wheel on it.

I was obsessed with the fireworks that had men with parachutes come out, but they always landed on the other side of the back fence in the yard of the 'nasty' neighbours. We never got them back.

One year we spent bonfire night in Blue Mountains - which had the biggest bonfire I'd ever seen. Gave me nightmares, which I still have on occasion.

A special mention

This blog is about G, who deserves a special mention today for being such an oddball. When I met him I didn't think we had anything in common. He's so damn young, that it's hard to imagine a future. Still, he's got me hooked. Like the song goes, I can't get him out of my head. His funny emails make my day. He's been quiet this week, with extra work on...

Some G-isms:

After we were invited to a free Salsa night in Clapham park.

"Salsa was my first love, but the more competitions and prize money I won, I found myself becoming more and more detached from the dance itself. It’s all red carpets, champagne and celebrity endorsements these days when really all I ever wanted to do was Salsa. It’s that simple. If I went to Clapham tonight I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself with all the screaming fans, paparazzi and freebies that I get showered with at these events. I’m sure you can sympathise."

...

CONGRATULATIONS!!!

YOU ARE THE 1,000TH PERSON TO SEND G* AN EMAIL AND HAVE WON A SPECIAL, LUXURY, BONUS WEEKEND!!!

Your boss has been notified and you are free to leave the office right now for two days of relaxation and leisure!

ENJOY!!!

...

Me: Milkshake milkshake

G: Strawberry smoothie, Greek yoghurt.

Me: Marshmallow. Sausage.

G: American Pie, Bratwurst

...

Me: My new baggy t-shirt makes me look a little bit pregnant. I can walk up to a guy in the street and say ‘Yous knocked me up and Pa says yous gots to marry me or he’ll shoot you like a dawg.”

G: Be careful, that’s a sure-fire way to get married. Proposals like that are legally binding in this country.

Other ways of forming a legally binding contract that you should know about:

Spitting on hands and shaking
Winking
Mutual tickling

You have been warned.

...

I realised this morning that you left your chewing gum at mine last weekend. As I might not see you in the next couple of days, I will post this to you this afternoon and, God willing, it should arrive safe and sound tomorrow.

I know you must be pretty distressed to learn this and, for what it’s worth, I can only express my deepest regret that it didn’t come to my attention earlier.

At what must be a difficult and trying time for you and your family, I offer you my support and a shoulder to cry on. Together we can make it through this sorry mess.

...

G (on my expensive shoe buying habit):
Your punishment for crimes against your bank balance is to incinerate the shoes and snort the ashes, all of them, right up, deep and hard. Failure to do this will result in immediate and total destruction of Australia.

...

Just Googled sake and apparently it's best to reduce its temperature to -150 degrees using liquid nitrogen, shatter it into a fine powder with a simple knock and snort it in 10 kilo doses.

This is said to have quite "pronounced effects".

...

If you haven’t got their email addys, just make them up. They should still get there thanks to the benevolent interweb operators who look after emails and websites and stuff.

Just make sure they don’t get into the hands of the evil web weevils who spread viruses, crash computers and alter emails to say the exact opposite of what was written. Buggers.

...

Found this travel news on the interweb…

'Flights out of London Heathrow are likely to be subject to delay over the next few weeks whilst British Airways technicians complete the task of fitting AMRAAM air-to-air missiles and 30mm machine cannon to all of BA's Boeing 747 and 757 aircraft.

'A spokesman for the company insisted that, despite increasing competition between airlines, the "modifications" were entirely an anti-terrorism measure, and would only only be used to fire upon rival airlines' planes "if they get in the way".'

...

Know very little about online publishing trends, other than the !BLOGGING PHENOMENON! Will life ever be the same again?

...

Whoops! I just accidentally put the phrase "die you f*cking c*nt sh*tter" in an email to my boss.

...

Me (angry): There is no lexicon for the gesture I’m making at the monitor right now.

G: I’ll try to put it into words: You are feeling avant-garde and you are saluting the screen. Close?

...

G: Forgot to mention earlier that your bling-o-meter rating has been steadily increasing to a barely credible 4.7 out of 5. At this rate, you’ll make senior vice-president for bling by the end of the year.

I’m so proud of you.

...

“This is one of the most exciting times in Horse & Hound's history”

Not as exciting as back in ’83 when they discovered that horses could fly when people weren’t looking. Ah, the memories…

Dating game

Thinking about the crap I went through in the past few years with relationships.

Dating within the work sphere can be messy and I should have cast the net wider, but the most recent relationship was worth it. The ex and I went through so much crap in the beginning, with the psychoPat. We stuck together through all that and it turned out to be a great relationship. Seems sad that we let something as silly as time apart and an ocean split us in the end.

Speaking of dating in the office, I think a colleague is flirting with me.

1. He sat next to me at lunch at the offsite meeting.
2. When I worked late on Monday, he walked past my desk, got to nearest phone and called me for a chat.
3. He has started a campaign of funny email sending.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I just went to get some water from the cooler and he was there. He said ‘hello’ and looked at his shoe, grinning.

Did I mention that he's only 23? Why do I always attract the young ones?

Cut it right

Half an hour for lunch is just enough time for me to walk into TopShop, try on about 5 things and get frustrated at the cut of the clothes, or the shape of my body, or both. I’ve done this 3 lunches in a row this week but I keep going back, and every time they actually do have a whole new range of clothes. It seems everyone is already wearing them everywhere. It’s like a form of hell/self torture/never-ending nightmare…

A small note to designers.

1. Zippers
You may have noticed that women have an hourglass figure. This means their waists are smaller than their shoulders. So it makes sense for the zip to allow enough room to go over the shoulders, not just for the narrowest part of the body. While the dress fitted fine once I got it on, trying to take it off resulted in me cutting off the circulation to my head.

2. Pleats
Don't use them. Never.

3. Long shorts
Sick of the long shorts look, but out of desparation I finally bought a pair. I look like a pirate/Avril Lavigne/lesbian. Why can't I find a skirt in this town? A simple A-line black skirt. Is that too much too ask?

4. Military jackets
I kinda like the 40's glamour revival - what they're calling the aviator theme. An beautifully tailored jacket with sharp lines works well with flowing dresses. There's something sexy about it. It's like it's 1941, you're walking home from a dance in your pretty dress and your man, on leave from the front line, had draped his jacket over your shoulders. At the moment I can't get past the amount of shiny buttons. Also, I'm a pacifist. But it's growing on me. Got my eye on a great khaki jacket, wide lapels, loads of buttons, extremely tailored. Just need the skirt to match.

5. Skirts
Knee length pencil or A-line please, in a nice warm winter fabric. Plain black. Maybe khaki.

6. Flat boots
Slouchy boots are in, to be worn over skinny jeans. Please make me a flat pair, chocolate brown, that goes over my mega fat calves. How do these women have such skinny carves? I bike ride, and run, and do weights, and yoga, swim, ballet... But still there chunky.

Blog blog blog

Guy from put me onto this great site today, Toothpaste for Dinner. Had to share this pic with you. It is possibly a new favourite. Love Schroedingers Decaf.

Marketing spiel of the day

The system fulfils the sophisticated requirements of the hospitality business in a very easy-handling way, you just need to dream.

So dream on and all your hospitality dreams may just come true…

Virginia Creepers Club

Went to Virginia Creepers Club with John (maddog) on Saturday. Great night, like a Goth-Swing (not swingers) club. Everything is high-tailed glamour, pointy shoes and quiffs everywhere. Betty Page, Johnny Cash and The Cramps. Photos here.

Friday was our company meeting. Not sure what to say about that. Extremely dull and loads of lies told. All about teamwork, 'talk the talk, walk the walk,' yada yada yada. Spent afternoon txting Kev. His msg reads: 'So bored I want to weep all the blood out of my body'. I second that verdict.

Saturday got up for big shop for clothes. Got so frustrated at lack of range, amount of shite, that I bought pirate shorts. I hate pirate shorts. Look a bit like Avril Lavigne in them too. Why did I buy them? Further, why am I wearing them?

At the end of my day I found a shop that made me want to drop to my knees and pray. Pout. My personal heaven, a shop that stocks every single lip gloss in the world... very 40's glamour, and English Rose. Love it!!! Bought some pump it up lip gloss.

Busy

Today I'm as busy as a horny squid in a cephalopod orgy.

I miss my tutu

This month I've lost my:

* Luggage - twice. Returned to me on both occasions.
* Good pair of black interview trousers. Accused G of sleep-eating them.
* Brand new elf hat. Oh, it pains me to think about. Oh elf hat. Where are thee?
* Sobriety. Too many times.
* Dignity. Tied in with loss of sobriety.
* Memory. See above. Maybe they should be one bullet.
* Tan. Winter's a-comin'. Working on the moon-tan.
* Fear of relationships and commitment. Maybe. It comes and goes.
* Job prospects. Nothing in the pipeline.
* Creativity. I blame the vampiric and soporific effect of this job for draining me of imagination/will to live. It's become so bad that I've written this sentence 3 times.

On work, thought I'd share these two anecdotes with you.

New client supplied list of marketing vocabulary to be worked into case studies. Linst includes: "Organic", "Strategise" and, my favourite, "aha". The Aha! factor. And it's not 'Take on Me'.

Secondly, the last sentence of case study from France that I had to repurpose recently.

"Thanks to the efficiency of the technicians, every member of staff
were in their new working environment by the Monday of that week - and
they began to smile again..."

Back to writing about mainframes and plastic pipe distributors. Masturbating makes you blind, which is why we gimps get paid to write wank for these short-dicked evil little monsters.

Croquet

I have a discovered a love for croquet. Considering my paltry skills in sport, I suprised myself by being quite good at it. It's like golf, but you don't need the strength, and play is far more strategic. Maybe I should join a croquet club. Pity it has such a nerdy and unsexy reputation.

It was also invented by the Irish, but stolen by the English! Maybe they played with potatoes. How did women play it in those big trouncy dresses and corsetry? Jolly good show, what, what.

The C word and the L word

Another emotional roller coaster of a weekend. Friday night saw friend Ash's new band 'Manifesto'. Quite good. Told him they were "effortlessly cool". Quite a stretch as they were actually putting in a big effort, but Ash was well chuffed with that descriptor. Lead singer has a great look but couldn't sing and play bass at the same time. His voice is a little weak. Ash actually plays better on all instruments but is the only one that can play the drums -isn't that always the way?

Kicked back to Searles Rd - the party house - for more drinks. G got coked up and annoying. I'm learning to hate the 'C' word. Class 1As are for losers.

Sat morning we upped and left for Hamble holiday weekend. Lost my new hat en route at London Bridge Underground station. Devastated about losing the hat. My lucky elf hat! I only just got it in Oz and never going to find another one! Beanies that suit me are as rare as monkeys from the moon.

Drove down to Hamble, through beautiful green English countryside, for an afternoon of croquet, wine and watching the boats on the water. G and I listened to the football upstairs and watched the water. Ry got stuck on a boat without a paddle.

After all the tension with the fight and the hat, I hadn't eaten all day. Ended up stonkers drunk and made some outrageous comments, apparently. We had an excellent meal. I chopped the potatoes! But Andrew and Eng are the true chefs.

Anja is really into her board (bored) games. We played "Mr and Mrs". For the uninitiated this a game for couples written by divorce lawyers. Ry and Stech, Eng and Kat, andy and anja, so it was naturally G and I. Qtns included: 'who does your partner think has the best legs in the room?' (All 8 people answered George). And 'What would your partner say is your most annoying habit?' (I was outraged. 'What do you mean you don't like my jokes?') This game caused major riffs in the groups and lots of couple fights. Particularly after G and me won over all the real couples in the room - even a married one. Kat: 'Why are we even married? You don't know me at all!' Board games abandoned for shots.

That's where my memory fails me.

I woke up half clothed and on a table. My body made it to the bed, my shirt made it off, but my jeans were on and my head was laying on a table. Not sure how I managed it.

We were all a little fragile Sunday morning. Shaking with vows of 'never again'.

It was a lovely afternoon of mushroom picking, playing with bin Tang - the dog, more cooking and eating (Eng and I made curry puffs), croquet which degenerated into crolf - a game invited by ry and andy that was a mix of cricket and golf, bike rides etc. I even climbed a tree!

Then back to polluted old london. I do love the lush green English countryside. It is lovelier than the arid dustbowl we have at home.

Great letters from Ms Cokayne and Tommy

Why do all the good ones go back to Oz?

Sandy says:

So where was I?

Did I tell you about the terrible phlegmy cough that I picked up in India? I was hocking loogies like they were going outta style - no let's try that again I was hocking loogies like nobody's business. Now I've never been particularly good at it but with the velocity that I had riding behind those speed balls, I was ready to take both the Indians AND the Moroccans on like it was an Olympic sport. But that was back in Varanasi and just as I got over that one and got over the Nepalese border, my head was on fire but with chills throughout my body and cramps in my legs - So Tom goes and picks up a thermometer from a roadside chemist stall - had to run back and ask the guy how to read that kwality piece of medical equipment. And sure enough if you tip it to a certain angle that mercury was pushing 104F.

Apparently you should race to the hospital at 103F - I didn't feel like I was THAT critically ill but wasn't quite the picture of robust health (and sure enough the thing turned out to be bodgy). And you know when you're sitting there thinking 'Nepal' + 'hospital' you're like 'NOOoo don't make me do it! Don't they butcher people in 3rd world hospitals?' But Tom wasn't taking no for an answer.

So we walk up the wooden planks up the driveway into the Emergency garage where there's a few wooden benches lining the walls and the reassuring odour of disinfectant. The little receptionist lady behind the window who can't speak English indicates the form to fill out and we hand over our 500 ruppees (10 Aussie bucks) which shunts us to the front of the queue cos we're the only paying customers. The doctor was fantastic - had the best bedside manner I've ever known. He shakes Tom's hand as we walk in and all proceedings are then conducted between the two men - I'm just the object of illness. But that was fine - he diagnosed me with the 'flu and told me I'd be over it in a couple of days. Then goes on to advise soup - a good time of year for tomato soup. What he should have said was that the current symptoms would be over with in a day but the bouts of nausea wouldn't see me eat another proper meal in more than a week. And that the various Nepali interpretations of tomato soup don't bear thinking about. But he didn't... and then we went on to discuss the silly British trekkers stuck up the mountain with altitude sickness and the Maoist rebels and the corruption of Nepali politicians ... definitely got our money's worth.

So anyway that put us behind schedule and Gus who was more pushed for time had to start the trek without us. But the day we were set to fly up to Jomsom (a point about
than two-thirds of the way through the Annapurna Circuit) dawned an auspicious day where we woke to the plaintative cries of a yak lassooed around the horns in the courtyard below our room in our guesthouse. And the family in intense debate about the best way to go about slaughtering it, whilst brandishing a rusty sword. Next thing you know the head's lopped off - a sacrifice to the gods for the Divali festival and then the negotiations about how to go about cleaning and shaving the corpse. Then at breakfast a couple of snake charmers charming the pants off a couple of cobras...an auspicious day indeed.

So no sooner are we up the mountain and I'm starting to feel better when Tom comes down with the same illness. We rest up in a little village filled with apple orchards bearing the most delicious apples I've ever eaten and nurse each other back to health on ginger tea and boiled potatoes.

And then the real trekking begins ... the most fantastic mountain scenery and I love the style of wandering from village to village and stopping whenever you feel like
it.

A few observations:

* I can see why marijuana is also known as weed - when it grows wild, it grows EVERYWHERE

* Donkeys, at first are endearing but when traveling in large packs?, herds? a collective noun anyone? anyone? if nobody's got one I'm suggesting 'a stupor of donkeys' when traveling in a large stupor with huge loads on narrow, steep, rocky paths become soo annoying.

* Nepali's have a lot to learn about the culinary arts - the national dish appears to be dal bhat - which is plain rice accompanied by a bland tasteless lentil soup which gives the already image-conscious lentil an even worse name. Once bitten, twice shy.

Our last night was pure heaven as we stumble upon a village with a lush garden oasis and would you believe hot thermal springs pouring into a pool to soothe aching limbs and GOOD FOOD, would you believe?

And then at that point we had to take the escape route outta there cos waiting up on the hill were the Maoist rebels who are in the business of extorting 1200 ruppees
from each foreigner doing the Annapurna Circuit - for which you receive a receipt - which bemused most of the tourists we met. Unfortunately we'd already blown out our budget - something you don't wann do too badly when all you're buying is food, water and shelter. So we had to say 'see you later suckers' to the Commie bastards and shave another day or 2 off the end of the trek. I know we don't exude the hardcore trekking image but 1 week in the wilderness was enough.

And then on the way back to Pokhara we get shuffled from 1 mostly full bus onto a jam-packed overflowing bus. Took 1 look inside and said to the other tourists - 'better off travelling on the roof' - once you've tried the advantage in comfort there's no turning back which amused many of the villagers we passed, seeing a bunch
of tourists travelling on the roof since it's usually the way the local boys travel. Is there any better way to take a busride through the Himalayas? I don't think so.

So that's how we came to be in the Himalayas. Back there in London we were thinking 'Kashmir or Nepal?' Kashmir or Nepal? That's one battle Nepal is happy to have won and so are we!! Thanks for all your concern about whether we were among the thousands of casualties in the earthquake. Luckily our numbers didn't come up this time. And Jessa - as we say in Australia 'You're a deadset legend!' I was flattered to be summoned by the king to have a word on the royal telephone with Little
Johnny 'Yeah - we're fine - we'll be home in time for tea on the 11th ... and what the bloody hell are you still doing there - I left because of you!'

So off to Kathmandu tomorrow ... see all of you back in Oz real soon
xoxo

Tom says:

Hey - I noticed in Sandy's email she failed to mention that i nearly died!!!

How can she have missed this vital point? It was on the mountain. Or as we (the hard core trekking types) say, 'It was on top side, dude, you know like in high altitudes, like when you're ...' yadda yadda...

I nearly died because I caught Sandy's sickness. I had my money riding on it being different and being the dreaded chicken flu only because i think it sounds funny, but I'm such a wimp when it comes to being sick. I turn into the biggest souk and previously I'd been telling her to stop being such a baby about it and get over it - she'd only had to go to hospital once!.

'I'm sure the rooms are much cleaner inside.' I kept telling as we walked into the hospital. 'They have to be educated about these things. Much cleaner inside.'

We got shoved in a waiting room full of about a hundred curious yet pale faces all staring at us while we all waited to be next to see the only doctor available. Anyway Sandy was fine, he just gave her some antibiotics and gave me some very serious conversation while he managed to ignore the existence of his patient, Sandy, all together.

'The reason there is so much corruption in Nepal is because the politicians want to drive cars like mine. I have a BMW. They're trying to keep up with me.'

'uh huh'

'How could they possibly afford a house like mine without their bribes.'

'Thanks, mate. You've been truly fascinating.'

The pills he gave her seemed to work. I stole them off her when i got it. Imagine your face heavy and feeling like it's sliding off - a cough so deep it touches hell and makes you talk like the devil and a fever to match the inferno of hell where you feel like you're heading.

Yeah, cool i think I'm up for walking, i said, 'I'm a bloke.'

A day latter I'm vomiting on the beautiful scenery of the Himalayas.

This is where i feel like I'm going to die.

'Just a bit further,' Sandy says, 'We've only got to another 10kms to go.'

The mountains are vertigo above and below me. Clouds are in the valleys and blues skys above. Another puke shoots from my guts. The yaks are bleating and conversation is starting to make sense.

I've got a list of places I've puked on now, my first and personal favourite is Ullaru -Ayers Rock - when i climbed it stoned, in the middle of the day, and bare footed - a good way to get heat stroke and blow chunks on the sacred site.

So if i get a few more natural wonders under my belt (or is that out from under my belt?) i might be setting some kind of new record.

It was then I did decided to steal Sandy's pills.

You can hire Sherpas up there to carry your stuff, and of course I considered this but there's a whole bunch of philosophies that go with this
- I'm giving someone a job/I'm encouraging slavery -
- it's giving them something to do/I'm a lazy bastard -

On the whole though the reason i didn't go with the Sherpa (because i am a lazy bastard) is that the Euros I'd seen marching down the hill holding their professional walking sticks (pointy ones), dressed in their skintight Lycra shorts with their ball sack bouncing (or a nice firm camel's foot bulging for the ladies) while a tiny man stumbling behind them carrying their lorry load of packs. He'd be all bundled together with ropes and bags and have then all strapped to his forehead. The package would be bigger than him and he'd look like an ant carrying a boulder on its head from a distance with two glamour queens marching in front of him discussing the latest prices of fake Gucci handbags.

I guess, somehow, I'd feel like a little uncomfortable letting a little man carry my load, I'm too proud, but looking back i should have. I might not have puked on the mountain and had some pair of glamorous Euros turn their noses up at me as I was doubled over emptying my guts into the most scenic place on the earth. The Sherpa
said, hello.

So i got better, i even gave up smoking, it's been a whole week without a ciggie, and we had a lovely walk down the hill. Very nice views.

Anyway, just though i'd add the little bit about how i nearly died!!!!!

Tom

P.S - Jessa you've suddenly become a star - What a way to be jettisoned into the hearts and minds of so many mums across the globe. Sure, those mum's might not be thinking about us being crushed in an earthquake but they are saying, 'Gosh, that Jessa girl sure is a nice person to have as a friend.' Children are now being subjugated to the story of Jessa and her concern. You're the new cereal box model for
little kids around the world. 'Be like Jessa and you'll go to heaven,' their mothers are saying.

Dirty feet

Dreamt about Christmas. It was snowing, and I was skiing somewhere, but racing to get to my sister's for dinner. When I got there, dad was arriving too. Sis said we couldn't come in because we had sand on our feet. Dad washed his feet and went inside where it was warm. They started hugging, talking, eating and drinking. I was upset they didn't wait for me, so hurried to wash my feet too. But the hose had turned into a blowtorch. I charred my feet until they were black and blistered, then peeled off a layer of skin to reveal more blistered skin. Then I went inside in agony, looking at my ugly feet and noone noticed I was in agony, or even there. Also, once inside all I wanted to do was go back to the snow.

Obvious meaning, hey.

Christmas - time of family togetherness.
Snow - is freedom. Often have skiing dreams, even though I can't ski. It's something to do with exhilaration, freedom, but I'm always alone and feel a mix of happiness at all this space and freedom, and fear that I will go missing and not be missed.
Snow - is also cold England.
Sand - is the feeling of being home, the Australian beaches.
Dirty feet - unworthiness, rejection, loneliness, alienation.
Blistered feet, peeling a layer - a rebirth of sorts, but it mutilated me. What does that mean?
Feet - for some reason when I was home, I got obsessed with my feet. Their ugly appearance, their soreness, the feeling of sand beneath my feet, the feeling of wanting to strap them into something that would restrain me from moving and then the next moment wanting to just run as hard as I could.

I don't belong anywhere anymore.

What am I going to do for Christmas?

A full cup

Lately I've been sipping on my travel memories. It's a sweet refreshment that takes away the bitterness of regret. Today it's the Egon Schiele exhibit I saw in Venice. (see sexy pic).

Whenever mr russo beardo pops into head, I will remember the world I've seen, and forged, all on my own. Paris, Tokyo, Venice, Berlin, Rome, London... I am rich. I am blessed. I like Egon Schiele. I like going to galleries.

It's only 5pm and it's almost black outside. Must be a storm coming. My thought clouds are also overcast. They always seem to be closer to the head in stormy weather. It's hot chocolate and soup weather. Lovely rusty Autumn. Fall, as the yanks call it. I like Fall because it suggests the opposite movement to its atonym Spring.

Today is opening of London Film Festival. Loads of promising films on the menu. Terry Gilliam, Lars von Trier the nihilistic Dane takes on US opus, zombie flick, Nick Cave's debut, the required existential French fare. All good.

Got my red cowboy boots back. Single life is looking great in London town.

Red cowboy boot heel flick three times. Must not think of home. Must not think of home. Must not think of home.

Have you slimed yet?

This is punchline of some joke told to me by a colleague about a romantic turn of phrase by an Australian girl. Yes, I'm from Bogan county, a cultural backwater, as I'm endlessly, needlessly reminded. Yesterday G infuriatingly corrected my pronounciation of 3 words - Degas, croissant, yoghurt. Him and his band of condescending Oxbridge half-soaked, lazy ne'er-do-well friends that didn't do a day of work until they were 25, and have never washed a dish.

The flight back was pretty rough. Think I'm still recovering from it. Loads of turbulence. Had a 60 min stop in Hong Kong, which is just enough time to go through security, be patted down/felt up by stern men in white gloves, buy a small $5 water and contract avian flu.

Finally touched down in Heathrow, to find some idiot took my bag by mistake. That bag is cursed. It was delivered to my house later that evening with a complimentary box of choccies, so all is well now.

Off to Hamble this weekend with Ry and folks. First Portsmouth for the anniversary of Battle of Trafalgar. Should be loads of Nelson memorabilia etc. BYO eyepatch. Britain is proud of its military victories and colonising slaughters.

Then its Hamble, a big house with 8 people drinking, eating, playing games, getting messy. Sounds fun, but I'm expecting everyone to turn into swines and monsters. Last time one of the girls got so messed up she started f*cking some random guy right next to her boyfriend, just to piss him off. Ugly scene. Must prepare myslef for full teenage dramas and upsets like I'm going into battle, and it's all because of their little friend Charlie the c*nt (otherwise known as Kate Moss' marching powder). Why is he at every gathering?

HST: "Morality is temporary, wisdom is permanent ."

Other news of the week - I'm being pitched for a job at the UK offices of IDG - my old employer - as online editor of a consumer mag. So totally opposite my skills as print editor of a business mag. Should be interesting... Excellent money though. Yummy.

HST: "I have spent half my life trying to get away from journalism, but I am still mired in it - a low trade and a habit worse than heroin, a strange seedy world full of misfits and drunkards and failures."

Everywhere is order laced with uncertainty

I read this sentence last night. A letter from mum. G pointed out the clever use of the word 'laced' as in threaded, but also poisoned. When she does have her head together, she is so brilliant.

Have been thinking about the meeting with the ex. The night started off nostalgic, like the official post-break up talk, yet it felt like the beginning of a romance, not the end. Told G that I saw him because I wanted to be honest, but spared the details because I wanted to be fair to the ex too. That night belongs to us.

I still care about him a lot. The only consolation is that there was nothing wrong with me. He was scared. If I came back to Sydney, it wouldn't change anything. He'd still be scared.

Holiday bittersweet

been unable to blog while away, and I'm still sorting through the holiday in my head.

Best friend got hitched - Can't imagine standing in a room full of family and friends and declaring my love and lifelong commitment to someone. It's harder than it seems. Once I was the romantic and she was the single cynic, but now our positions are reversed.

Caught up with ex - It was a strange night. Started off nostalgic and positive, and ended with an ironic glimer of hope that if I'd turned my head an inch to the right, something could have happened. I walked away. Not sure what it means and not going to hang around for him to figure it out. We still love each other in some way, I suppose. But not enough for me to make myself vulnerable again. I don't need to be thinking that if I stayed in Sydney, things would be any different. He's still fooling around with other girls and getting new experiences. Maybe the thought that I'm not available gave him a moment of regret, but if I was on the menu, he'd lose his appetite. I don't know. The communication wall slammed down after that incident.

A few days with mum - made me want to get straight on the plane to London and never come back. Ex used to say goths are angry with their fathers. I was angry with both parents. Mum for reversing our relationship so I had to be the adult, and dad for not being there to help. And also angry with myself for not having the strength to help her, and not being patient enough to understand her depression. I'd pour all the energy I had in, and nothing would show for it. She was a void, and I failed my studies while I tried to change this. After only a few hours back together and I'd slipped into the same old role of counsellor and pillar. She asked me if I ever get angry. If she truly knew me, she would know that I'm always angry, I've always neen angry. I can't show her that side because it makes things worse, makes her sick. Instead I let it fester. Healthy.

Good times with dad - We connected. It gets better every year. But why is he trying to get me into Amway?

Friends new romance - Two friends are engaged, and a few others are attached. Nice to see my friends happy and in love. I'm only a little bit jealous.

George - While I was in Oz, we talked about giving it another go and he met me on my first day back. The tears flowed in front of him for the first time. Firstly the relief of being back in London, and the guilt for feeling relieved to escape mum, the ex, the politics of my country, and all the feelings that home stirs up. Secondly jet lag. Thirdly a flippant comment he made about us that I misinterpreted which made me realise that he does have the power to hurt me, so therefore I must care about him. I think ice maiden is melting and he may, with the right equipment, pry his way into my heart eventually. If I hang around long enough and get past my hang ups on relationships/ the ex.

South America - still calling.

All I want is a job that I love and that makes me feel like I'm making a contribution to the world, enough money to be comfortable and buy my own place, and a partner that wants to have adventures and see the world. Hmmm, time for a new action plan.

I'm going on holiday!

Going to Australia for two whirlwind weeks. Should be fun. Had a dream noone remembered me.

Last 2 attempts to blog were killed by a glitch in the matrix so here is shorthand:

Sat - possibility drink was spiked. Got seriously ill at this party.

Fri - catch up with Jeff and Jo from Uni - with respective partners. Great chin wag about the old days. Epiphany reached. More later.

Thurs - dog races, good bonding with OC where I played drunken therapist

Drama on the tiles

On Saturday was at this party with G's friends chatting to some guy when I suddenly rushed to bathroom to be violently ill. Vomited on and off for almost an hour. G was convinced that this guy had spiked my drink. The guy that I was chatting to turned out to be a long time enemy of G's because he got a bit punchy with one of his friends once, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's a drink spiker.

No idea what pushed me over edge but I bypassed tipsy to complete messy vomiting drunk almost instantly and with no warning, which is completely out of character. Pupils were dilated. Heart was racing. I sat on stairs, G stood in the doorway smoking and worried, watching me, trying to keep me awake. This guy left the party, edged past G. Nasty moment where I could see the two of them size each other up, G's obvious dislike for the guy, and this guy looked damn scared and slighlty guilty, shoulders stooped as he scurried off into the night.

Did he spike my drink? Certainly felt as ill as only a few weeks earlier when I had a bad reaction, but perhaps the alcohol abuse of the previous few days had stacked up against me. That has never happened before, and I would drink with the best of them.

Bit of a wake up call. Time to stop the abuse for a while. At least after the wedding.

Beauty drugs

Don't see what the big deal is about Kate Moss and her coke habit. Now they are saying it's rampant throughout all fashion houses. Obviously these drugs make you beautiful. If I learnt any lessons from Blow I learnt that. Sure their lives fall apart, but Kate and Johnny have cheekbones to die for.

Same with the Aussie girl and her stash in Bali. gots to get me some of that.

Plate too full

News from home makes everything seem irrelevant. Lot's going on, but my mind is thousands of kilometres away. Here are the stories anyway.

Firstly, went for third and final interview this morning. Much more gruelling than the other 3. Not sure whether to take it. It's not journalism, it's still tech, work hard hours. Ad for the job featured blood on a page and a boast that employees work the longest hours than any other firm with a 'do you think you can handle it?' Mum said I shouldn't because I've already worked hard (blatantly not true - but gotta love mum's). But it's not journalism!!!

It is one of those strange morning where I stayed in this flat that was like a bland hotel, and got up early for this interview, while the fog was rolling in. There is something comforting, about being up really early, in an unfamiliar environment, dressed in a suit and dealing with strangers asking intimate questions, don't you think? I can't decide whether I want this job and to stay here, or to go home to Aus and my old career.

Secondly, had a messy fight with G on Sat. Not going to air the details, but it was intense and stupid. He is scared of how he feels and he lashed out at me. He chased me to the train station and and made a public - not very English - scene.

So we talked soberly on Sunday and I told him it was too much. I've got a sick mum, a possible new job, old sharking mate getting married, friends much changed, and dealing with some emotional admin. Going home to say goodbye to my mother country for a while, and that's hard. Need time out to think about where I've been, where I'm going. I don't think I will know until I'm home where I belong. He has chilled out and given me some space.

Feel like I'm in some strange limbo land. Just to increase the ambience, it's foggy today.

Music - Elliott Smith. Weight - a healthier 52 kilos but feel dumpy because women are thickening. Wine - delicious Bordeaux from France and lots of it. Oh and Ketamine.

Highlight - OC entertained us all with an impromptu air guitar solo to GnR today.

Stiff upper, quivering lower lip

Some bad news from home has had me staring out the window and wishing for a different skyline. One with the Harbour Bridge. Not long now. Not long now.

Keep thinking about the view from the cabin window as I flew away from Sydney almost a year ago. Face wet with tears because I left everyone - and the ex - behind. Seems a world away, and yet seems like only yesterday. ah... sounds like a corny song lyric.

Sad talking to mum the other day.

Trojan horse, par for course

This week I received

1. A job offering from a company with questionable corporate social values - stuffed bear cubs and PR for the Tories.
2. An oyster travel card.
3. Some bottles of wine from France.
4. A laugh from office crush (OC) who I actually refer to as such for matter of simplicity - even though we sorted out our position as good friends a while ago. Now I see him as a bit of a muppet.
5. A proposition from a drunk guy with obscenely pink buttocks - paraded proudly for the masses.
6. A kiss from my old friends about to leave the country for a while - why do all the cool ones leave?
7. A character assasination from the ex - who questions the way I felt about him because I've tried to move on. If I hadn't moved on, would things be any different? Nope. It's hard to learn how to unlove someone, how to pick up pieces. I could imagine sharing my life with this guy, and he didn't want the same thing. That cut.
8. An accusation from current beau, which led to an ultimatum, a scene at a train station, a discussion in the rain, a few tense moments in front of his friend and my friend as we tried to carry on like everything was fine. Until he walked out on me at the bar, leaving me with his friends.
9. A 2am phone call from the above.
10. An apology (with caveats).

and I'm about to receive - all my belongings in a plastic bag, another heavy discussion and maybe some understanding.

Indie-rock geek slaughter

Onion at its classic best again. "I haven't seen this much senseless hipster carnage since the Great Sebadoh Fire Of '93."

Pontification

George was back last night with tales of gorging on rich French foods, gazing at Vermeer and other fine art, and playing loads of sport in a Chateaux on the south of France. Jealous? Absolutely. Seems he did miss me, and it wasn't just the booty. Chatting for a while I was reminded of the things I like about him. He talks about art. He knows what defenestrate means. He knows what a collective of priests is called (a pontification). He got chucked out of Oxford. It's a good story, so I let him tell it again.

Made some joke about all those Parisienne women, and he said 'The one thing you can do is trust me. When I say I do really like you, I do really like you. I did really miss you. And you're about to go away for like 9 years!'

For some strange reason my dear mate Iain thought it would be a good idea to send me some photos of my ex. Words fail me. Why? Why would you do that? It wasn't meant in any bad way, just innocent. Still, that's the photo of the one person in my home town that doesn't miss me or care if I come back or not.

Others do though, and that's nice. Looking forward to heading back. People keep asking if I would think about staying - John, Claire, Tim, Lisa, Philip, Dad, etc... It's going to be amazing to see them and hard saying goodbye all over again.

Avalanche of pressure

"It is impossible to paint an accurate picture of [my] reactions as I sat in that tiny cell, the floor carpeted with cards and envelopes, generated through Amnesty's efforts... I knew that I was not alone... Maybe you just sent one card - but all these cards are like little drops of water that combine to create an avalanche of pressure."

Chris Anyanwu, Nigerian editor, sentenced to 15 years in prison but released after three, having been adopted as a prisoner of conscience by Amnesty International.

Interview. Dead bears.

Went for an interview yesterday at PR firm. Not sure how I feel about it. I applied for an executive role but they called me in for writer role to match my editorial experience and skills. It seems to be the same gig as here - but longer hours and less money. Heard it's a bit of a sausage factory in both senses - lots of work, lots of men. There is a more creative side to it where you are involved in client pitches, liaise with clients, 'value-add' to account team. I imagine they wheel out the writers Hannibal Lector style to all prospective clients.

Lovely office. In Millbank, next to Tate Britain on the Thames. Views over the London Eye and all the bridges even to St. Pauls.

But they had a stuffed bear in the lobby. A real bear and only a cub at that. Speaks volumes on the company's values and ethics.

Adding to that list

Didn't get the Broadcast gig.

But on the positive:
1. The sun has come out.
2. The music scene has shifted from Hip Hop to Brit Pop.
3. I went to lunch with lovely office guy where I shook and stumbled and talked about stupid things because I was nervous. Nervous because he was looking at me. Looking at me with his eyes.

He said he wants someone to look after him. Gulp. Is that a line? If it is, it's a pretty shit line. Like Homer, all he can offer is utter dependancy. Why does that appeal to me in some sick way? Because at least he needs more than sex.

Things that depress me today

Here are the things that are getting me blue today.

1. The weather
2. The cricket results
3. Dwindling solvency
4. Never-ending head cold
5. PMS
6. Ever-widening booty
7. Messages from G about missing said booty
8. Ex's blog
9. New hair cut
10. WORK WORK WORK

But cute office crush said he likes my new hair, and that makes all the difference.

Game Over

Realised from reading yesterday's blog that I'm at the stage where I'm sabotaging any potential relationship because I'm scared of getting hurt again. G is lovely, really. Our first real interesting discussion is when I told him that if you can't be emotionally independent and strong then you won't be able to survive. And he said that's interesting because it is reflected in my attitude to life. But it's fundamentally wrong. People need people. He's right on both counts.

I'm scared of intimacy with him. He keeps trying to get beneath the surface and I keep locking him out.

It's time to end it.

He's back tomorrow. Best end it before I go away.

I miss the ex. At least I always knew what made him tick. Although he's a virtual stranger nowadays. I keep thinking about this way he used to throw his arms around me and hug me from behind when I wasn't expecting it. The way his little beard felt on my neck.

I lost my faith in the summertime
Cos it dont stop raining
The sky all day is as black as night
But I'm not complaining

I begged my doctor for one more line
He said son, words fail me
It aint no place to be killin' time
I guess I'm just lazy

I dont mind
As long as theres a bed beneath the stars that shine
I'll be fine
If you give me a minute
A man's got a limit
I can't get a life if my heart's not in it

¿Donde Se Fueron?

A little hung over and a little surly this morning. Haven't been arsed to blog. Hung over.

Went to some crapola Latino club last night with Mad dog. That place is latino by name only. They played Justin Timberlake for chrissake. Those girls didn't know how to make a mojito - and why don't they tell us that London pubs all serve double shots. On my arse after only 3 'flavoured cocktails'.

Everyone asked after G. Has it got to the stage that we're considered partners in crime? I don't want to be seen as a half. I don't like it when people look past me to the door: 'Where's G?'

He's in France. With other friends. Organised before we met. Yes, there are girls there. No, I don't know them. No, I'm not suspicious (If I was, I wouldn't tell you, Blake).

I don't know. Foul mood. Everyone says G is so great. The boys love him. King: 'You're on to a good wicket there'. Mad dog: 'He's so nice. The nicest guy I've seen you with' (that being 2 guys, one he never spoke to).

Yes, yes. He's nice. But none of them witnessed the conversation killer on the plane to Turkey where he 'fessed the biggest regret about his last relationship was that she was into girls but he never got to have a 3some. "So, are you into girls?" Just asks real casual while we're on a plane with hundreds of strangers and we're about to spend a whole week together. Wonders why I fall into icy sulk and pretend to sleep. First of all, the timing couldn't be worse. Later he apologised. Said it was the withdrawals from tobacco.

Maybe I'm just being bitchy because I'm hung over. I always hold such grudges about these things from moons ago. Probably because he sent me a crude text message while away. I'm a 'notice my mind, notice my heart' type person. He hasn't got passed the booty. Guess there is nothing wrong with being interested in that only, but it is wrong to fool yourself into thinking the attraction is anything more than that. And that's what he seems to be doing. I don't know how to manage expectations. His or mine.

Bah, I'm being a bitch. Need some more sleep.

Actually - come to think of it - I sent a txt msg to cute work guy last night. And he replied! Don't remember the conversation. Think I told him I was at a horrible place and hoped he was drunk somewhere. Do remember being happy that he replied! No, I don't want anything more than friendship with office crush guy now, because even if i was single, I see his many faults. But I would treasure having a cool friend right now.

Oh-It's the anniversary of Sept 11. Four years ago I was counting stars lucky that I didn't get that trip to New York after all. Two years ago I was in San Francisco for conference. I was going out with a gorgeous guy and missing him like crazy. There was a bomb scare in the convention centre. I was scared I'd never see him again. Seems this bomb scare and missing him stuff is not such unfamiliar territory.

London Underground

Paniccy feelings on the train this morning when guard announces that we are travelling slowly due to 'fires and fire alarms on the London to Waterloo line'. First thought 'Fuck, not again'. And the fear that surged through me was incredible. A msg on my phone, colleague's train stranded next to a field due to 'signalling problems in London Underground'. Fluttery heart as I dragged myself to the Tube.

On the day of the bombings the reason for the delay was 'a stalled escalator at Kings X'. That does not make sense. Went to Kings X the other day. Ground Zero. If you didn't know any better it would just be another beautiful old building covered in scaffolding.

Got a call from George last night. Nice that he called from his holiday. And here I was thinking that he wouldn't miss me - just because that's happened before.

Sick

Argh, I'm so fucking sick today. Damn. My throat is just way, way lumpy. Why am I at work?

Soon I will be so lobotomized I'll start writing shit like this:
http://office.microsoft.com/en-us/assistance/HA010789831033.aspx

Reaching higher ground

I lose count of how many people get in my way in London. Slow-moving, soft-brained people. As a result, I am late to the train, late to work, and late to bed. So to those who plan on lolling and lunging directly into my path tomorrow, I submit to you this memorandum: I don't care what it takes - buy sportier shoes, eat more vegetables, hitch up your pants - just get out of my way.

Same with those that take all the jobs. Turtle people that barge into the best jobs, and then fail to work.

Yesterday I stayed home sick with lumpy glands and a cough, hence the blog make-over.

Applied for many jobs, cold calling city editors, only to be blocked by PAs with guard-dogs. Couldn't sleep and couldn't read, so I turned on the television, unleashing a parade of idiocy. An endless stream of big-teethed women and shouting men making over houses, careers, and abdomens. Cooing over trouser hangers and iron cleaners. Absurdly fit and tanned people torturing obesity sufferers with tazers (well, no, but it's believable). Americans being American and English wearing tweed and solving gruesome murders in Somerset.

Got a call from major PR firm about one of my applications. Not suitable for the role that I applied for, but another role better suited to my skills and editorial experience blah blah blah. Agree to meet for interview on Monday, but after words like 'liaise with clients' (noone but PR says 'liaise') and 'value-add to account team' ('value-add', puh-leeease!!!) were thrown my way with no clear job description, I asked them to send me some info. Long and short of it, it's exactly the job I'm doing now. Yep, that's right, case study writing. Is that the only 'value-add' that this city thinks I can offer? Regretting turning down CNet now - for what? My pride?

Post-relationship administration is very tiring. Your stuff, my stuff, black tops, lost photos. I even had an ex print photos of a holiday we took together, then pop all the photos of me in an envelope and charge a mutual friend to with the task to deliver them to me with the message 'he has no use for these anymore. What would he want with them?'.

That reminds me, must get ex to burn a CD of the photos from farewell night.

After a quick email to thank him for dropping off my things, I completed another masochistic blog check. Lately, it seems I have reached a higher ground of sorts. It's lonely up here, on higher ground. I can see middle ground from here. The place we never seem to reach. Can also see the high tide mark of our passion, where it reached its peak before washing away, leaving this detritus of mascara, black T-shirts, guitars and photos to divvy up.

Fark I hate colds.