I demand a better future

Today I woke naturally which is to say without an alarm, phone call, text message or email bleating its presence, in fact without the disturbance of any sound.

It's a peaceful way to start the day which is why I always love Sundays. As I rolled over to gaze upon the sleeping face of The Boy (which is always the first thing I do when he's home) I inadvertently woke him too. After a sleepy smile he curled up behind me, entwined his fingers with mine and utilised his enviable ability to go straight back to sleep whilst I attempted to turn the pages of my book one handed and avoid the hot stench of his morning breath.

30 minutes or so later he was ready to wake up and have a cup of tea, some scrambled eggs and beans on toast and watch Gone Baby Gone, our latest Love.Film offering. After this quality time together we went our separate ways - him to run some errands and do some work, me to tidy up, put a layer of paint primer on the walls and ceiling of our newly plastered attic room and clear the living room ready for it to be plastered tomorrow.

Whilst I was washing up and planning dinner for this evening I started to think about the things that I am good at, the things I contribute to the world. I'll never invent a cure for cancer or save the economy or be famous for something grandiose and significant, but then I don't crave those things. That's not who I'm supposed to be.

I pity people who measure the success of their life against someone they're jealous of, or by criteria that shows how they've failed at something that someone else succeeded at. If you can't run 100 metres in less than 10 seconds it doesn't mean that you're a failure, it means you aren't taking into consideration the fact that you are great at something other than running. It might be something you're not aware of, it might be something that you haven't tried yet but EVERYONE is good at something, everyone contributes to the world in some way.

People can be categorised as givers or takers and even the most independent, self sufficient person (such as myself) still needs someone. After all if you provide a service, you need someone to need that service.
That's where the balance comes in. I am a worker bee - I get my satisfaction from supporting others whether that's in my job as a marketing executive or whether that's in my personal life. My friends, family and The Boy might think I'm special and want me in their life because I work hard to take care of them but I think they're special and want them in my life because they let me. I love to cook so I especially appreciate people who love to eat. I love to resolve problems and get things organised so I find that the majority of the people in my life are the kind of people who appreciate my willingness to do that for them when they need it.

I'm not a saint or an altruist - I just know what makes me happy and what I'm good at. I love being surrounded by happy people and knowing that I have contributed to that happiness in however small a way is as satisfying to me as it is to the person who finds a cure for cancer or saves the economy or writes Harry Potter.

Everyone contributes and as long as what you contribute is something you can take pride in, is something that makes others happy then it doesn't matter what it is. A politician and a prostitute both fuck people for money but I think there's a lot more dignity in prostitution. A prostitute asks her client what they want and gives it to them. That's 100% service delivery and customer satisfaction. A politician has less dignity in my opinion and a much higher rate of failure but I guarantee more people want to be politicians than want to be prostitutes.

I know people who aren't happy with their lives - who want to be richer, thinner, more qualified, to find love. Some of them need to make changes, some of them need to accept who they are and what their life is.
I truly believe that the day we stop learning, the day we stop identifying new goals for ourselves is the day we start dying. The thrill of the chase, the journey to getting where we want to be - that's life, not what happens when we get there.

We all hear those stories of people who "die trying" or people who regret the things they never did out of fear or a lack of opportunity. Are they happy? No - because they're focusing on the wrong things.

A very wise man sang "you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find that you get what you need" but he also sang "I can't get no satisfaction". You should have a goal, you should aim for satisfaction but you should understand that the path you set out on might take you to somewhere you didn't realise you needed to go. Getting lost, winding up in the wrong place might just help you find yourself, find the right place. Reevaluate what makes your life a success, redefine what failure actually is.

This is turning into a manifesto for personal fulfilment. I wish that people would learn to love themselves, make the best of themselves. Life is about balance - good and bad - and you don't appreciate the good without the contrast of the bad.

Some truly awful, fucked up things will happen to some of us during the course of our lives. People we love might die, people we trust might betray us. We have to roll with the punches and look at the bigger picture. Yes something bad happened but what did we learn from it? What happened after that to change your life for the better? Look at where you are now in your life - are you happy? Can you say that you always have been? Would you be happy now if you hadn't been miserable then? Of course not - so don't regret the bad stuff, don't focus on the bad stuff that happened - move on, move past it towards the good.

Everybody needs something. People get sick so that doctors can heal them. That balance of destruction and construction, pleasure and pain - we need it! People fail in order for others can succeed. When we fail it either teaches us humility and to accept that we're on the wrong path, or it motivates us to try harder, try something different until we do succeed.

If your friend is killed by a drunk driver - that accident might be the catalyst for that drunk to reevaluate their life, change for the better. They might become that person who cures cancer. It doesn't make it any less unfair that your friend died, or any less tragic but I guarantee that with every achievement, every failure, every twist and turn of your life whether it brings joy or sorrow to you will have a positive and negative impact, somewhere to someone.

Those of you who are religious might take comfort that it's part of God's plan, others believe in fate, others don't want an explanation. However you dress it up or down it's life and it's happening and you have to go along with it.

If I were asked to give anyone advice, its this. Look at your life. Look at yourself. Work out who you are, what you're good at and what makes you happy. You'll figure out what you want this way and that's when you go for it. Just be realistic and be kind to yourself! If it doesn't give you pleasure and satisfaction then you're doing life wrong. When it's hard - learn from it, when it's good - appreciate it.

If you're in a bad relationship - why are you working so hard to change it into a good one? I once spent 7 years with a man who didn't deserve me to keep trying the way I did to make us both happy together. Do I with hindsight consider that a waste of 7 years? Does it make me frustrated with myself or depressed? No! I learned from it.

Because I was unsatisfied in my personal life I channelled everything I had into work - and my job makes me very happy. I am also now I'm in a relationship which makes me truly happy. You don't get to your future without learning from the past. What are you waiting for?

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr

Title: I Demand A Better Future by David Bowie

Strange fascination, fascinating me

WHY do I do this to myself? Why?

Last night saw me curled up on my bed with my darling friend Rachie, who is visiting from Scotchland. She always spoils me rotten when she visits - this time she brought me beautiful tiny jars of luxury condiments, cinnamon shortbread, a wheel of cheese and some homemade red velvet cupcakes with cheesecake frosting. Oooh and a bottle of red wine.

It was the red wine that done me in, guv.

I made us some tomato and basil soup with garlic bread to dunk in (I'm big on dunking. Everything should be dunkable. Except witches. And Dairylea - it's not food) and grated some mozarella on top. Om nom nom gooey goodness. After dinner we cracked open a box of the finest handmade chocolates that Bon Bon had to offer (I bought some yesterday as a thank you to my fabulous colleague Amanda just for being fabulous and couldn't resist getting a leeeetle box for us too) and had a Sex & The City Marathon whilst she studied for a diving training certificate. (which she passed today! CONGRATULATIONS!)

I had lunch with my darlingest Nana yesterday (who has dyed her hair purple by the way. Raddest Nan EVER!) and due to being exceptionally busy at work I literally didn't have a single drink all day except for the cup of lavender tea I had with my lunch. Note to self dehydration is not a desirable precurser to drinking three glasses of red wine.

Oh my poor head. I am such a stupid.

Today I have been mainlining jasmine teapigs and bottles of pomegranite water from Pret but my hangover has not budged an inch. I was walking to work this morning, blasting some Bowie through my Skull Candy headphones and mistakenly thinking that my hangover had gone.

Fool.

I think the fresh air just cleared my head temporarily because now I feel like pidgeons are pecking me in the face. Hang on, why do you never see baby pidgeons?

In a few hours I have to go home and be productive.

I must unblock the drain full of construction sludge because the shower is a STATE at the moment. I must stuff chicken with garlic, cream cheese and basil, wrap it in parma ham and bake it along with some courgette, halloumi and tomato cubes in basil oil.
I must finish stripping the living room.

The Boy comes home tonight after ANOTHER week away. Must not go home, drink wine and have fun. Must absolutely drink water and do something productive.

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.

Title: Changes by David Bowie

Her face is sans features, but she wears a Dali broach

Sorry David, I don't have a Dali broach - just a badge that says "Queen of The Fucking Universe"


I also have a spot. A big, honking hormonal pimple.


Well I did before I smothered my face in Love Lettuce anyway.


My construction dudes think I'm hilarious. I am sat on my bed, in my pyjamas, 2 jumpers and a hat and scarf with my laptop working away whilst they knock out windows, doors, fireplaces and bang about the place. Occasionally one will knock on the bedroom door, pop his dirty face round and ask me something random about architraving.

Occasionally I will yell "can you guys PUT THE BLOODY SEAT DOWN" after I go into the bathroom AGAIN and fall down the toilet AGAIN.

You may check the progress of the house here.

Hopefully they should be finished with the windows today and I can clean up during my lunch hour. EVERYTHING is covered in construction crap again. GAAAAHHHHHHH! Tonight I will be helping The Best Friend paint a ceiling at her boyfriend's house so I shall mainly be rocking the pirate look.


Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr

Title: Diamond Dogs by David Bowie

The voyeur of utter destruction

a cast iron bath with a high rim which curls over like the curve of her lips
a room of exposed stone walls
twighlight setting in, the impending night glowing behind her sillhouette
hair golden as those fields of wheat. Dark wet strands sliding down her shoulders
the wheat sways. Sways in the breeze
the dry hair lifts with it. The wet hair immobile

she turns towards the window. I catch a flash. A twinkle
her earlobe holds a jewell. A pinprick of a diamond

her arm lolls from the tub; a graceful sweeping expanse of cream. Flesh curving from shoulder to wrist
idly she strokes the iron rim, mottled imperfections beneath her fingertips
she sinks below the water causing steam vapours to rise and twist against the breeze

elle emerge
hair plastered to her head. Sleek as a seal
she leans forwards. A stretch
rivulets of water drip from the tip of her nose, the jut of her collarbones
the dark spikes of her damp eyelashes contrasting with the silvered skin of her cheek
she dips her head
in reverence to her surroundings? All that beauty
From the lone freckle of her leg to the wrinkles of her toes

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.

Title: The Voyeur of Utter Destruction (as beauty) by David Bowie

As I ask you to focus on

It's pushing 6pm on a frigid Sunday night and I'm curled up in bed wearing yoga pants that I haven't used for their literal purpose in... OK I can't even remember how long which considering once upon a time I used to do yoga every night before bed is quite shameful. And tragic.
I'm also wearing one of this year's Comic Relief vests - despite pledging my eternal love to the fabulous Vivienne Westwood I secretly prefer last year's designs by Stella McCartney.

Shhhhh don't tell her.

I'm peeling long graceful coils from braeburn apples and dipping them into cinnamon and brown sugar. It goes perfectly with the cup of chai Teapigs I'm drinking. Mmmmm oriental spicy goodness.

The Boy left an couple of hours ago for sunny Slough where he'll be working for the majority of the next 2 weeks. I had hoped to spend my boy-free evenings working on the house as we have people in ripping out fireplaces, blocking them up, plastering, replacing windows and doors and I wanted to start stripping the walls of the living room and get them plastered, primed and painted by the time he got back. Sadly with one thing and another this weekend we didn't get to B&Q so I could stock up on the shit to do this with.

We also didn't get the cellar cleared and all the junk taken to the tip. We didn't DO ALL THE THINGS because on the way back from our glorious trip to the Lake District the car broke down on the M6 and The Boy spent most of this weekend buying a new car to replace it and get him to Slough in. Sad times.

Still he is now the owner of a shiny new golf, his fantasy car (I just adore men who don't need to ahem overcompensate don't you?) and I am up to my elbows in swatches for paint, carpet and endless choices for sofas and shelving units.

I am also keeping a weather eye on the Gypsies which moved back in across the road. Yesterday after The Boy left to go car shopping they came up to our front garden to eye up the scaffolding and random stuff left by out builders. They were not pleased to have me come out of what they clearly assumed was an empty house and ask them if they were lost.

Their settlement is across the road and I am already sick of their loud generator, loud music and the sound of the kids boxing and chasing their dogs. It was snowing yesterday, surely far too cold for kids to be outside boxing each other?

The holiday was lovely by the way - fun with his family in a wooden cabin in The Lake District which was surrounded by strutting peacocks. Yes, PEACOCKS!



I packed the essentials required for every situation - Yankee candles, teapigs and my own cup and saucer, plus plenty of things to keep me entertained - a scarf I have been trying to knit from wool made of wriggling kittens, 5 books, my travel diary and rainbow stationary so that I could write silly letters to a darling friend, so that she could read them whilst weeing.



The scenery as ever was glorious - we went for walks on the beach, boat rides on Lake Windermere and I stuffed myself with yummage. Meh, when in Rome.





For more pictures check out my album on Facebook.

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr

Title: Life On Mars by David Bowie

Lovers never lose

Fill your heart with love today
Don't play the game of time
Things that happened in the past
Only happened in your Mind
Only in your Mind... forget your Mind
And you'll be free yeah
The writing's on the wall
Free yeah and you can know it all
If you choose. Just remember
Lovers never lose
'Cause they are Free of thoughts unpure
And of thoughts unkind
Gentleness clears the soul
Love cleans the mind
And makes it free.


~ David Bowie - Fill Your Heart


So I left you in a strange mood brought on by Yorkshire Life confusing me with cakes made of cheese and beautiful wedding dresses. It didn't take long for me to snap out of it and return back to "I would rather stick a spoon up my arse and eat the contents than have a wedding" mode.

He did reply saying "yes I will be your husband" but I think to this day he still thinks that I was kidding - knowing as he does that I am as allergic to the idea of us having a big circus wedding as I am to mushrooms and soya.

One day he'll propose to me, I'll say yes, he will slip a beautiful ring onto my finger and I will hope and pray that it doesn't blind me to who I am and what I want which is to not make a spectacle of myself and spend a fortune on a day which has nothing to do with us, but everything to do with fitting everyone we know into one room, pleasing all of them and hoping they don't kill each other. I am still very much on the "we'll be going away and having a small wedding on our own thank you very much" plan.

I never grew up playing with barbie dolls and fantasizing about a wedding. I had action men, lego, tonka trucks, remote control cars. I liked to get out and get muddy and climb trees and play football with the boys on my street. When I go to a wedding I look for the love between two people and celebrate it and often think that it's strange that we have this tradition of a ceremony to "validate" a union between two people who are in love. I am going to spend the rest of my life with The Boy - it won't take a wedding to achieve that so what's the point?












I'm less than conventional, The Boy is a mental - we're a couple of kooks. I realised that I loved him after 1 month, during a drunken weekend at my house but rather than tell him, I wrote it on his head in icing and licked it off. He told me he loved me 2 months later at a wedding reception. Before coming home and weeing on the radiator. You see - we don't need a wedding, we need sectioning for the safety of the world!



Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr

Title: Fill Your Heart by David Bowie

Church on time, TERRORISE ME, church on time, MAKE ME PARTY

"I'm missing the bride gene. I should be put in a test-tube and studied" ~ Carrie, Sex & The City

After missing lunch yesterday led me to believe I was developing Alzheimers I took some time today to eat some leftover green thai curry (Omnomnom stinky office Onomnom I don't care Omnomnom *buries face in tupperware*) and read the latest issue of Yorkshire Life. (what, I read that. No I'm not 65. OK so I can't usually afford magazines but I was distracted by something shiny. The cover)

Where are all these parentheses coming from? STOP EATING MY WORDS UP!

Anyway. So I was flipping through it and saw this wedding dress.



And I didn't vomit.

Which is quite a big thing because whilst I would marry The Boy tomorrow without a second's hesitation I am actually allergic to the idea of having an actual wedding.
For serious, and I'll tell you why.

1) I refuse to look like a marshmallow for anyone. Or a Disney bride.
2) I refuse to allow my Bridezilla potential be realised. I know that if I let it out it will cause armageddon and I would arrive at my wedding day a scarlet, seething ball of stress with The Boy cowering next to me.
3) I don't like being the centre of attention. Yes I'm loud, yes I'm vivacious but I actually prefer deflecting attention from myself to my friends or the people I love.

Case in point - my friend Adele is an incredible photographer. HIRE HER HIRE HER.

Ahem.

4) My family is mad. Actually mad. My parents have both been married twice, they don't get along, there are mini feuds galore with Aunts and Uncles all over the place and to top it off The Boy's parents are also separated. We would have to either get married in a Hexagon with our friends in the middle and our families carefully seggregated by barbed wire around the outside or risk arguments of epic proportions over the seating plan.

5) It's very very expensive. Like really really expensive for what amounts to a party. A stressful party. Where everyone is fighting and I look ridiculous.

"Honey I love you but if you call our wedding a party one more time, you may not be invited" ~ Monica, Friends.

If it were up to me, I would drag The Boy off somewhere, get married alone and have it be about us, being in love, committing to one another and then let The Families battle it out to arrange some sort of celebration when we get back.

But that all changed this morning for a brief shining moment when I saw the dress. The dress which if it had a name, would be called Audrey Hepburn.

And why do wedding dresses always have stupid names like "phoebe" or "francesca"? Not that these are stupid names, but they are stupid names for a dress. If I made a wedding dress I'd call it Albert. Or Flugelbinder.

It wasn't the dress alone. I turned a few pages and discovered a feature on WEDDING CAKES MADE OF CHEESE. Not cheesecakes, actual tiers of brie or stilton with fruits and stuffs.

I wouldn't mind who was fighting if I could be stood in the corner in a pretty dress nomming on cheese. Mmmmm cheese. None of the disney brides had a cake made of cheese.


Mmmmmm. Cheese.

So buoyed up on the first pro-wedding feelings I have ever had I sent the following text message.

Our Hero: We have to get married. I just found a wedding dress that doesn't make me vomit and a company that makes wedding cakes out of cheese. Will you be my wife before I go all anti-wedding again?
The Boy: *radio silence* *tumbleweeds*

(disclaimer. He didn't actually reply to that effect. That is my overly dramatic way of saying that he has not yet responded. Either due to terror or because he is working very hard in Devon at his very important job. *clutches at straws*)

So I took it to Twitter.


I'll keep you posted!

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr


Title: Modern Love by David Bowie

The laughing gnome

Good morning world,

Today is Wednesday (didn't you know?) and that means that it is one day until The Boy returns from deepest darkest Devon and we get to communicate in person instead of via text message.

The Boy: Awoit lav, oi be in Devon now x you enjoying London x
Our Hero: I am indeed my lovely xxx have you bummed any sheep yet? xxx
The Boy: Only two. I'm all flaccid and shrivelled now.
Our Hero: When in Rome... come to think of it isn't it Wales where they supposedly bum sheep? QUICK STOP BUMMING THEM! They'll think you're mad.

So tonight I am visiting friends for a cosy night in with pizza and movies, then going round to my mother's for a bath (A BATH! OH GLORY!!!) and to sleep there. Which means in the morning I'll wake up with her fat bastard of a cat up my arse and a confused feeling of being at mum's where I haven't lived since I was in my teens.

Then tomorrow I will be going home to tidy the house up in preparation for a weekend of AWESOME! 2 lady dudes and their dudes will be staying with us this weekend which will be interesting given that we're currently living on a construction site. I put fresh sheets on the beds last night and just hope that over the next 2 days our builders don't choose to send more ceiling crashing down on top of this one. Which looks quite pretty.


Last night I danced home from work with music blaring through my Skull Candy's and cooked a huge vat of curry. I made a thai curry paste, cooked shallots in chilli oil and then added vine ripened cherry tomatoes, pineapple, Quorn chicken, courgette, banana, ginger, coriander and coconut milk. And a massive handful of chilli flakes. Ohhhhhhhhh it was good.




Then I went to bed with a book, Rufus Wainwright crooning softly and smothered my face in Love Lettuce. Thanks Lush!


I got up again in time for Big Fat Gypsy Wedding which was as usual a mixture of me gawping at the outlandish outfits, the inapropriately dressed dancing children and me feeling sad that these people are such outcasts. The bride this week was unusual in that she waited until she was 22 to get married and had been working for 5 years. Once married she of course had to give up work in order to take care of her husband and their caravan and she waited until her last day at work (after 5 YEARS) to tell her boss that she was a gypsy. What must it be like to be so worried about what people will think of you, and so worried about prejudices that you can't even be proud of who you are and what your heritage is?

I cannot stop laughing at this video. It's a FACKIN TRAIN BRUV! YOU DON'T KNOW ME! Am I BOVVERED though? *dies*

After today I have 2 days left to work and then I have to take AN ENTIRE WEEK off work and go brave the wilderness of The Lake District with The Boy.
A WHOLE WEEK. I need to seek advice from a crack addict or something on going cold turkey from my job. Do you know, last night when I got home I took off my gloves and noticed that there was a phone number on my hand. "Hang about, where did that come from?" I wondered.
"Have I been picking up strange men in my lunch hour?"
It seemed unlikely given that I am head over heels in love with The Boy but I couldn't remember why I had a phone number on my hand. Then I couldn't remember what I'd done at lunch and started to convince myself that I had actually been drugged and taken SpeedDating or something.
Then I realised that the reason I couldn't remember my lunch hour is because I didn't take one - I was too busy to stop and had forgotten to bring some lunch with me. I had a handfull of lychees and carried on working right through. This is not unusual (except for the lychees... they're not always in season!)
And the phone number was my brother's - I wrote it on my hand so I could text it to The Boy.

Maybe I DO need a holiday. Or it's possible I've contracted Alzheimer's. Meeeep.

Hurry up Thursday! Hurry home Boy!



Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr


Title: The Laughing Gnome by David Bowie

Across the Universe

I nearly called this entry "Twitter - because no one gives a shit what you did 5 minutes ago" but that would interfere with my tradition of using Bowie lyrics for my blog titles and then my OCD would kick off and I'd 'splode in a ball of glitter and cake crumbs and where would I go?


Where we go after we explode in a ball of glitter and cake crumbs is a subject for another blog entry. Probably one where I'm jacked up on vin rouge and have been slowly eaten by the purple beanbag belonging to The Boy's best friend. I tend to wax lyrical about such things when I'm drunk. As my darling friend Rach will confirm - wine makes you wise (wine + cheese = wise actually. I may be dyscalculic but that adds up!) and I would need to be in a wise mood in order to tackle the Life After Death debate.


Today I'm in a far too ebullient mood to actually think so you get a collection of random tweets from the past month that I came across whilst looking for something else. If you must know I was looking for a tweet by Big Ben which simply said "BONG BONG BONG BONG" and I retweeted it to share the glory with the world. Because it is genius.





I wrote this extract from How To Paint A Dead Man because after I read it I was filled with awe for such utterly, utterly beautiful prose.







Chocolate Assam Teapigs. Look into it.




Yeah, this was gross. Nation of Shopkeepers in Leeds, a vodka and lemonade... with a fingernail in it. I took a swig, felt something brush against my tongue, picked it out thinking it was a lemon pip and it was A HUMAN FINGERNAIL


That's good advice. Write that down. (Oh how I love Van Wilder!)






This is critical. Where is selling rainbow striped toe socks at the moment. I have one pair left due to wearing them so often that they developed holey bits. HELP!



Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.


Title: Across The Universe by David Bowie

The Width of a Circle

This morning I woke to blissful silence and enough light to read by whilst The Boy slept on. I couldn't sleep for a long time last night - just lay awake listening to the rain fall steadily on and watched the patterns of light cast on the ceiling by the passing cars.
I've been reading How To Paint a Dead Man - lovingly written and very seductive in its prose.

After snuggletime and breakfast The Boy did some work whilst I walked into town to fill our fridge with yummies.
I love Leeds outdoor market; all the hustle and bustle of people, the stalls filled with brightly coloured fruits and vegetables, arranged like jewels on display. I bought rhubarb, cherries, lychees, bananas, courgettes, shallots, bell peppers, white mushrooms (for The Boy, I'm allergic) and the softest, ripest peaches. And all for under £10.

Then on to Out of This World to stock up on Teapigs and Fentiman's rose lemonade, to Tescos for herbs, spices, coconut milk and fish (for The Boy, I loathe the smell of fish so don't eat it).

After filling my bags with groceries I went to Lush to treat myself to some It's Raining Men shower gel because my Lush Ladies kindly gave me a sample on Wednesday and it smelt so utterly gorgeous that I had to buy some. I came away with a huge sample of Marilyn too to treat my hair with. And some Love Lettuce.

I am prone to fanciful thoughts and sometimes wonder what aliens would think, visiting our planet and observing us. "She seems to be rubbing her skin with some kind of grease, and smiling, and she's sniffing herself! Swooning at the secret smells of her skin"

I returned some books to the library and picked up some more, I wanted to join the protest going on inside but had fresh herbs and fish that needed to be refridgerated so called The Boy to come and pick me up. Whilst waiting for him I watched the balletic grace and raw energy of the kids Free Running in their regular spot outside the library and art gallery.

Years of gymnastics, trampolining and yoga have given me balance and flexibility which coupled with my complete lack of fear or inhibition should make this an ideal activity for me. Sadly at a cake-fuelled size 16, recovering from pneumonia I think my potential in flinging myself from lamposts and down steps will probably not be realised in this lifetime.

After cleaning the house we're now snuggled in bed watching The Road - so far it's been a stunning post-apocalyptic movie shot in sepia with a lovely score - and will then be making a fish pie for The Boy, or a banana and lychee curry with king prawns.

After dinner we're going to see The Black Swan again. HURRAH! (just a little bit obsessed)

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.



Title: The Width of A Circle by David Bowie

Wild is The Wind

So it's 7:30am in the Church of Disco... no, wait... I'm in the office.
And my head feels like it's going to fall off. Note to self, don't drink wine on a school night when you haven't drunk enough during the day to be thoroughly hydrated.

I lost my train of thought.

As Miss Golightly was saying before she was so rudely interrupted...

The wind today is insane. No, not me, the actual weather - the wind is whistling around the building, howling one might say. It sounds quite frightening and makes me want to curl up at home with Breakfast at Tiffany's (the book or the film, each are equally glorious) with a hot chocolate. Dark chocolate melted into milk, a shot of brandy, marshmallows and whipped cream. Mmmmmm. Decadance.

Actually the thought of brandy right now, or indeed any additional alcohol makes my head want to explode out of my arse.

Just the marshmallows then. You can't go wrong with marshmallows. Not unless you're a Ghostbuster. Hahah, nice one Ray.






I haven't read Wuthering Heights for a while. I can always tell when someone describes Heathcliffe as "romantic" that they've never actually read the book. Or have been influenced by the Ike Turners of the world.
It's a Gothic novel, a horror story darling, not a romance! Heathcliffe was perfectly beastly. He may have loved Cathy but not in a way that I ever want to be loved thank you.

It's now midday and I have returned to this over my lunch hour. I gave it up as a bad job and began working instead at 8:00am.

As Miss Golightly was saying before she was so rudely interrupted...

Conference calls, graphs, data and emails later I am getting ready to finish up some email campaigns and start another data project this afternoon.
Then I'm going to pick up The Boy's dry cleaning, go home to get changed and then The Boy and I are coming back into Leeds to meet a friend to go Ice Skating at The Cube.

An excuse to wear the new hat of cuteness, the new coat of glory and maybe dig out one of the scarves I made recently. Yes I took up knitting. I can knit rows of garter stitch on two kneedles but am incapable of casting on or off and I am not yet ready for the complexities of different types of stitch.

I do have two scarves though and another one on the way which I've been saving until we go to The Lakes to finish in case I get bored.
Speaking of which I just procured The Carrie Diaries and The Hand That First Held Mine to take with me too. 2 books for one week? Methinks I will have to pack my bag with a stack of re-reads.

Any recommendations? Do check my Good Reads first as it's more than likely that I'll have already read it, voracious little book whore that I am.

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.


Title: Wild Is The Wind by David Bowie

FASHION

FASHION. Turn to the left




I had the 2007 limited edition Purple Dolly Girl version of Bonjour L'Amour by Anna Sui and I LOVED it. I cannot find the fucking thing ANYWHERE in the shops (duh, limited edition) and it's been driving me insane. It smells of sweet lemon, grapefruit, musk, orange blossom, cinnamon, amber, tuberose, magnolia, rosewood, orris, cedarwood, raspberry, peach, coconut, jasmine and muguet. It is me in a bottle. Then I hit on ebaying it. 20 bottles available.

It took every ounce of my self control not to buy up all 20. I procured one bottle at £14 which was very restrained. I also bought a new military style black wool coat today for £15, reduced from £70 which is also very impressive.

FASHION. Turn to the right.

I need some sensible new boots/shoes for our week in the Lake District.

I have some wellingtons that my darling Nana bought me for my birthday. You see the last pair which I bought to match a teacup and saucer (yes, really) got torn in a freak "too many pairs of rainbow socks" accident so Nana bought me some more with cherries on. Lovely.




But (and it's a big butt, my butt after all that damned cake) I could do with something suitable for long walks in cold weather. Something that will also translate into boots I can walk to work in and wear to work in winter.

Enter the Sketchers! I walked past Barratts at lunchtime on my way to Schuh and spotted a pair of half decent looking black boots amongst the display of sad, ugly, cheap and nasty footwear on display. I don't DO Barratts. I have respect for my feet. When I saw the boots though I thought, "hmmm they're bound to be cheap if they're in here and considering that I'm so on a budget that I don't even have budget available for boots... I'd better stop being so princessy."

I felt suitably self-chastised and compelled to go inside where I discovered that they were Sketchers and therefore above the quality of usual Barratt shoes. They were also reduced to £44 until Friday which is an EXCEPTIONAL price.

A quick text to The Boy confirmed that I should buy them and it was then that my schizorenia kicked in and I decided that they were ugly and I didn't like them. They were TOO sensible.

I'm not one for sensible footwear. I am a girl who will happily gloss over future spinal injuries in order to wear the highest of high heels. I once crashed a go-kart wearing a pair of Vivienne Westwood rocking horse heels.
I was not amused to have broken those shoes. They were magnificent.
I wear black velvet mary janes like Alice In Wonderland. Fitflops are the closest I've ever come to functional footwear.

Oooooooh FASHION. We are the goon squad and we're coming to town. Beep beep

Twitter isn't helping. I was sent a link via Glamour Magazine to the Top 50 Fashion Finds under £50. I have a small crush on these items. None of which I will buy.







Listen to me, don't listen to me. Talk to me, don't talk to me. Dance with me, don't dance with me. Ohhhhhh BEEP BEEP.

I have already packed for our week in the Lake District (w/c 14th Feb, I know, my OCD knows no limits!) after a £30 trip to Primark to procure a few staple items to bring clothes that I own (and can still fit into after my cake orgy) together into a capsule wardrobe. I was going to post pictures of these clothes but then I got distracted by a little browse on ASOS.





I won't be buying any of them, but a girl can dream. Oh shopping. How I miss thee.
Oh waistline, how I miss thee. I'll just eat this biscuit...
 

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr .

Title: Fashion by David Bowie

Somebody Up There Likes Me

My favourite poem has always been Desiderata by Max Ehrmann.

I have copied it out into the front of every paper diary I have kept since I discovered the poem at the age of 11. I remember distinctly the way I felt the first time that I read it and every time I read it, it makes me feel the same way. Inspired, comforted.

I'm not a fan of organised religion. I believe that it seggregates us as a species instead of bringing us together. It inspires war instead of peace, it causes conflict instead of bringing comfort. It causes confusion when archaic rituals and beliefs are applied to a modern world which religion refuses to evolve with. No religion will lead the world successfully in any venture except war as long as commandments are used to judge, exclude, punish and inspire evangelical schemes against those who do not comply. Religion was the first form of fascism.

I have much respect for the power of faith and I have plenty of friends who choose to have beliefs which have a positive effect on them. I believe that people should be able to believe whatever they want to, but I don't believe that people should do some of the things that they do in the name of their faith. It seems that there is just no room for rationality when it comes to religion.

Personally I think if every person thought of a way to contribute to the world in a positive way then we'd have a better shot at unity.

When I become a mother, I will be reading Desiderata to my children instead of the bible.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.

Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.


Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.


Title: Somebody Up There Likes Me by David Bowie

I'm a mess without my little China girl

So The Boy is in Slough and I am in Leeds. I do not care for this.

Every time he goes away I go on this mad bender of projects from filling rubble sacks with CellarShit to go to the tip, to cooking vats full of soup and freezing it.

On top of crazy productive things I also fill all my newfound free NonBoyTime with UBERGIRLIE things like painting my fingernails or plucking my eyebrows, arranging girlie nights in and having long telephone conversations with my girlfriend Tom about his magical foof.

Tomorrow The Best Friend is coming over to cheer me up as only she can. Otherwise I would be forced to take a lover. A lover like this. The double chocolate fudge brownie cheesecake. 



OK so I've already had 2 slices. Want some? You can pry it from my cold, dead fingers.
Because let's face it, cake is reliable. Cake always makes you feel good (except when it contains soya and you're allergic to it). Cake is always there for you. Cake makes you happy.

I am glossing over the fact that prolongued use of the "cake as replacement for boyfriend" model will eventually lead me to grow a third buttock. Cake is not fattening LeeMee. Go to your happy place. La la la la la la la laaaa la la la la la la la laaaa. Om nom nom munch.

In all seriousness (wait, I take that back!) I am going to end up being horribly fat at this rate - The Boy called me earlier to let me know that after his week in Slough, and his week in Devon, and our holiday with his family in the Lakes he is then leaving me AGAIN to go to China.

China. CHINA! Yes, that China. The far away kind. He gets sick every time he has nasty greasy Chinese takeout, he will actually die out there. Someone bring me some faaaackin Frennnnnch toast.

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.


Title: China Girl by David Bowie