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October 24 I'm off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Rome. He's called "The Pope", you know...So, Rome is nearly upon me. Well, not literally, although the colusseum would make a somewhat fetching hat. I've changed my money (you give them money and they give you more. Apparently foreign people don't get as much to the pound, which is silly because Americans are huge.) and have bought my phrase book and learned how to say "un pacchetto di Malboros per favore" and "dov'e il consolato britannico?" just in case. Because this is my first proper holiday in ten years, it is therefore my first without my parents (two hours in Gothenberg doesn't count, somehow) and I am therefore doing everything slowly, methodically and with a soupcon of utter panic. I am carrying my passport with me at all times until I go; I have located my long-lost Barclaycard for emergencies; I am eating porridge because I changed all the money I had and forgot to keep any sterling for the mean time. And if I've counted that money less than fifteen times tonight, I'll be surprised. Still, I get to release my tensions when dealing with the parts of the holiday over which I have no control. Easyjet, for example, who seem to think that premium rate phone lines are acceptable when calling because their sodding website isn't working. In this case, premium means £1 a minute. I could call "Fat, Fifty and Filthy in Bromsgrove" for less. And she wouldn't be a recorded man's voice telling me how I could be saving time and money by using easyjet.com, when the entire purpose of my call is because the fucker is BROKEN. It's like calling anex-boyfriend because they've still not returned your cat and them saying "ah, just couldn't keep away from me, eh?". It will always end in frustration, tears, and ultimately, someone losing an eye.
I'm also (tragically) planning my itineraries for the trip, but Darren has some ideas too, I'm sure. He mentioned the Jewish Quarter, and God help me, I did actually say "In Rome?" which I was a bit ashamed of. Still, good pizza apparently. And I can say "pizza" so it might be a plan. And, hooray!, we are there on Wednesday morning so we might see the Pope. Which would be a bit like when I saw Bowie, only important and interesting. I still haven't forgiven him for not doing "Dance Magic Dance". Wonder if the Pope will....? He's infallible, so he can do what he wants. I would.
No more news, no more news. Just me behaving like a fanny and thanking the LORD I don't have to worry about what to pack cos I'm a scruff. Now, I wonder if I should get some flight socks...
Take care, see you all when I get back - I'm sure there will be the usual wanky photos with me trying to sum up the splendour of the world's greatest imperial legacies by doing a thumbs up whilst holding a bag of Pope clocks.
Laters.
Or would it be trite to say,
CIAO!
Yes.
xx
PS: I love the song and I left it for you all to er, indicate my gratitude for taking an interest in this daft mook. xx
ADDENDUM: (That's Latin, that is) The answer to last entries' amazing quiz poser, was "I Should Have Known Better". The Dad spent a good two hours looking that up on the net. Quite right too, cos he forgot the answer. Bless him, he looks so cute when he's on the PC. Like an elderly, shaved gorilla trying to perform keyhole surgery. Which is what pensioners are really, aren't they?
God, it's late.
I think I should go to bed and stop looking at pron. Which is like regular porn, but mostly involves Rick Stein shelling a lot of crustaceans.
BED! October 20 hairballs, moving, Women's Hour, psychics and Rome. Normal Service is resumed.I have to admit I felt better for that... and have included a song for you on here which I think pretty much sums things up.
Life continues here as ever, only with no work to do and better food. Yes, that's right, I'm at The Parents'. I like The Parents' because there is fine dining (mince and dumplings, oh yeah) and excursions (to the shops for bread, but at least there's a car involved and I'm not going to have to take an attacker alarm and mace) and a SHOWER. I have a bath, which is kind of an orange colour, which is a funny sort of a colour for something that's supposed to be white. If you are unfortunate enough to read this blog regularly, you will also know all about The Ballad of the Bath and the fact that it currently has no bloody business being there anyway. It should be on a skip and I should be bathing in a shiny enamel tub with working plug. I take some responsibility: whenever I wash my hair it's like Critters 1, 2 and 3 down that drain.
I'm currently in the process of trying to move, but Gatesheed Cooncil have created a sort of bidding system where you register your interest in three advertised properties (there's a website and everything - woo) each week and you are asked to have a look at one property if you win it. I've been doing this for three weeks now, but suddenly realised that no-one had bothered to mention what exactly you have to do to win the stupid thing - is it first come first served (in which case I'm stuffed cos they go up at 6.30am on Saturdays), or a case of who makes the most charismatic craft items for the panel? Or, as I suspect it is, a case of who "needs" the place more? If it is, I'm off down the Bigg Market to get knocked up and begin the life of a heroin addict. A couple of tweaks to the old birth certificate, and I'm "Lambrini Tams, age 13". I'll be in in no time, unlike that poor sap Christine Arnold who gets broken into twice per month and has no useable bath. And SILVERFISH AS BIG AS YOUR DAD'S HAND. It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world.
Other news: I'm addicted to Radio Four and have started to have opinions on politics and issues. As Daisy Steiner said in Spaced when practicing for a job interview and imagining them asking her what she thought about current affairs: "I... like them?" Mind you, Women's Hour confuses me a bit - are they tweedy or hip and cool (TM)? It's a bit like Blue Peter and Newsround and BBC's Religious Proramming Dept., "Well, that was Aled Jones singing Pie Jesu, and now Connie's going to show us how to make a crack pipe out of old cereal packets." It's like watching your Mam dance at a wedding. Or me dance at a wedding, considering I tend to mostly stick to "Let's Get Ready to Rumble" and "Ghostbusters". With actions. Today's mook is tomorrow's embarrassing parent. Bring it on.
I'm also considering an addiction to 6ixth Sense with Colin Fry, just to see if I can work out how the hell he does it. I mean, the other day he was on about how someone's daughter was saying she was being good from the woo~OTHER SIDE~woo because she once got cautioned by the police for being drunk in charge of her wheelchair. Anyone who says it's all about picking up micro signals and playing elaborate guessing games can explain where the hell he got that from. I'm torn between thinking psychics provide a comfort to the bereaved and thinking that they are heartlessly profiting from them. I'm not sure I believe that they are genuine, although who bloody knows. Derek Acora's worth it for the laugh, at least. And I'd rather he profited from TV appearances than fucking Nikki off Big Brother with her tragedy and comedy mask face. I want to cast her in a homeowner-loan advert and leave her to languish in the breaks on UKTV Gardens forever. But not UKTV Food. I watch that all the time.
Well, as you can see I've cheered back up to grumpy again, and lost some of my angst along the way. I forgot to methion my big news as well, I'm off to Rome next week for five days. As much as I miss BFEmma, if she hadn't of gone to Korea I wouldn't have been able to buy her ticket and take her place on the romantic birthday present Darren bought her. Hahaha. No, it's all above board: I've even booked us into a hostel where we'll be sharing a room with six other people. I've got my mace and my BigPants on standby. Just want to get away for a bit, and I've always wanted to go to Rome. Afterall, you can never have too many Pope clocks. The Dad's been telling me what to see and even provided me with a guidebook from 1967. His logic? "It's been there for two thousand bloody years! It won't have changed!" I am particularly looking forward to The Whisky A Go Go and the free parking outside The Pantheon.
Hope everyone is well.
laters.
xx
PS: The Dad did that bloody irritating thing today of posing a quiz question then forgetting the sodding answer when I couldn't get it. See if you have any luck:
Q: Which is the only Beatles' song to mention the title in the first line then nowhere else in the song?
A: I'm going outside for a fag.
x October 18 WARNING - CONFESSIONAL.**DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EXPECTING VULVA-RELATED HUMOUR OR RANTS ABOUT CLAIMS DIRECT ADVERTS. THIS SOME HEAVY SHIT**
Sorry I've been absent. There is a reason for this.
A good one.
The year spanning October 2005 - October 2006 has been without doubt the most horrendous, fucked up, useless, time wasting, head-mangling, soul-destroying period of time in the 26 years (admittedly not long, but hey) that I have been on this planet.
I'm talking boyfriends cheating and then launching into twisted mindgames, bosses acting without any knowledge of protocol or basic human decency, and worst of all, shysters taking advantage of my (admittedly very little) naivety and making sure I get the blame for every tiny microscopic thing that goes wrong with the world. Add to this the fact that the book seems to be floating about in some publishing miasma, relatives seem to be dying or getting ill with alarming regularity, and the enchanting facts in the case of the missing budget.
I mean it - if 2006 was a puppy I'd fucking shoot it. Because It would have one giant red eye and a bad case of distemper.
Now I can admit pretty readily that I am prone to the occasional fuck-up: Afterall, I am a human being. Sadly, the same cannot be said for others that I have had dealings with this year. And I swear, I promise, that it's not just me. Somehow, I managed to get through uni twice without ever meeting anyone truly vicious, but am I ever getting a sweaty case of the catchups now. On discussing this with The Mam last night, we realised that I have simply been extremely unfortunate this year. It happens, apparently. Learning to deal with it is part of growing up I suppose. And at least the people I know I can trust are more than three and the best people in the entire world. The Parents, BFEmma, Kels, Hannah, Beth and Suz are a few of them. People who I can genuinely rely on 99% of the time. And that's good enough for me.
Ok, now I'm going to be brutally honest here: there have been a few (a lot) of times this year when things got so bad that I actually couldn't physically or mentally cope. I mean about as bad as things get, really. But without gushing, these people helped in their own ways. Coming round for tea, a phone call, a £3 chicken goujon dinner, sticking out my birthday party when I was clearly off on one, driving to get me at half one in the morning, or a trip down to see my godson have all made a HUGE difference. And last night, when I was fucking mental with being sad (sorry, I don't want to turn this into a weep thing, but I have to explain), I managed to force myself to realise (with The Mam's help, natch) that the bad people this year could easily become "what I am about", instead of the good guys. This would be stupid, and more importantly, perform the dangerous task of making them actually become imprtant when every last one of them should be shrinking on the horizon to tiny, insignificant little ants, which is exactly what their actions have made them. I've spent an awful lot of energy hating this year, when I was already exhausted from the events themselves. And because its always difficult to remember that sometimes people do bad things for no real reason, I turned a fair bit of that hate onto myself - it's a knee-jerk reaction to assume that bad things happen to me because I'm a bad person. And for that matter, no one invloved in this shitty year is a bad person. Just stupid, messy personalities who trampled me as they rushed for comfort, or success, or excitement.
Like I said, just plain unlucky to be in the way.
So with all that being said, I got a transfer from work to another court where I can start again afresh. New people and lessons learned. I have abandoned any commissioned book work that I don't want to do (I mean really, can I write a book on management when phones now make me feel weak with horror because of my experiences with TLRPB?), and I am settling down to write what I want to - in my own time and with no one to amend, addend or generally piss about with it on a whim. I am freelancing. And FREE is a good word.
I also went down to Gateshead College today to get some info on something I've wanted to do for ages. I'm hopefully going to start a course in March which will lead to me getting a certificate in adult learning so that I can teach night classes. I'm never quite sure if I can do new things, but somehow I think I'll be ok with this. Well, better than ok. I think I might even rock. And to be honest, it's about bloody time.
If 2007 is rubbish, I'll go to America. Without a moment's hesitation. All my debts will be repaid by October next year, so I'll be even more footloose. That's the plan, anyway. And seeing as any relationship I might start before then (not very likely - The last relationship will stay with me for a while yet) will take a long time to develop; I don't anticipate any problems. End of.
I still feel like shit - not sure if that'll go away for a while - but at least I'm not moping anymore. The ironc thing is, after five months off I feel worse than I did when I went off, but more ready to get back to work. Suppose that's just sod's law really. And savour the phrase "ready to get back to work". It's the first and last time it will ever be uttered on this blog. And it will surely be retracted in the next few weeks.
Sorry about the confessional. I figured this is my blog and I should probably write something important for a change.
Besides, my shrink told me to and I'm sure he's got a taser and mafia connections.
Laters.
xx |
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