thirty thirty thirty

I like it. I like being at the bottom of a decade again. I like being a flakey piscean. I like feeling comfortable with who I am and what I do. I like being able to say "no" to people. I like the fact that people don't walk over me at work or in my personal life.

inspiration needed

This is a bit of a cry for help. I'm writing two articles on relationships, one of which is on first and last moments in relationships - you know, how the things you found really endearing and charming about someone at first suddenly become the things that make you want to jump out of a window (or push them out of a window).

So, (and I'm not anticipating a gargantuan response, but it's always worth asking) anyone want to share some anecdotes that I can use? All names will be changed, full confidentiality guaranteed etc.. If so, drop me an e-mail. If you don't have my address, comment telling me you're interested and I'll get in touch.


Reading the small print

My goodness. Wearing specs is changing my life. I knew I was long-sighted, but I had absolutely no idea how much effort I was making to read small print or stare at a computer screen. I've been reading the index in my A-Z just for kicks.

new adventure in accessorising

Went to the opticians for the first time in eight years. I'm quite long-sighted, and he's recommended I wear glasses when working at my PC, as I've been experiencing eye strain. Fortunately, work legally obliged to fork out half the cost. But I had absolutely no idea that glasses and lenses were so expensive!

Middle of the road, anyone?

What a week. Do you know what? I'd really like to be one of those people who sort of coast along at medium temperature, steady 30mph pace. But no, with me, it's either manic euphoria or off to put rocks in my pockets and jump in the Thames. Or why couldn't I have been born as a twin set wearing, Express reading type? I'd be living in semi-detached house Berkshire with a boring husband and a climate-destroying 4 wheel drive vehicle visible on the front drive.

This is all ridiculous, of course, and probably very snobbish. Put it down to fatigue and the beginnings of my first cold for over twelve months. Wrote the equivalent of masters thesis for she who must be written for last week, went on the road with her on Monday, and she was positively beaming with praise for me. Crashed yesterday when I had to rewrite another speech twice in one day. Still, recess fast approaching, so a bit of a break coming up, thank the Lord. Who knows, I might get to finish some poems.

I have seen my beautiful niece. I'm absolutely besotted with her. More photos (and video footage, no less) here

Other recent highlights? Saw Frost and Nixon on Friday night, which is excellent, and (well it was until today) pertinent in the light of all the cash for honours stuff. Finished Claire Tomalin's Thomas Hardy biography. And of course, Battlestar Galactica.

things that make me needlessly cross

Ok, so there are things in this world that make me quite inexplicably and irrationally angry. And, in the spirit of getting to know myself a little better, I've decided to put some of these things under the spotlight. Today's bug bear is people who leave comments on the comment page of the Guardian website. I can't quite explain why, but they all make me want to take a sledgehammer to my computer and then march up to Farringdon and pelt shards of glass and hard drive at unsuspecting left of centre journalists.

Why? Why? Why? They're all so fucking sanctimonious and predictable. They refer to the journalists by their first names "Nice article, Polly. I wonder what care for the elderly's like in Sweden?" If you really give a shit, why not do a little bit of research by yourself?

Or "Yet another brilliant example of how Blair betrayed us ALL, John." Fuck off. I've heard it all before, and it was boring and politically illiterate the first time.

It's like they live in this secret little Guardian clique, circa 1977, where anything that isn't a complete fit with their world view can be ignored or booed at with about as much intellectual bravura as the typical audience response to a drag queen at a pantomime.

And I bet they're the kind of people that whenever the Guardian does step out of its (actually pretty narrow) political comfort zone, treat it as some kind of personal betrayal. "I can't think what the Guardian is doing interviewing this scientist who supports animal testing." Surprise surprise! It's part of the free press, not some Laura Ashley era Pravda.

Don't get me wrong, I like the Guardian and I read it, although not to the exclusion of all other newspapers. But any misconceptions that it's the holy grail of investigative journalism and the voice of all reason should be mocked and spat at.

I could, of course, just not read the comments pages, but...oh there's another story.

(no subject)


On New Year's Day, my younger sister, who regularly makes me weep with pride, gave birth to a baby girl. You can see pictures (oh for goodness sake, have I been away this long? I can't even find the LJ tags guide on the help page, let alone remember them). So the link is below in cut and paste. Still a luddite.

Grumpy and grown up

I hate being a grown up. I hate being the one who remembers to put the recycling out on Wednesday nights, the one who empties and cleans out the compost bin or cleans the fridge, the one who calls up Telewest, remembers that the heating's still on at 11pm.

A friend of my flatmate saw me bumming around in my tracksuit bottoms the other day on a kettle run from my laptop and asked: "When do you go back to work?"

"I've been back at work since 3rd January."
"Oh, I thought you were, like, freelance or something."
"No, I work a sixty hour week for a politician and on top of that, I do some freelance writing when I can get it."
"Oh. Cool."

Not cool, actually. More like embarrassing. This is how rent, bills, credit cards and loans get paid off when you live in London. Get used to it, trust fund girl.

There's a great scene in the Long Kiss Goodnight where Geena Davis's character, who's reverting to her government assassin persona screams at her daughter: "Life is hard. Life is pain." It's a sentiment that in my more grumpy, grown up(or rather, childish and resentful) moods that I wallow in somewhat. Then I remember the other scene in that movie where she's driving a juggernaut screaming "Suck my dick!" And this cheers me up for a while.
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Drop those umbrellas, she's back

Fuck a duck, I'm back. One home internet connection later and a day of ahem, "working from home" and I'm sliding gently into cyberspace like a, well, let's just leave that simile be, shall we?

I'll keep the explanation of my absence brief. New scary job as a speech writer. No fucking home internet and countless telewest related debacles (waiting for someone to fix the phone as I write). And I guess I haven't been feeling much like reaching out...difficult times, but then I'm not the only one.

Anyway, I'm back now. And to convince you (if any of you indeed still have me on your friends list after six months of silence) of my seriousness, I've even uploaded a userpic.

Now back to writing about childcare and the nanny state x