Delisted

I just wrote a list of unrealistic life expectations set up by films

But fuck me, as if it didn't look like the most cynical list ever to be created. I think I need to go and visit Disneyland or something.

Judging

Isn't it wonderful how you just know you're not going to get on with someone if they use * in the word fuck. Or, worse, use the phrase See You Next Tuesday.

See also:

- They @ Stephen Fry. Or for that matter, @ any celebrity.
- They punctuate excessively. And seem excited. All the time!!
- They shorten your name in the wrong way. Sue? Really? Do I look like a f*cking Sue? (Having said that, I have an unnatural reaction to people that call me Suse. There's some shortcircuit in my brain that makes me think we've been friends forever, and treat whoever as such).
- They're cunts.

Things you should agree with your neighbours if you live in very very close proximity

• Fish will only be cooked once a week. You'll agree to send them your forthcoming week's diary on a Sunday night, and they can arrange for a fish supper on the night you're planning on staying out.
• If either of you fall up the duff, you'll each promise not to practice controlled crying. Because whilst leaving the child to cry, and cry, AND CRY, might make your life easier in the long run, it's not worth it in the short term. Perhaps it could be instigated whilst you're on holiday.
• If your neighbour goes into your loft, he should promise to keep it a secret if there are tiles missing and that every time it rains it's coming straight through to the ceiling.
• If someone leaves a bag of clothes for the charity pick up, but you have to put them out before 9am, and no sane freelancer is up and about at 9am, they should just take the iniative and put them on the kerb. Perhaps when they're doing the school run.
• The school run should be done in silence.

The post I'd have written if someone asked me about my opinion on the new iPhone 3GS

Well done me. Seriously, well done. Because whilst other people regard calendars as definable parameters around which to work, I regard them as more of a fluid concept of time, where one Monday at 8pm bears a remarkable similarity to next Monday at 8pm. Which is why I sat in a Slug and Lettuce this evening for 7 minutes, wondering why they were later than me (SERIOUSLY, A SLUG AND LETTUCE. I WOULD RATHER SIT IN A WETHERSPOONS TIMES ONE MILLION. IN FACT, FUCK IT. I LIKE WETHERSPOONS. THERE. I SAID IT.).    

Aaaanyway. It meant I missed the end of Gizmodo's live blog. And I'm sorry, that's still the best liveblog.

I'll admit, I may have done the pre stages to tearing up a little this evening, when I realised no one wanted me to sit there and blog about what people were wearing, what I thought of the music choices and, yes,  the number of megapixels on the camera. Don't tell anyone, but I miss writing on Shiny Shiny. Not at 10am, but at about 2pm, sometimes, I miss it.

So. Taaaadaaaaah. Here's what I think of the iPhone 3GS.

What a fucking stupid name.

It seems to me, and I realise I sound like someone calling into a radio talk show already, this is all about the camera. Yes, it's faster, but honestly, the iPhone 3G speeds were not that shit. The O2 coverage was pretty shit, but I really think that's a UK issue, rather than an Apple issue.    

The camera is 3 megapixels, and it's got autofocus, but here's another pro-Apple revelation - I did not have an issue with the previous camera. I won't get into my 'what the fuck are you going to do with your 12 megapixel camera phone images? Make life sized cut outs of your friends in case they realise you're a moron and the cut outs are all you've got left?' rant, but suffice to say, the research in my head suggests that these photos never get further than Facebook. For which the current camera is sufficient. And there's no flash. If I were Apple, I would have skipped over the whole camera debacle in embarrassment at not having a flash.

And video. I work in online video, and even I don't think video on phones is worth much. I'm sure in years to come sentences like that will get me strung up, but unless you've got a manitee that likes to squash itself   or a  Thing that likes to get tickled, you're basically left with sub-happy slapping fare. Also, ha! That last link was a lot less rude than you thought it might be.

The nail in the coffin is the built in compass. I don't know about you (I don't. Really. Who are you? Why are you here?) but I don't mind spinning in circles on Oxford Street because I'm trying to work out where Dean Street is from where I'm standing. I think it makes me look Continental.    

'Voice Over!' I hear you cry.  And to your cries, I point out that you are British. And that every time you answer a call on your hands free, you have to hold the microphone up to your mouth, so that the people around you know that you are talking to someone important, rather than muttering to yourself about sign-off and embargoes. The chances of you jauntily asking your phone 'Who's this?'. Significantly less than you telling the person next to you at the bus stop that you like their shoes.    

In essence. In summary. In conclusion. This is not an upgrade. They've made the 3.0 software too attractive to current owners to expect them to upgrade. Best case scenario, this recruits a legion of new phone users who were waiting to combine applications with mediocre camera facilities.

But no, I will not be forgoing food for this phone.

PS. I'd put in a current photo, but really. It's not like the S & M fascia really translates.

Treats

My new life plan involves treats. I've decided the idea of delayed gratification is outdated and the concept of treats needs redefining. Treats should no longer be what you allow yourself when you've done something really boring, had a really shit day or really really deserve it because you woke up that man on the bus because it was the end of the route. Treats should be for whenever, and as often as possible. In short, you should drink champagne whilst watching Hollyoaks.    

 My new lifeplan incorporates three treats into every day, just because it's nice to do nice things and have nice things, and it breaks up the day. (This plan has actually had an unforeseen repercussion - if you fill up your life with treats, you don't actually leave any time for making the money that pays for the treats. So yes, the plan needs tweaking. But the theory behind it stays the same).

Treats can include:

- Deciding at 8 you want to go to the cinema, getting better (and cheaper) Galaxy from the shop, running to the cinema, where they serve wine, naturally, and tucking yourself into a corner at the back.
- Walking past the massage place on the way to Sainsburys and sacking off shopping for 30 mins of extreme wonderfulness.
- People. Seeing all the people you want, for lunch, for drinks, for dancing, for whatever. And it doesn't matter if it's out of your way, or it's not sensible, or you saw them yesterday. If you like them, you can see them.
- Nail varnish. What's that theory about lipstick sales booming during a recession because it's a little treat people can afford? Yeah, that.
- Sleep. Sleep during the night is essential. Sleep in the middle of the afternoon, on top of the covers, with the sun warming your legs - that's a treat.    
- Books. Particularly books with completely beautiful cover art to celebrate Faber's 80th birthday.
- These are not all the treats. There will be more treats. There will also be serious bank account issues. But first: treats.        

I don't know what to write on this any more

I think I might have forgotten how to write. Things I have considered:

• A list of things I would advise my 16 year old self to do a la Stephen Fry in The Guardian.  And then I realised that whilst most would be upbeat and facetious, there would be a certain emo element that would inevitably creep through. 
• All the wonderful things I have ninja-sorted the shit out of today. But really, who cares about that?
• The things I stole as knowledge from each ex. But I'm saving that one. You can have one clue - one taught me the importance of making your bed each morning. The rest taught me significantly more interesting things.
• The songs that each person from my past is represented by on my iPod. And my dirty, shameful secret about Chris de Burgh.  But it's too embarrassing.
• Courses that are currently saved on my City Lit wishlist of night school courses. The fuckers don't do courses on the saw or the ukulele.

Signs that should mean that you need a life, but instead make you (by which I mean me) think you're (I'm) ok

• I opened my 'Serious Journalism Notes' notebook today, to come up with some pitch ideas, to a page that had 'TAKE THE BIN OUT' written in felt tip, and decorated with appropriate sketches
• I timed how long it took for me to walk from the bus stop, so that I could know the definitive answer to 'which is the best bus stop to alight from'. Not because I care about the added 20 seconds, but because it irritates me not to know the definite conclusion. It's 5.04 from Alexander Palace Road.
• I left the press event with free drinks and food to come home to drink my own wine and cook my own food because I was bored of being nice to people.

Reasons I should be allowed a puppy

I get to puppysit @photogirluk's puppy next week, and it's already making my uterus ache. It's probably because this week I've felt a bit... out of it, what with working from home, and not being around the people I'm used to in an office, but I really really really think I should get a puppy.  The pros:

• I really really want one.
• I really do. 
• Although my flat is, strictly speaking, small, I could get a really lazy dog that doesn't like running around
• I could take lots of lovely walks up to Ally Pally, which is just up the road
• And Highgate Wood, that's just down the road
• I know heaps of people that would look after it if I went away. Not that I'm ever likely to go away again. Except for that week in the South of France for my birthday, but that's AGES away
• It would probably help my liver. I'd probably get all mature and start leaving things before I got really pissed, so I could go and look after the dog

Possible reasons I shouldn't

• Yeah, my flat is small
• I don't know if I have the money. I might, but I'm not in the most secure of positions right now
• I suspect I'm not totally over my accidentally spending the night at other people's houses time in my life. I fucking hope I'm not.

I'll see how it goes next Friday, and maybe buy one Saturday.

Hurray!

TimeOut have made me a list!

My future offices

I think the key to staying non-mental might lie in the USB dongle I have somehow acquired myself, and a bag that fits my laptop in. I spent Friday mooching round various WiFi hotspots in London, before I realised I had said dongle. Because I am a bit of an idiot like that sometimes. However, now I have tattooed the information onto my wrist, I'm all set to spend my days Emailing, Writing Powerpoints and Other Important Activities round town. What I'll spend on coffee, I'll save in sanity.

Here's where I want to be:

Benugos at the BFI: There are loads of comfy cushions and you can sit by the window and watch the Southbank go by. Sadly, it's being refurbed at the moment so I had to work at...

... the Southbank Center. All well and good, but there are *a lot* of children, and unless you get a sofa, the chairs are extra uncomfortable. Also, the sandwiches are rubbish.

The British Library: Did you know you're not allowed to have a library card at the British Library unless you're a published author? It's true. However, you are allowed to hang out and smell the old book smell and watch the smart people work on their PhDs.

The Lord Stanley: This was one of my favourite pubs in Tufnell Park, and I assume it's still non-shit.  I also think it's just the kind of place you can sit by yourself with your laptop and drink lemonade. Or wine. Maybe wine.

Primrose Hill: Obviously I can only sit there for the length of time my battery lasts on full brightness viewing, or as long as it takes for me to need the loo and have to sneak into that pub that everyone always sneaks into everytime they start drinking on the hill.

The British Museum: Have you seen the ceiling there? Hours of staring for inspiration.

Here's where you will probably find me.