Delisted

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.

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 I've decided the idea of delayed gratification is outdated and the concept of treats needs redefining.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!

The list I wish I made

These are the kind of lists I always meant to put in here.

Songs involving wolves.

Also, I find it very difficult not to email bloggers I find who have the same taste in music that I have, and suggest we hang out.

I'm so excited

• The showreel is done
• The website is almost finished
• There's a fancy rate card presentation all ready to be sent out
• I have been plastering London Underground with stickers of our logo
• My wallet is full of new business cards
• My laptop has the logo set as the background
• It's occurred to me that when it's a sunny Tuesday afternoon in July, and I've got to do accounts, I can take my laptop and go and sit in a pub garden. 

I am so ready for this to be ON.

           

Holiday books: deconstructed

I fucking love the word deconstructed.

So, I went, I lay, I read. In fact, the whole reading situation was a bit of a disaster - after 5 days I ran out of books, and was left with a choice between the handout they gave us about Holiday Activities and Gideon's Bible. So, instead, I made Laura tear her book in half (which was originally my book we think anyway) so she could finish it whilst I started it. I've yet to feel the karma on that one.

So, here's my book review. If someone told me, aged 11, I'd be writing book reviews out of choice I would have kicked them in the shins and told them to bog off. I said bog off quite a lot as an 11 year old.

• The Catcher in the Rye: I finished this and knew that I needed the Cliffs Notes.  I'm pretty sure there's more to it than 'cor, I get where Ferris Beuller got all his ideas from now' (and therefore link to the best scene in all movies, ever, and to point out that the Matthew Broderick was 23 when he starred, so my feelings are totally legit). 
• The 19th Wife: Proper thick holiday book, all about the dark and shady polygamous past of the Mormons. But is there anything more soul destroying than ordering your books from Amazon from and finding a great big 'Richard and Judy Book Club' sticker on the front? #booksnob
• The Bolter: Oh this was brilliant. Things I learnt: 1) in the 20s it became de rigour to host increasingly sexually risky dinner parties, to the point where inviting your guests to enjoy their pre-dinner drinks in your bathroom whilst you bathed and got dressed was not enough, so one hostess greeted her guests completely naked, with just pearls which conveniently hung lower enough to cover her pubes. Classy. 2) One 20s hostess got so addicted to morphine she carried her own solid silver syringe and would shoot up mid coversation with everyone from politicians to royalty. 3) Women born to live as teenagers in the 20s quite regularly killed themselves. I have a theory on this, involving the lack of financial or familial responsibility they felt, and a general feeling of 'live for the moment'. If I was going to go back to Uni to write a thesis, it would be on why this was the case. 
• Rock on: How I Tried to Stop Caring About Music and Learn to Love Corporate Rock: PLEASE READ THIS BOOK. THIS IS SO BRILLIANTLY, HILARIOUSLY WELL WRITTEN THAT I AM GOING TO TRACK DOWN THE AUTHOR AND SNOG HIM. And I take back my comment about my worry that it was linked to Kill Your Friends. Although I have seen that advertised recently, and I have a violent urge to graffittisise all the posters.
• And the Ass saw the angel: I forgot to take it.
• Emergency Sex and Other Desperate Measures: If a book costs $15 in the airport, it does not cost 1500 Kenyan shillings. And it doesn't not cost £14. The exchange rate is bad, but it's not that freakin bad. And I haven't finished it yet, since [strictly speaking] overdosing on sleeping tablets on the plane, I wasn't awake for much.
• Oh, also, The Time Traveller's Wife: I've read this before, and somehow forgot that the ending would make me cry. I always choose the most inconvenient times for crying over books - this had me sniveling at a beach bar on my one trip off the resort. A few months ago, I tried to hide my violent sobbing over The Book Thief on a bus traveling through Japan with a load of tech journalists.  I should pick my timings better. Ooh, also, I enjoyed The Time Traveller's Wife all the more for having not been subjected to Dan's theory of paedophilia type grooming regarding it. I probably won't be able to read it again.