What the Dickens?

For my next book club in December I have to read A Christmas Carol. On the one hand I am quite happy to be reading a classic, and it’s nice to have a Christmas theme at this time of year, but on the other hand, it is Dickens, and I although I don’t think I’ve read any of his, I have read excerpts and didn’t find his language all that easy to get on with. The closest I’ve got to Dickens really is playing the Narrator in my junior school version of Oliver Twist (I rocked by the way). Plus, I am reading two other books at the moment that I’d like to finish before going on to that. I haven’t even bought it yet and have no idea how long it will take me to read.

So, do we think I could get away with just watching The Muppet Christmas Carol or Scrooged instead? No…?

I am going Ice Skating at the 02 arena on Sunday. This has lots of opportunity for disaster, as I am barely able to function on two feet, nevermind skates. But I love ice skating and haven’t been in ages, so even if I spend the whole time clutching the side and having legs as wonky as Bambi, I will have a grand old time. Unless I break my leg or something…I remember the first time I went skating, my mum said if I fell I had to make sure to keep my hand closed in case someone skated over it and chopped my fingers off. Talk about putting the fear of God into you. Thanks Mum. I wonder just how many finger amputations there have been in ice rinks across the globe?

At the moment I have Leona Lewis’s Bleeding Love song in my head. Driving me quite mad, mainly because I just don’t quite get what she’s trying to say. It’s quite upbeat music-wise, and yet she’s talking about being cut open and bleeding. So, does she mean she’s fallen in love, has had her heart broken and is now ‘bleeding love’, “You cut me open and I keep bleeding’? Or, was she cut off from love before, “My heart’s crippled by the vein that I keep on closing”, has now found love and is so overcome that love is just pouring out of her, and this is a good thing? I just don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter at all, but when it’s going round and round in your head you start to wonder these things.

Somebody is coming to look at the flat today for the first time in months, wonder if anyone will ever put an offer in. Perhaps the asking price is too high?

It’s Friday. Woot! Tonight I am going to see Once at the cinema and it’s supposed to be really good. Tomorrow I am sleeping lots, double woot! And I must do my ironing (oh joy). And then skating on Sunday, so it’s shaping up to be a very nice weekend.

The One Where I am Gross

I really do think scientists should come up with some use for snot. I mean, really, what is its point? There must be one surely? I have, in the last 48 hours, used at least 2 full loo rolls, a box of tissues, a six pack of Kleenex Balsam tissues, and have started on a new big pack of balm ones, and yet there’s no end to snot in sight. Oh my nose hurts. And my lips are sore from breathing through my mouth. I slept so badly last night, coughing and blowing my nose every two bloody minutes. The Verve were right, the drugs don’t work. Nothing works. I keep thinking I will wake up in the morning and feel back to normal again. No such luck. And I’m at that needing to sneeze but not able to sneeze lovely stage, and when you finally do sneeze oh, it is the best feeling in the whole world. For about 2 seconds, and then it starts again. I am well fed up.

However, my mum did manage to drag me out of the house today, and we went to Meadowhall. Meadowhall! Imagine. I don’t even like going there on good days. But I did need to buy some clothes, and shopping in London is horrific at best. Plus, Meadowhall has added an extension, and they have a Primark there now (ooooh). So I bought five jumpers for about the same price as one I got the other day at Mango. They are very nice and will do for work so that’s good. Plus we got in and out of Meadowhell in under an hour. A record for sure. And I got a great long scarf from Matalan. It’s lovely and soft and comes to my feet nearly. On Sunday Mum and Tony took me to KDA to get halogen bulbs for cheap (80p!), the most random shop you have never seen. Next to the lightbulbs were nail extensions. But it kind of drags you in with all the wondrous crap it has to behold. Me: ‘What kind of person shops here oooh look a sewing kit.’ See what I mean?

On our way home today we stopped off at my aunty’s, and we ended up watching old videos of the kids and us on Christmas Eve. Good God I never had a good hairdo. And I am a sloucher! And I got very excited about getting a Shaun the Sheep stuffed animal. It is the one and only time I have thought me and Russell look alike. We both have hideous huge specs on, and he was growing his hair long. From the side we looked like twins. Scary.

Back to London tomorrow night. I will feel better in the morning. I will.

How Not to Bake

I am home! Woot! I am still poorly. No woot. My Tonsillitis has evolved into a full on cold which is just crap. I woke up at 10 am after not great sleep but figured it was time to get my arse up anyway. But of course it wasn’t 10 am it was 9 am, seeing as the bloody clocks went back. Huh. I couldn’t sleep anyway. Not being able to breathe makes it rather difficult. But my Mommy is looking after me (a bit) with hot honey and lemon drinks, and I am getting cuddles from Lucy, who is just the cutest dog ever, must be said.

I had promised Jenna I would make her a cheesecake for today as we are going to theirs for Sunday dinner. So, I gave Mum the list of what was needed and we went shopping. Here’s a little fact about my mother. She cannot bake. At all really. She can do many things, baking is just not one of them. I guess the baking gene skips a generation or something, seeing as Nin is fabulous at it. I am ok. I can follow a recipe and most of the time it comes out looking and tasting as it should. With Mum it’s rather more hit and miss. Plus, she has no patience, so when it comes time to put it in the oven and leave it there, she can’t, so constantly opens the oven door so nothing rises. You get very flat cakes when Mum is in charge.

This is all me setting the scene for yesterday. So, we went shopping. We needed a cheesecake tin and a Parkin tin. We went to Dunelm. And Tesco. And back to Dunelm. Because Mum refuses to pay 3.49 (I cannot make the pound key work on this computer) for a tin. Anyway, in Tesco we get a tin and our ingredients. Only this was a bit dangerous too, seeing as Mum hadn’t written down the quantities of what we needed, even though I’d given them to her. Eventually we trundle home with everything we need, have a cup of tea and then I get started. I did all the main bit and then set to making the base. This is butter and smashed up digestive biscuits, not hard, and my favourite bit is smashing the biscuits. Only the tin we bought was quite big so I needed more than the recipe said to fill it. Fine. But this is where it went wrong. Mum said she would melt the butter while I broke up the biscuits. I’d put the scale in the sink and couldn’t be bothered to wash it to measure, so I said three scoops of butter should be fine. ‘Three scoops like this?’ she says. I eyed the huge scoop with suspicion. ‘Two scoops’ I said with caution. Not enough it turns out.

And then I made the fatal mistake. I turned my back. When I came back the pan was awash with butter. Here’s another thing about my mother. She has a thing about butter. She uses it like it’s going to be the last butter she ever has. When making a sandwich or toast it’s spread on as thick as a door stop. It’s pretty gross.

Anyway, I added the biscuits…what we had here was digestive soup. Huh. I made more crumbs to add. Not the right consistency at all. I used the rest of the packet. Not a digestive was left in the house and it still wasn’t right. So what were we to do? Well, us being us, we fell about in fits of giggles for ten minutes, unable to do anything except make jokes. When we had calmed down Mum went to the co-op for more biscuits. Eventually I managed to make it something like it should have been, but it was still a bit mushy. God knows what it will taste like. Bless my mum.

I’m sitting here now listening to her scold the dog because Lucy is demanding attention and love, which usually means sticking her nose in the way of what you need. So I’m home, and still feeling sorry for myself, though loving that I am not at work tomorrow. I get to eat a lovely dinner later, let’s hope I can taste it, and then tonight it’s The Long Way Down which I’m really looking forward to. The lovely Ewan McGregor off on his travels. Though it’ll only make me want to do the same. Well, not on a bike, but you get the idea.

More unusual girly behaviour

Things I have learned on my second shopping trip in two days: (I know, something must be wrong with me, maybe I should see a doctor?)

1. I hate Topshop. Hate it. Every time I go in there I come out feeling like shit. It’s full of overly made up girls wearing the latest fashion trend, taking their time and getting in your way. You can’t look around properly (especially not in your lunch hour) cos it’s so vast and I just wander about aimlessly for a lap, about turn and leave. Hate it. Or at least I hate the one on Oxford Street.

2. Miss Selfridge tells me I am a size 14 when every other shop I’ve ever been in in my life tells me I am a 12. Therefore, we can conclude, Miss Selfridge is evil.

3. Mango rocks. Not only did I find a black cardigan, I also found a black jumper and almost bought a grey jumper but it wasn’t quite right. Yes, marvel at the vast array of colours in my wardrobe.

4. Going shopping when wearing layers will leave you very hot and gross. Don’t do it.

5. Chocolate makes you feel good about most things, but not your back fat.

6. I love Fridays. (Not technically learned from shopping but hey, I felt it needed to be said.)

A (slightly more positive) flat update

Tired of stewing about what was going on with our flat and unable to live with the unknown, I emailed Shelter and asked them what our rights are when it comes to the end of our tenancy and the flat being sold. Turns out, we actually have some! (Cut to everyone else in the known universe shaking their head that I did not know this stuff.)

So, this is what I have learned about the wonderful world of renting:

• When our one-year fixed term runs out in November this does not mean that our tenancy ends. It continues as a periodic tenancy until either we or our landlord ends it. This mean it rolls on, on a month-by-month basis and we have the same rights, terms and conditions as before. It happens automatically and doesn’t require us or the landlord to do anything about it. If, after our fixed term contract ends, the landlord decides he wants us to leave, he must still follow the correct legal procedure. This would include giving us written notice, usually two months if we have done nothing wrong, and then getting a court order.

• With the property being sold (when/if it ever actually bloody happens) the new owners will become our landlord(s). This happens automatically and whoever buys the property cannot simply choose whether to let us stay or not. The tenancy will be legally binding on the new owners and will continue with the same terms and conditions as with our current landlord. If the new owners/landlords wanted us to leave they could only evict us by following the same procedure as our current landlord.

This is all most reassuring. I had got it into my head that, once our contract was up, they could do whatever the hell they wanted to us. Maybe I’m an idiot (probably even). But a slightly calmer idiot now.

Is the weekend over?

On Saturday I didn’t do very much, not even my ironing which was a mistake seeing as I had nothing to wear this morning and the pile of wrinkly clothes sat and mocked me. I put that down do being woken up at an ungodly hour (well, 9am, but it was a Saturday!!!) by my Argos delivery. The ladder had arrived so I could finally put an end to the hideous smoke alarm beep that had been going on for at least two weeks. However, I think it has become a phantom sound (like the sound of my ex budgie cheeping that I could hear for years after he died. Though that was more likely the guilt of not feeding him properly…), because I swear I can still hear it.

Anyway, I changed some lightbulbs and tried to get our fab new telly to work, only we didn’t have enough plug sockets. This became a trial indeed because when we got an adapter and a freeview box hooked up, we still couldn’t get a bloody decent picture (damn flat) unless I stood with my arm up in the air like a loon. Finally, bright spark that I am, I set up the new ladder next to it and placed the aerial on that. A good enough picture but we look like right chavs now. It has to be a temporary solution, though no idea how to fix it. Though this may all be pointless anyway if we end up moving.

We have been internetless all weekend which is seriously annoying and meant I had to wait until last night to watch the new episode of Grey’s Anatomy. It’s ok, not as good as it used to be and I’m seriously tired of Meredith and her on-off McDreamy relationship. Just get your act together girl! Plus I want Callie to just go away now. They’ve ruined that character too.

I’m trying to make myself go and buy the new Buffy comic in my lunch hour but it involves walking a bit of a way and I just don’t know if I can be arsed. God I’m so lazy…

It’s Sunday, almost Monday, but it’s not Monday yet!

Ah Sundays. Such a great day and yet crappy all at the same time. At least on Saturdays you know you have one more day before work. One more lie-in. No such thing on Sundays. Monday is just there in the background all day, hanging over you, and it just keeps getting closer and closer until you just have to face facts that it’s coming whether you like it or not.

I went out last night with Dave and Rob. I can’t remember the last time I went out for drinks on a Saturday night. This is mostly because, as you may well know by now, I don’t drink, so going out watching other people getting drunk and acting fools is not much fun. However, going out to catch up with friends is something I am more than happy to do. We went to Camden. I don’t go there often, but at least you know you don’t have to dress up. It’s an odd place, I must say. Rob took us into what must be the most studenty bar I’ve ever been in, The Good Mixer. And full of people wearing weird hats, with bad facial hair and sunglasses, the unwashed look. (How old am I?) Also a fair few men just standing by themselves, staring glassy eyed into space. One such man came up to us and just stood, as if he was going to say something, but never did, as if he was one of our group. And then he wandered off.

Dave tried to get me to go outside and stand for two minutes (he was actually going to time me) and see how many people came up to talk to me. I declined.

Then we went in search of a sit down (my old legs, you know), and went into another bar which was basically empty when we got there, so we got a couch and I drank an extortionately priced orange and lemonade with flat lemonade. Not sure what was going on with the music in that place, but either their stereo was broken or someone had a volume control problem. It was music music music MUSIC MUSIC music music…you get the idea here. And then a guy started playing the bongos, but really badly. He had no rhythm whatsoever.

But yeah, good fun was had. And now I’m being lazy and watching old episodes of Felicity (she’s still annoying) and Roswell, and waiting impatiently for someone to put the latest episode of CSI online. Come on internet geeks, don’t let me down!

Flat rant

Last (old) update of the day. I might actually bring myself to write some new stuff here at some point. But at least now it looks like I write here.

Got home Tuesday night after having a lovely afternoon out at Brown’s Hotel with work. We had tea which consists of tea (obviously, but many many different kinds are on offer) and tiny sandwiches with no crusts with fillings like cucumber and cream cheese, egg and cress, salmon, and cheese and tomato, and also wee little scones with jam and clotted cream and then other pastries and cakes AND Victoria sponge cake. Groan. I brought home a goody box but unfortunately after a tube ride from hell which saw Euston and King’s Cross closed due to overcrowding and being shoved up against the door for the duration I found everything in the box smushed together and covered in blueberry. Including the sandwiches. Sigh.

I then checked my messages to find one about our flat. It was an estate agent telling me the previous offer on the place has been withdrawn, so it is going back on the market. Brilliant. So the odds of us knowing whether we are staying or going anytime soon just went down. Not only that, she said ‘We’d like to arrange a viewing to value the property and would like to come round tomorrow. Please give me a call. If I don’t hear from you I will assume it is ok.’ Um NO. It is not ok. You cannot just waltz into our home without our say so! What if I haven’t received the message? Also, our contract says we are supposed to be given written notice and 24 hours before anyone can come in, and if it is not convenient another time can be arranged. I called back and had to leave a message, but who’s to say they won’t just stroll in anyway and then say ‘Oh, I thought it was ok?’

I am so tired of flat crap. Are we moving? Are we staying? I’m beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better for my mental health just to prepare to move anyway.

And also! I don’t think the landlord should be giving out our phone numbers to estate agents without at first calling us to let us know what’s going on. We should be the first to find out these things and it is just common courtesy to ask.

Also, one of smoke alarms has started to beep, meaning its battery is running out. I would happily change it if I could reach the damn thing. Our flat has seriously high ceilings and also spotlights, many of which have gone and need replacing, but I can’t reach. So now I need to buy a ladder, which I think the landlord should provide but by the time he gets back to me about it we’ll have moved out anyway. For some reason Tesco Direct doesn’t deliver ladders in their premium service (ie, you pick a time and date), they only do next day, which I can’t be home for. Guess what I’ll be doing this weekend? Ladder shopping. Fun.

Side bar: When the hell did I get to the age that I have to worry about ladders?

Foxes:

We live across from a small piece of land, labeled a ‘common’ that I have only ever used once, back in May when it was so hot even I couldn’t stay inside and had to go sit out on a bench. It’s used mainly by annoying lads who play football at 3 am and shout ‘goal’ really loud. It’s also the home/play area of a family of foxes. Last night I was woken up (again at 3 am, must be magic hour around here) by their hideous screeching. Have you heard the noise foxes make? It’s somewhere between a baby screaming, nails on a chalkboard and the early stages of the X-Factor. I’m not even sure if it means they are in pain, or worried, or having fun or they just generally make that noise but it’s not the most pleasant thing to be woken up to. There were at least four of them last night, one coming into our garden but luckily the rubbish men had been that day. They were cute when they were small but now I’d quite like them to piss off thank you very much.

I got ham but I’m not a Hamster

Sunday I went to see some comedy at the Hammersmith Apollo.

I will attempt to say what cause it was about, seeing as I have the literature next to me, but if I get it a bit wrong, well…Russell Brand couldn’t get it either. Though that’s probably not something to be proud of, being like Russell Brand. Ok, so, this was ‘A seriously funny attempt to get the Serious Fraud Office in the dock!’ Right. It’s about Britain’s biggest arms company BAE paying bribes to a Saudi Prince, and the Serious Fraud Office (SFO, which, if I’m honest, sounds like it’s from a comedy sketch all on its own, but what do I know?) started an investigation and then Tony Blair said no, don’t so that, we don’t want to upset the Saudis, and this upset people who actually DO THINGS about injustice and they decided to hold a comedy benefit to raise money to take them to court.

So that’s the background, and I can feel all good about myself for giving money to a good cause but really enjoying myself lots. The line up included:

Simon Amstell – a person I disliked very much whenever I flicked onto Pop World, but which may have been because of my serious dislike for his pal Miquita Oliver and her short skirt shiny tights combo THAT JUST DO NOT SUIT HER!!! And who I have liked since he was on Never Mind the Buzzcocks. He was very funny.

Ed Byrne – Funny but with such a thick Irish accent to begin with I couldn’t totally follow.

Omid Djalli, Robin Ince, Stewart Lee, Mark Steel, a young lass named Josie Long who was pretty good but made me feel nervous for her, Mark Thomas, the genius behind the show and again, chuckles were had.

Russell Brand, who again, I’m not much of a fan of, did have me in stitches, but I just can’t get my head around him. Why does he look like a badly dressed woman? Why does he have such a weird body shape that makes his pecs look like boobs? And those boots, really? Am at a loss. Ooh and Bill Bailey showed up as a surprise, and sang a song like the Killers ‘I got soul but I’m not a soldier’ which explains the title of this post.

And we had someone introducing and I’ve forgotten his name as he was a fill in, and he was Canadian and very nearly almost flashed his penis, I was a bit worried about his trousers for a minute. We did get to see his bum and I’m never totally impressed by comedians who resort to waving their arms around like a lunatic and flashing their bits, but he was all right and I liked his rendition of ‘I’m the only gay eskimo in my tribe.’

Two things annoyed me on my night of fun. Firstly, woman with 6 kids and a huge pram stops the bus just as the traffic lights are turning green. Takes an age to get on, doesn’t have any money on her Oyster card, has to pay cash, gets all her kids settled. The lights turn red, we sit for ages cos it’s road works. Lights turn green, we go round the corner, she lets out a groan. ‘We’ve got on the wrong bus’ (as if her children are somehow complicit in this), stops the bus, gets everyone off eventually. Why does this happen when you’re in a hurry?

Second, I got sat next to a guy at the comedy who was wearing slip on shoes and who liked to slip them off and then put his horrible bare foot dangerously near my leg. God I hate feet and a stranger’s feet even more so. Also he took over the arm rest and put his legs over on MY SIDE! And he kept talking to his mate. People like this should not be allowed out if they don’t know the rules.

Oh! And we went for Thai food, so no one is allowed to call me non-Adventurous ever again. Ner.

Also, I should not watch films like Freedom Writers as it just makes me want to become a teacher at an inner city school who inspires her class, which, let’s face it, would never happen