I don't care too much for money...

money can't buy me love.

Isn't it weird the songs we get in our heads? I forgot my iPod today (quel horreur!) and so will have to face the day with nowt but silence ringing in my ears. And my own thoughts. It's another beautiful day. I feel so much better when I wake up and the sun is shining.

Another blast from the past email from Facebook this morning. Can't get to it at work, but looking forward to it when I get home. Rather ridiculously, I am getting a bit squinky feeling (for want of a better word) about how everyone else seems so successful, but I am a lowly editorial assistant. And only just not poverty stricken. I guess it's something I need to deal with. I'm not inadequate just because I haven't bought a house!

However, there's several resolutions going on in my head at the moment, all about the writing. In the shower this morning, I realised that the unfinished story from last year has loads of mileage in it. I think that all along, my problem with it was that I was trying to tell too many stories at once. Need to separate the wheat from the chaff, the oyster from the shell,the chocolate from the shiny silver wrapper. Time to get to work.

Engrossed

I've been at home, alone, since I got back from running and food shopping with Charlie. It's been wonderful. Quiet, peaceful, perfect. The only problem is that I keep on jumping every time I hear a car door slam, or a creak in the house, as if Isabelle coming back at any minute will ruin my peace of mind. I love Isabelle. I don't mind her being in her own home. It's just that I'm 344 pages into my 625 page book, and I'd like to finish it before I have to go to work tomorrow. But I don't want to finish it too late this evening, speed reading in sweaty sheets into the dark night (hey, it happens). So I think soon I'll have to retire to my bedroom, and immerse myself into 1940s Britain again.

My running earlier was pathetic. Truly pathetic. Must reinvigorate efforts for next week.

The evening air smells so lovely. The grey skies seem to have rather cleared and cheered up.

The Stalker's Manifesto

Since joining Facebook earlier this week, I've contacted one friend who is supposed to be a best friend but who I haven't spoken to since Christmas. One friend who I've known since infant school but lost touch with. Several people from secondary school who I always liked and wondered what they were doing now... Facebook is the site to use if you have stalker tendencies. The internet brings it out in everyone, but Facebook is a step beyond madly Googling everyone you know. I now know that Facebook has reached a critical mass, because Neil told me I was about a year too late, and even Sarah got invited to join by Richard. I helped her upload a photo. Bless her.

Sarah had people round for dinner last night, and I joined them. This meant recording Doctor Who, which was bloody crap anyway, and so disappointing. But I digress. Sarah's colleagues are moving to Oxford with her office move (sounds familiar to those of us who work on Milton Park), and so are all here checking out rented accommodation etc. They were nice people, but a bit loud. I was so hung over anyway, but everytime they got excited, their voices raised, and I wanted to cry and/or puke. There was a couple, he was from Israel, she was Danish. Her whole face turned down at the corners. Even the lines on her face seemed to turn down. She also had braces even though she is about forty, and as a result, her mouth seemed permanently open, as her lips sort of slid off the train tracks. Another girl, Northern, straightforward, was very nice. She got mixed up and called me Philippa (I was flattered, as my own Philippa is one of my top ten people alive in the world today ever), which made me laugh.

But then I had a bit of a dodgy tum, and felt a bit sick. So this morning I had to re-stock with a sausage sandwich. Shame.

The run is postponed this morning, but will be happening later. This should mean that I sit here and work on Louisa Pretty. In reality, I'll probably sit on facebook obsessively, and not get anything done. I do, however, need to go food shopping. That's a job that I could do.

Boredom

I think better when I've got my earphones in. It's true. Often at work it looks as if I'm listening to my iPod, but in fact, I've just kept the earphones in and there's nothing but silence emanating towards my ear drum. They don't act like ear plugs. More a sort of cut off device from the world. What I love about my iPod is that it's my own personal soundtrack. Earlier, the trip to the Co Op for coke zero, squash and women's magazines, was prevented from being a total snooze fest by the addition of music in my ears to the sights my eyes were taking in. Sunbathing is the garden was nicely accompanied by Corrinne Bailey Rae and a bit of Belle and Sebastien. But right now, I'm only pretending, the earphones are in, but there's nothing being listened to. It's all just silent. And relaxing. But I must confess, I'm a teensy bit bored. But that's okay. Boredom is the space in which our minds become creative. But if that's the case, then why at work am I at my most bored, and yet my least creative? It just doesn't make sense...

Hangover

Good morning, blog-readers - if there's any of you out there.

I deserve my headachey, fragile state this morning, to be honest. Two bacon sandwiches and two cups of tea are helping, but I think that actually I should probably have hot-footed it down the gym to burn off the calories of all the alcohol I consumed last night. Also, I canceled my friend Sarah because I was feeling overstretched and overtired, and I feel guilt about that today. But I had a bloody good time last night, and I've not been out in a group like that for ages. I got to enjoy sparkling wine at Amber's, flirting in the Jericho Tavern, and drinking in the Cape of Good Hope. I met one new man, who although he ran away after we'd been talking for a while, seemed quite nice and quite normal and even relatively good looking. It just goes to show that if you do want to meet people, you do have to make the effort. Got home quite late, but only minutes after Sarah and minutes before Isa. Isa has a little headache this morning, she said, but I don't think she feels as bad as me. Oof!

In other news, Facebook rocks! Have the opportunity to get in touch with lots of people! Such a shame (and no doubt actually a good thing) that we can't get to it at work.

I've got no plans today. I've got to read my most recent purchase "The Freelance Writer's Handbook" which promises 'How to make money and enjoy your life'. I've already watched Peep Show from last night, downloaded for freeeeeeee! And like I said, two bacon sandwiches, two cups of tea. It's not a bad line up of Saturday activity. It's just not very exciting. I'm not really sure what I want to do. Read. Lie around. Drink more tea. Lovely.

Drinking in bars with boys

Another night out, another waste of matching underwear.

I am too depressed to talk about it. Needless to say, despite perhaps at least two opportunities, I did not get picked up, chatted up, or ravished.

However, I did have a nice time, and I am the kind of drunk that doesn't make you sick and gives you ringing ears from the loud music bars.

Facebook is the new twitter. In my humble opinion.

Is this a tin of beans I see before me?

Hmmm, is it just me or is it ever-so-slightly undignified for Hugh Grant to be captured on camera, hurling a tub of food at a paparazzo? There are several things about this situation that I find actually rather amusing. For starters, there's the (alleged) choice of a tub of beans. I read on teletext that it was in fact a 'family sized tin' of beans, but in Grant's hand I think we're talking about a plastic lunchbox style food storer. What kind of man has beans in tupperware in his fridge? One with a housekeeper, probably. Beans just seem so English, and fittingly, the kind of comedy weapon one might find in the script of a Richard Curtis film. They're so ordinary, there's almost something incongruous about imagining them in a film star's fridge. Even if they've got to eat like the rest of us, I'd rather (for my own sense of satisfaction) think of The Industry's finest enjoying something a bit more refined than 57 different varieties. Does he eat them on toast? With fish fingers? With sausages? For breakfast, lunch or dinner? All these unanswered questions whizzing through my mind. What does his housekeeper look like? Is she some jolly round lady who thinks he needs fattening up, or a some gorgeous skinny Polish girl with bony elbows and an unflattering uniform? And the piece de resistance of the picture, the baseball cap. I'm sure Hugh had just been to the gym or whatever, he's quite a sporty person, I gather (I think he plays alot of golf), but in that get up he looks like someone's dad. Which leads me to my final point: at 46, Hugh is only one year younger than my uncle Merv. Who might be pretty cool, but all the same, is two little people's dad. And not that far off 50. Time, perhaps to dust off that Four Weds video again and enjoy Hugh when he was a little less Hollywood, a little more Oxford, and about thirteen years younger, and remember more innocent times.

They Will Never Take Our Freedom

I invested in 4OD. Now I can watch last week's Peep Show and Ugly Betty that I missed, and how glad am I? Pretty glad, because I could do with a laugh.

Very very very tired. Haven't done much at all today, but last night I was at the church Freedom course and it went on until quite late. Recently, I've discovered that the key to my mental and physical well being is lots of sleep, and quite a bit of exercise. Well, last night, I wasn't asleep until after midnight, and my body punished me for it today.

The Freedom course: there's homework, there's rules (attend weekly, attend church, soak in the Word). There's one good looking man there (two if you count Rowan, which I don't). My group leaders seem nice. And yet I'm now having major misgivings: it goes on too late, I'll never manage to get up for work the next day, I'll not be able to do the homework, it's not right for me, I just want to see if God wants me to write. And yet today, as I hung my underwear over my radiator, I remembered some stuff from my past, things that have upset me, people who have made me angry, and I knew that it was right for me to be on this course. A little bit of healing can't be a bad thing. It doesn't harm that the food was good, either. It's one of the things I always find so impressive about Aldates, the fact they really cater. I never put together the whole church hall/kitchen connection before, but there is a slight obsession with eating together. For good reasons of course. However, thanks to tonight feeling the urge too, I have now eaten pasta three nights running. Getting a bit carb-obsessed.

So tonight, because all that activity last night made me grumpy today, I'm treating myself extra-kindly. Blog, update iPod, and lie on bed with laptop propped on stomach, watching trashy telly. I could be watching Property Ladder, but instead I'll watch my immediate choice, and enjoy it.

Pyjama story

Once upon a time, in a fit of desperation, because I was going to stay at someone's house and had no decent pyjamas that fitted me anymore, because I'd put on so much weight, I went to Next in Didcot in my lunchhour, where I bought a pair of pink pjyamas. The t-shirt said "Lord, if you won't make me skinny, please make my friends fat" which I thought was a suitable prayer for myself, and the trousers were decorated with little sparkly cupcakes. A few months on, and the wording has fallen off the t-shirt, but the cakes remain. My pyjamas have gone from being a cheeky statement about the problems of being a naturally curvaceous and voluptuous woman, to fat person's pyjamas, decorated in food. I'm sure there's a lesson for all of us in this. And it's probably something along the lines of 'do not attempt to present your personality through sleepwear'.

Blog into life, life into blog

Charlie's the only one of my work friends who I've told about the existence of A Hopeful Romantic. This is not because I am ashamed of my wee outpourings, but more about the fact that I don't want to do a Petite Anglaise and get fired for my blog. Neil, stop panicking. However, today I realised that I was repeating myself slightly, and as I mooned about my love for Chris Evans, I had a wee bit of deja-vu. I'm not so funny that I have all new material for entertainining my friends. Sometimes events get recycled into the blog, sometimes the blog gets recycled into real-life ranting. Life into art, art into life (if you can call wittering 'art').

I also have some reservations about the Online Life. Well, I spend most of my days connected to some kind of network anyway, discussion with my friends at work takes place in silence, by email, even though we sit in an area about eight feet squared. Today I have had serveral invitations to join Facebook, and another to add someone on LinkedIn. Wouldn't it just be nicer if we all just talked to each other, eh? If instead of getting a Facebook prompt from someone I went to uni with, I actually saw him? For example, one of the best things that has happened all week so far is that Emma called me at my desk! She said to me "You sound like you're smiling, what's up?" and the only reason I was smiling was that I was so pleased to hear from her. Since I get email anxiety (what do they want), post anxiety (argh! what is this letter?!) and missed call anxiety (oh no! who could be trying to get hold of me?!) perhaps more communication would be like aversion therapy. Train myself to connect with the world again, properly, instead of hiding away, behind A Hopeful Romantic, behind the email, behind text messages.

Everybody needs someone sometimes

Bit of a crappy day at work, to be honest, and I was feeling really low. The short story is I feel a bit better now, but I've had enough of the world for the day.

The long version of this story is that last night's service at church was really moving and excellent, all about Jesus Loves You (no matter what), and the worship really got to me. We sang lots of my favourite songs: Blessed Be Your Name; I Will Offer Up My Heart; The Stand; Beautiful One. That last one reminds me so strongly of first finding God. And I was feeling a bit tired, and emotional, so I was crying before we even got to the sermon. And Emma and Charlie were there, too, which was such a blessing. Then when I got home, Isa and I stayed up late, and I am Not Good when I'm running on too little sleep. I was deliberating this morning, Should I Stay or Should I Go? And I decided to Go. I think this might have been the Wrong Decision because really my mood just got blacker. Lucky for me, I have a good friend: Charlie and I left early, and she invited me in for a cup of tea, and she didn't mind when I cried. It was as if I'd not finished from last night, like I'd tried to plaster over the stuff that Jesus was trying to heal in me last night, and I was being all "Woah, Jesus, dude! Stop coming in and messing up my composure, man!" and he was having none of it, because today I totally felt all my wounds smarting, because love is what heals us, not pretending. So I gave up, went to Charlie's, came home, drank wine, made an Unsuccessful Avocado Dip, and I've been reading, eating my dinner, and concentrating on not beating myself for having a bad day. And for having low self-esteem. Thank goodness I'm signed up for the Freedom Course starting tomorrow, eh? That should help to sort me out!!

But I'm so fortunate to be surrounded by people who care. As Jesus said, we should love one another. Charlie is the second friend of mine to give me a proper cuddle in two days. I must have needed it. I gave Sarah a good old snuggle yesterday, when we were round at Checky and Emma's for Sunday lunch (excellent excellent roast chicken, stuffing, all very very delicious, and really fabulous to see the lovely girls), and then this afternoon Charlie cuddled me too. Andy once wrote to me that he likes when he hugs people to feel the love pass between them, and I guess I was in need of some love, phileo love, not eros love, and not necessarily agape love (this is all from the sermon, which was on the end of John's Gospel, fact-fans). I can happily amuse myself with solitary pursuits, but everybody needs someone times.

I do feel better, now, after my little cry, and a bit of a rest. Isa's in a grump this evening too, and has gone to her Perspectives course, having to leave her dinner half eaten. And I think I'll just go to bed, with a cup of tea and my book. Probably the smartest thing to do, when the world all feels too much.

The Young One

Sometimes I forget that I'm just a baby in comparison to my friends and housemates.

This afternoon I met Philippa in Joe's on Cowley Road (for coffee), and was reminded, quite fiercely, that she is a High Powered Commissioning Editor with Her Own Assistant, and I am still merely a (Senior) Assistant myself. Even though she is totally fabulous and funny and we have loads in common (my stomach muscles hurt as I laughed at her description of how her assistant is just Too Ambitious and keeps on telling her that all the books she's commissioned are crap), I have to remember that she is in her mid thirties, nearly ten years older than me, and has really only just got it all sorted out in the past year.

When I got home, high on conversation, two lattes with sugar and big helping of chocolate cake, Sarah called out to me. She wanted to ask my advice on leggings, and whether they are 'chav'. Not heard 'chav' used on its own as an adjective before. Mainly, I like 'chav-tastic' but 'chavvy' is good, too. Anyway, I assured Sarah that leggings are not chav, but advised her that in this weather, it was probably better to go for cropped actual leggings under a dress, and NOT footless tights, because you don't want to look sweaty. I realised that my opinion had been called on as the most young and frivolous member of the household.

Shortly after that, I was laughed at for my child-like enthusiasm while watching Doctor Who ("You're funny, man," Sarah said, which is good, because I like being funny humorous, which is what I think was being described). As a representative of someone who is almost down with the kids, I had to explain all about The Daleks and Martha not being Billie Piper to Sarah and Isa, who were slightly bemused at my excitement. Although Sarah, proving that her brain IS on another planet (what does she do all day? think about worthy things, that's what, her brain is too lofty for popular culture) saw David Tennant step out of the TARDIS and said "He's gorgeous!" Take a number and get in line, girlfriend.

Finally, as Doctor Who turned into The Joseph show, I was ignoring some caterwauling and chatting to Isa about a mutual friend who I thought was about the same age as me, and it turns out she's older than Isa! Mid to late thirties!

The moral of this story? I have to stop worrying about getting old and past it. In comparison to most, I am but a mere child. These independent, excellent women of thirty plus prove that it is possible to be lovely and over the thirty barrier and not middle aged. I mean, Philippa was wearing even bigger sunglasses than me, and two very fabulous bangles. And Sarah's legs in her leggings, when she tried on her outfit to show me, are terrific! She felt a little uncomfortable in the outfit, but with the wisdom of youth, I advised her to try wearing it around the house initially, to get used to the idea, and not very long later, she agreed, and said it was already working! Wise beyond my tender years, clearly.

The other moral of my day was that Oxford is really tres small. I only left the house for two hours, and was walking down Cowley Road, when who should I see in front of me but the lovely Polly and the stupendous Charlie, also walking in a town-like direction. The really amusing thing about this, though, is that as I walked with them a very brief stretch, and then said goodbye, I said to Charlie, see you tomorrow, for our standing running appointing, and Polly said 'Oh, tell Philippa I'll see her tomorrow' - we are like one big happy friendship family! Although since we have all worked together not quite as funny as the me-Tamsin-Cath link. Actually, I love the fact that you always see people you know in Oxford. It makes me feel like I belong.

Animal Magic

It's spring, the birds are singing, there's new beginnings in the air, the blossom's blossoming, etc. So I shouldn't have been surprised to see two rabbits by the side of the road on my way to the gym this morning... but I was! Because these two white-cotton-tailed bunnies were hopping around on one of the grass verges in Milton Park, no less, home of the Royal Blue Megacorps, and so perilously close to Didcot Power Station that surely they are in fact radioactive Super Rabbits. They were so dear, sweet and incongruous, hopping around on a Saturday morning in the shadow of the cooling towers. You'd think that going to my place of work on a Saturday morning would be weird, but actually I don't mind it. You see, I know that the office doors are locked. I'm allowed to not work on a Saturday. It's blissful.

But clearly, today is my day for animal sightings. I saw the saddest sight of a little deer dead by the side of the road, and hoped it wasn't the same deer I'd watched gambolling merrily in the fields by the side of the A34 a couple of weeks ago. I also spent some quality one-on-one time this morning with Fat and Fluffy Ginger Cat who likes to hang out in our garden, and has a robust and throaty purr that he's not afraid to use. Likes: getting neck stroked, kitty massage. Dislikes: not being allowed inside the house, squeaky back door. He's gorgeous.

Kugel is a side dish!!

You see, this is where I had it all wrong! I thought Kugel was dessert- but it's a side dish. Apart from disappointing the hungry horde (no pineapple in Nigella's recipe), it seemed to go down well. And this morning, cold Kugel for breakfast. It's sweet, dense, tender and cheesy, but not so much you'd want to gag. It wasn't great warm, though, and I dispute its side-dish tendencies.

The passover dinner was very nice, but went on until late, and as I'd parked my car by the side of Cowley Road, rather than the car park behind Tesco, I was starting to get a bit antsy, imagining loads of teenagers queuing outside the Zodiac beating it with sticks. It was a Seder for Believers, so rather than doing what the Jews do, waiting for the Messiah, we celebrated that the Messiah came.

Speaking of whom, my favourite part in the whole of Angels by Marian Keyes, which I read yesterday, was Mammy Walsh asking Ethan, who was planning to invent a new religion "Who died for our sins?" repeatedly. I know that Ms. Keyes is actually making a little bit of fun of Irish Catholicism, but it made me laugh.

Anyway, back to the passover. One really funny thing that happened was that Tamsin said to me "I've got some news, and I wanted to tell you last time but you left early, I'm seeing someone," and of course thanks to the Aldates Grapevine, I already knew. Isa thought Tamsin was going out with Stefan, then she saw Cath (ex-occupant of my room, ex-flatemate of Tamsin's) go up to Stefan and be all excited and happy... so now it is confirmed by the horse's mouth. Tamsin pointed out that it's no big deal, and I pointed out that that is true, unless you're a Christian, when "I've started seeing someone" is shorthand for "and I might have some difficult decisions to make in the near future."

Amy's Dad, was cute, with his American renditions of the Hebrew, and we had another family join us, Tiron an Indian man, with the most magnificent speaking voice. We did it all, leaning to the left, dipping parsley in salt water, and dripping bits of wine onto plates. As nice as it all was, didn't stop me feeling resentful about missing Ugly Betty and Peep Show. Yes, there's more to life than telly, kind of...

It's only just gone 7am here (it's not even that according to my computer clock), and I am already up and awake. That's quite a nice feeling, although since the gym doesn't open until nine, it would have been nice after the late night to have a bit of a lie in. Clearly my body isn't willing. I don't want to wake up Sarah (who got in early yesterday and went straight round to see Richard) or Isa, although they were both asleep when I got in, so clearly as far as my body thinks, they've had sufficient. However, I've secreted myself back to the kitchen table, which is actually the wrong height for typing on my laptop, and makes my shoulders hunch, but it's so peaceful out there. I love being able to look at it!

Kugel and other updates

Hurrah! The kugel is in the oven, and it smells quite nice. However, mixing together the eggs and cottage cheese etc with the noodles was a wee bit stressful, and gross. I'll report back on taste later.

Working at home is quite nice, but I had to ring my Nanna this morning for a break because after Isabelle left I didn't talk to anyone. Good to be able to roll out of bed, read my book, and then get started at the kitchen table. As I said, fulfilling all my freelancer fantasies. I only got half of what I wanted to do done (typical!!), but to be honest, I think I did a pretty good job all the same - because otherwise it would still be sitting on the side of my desk looking at me reproachfully. And now the expression of the folders is considerably less reproachful.

The weather hasn't been as sunny today, which is a bit of a blow! Although that just could be the view outside of the kitchen window. But apparently the weekend is going to be really nice - and I have lots of stuff planned, which rocks. Although perhaps too much? It's nice to be at home for the weekend after the last couple of weekends, though, and I'm looking forward to gymming and running (if that isn't too much a weird thing to admit). And sadly, I'm not looking forward to the pastorate dinner, although I'm sure it'll be lovely. Low expectations...

Sarah's back, I'll have to clear up everything!

Kugel

All week, I have been telling people "I have to make a kugel for Friday - don't ask!"

The not very exciting explanation is that on Friday, our pastorate is having a belated Passover dinner, and I have been allocated Kugel. The recipe I got allocated doesn't seem very appetising, and called for sour cream, cream cheese and cottage cheese. Or as Andy put it, the Jewish don't allow for dairy allergies. So I consulted the Oracles of my own Personal Kitchen Saviour (the Blessed Nigella) and have found this instead:

Lokshen Pudding by Nigella

Lokshen Pudding

A lokshen pudding is a wondrous thing. Those who don’t know what I’m talking about might not be convinced by the idea of a pasta pudding: but just remember how fabulously comforting rice pudding is and try not to be alarmed. In any event, you must try it. There’s no one I’ve made it for so far who hasn’t loved it – and that includes Italians and good old-fashioned English yeomanry.

The recipe comes from Ellen Fishman in San Francisco – I demanded it – and is her Grandma Judy’s NY Kugel (kugel being, among other things, the name lokshen pudding goes by in the States). In keeping with the spirit of things, I have kept the vast quantities. Besides, I love it cold and so do my children, wrapped up to take to school for their break. But I know in my heart that even half-quantities make more than enough – and I mean more than enough – for six. If you do want to go for the relatively streamlined approach, as I mostly do, halve the ingredients and cook in a 25cm square tin about 5cm deep, and check after 45-50 minutes. The huge version, as stipulated below, is a great way of feeding a crowd easily and happily. Either way, this is the ultimate carb-feast.

500g fine noodles, vermicelli or angel's hair
200g unsalted butter
8 large eggs
400g caster sugar

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
pinch salt
1kg cottage cheese

How to make:

Preheat the oven to gas mark 3/170C.

Cook the noodles and set aside. I try and get the proper lokshen for this, which are shorter strands of very, very fine noodles. Melt the butter and let it cool slightly. Beat the eggs.

Combine the warm or cooled, but not hot, melted butter with the sugar, vanilla, eggs, salt and cottage cheese. Add the noodles and mix well. Put in a pan of approximately 23 x 32cm(3 and one-half litre capacity) and bake for 1 hour to 1 hour and 10 minutes until the top is just golden where the buttery threads of pasta have caught in the heat.
Let cool a little before cutting and serving.

Makes 12 glorious slabs.

I adore Nigella, I love her recipes (oooh, almost directly paraphrasing Delia Smith from the back cover of Domestic Goddess!), and I am so looking forward to seeing how this actually turns out. Wish me luck, mes amies! Now I go to the supermarket for les ingredients!

The cheek of it!

Apparently, according to my darling brother, my last blog post sucked. How rude! I was very tired, I'd done a run that evening, drunk a large glass of rose wine, and also went to pilates in my lunch hour. If I was rambling and incoherent it was because my body had been under intense physical strain!

Good morning, blog-fans, by the way (all three of you). I have nothing to add except to say, another glorious day! Global Warming - not necessarily a bad thing? (Controversial!)

Run and Row, the new Rock and Roll

Greetings, fact fans.

I actually had to lie in a darkened room this evening, mainly because I was so tired I couldn't be bothered to get up and put the light on. Charlie and I went for one of our runs today, which was lovely. The University Park in the sunshine is glorious. Other runners, dons on bikes, the occasional good looking man, the smell of cannabis in the air, and cute ducks in the duck pond. And despite everything, the running is getting easier. I think we've been doing it for four weeks now, and although by the end of it, I still want to die, I want to die in a slightly better way than I used to want to die.

Good news! I've got the details of the rowing course I applied for on a whim last week when I was on my holidays and anything seemed possible. So, it looks like I'm going to learn to row. Wow. That's a very Oxford thing to do. Luckily, a couple of friends I know already row for this club, so it's not too scary, as in, it's a familiar idea. But what's really horrid is the fear. I might be crap. I might be worse than crap. I just liked the idea of getting fit, and hence skinny.

Operation 'get skinny and get a boyfriend like David Tennant' (Operation GSAGABLDT has no ring to it - perhaps I should rechristen it Operation SAPWho 'Slim and Pull Who'?) is making many demands on me. I confessed to Charlie on a running stretch of our run, that one of the only reasons I started this blessed Operation SAPWho was actually because of the revelation I had that a lovely man (perhaps one of my top three) if I were ever to meet him, wouldn't be intersted in me... but this isn't a pity party, but a celebration of how exciting it is that I'm doing really active stuff and I'm not afraid anymore! And that it's gone beyond just wanting a boyfriend. Although I am, of course, a hopeful romantic.

But not so unafraid that I've written anything this evening. Too knackered.

Until next time, mes amies!

Imagination

I don't know whether this is the same for most people, but I find that life is alot worse when viewed from behind the desk. My finances seem more meagre, my meals seem further away, the days stretch out for longer and I feel sluggish. Life from behind the desk is life in the slow lane.

I read someone else's blog recently, I don't think she reads mine (maybe she does, I really like her, I think she's fab) and she told the story of going home, meeting up with old friends, and they were all corporate whores (scuse my language) in big jobs, for big names. And someone said to her that they thought she'd be doing something different and interesting. And that's how I feel.

I shouldn't complain about having to earn a living, but I do. I don't mind having to work. Not at all. But I mind other things. Like never having enough time. Like not having as much money as I'd like. Like feeling that my imagination is being squeezed out of me. I want to write. All I want to do is write. Yeah, so I'd love to 'be a writer' and work from home all day, and make money doing something that I love and that's self-timetabled, so that if I want to spend the afternoon watching old movies, making cakes or whatever, I can. But I also miss my imagination.

You'd have thought that I'd have spent some of the time of my holiday writing, then? Oh no. That was holiday. You see, writing, despite everything, is still work. It's not just as simple as going home sticking fingers to keyboards. As I've proven, with my blogging, I can witter for the best of them. It's the big stuff. Story, plot, character. I'll admit, rejection has terrified me, and now I'm scared to move on.

But Meg Cabot has inspired me! In her latest blog she's encouraging all of us to do something that scares us, everyday. So, I'll be taking the little-and-often approach. Wish me luck.

Working Girl

Best laid plans

So I got back to work today. Today's jobs included 1) moving files from one drive to another, despite the fact that some people who I shall not name did not read the sodding proposals they were meant to have commented on 2) photocopying several typescripts multiple times to send out for review (and writing arse-licky compliments slips - 'thanks for all your help with this project!' 3) clearing the email inbox. But my mighty plan was foiled, because I was back in the office, that meant I was generating traffic. My 'Today' section in my inbox is now bigger than the 'last week' section - and sadly, not because I was so efficient today at clearing the detritus.

On the positive side 1) There were chocolate eggs in my drawer, one of which I let Matt have 2) people seemed genuinely pleased to see me back 3) I got to instate my new mug 4) being at work makes being on a diet easier. Although I was starving by 4.30pm.

Leaving On A Jet Plane...

One of my favoured colleagues is leaving. This has made me sad. Not only that, another favoured colleague was telling me her leaving plans today, and the leaving plans of another person who I don't know so well, but really like. I was struck with the urge to just run away from work, and pretend that I was never employed by the Royal Blue Megacorps. You see, although my actual job is mostly alright (despite some panicky moments, they're only bloomin' books), it's the people who make it special and not special. I like my friends, the familiar faces, and I feel sad knowing that pretty soon, another face will be familiar in those faces' stead, and I'll forget about the old friends. Sniff.

Infectious

Amy has a cough. Emma has a really bad cold. Both of them were hacking and streaming away today. Which, in combination with Isa's cough at home, means that all day I am in the vicinity of many airborne particles. There's something about coughs I find especially irritating, especially rasping ones. They just set my teeth on edge, and while I know that's probably because I'm a cantankerous old cow, it might also be because of my throat phobia. I hate it when you can hear the soreness of someone's throat when they cough. I'm not generally terribly sympathetic to illness, but a really sore throat is something I hate, and I feel sorry for people suffering, and I know that coughs are horrible to have to endure. And I don't want one. Tomorrow I might have to wear a surgical mask to work.

Ooooh, matron!

Our office is by a high-speed train line. When express trains go past, the building shakes.
Me: Did you just feel the earth move?

On the subject of sore throats
Emma: It's fine as long as I keep sucking things.

Having a Tyres moment

I wish I'd been there - maybe next time.

underwear

The Great Summer Wardrobe Influx (which coincides with The Great Winter Wardrobe Exodus) has come, and has been accompanied by a change in status of underwear. I hate thongs. Most of the time. But in summer, well, a wee thong is light, it's underneath other light things, it doesn't show, it's so tiny you can fit a spare pair in your handbag, they should be ideal... and yet, they're bloody uncomfortable. So I'm off to practise wearing my thong in church. I hope that's not sacreligious.

Holidays End: Nearly blue, but more like lilac....

Ah, I've loved my holidays so so much. I am so incredibly sad to be going back to work on Monday. However, since I splurged on some new clothes (I am really a terrible spendthrift and a bad person) the pain is alleviated by the thought of new outfits. Basically, I was starting to panic about what to wear in the abnormally warm spring weather. And I am a sad case and checked my work email, and nothing panic-worthy happened while I was away. So I'm back to a near status-quo. And while I could be said to have the holiday blues, I'm getting Sunday-evening feeling even though it's Saturday night, I'm so relaxed, and I've had such a great few days off, that really, I'm in the pink. So I'm a kind of mottled lilac. Bit blue, bit pink. Colour analogy, eh?

On Thursday after a very lazy morning, I hied me unto Godalming, to visit Gemma P. It was too long since I'd seen her, and so nice to catch up. I also had the pleasure of admiring her house, again, in a carpeted-and-curtained-state. Laura Ashley. Envy. In fact, general house envy. Then to Camberley, on Friday, to visit Sarah in her flat. More house envy. I bought a lottery ticket this evening. I didn't win. Sarah, under my instructions, didn't restrain me in Marks and Spencers, I'd missed the Meadows so much. I bought myself new slippers, a new skirt, a cardigan... since I intend to get skinny and bag a handsome man (more on this rant later) it was perhaps a waste of money. But TOO LARGE clothes are better than TOO SMALL.

Chris Evans: now, according to Charlie, who met him once, Chris Evans is very attractive and lovely in the flesh. Which is good, because I've been developing a re-instated crush on him. I used to listen to the Radio 1 Breakfast Show when he presented it *religiously*. At 16, the 'cool' music at our Prom Awards was the Riverboat Song by Ocean Colour Scene, from TFI Friday. Anyway, since Mr. Evans took over the drivetime show on Radio 2, I've been loving it and him more and more. The pics of him comforting a sobbing Billie Piper even though they are divorced, also warmed my heart. THEN Gemma P. tells me that he lives near her! Sighted in Waitrose, no less! AND on Friday night, ordered home to babysit Matthew, Dad and Barbara went to visit a journalist who works on Chris's show. Surely, in a six-degrees-of-separation kind of way, there cannot be long until I meet Chris, he falls in love with me, and we live happily ever after in Godalming. Right?

The get-skinny-and-bag-a-man plan: I don't want a man. Well, I do, in a vague sense, but trying to explain to my Nanna that meeting a millionaire was not a life-choice was difficult. I had to explain to her that the fact I can't buy a flat ON MY OWN is the problem, not that I don't have a man. That there is some intrinsically WRONG with a society that disadvantages the single person. It was so annoying, I had to go and buy a can of gin and tonic in Asda, plus the lottery ticket. Alas, neither solved the problem.

More Holidays: Being Bridget and a Fairy Godmother

Imagine me at the gym, if you will. Don't laugh, but it's not my most favourite thing in the world. My most favourite things in the world are things like my bed and sleeping in it, good food and eating it, my family and friends, seeing them, laughing with them, and hopefully eating food with them, too. Not to mention a good book, with a nice cup of a tea and some chocolate. Preferably consumed on my bed. It's a good mix. Therefore, you might imagine that I actually NEED to go to the gym. And you'd be right. You know that montage in the film version of Bridget Jones's Diary, where she gets some respect, dumps the fags, the booze, and the men-getting self-help books? The one where she cycles on the static bike so fast she falls over when she gets off? Well, that's me, at the gym. On the machines, I'm a tiger, slogging it out with the best of them, listening to such choons on my iPod as Don't Stop Me Now by Queen (just playing on iTunes on this computer, too, spooky!) but when I get off, my legs are like jelly, and I look and feel like a don't belong. Then I witness some meathead using one of the resistance machines with such terrible technique that even I'm shocked, and I realise, I'm as good at this as anyone else. But clearly, this is why I need my running buddy, the lovely Charlie. The gym is just too boring, despite Anthony Worral-Thompson making mint sauce on Daily Cooks! and an interest apricot raita recipe. On the way out of the gym, I met the lovely Laura, who's leaving work soon (sob!). She's a great gal. For her birthday she got a David Tennant doll from her friends (very cool), and we compared notes on Saturday night's episode and she agreed with ME that it was excellent. Then I told her my plan: 'get skinny, get a boyfriend as lovely as David Tennant.' I'd also settle for any other of my top three. Hell, my top ten!

Speaking of which, trippy films and telly a-go-go recently! Bek and I had to explain Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind to Isabelle on Monday night, and I think I could watch that film over and over, even if Mark Ruffalo is criminally underused. And last night was the last episode of Life on Mars. John Simm, there's another one. The-ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named-in-this-blog used to accuse me of fancying any man on television, and since my tastes go from one end of the spectrum (Ben Fogle) to the other (Simon Pegg) it seems he would be right. Anyway, I also had to explain the resolution of that to Isabelle. I was angry at the ending of the show. You can go and look it up on Wikipedia, if you like, which I spent this morning doing. Some sad geek was up all night doing that, only slightly sadder than me googling it this morning in a frenzy of dissatisfaction. Ambiguity is FINE if you are doing A-level Theatre Arts, but I think that expensively commissioned television shows that end shouldn't be allowed to get away with it. So there. And today, from the library, got out Stranger Than Fiction which I've wanted to see for an age, but am slightly concerned Isa might not get it. I had to explain Holby to her last night, too. Although she's not quite as bad as Matthew, whose inability to deal with suspense whilst watching shows drives me insane. "Is s/he going to die?!" he asks constantly. Although when it's The Doctor, you feel like flicking him and pointing out that the main character very rarely dies. He's still got to learn The Rules. You know the ones, like The Call is ALWAYS coming from inside the house.

I enjoyed being a bit of a fairy godmother yesterday, as Charlie came over to borrow some clothes to wear at her conference this week. It was very cool, thinking about the stuff in my wardrobe that would suit her, but also, it was good to see the relief on her face, when I'd brought out a dress, a skirt, and one outfit for her to wear. I know what it's like to feel the clothes panic, and doing something nice for another person gave me a bit of a reddy-brek glow. I think she looked better in my blue cropped trousers than I ever will! But that's also pretty much my only achievement yesterday. Unless you count reading a whole book. I'm loving the relaxing life. I could get used to it!

The Holiday Diaries: Domestic Goddess

So normally right about now I'd be on my fourth cup of tea at work. But since I'm at ho-ome, I'm on my second glass of water, and I've done my hoovering, and I hoovered and dusted my room, too! And I rearranged my room, tidied, sorted, chucked out a load of papers, got my sewing stuff out, and generally cleared my desk a little. I rock!

First proper day of my holidays, since the previous days were all bank holiday weekend freebies. Today is the day I start paying for. So, I've done most of the jobs that I lay on my bed thinking about at 6am, when I had to get up to take Bek to the train station. She's now gone back up to Tyneside. So now I'm kind of already free for the day. It's a lovely feeling! Hence this brag to my brother, also on hols:

Matt says: ha in an hour n 45mins im goin 2 have a golf lesson
Gemma says: that sounds good
Gemma says: I'm going to have some breakfast and a cup of tea, read my book, go food shopping, and then relax. All afternoon.

In other news, I should re-cap the rest of my weekend. Saturday night I sat in, watched Doctor Who (much maligned by Barbara, who is disappointed with the new series, keeps comparing it to Primeval (different show!) and doesn't understand that after the brilliant high of the end of the last series, of course things are going to seem different and not so good with a new companion. Like, duh!), and then 100 Greatest Tearjerkers. Yes, I cried. Sunday morning, up bright and early, I went for a stumble round the cul-de-sacs, not so much jogging as attempting to keep moving at a pace up many hills. Then off to the New Forest, for fun fun fun round Exbury Gardens. I love Exbury. It's actually one of my favourite places in the world. Neil took pics, but I am flickr illiterate, for some reason.

On Sunday, I picked up Bek from the train station, picked up Nanna, and took them home for Easter dinner. This was all very nice, we then had a walk down to the allotments, and by the time I'd taken Nanna home, it was time for Bek and I to drive back to Oxford, via dropping Neil off at Max's. As you can imagine, it was a pretty busy day, but I was still up and out on Bank Holiday Monday morning to pick up Charlie for our run. We are so good. And we are doing so well. Perhaps you might like to sponsor us using the link to the right? After a quick shower on my part, Bek and I spend the day in the Cotswolds. Burford, to be precise. Very very pleasant place to while away some hours on a bank holiday (and the traffic james indicated that lots of people thought so too!) Big pub lunch, sunshine (the weather was fantastic all weekend!), and home to Toy Story 2 on tv, followed by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It was a fun day. And we stopped off at a needlecraft shop, so I have my holiday project. Something to keep my hands busy and my brain occupied with mundane, soothing things, and not work.

Since Neil has been making fun of my blog *to my face*, i think I'll have to think of some exciting featurettes for the holiday season. Watch this space!

Blog-tastic

I've already had my first glass of wine of the bank holiday weekend - have you?

Hurrah for bank holidays! Also, of course, hurrah for the fact that our dear Saviour died on the cross and was resurrected, natch.

Good Friday I spent in the company of Christians. Why, Gemma, I hear you cry - Good Friday? Christians? Won't that have been a terribly austere sort of occasion? Why no, mes amies, because we went to BRIGHTON, home of the pier, the pavillion, men wearing matching linen blazers holding hands, and The Lanes, the cool shopping district. I bought two books that I could have bought anywhere, and a Charlie and Lola mug. Clearly I'm not able to set aside my Children's Littiness just yet. Nine of us went, in the end, me and Isa, Parveen and Marion, Isa's best friends at church, and people I know less well, a guy called Hugo, who is Portuguese but speaks fluent French, Jed (who I'd met at the Alpha banquet in September), Eby, Jo, and Rowan. It was fun to be out and about, great to be on the beach the hottest day of the year so far (a scorching Easter 18, fact fans) and nice to be doing something totally different, and forgetting all about work. But it was a very long day, and this morning I enjoyed a bit of a lie in. Before heading to the gym and heading home. Hurrah!

The end of the week last week was pretty much just knackering, I was so relieved to have it be over by Thursday! Two days working late, and some encouragement from my boss to make sure we meet our targets, it's been hard to wind down. But I'm managing. Pretty much as soon as I got home, I headed out again, took Matthew to the driving range. I sat in the sun, read my book, and enjoyed a twix, cup of tea... glass of wine and peanuts. He used 75 balls up. And despite the fact he was doing all the work, I am now exhausted.

Hmm... Neil just came in and gets another 'guest mention' on the blog; "hmmm, blogging," he said - as if it's a bad thing! I love to blog. I like wittering inanely.

With that in mind, this week, there should be plenty of that, as I'm going to be off off off, enjoying myself (woohoo!).

On my mind

So, next week I'm taking some holiday. This, of course, means planning my work up until Thursday afternoon, when I get to blissfully walk out that door for ten entire days, and it also means slogging slogging slogging. So I'm knackered. But pleased. Staying to work late two days running though isn't a good thing.

The blog has gone again. It's so sad. I liked Neil's ramblings. Alas, my campaign wasn't strong enough. Although there is a fetching photo of him wearing a clown's nose. A metaphor for his inner self?

Et voila, the hump of this week is over!

More practising

I'm loving that I can post to my blog from Google Docs. It's wonderful.
However, I'm not loving that when I load up my C.V., it comes out funny. Time to stop over-formatting, I think it's a sign.

Spent the evening on the beanbags, reading, watching tv. It was incredibly relaxing. Apart from when I had to explain how the tarty-looking patient in ER dislocated her jaw to Isabelle, it was pretty much without incident.

The Blog is back, apparently...

btw. Blog is back. You can relax now.

I'm in library. Given myself untill 11 to really get going. That's three minutes!

Laters x x x x

On 4/2/07, Dunn, Gemma wrote:

> Yes, let's.

> xxx

>

> -----Original Message-----

> From: On Behalf Of Neil Dunn

> Sent: 02 April 2007 10:55

> To: Dunn, Gemma

> Subject: Re: Glasto hope

>

> Nice one! Lets hope

>

> On 4/2/07, Dunn, Gemma wrote:

> > Mr Eavis offered hope to disappointed fans, as they can try their

> > luck

> again

> > on April 22, when tickets that have not been paid for or are no

> > longer wanted will be back on sale.

> >

> > "There could be 15,000 to 20,000 of those tickets available," he said.

NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Glastonbury sold out. No tickets, despite three of us calling, and me online.

So disappointed. However, there's always next year. What makes it WORSE is that there are no other festival tickets available, except Reading, and I am so ovah Reading.

Hungry. Food. Shop. Sunday papers. Sulk.