Traitorous Gesture

At least once every day, I make a gesture that has become habit over the last five years. I rub the middle finger and the little finger on my right hand against my ring finger. I used to do this as a way of reassuring myself that my ring was on my finger. On several occasions I fidgeted with it so much that I dropped it, especially on a cold day. Sometimes I felt a dart of panic when I forgot to put it on in the morning and always felt relieved when I put it back on.

Now, the dart of panic invariably happens every time, and then the dull thud of realisation hits. I try and stop myself but it's automatic now and has become one of those things that you know hurts but you do anyway, like wobbling a loose tooth or picking at a scab. I've toyed, when the ache has become too intense, with wearing the ring again. Just so that I can get its reassuring presence back on my finger. But even if I did, I know that my mind would be worrying over it still. That it would mean the wrong thing, that I was trying to reclaim something that isn't really real any more or creating false expectations. But mainly, and most significantly, that putting it back on would make it harder to remove again. That when I took it off for the final time, I would be ripping a new wound and that the feeling I've been carrying around for months - the perpetual feeling of breathlessness and disbelief, like being punched in the stomach - would be worse than before.

I am so tired of it. So very tired of all of it.

Boston

So, Boston. That feels like a long time ago. It was lovely, although I didn't feel as absorbed by it as New York. The shape of Manhattan means that it is a very concentrated city, Boston is a lot less contained and there are several huge roads that run through it, meaning that it's less suitable for pedestrians. It's also quieter than New York, unsurprisingly, so I didn't feel that comfortable going out in the evenings, which is a wussy thing to do but you can't underestimate the mind-blowing dullness of going out in the evenings when there's just you after two weeks. I must admit, in Sturbridge and Boston, I got some good telly-watching done. However, during the day, I was all-action Kitten again! My first day there I checked into my hotel which I enjoyed as it was gorgeous and extremely luxurious compared to the previous two. My New York hotel was very functional and the Sturbridge hotel was kind of Butlins-dreary. The Boston hotel even had brand name toiletries. Is it bad that it's stuff like that that impresses me? I spent some time looking up stuff to do in Boston, which I had refrained from doing before as it seemed a bit sad to think too much about the end of my holiday before I'd got there. I underlined some things, some of which I did and some of which I decided not to, like a piano bar that sounded fun, it involved singing, but didn't open until after I'd lost the will to stay out!

On that first day, I went to see a production of Man of La Mancha, mentioned in the previous post, taking some time to wander about in Boston and soak up some atmosphere, find the theatre and have a meal before the show started. It was alright but it is one of my favourites for sentimental reasons and I didn't feel that they did it justice. Mainly because the company, priding itself on using local talent, felt hugely amateurish despite charging professional prices. Some of the voices were good but I felt frustrated at the inability of the actors to just sing the bloody songs. I noted in my book that I felt I was about to giggle during The Impossible Dream because I suddenly realised what the lead actor's delivery reminded me of. If you've ever heard William Shatner "sing"Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, you'll know why I found it difficult to be moved. Such a pity.

The next day, I set out on the Freedom Trail, which is a red line throughout Boston that leads you through the various historical buildings, monuments and areas of significance. I kind of did it wrong as, despite it being a mere 2 1/2 miles only managed to get through 1/2 mile of it. I really like museums and graveyards and things so stopped at all of them along the way with my guidebook and tried to take everything in. It took me several hours, I think it was about six, and I was a wee bit shattered by the end. So shattered that I decided not to visit the replica of the boat from where the tea was thrown off, despite the very exciting fact that it happened on my birthday, although not one that I was actually alive for what with it being 1773 (a mere two years before the birth of Miss Jane Austen, fact-lovers!) I found a notable Irish Pub around the corner from the replica Cheers Pub (a lot of replicas in Boston) and sat and gawped at the sight of football on the TV. Shouldn't have been so excited, I'm not exactly a fan, but it was nice to see something homely. I succeeded in spilling gravy on my only pair of jeans but it didn't stain, unlike the hot chocolate from earlier in the day. At least my natural messiness didn't reveal itself until Boston, when I was within sight of a home and a decent washing machine.

I popped into Quincy Market for a Boston Cream Pie to take back to the hotel and made my weary way home. Watched a silly film and didn't enjoy the pie particularly so dipped once again into my stash of Sturbridge fudge, significantly reducing the amount that I could take home as a gift.

I decided to go a little further up the Freedom Trail the next day and into the Italian part of the city to Paul Revere's house. I thought that'd be an interesting point at which to end my particular stroll down the red line. The best bit was the mini-lecture where they debunked the whole thing about "The British Are Coming" as a) it was a secret mission so he probably wouldn't have shouted and b) the colonists at that point still called themselves British so would have been all, like, "yeah, we know, we're right here." I then walked back to where I'd been the night before, did me some shopping and went on a whale watch. This was awesome and was pretty much the only time when I was snap-happy, desperately trying to get a decent shot of a humpbacked whale. There's a feeding ground 25 miles out of Boston Harbour so it was a fun boat ride and then a wonderful hour and a half watching whales which was splendid. Everyone reacted like little kids, lots of oohs and excited pointing at the whales and I felt very much a part of things, which was nice.

I was happy but tired when I got back to the hotel and went wandering out, proudly wearing my newly-bought woolly boots which I have been wearing to death since I've been back. I tried to get a table at a restaurant but it was quite late, there were queues and, unfortunately, they don't prioritise people on their own. We make less revenue, dontchaknow. In a move that will probably cast shame on me, I ended up getting a slice of pizza and TWO slices of the best cheesecake the world has ever known from the best place to buy cheesecake the world has ever known and took it back to the hotel. Well, I had to enjoy the lovely hotel as much as I could and, oh, it was good. Seriously, if you are in Boston and don't go the The Cheesecake Factory, I will want to know why. Even walking in is an experience, it's completely gorgeous.

I spent my final evening watching Moonlight, which was rubbish, with Sophia Myles who I will freely admit is very nice to look at but who is also a really awful actress. She appears to have had a charisma bypass. But she did bring the count up of Brits taking over US TV, which was something I enjoyed making note of while over there. I did like Boston but I was starting to crave company by the end so very, very glad to come home. Now I just wish that everything was much nearer so I could go over there on daytrips. There were things that were odd and things that were difficult (some out of choice, including my weird decision to get to the airport by subway. I enjoyed it, partly because it was difficult but mainly because it was my choice and being able to make my own choices without having to take somebody else into account is something that is still shiny and new) but on the whole there were many points of blistering happiness that give me strength and contentment when I think back on them. In the words of the song, memorably sung by Jack Edwards and the (3)3 J Girls at The News Guide Awards on Monday night, I Did It My Way.

Jetlagged?

I don't know whether I am jetlagged or just exhausted after not sleeping on the plane. After about 10 minutes of very bumpy flying, I pulled out my notebook and inscribed the immortal words "I HATE F***ING FLYING I HATE TURBULENCE". Poetic in its simplicity and unfortunately true. I really hate flying. I've had about four hours of sleep since; caught a few zzs in the taxi and crashed when I got home but am very conscious of the fact that I will need to get back to sleep tonight so am trying to keep it to a minimum. I do have work tomorrow (oh dear lord, what was I thinking?) so must try and get back to normal rhythms.

I will write a catch-up thing about Boston at some point - the hotel despite being very, very lovely charged extortionate rates for use of the computers and I objected to having to pay seeing as the previous, less good hotels had given me access for free. To while away the time between check out and flight back, I sat in a restaurant with my notebook yesterday and tried to catch up on all the things I hadn't managed to update while I'd been there, a large portion of the notes were given to a review of Man of La Mancha that I'd seen a local professional company do on Thursday. Anyway, that's for another day, I have to have some lunch that my wonderful Big Sis bought in for me and see my Granny who's in a home (!) Both of us will be deaf today as my ears still aren't clear from the flight. Did I mention I really don't like flying?

But a Good One

Okay, so Sturbridge has completely redeemed itself today. Despite being a community overly reliant on cars meaning that there is no real bustle or pedestrian traffic in Sturbridge proper, a bit down the road from my little industrial park bit of it, it manages to be most things I would expect. I had fun exploring it yesterday, it has a little theatre which is extremely random. It calls itself a repertory theatre but as I walked in on a Sunday afternoon there was a show going on and the next show won't be starting until Friday. I'm quite gutted to be missing the Halloween spectacular running the week after which is a stage version of Night of the Living Dead. I would contemplate returning to Sturbridge for a night just to see that! The rest of Sturbridge was mainlymade up of touristy shops, which were lovely as they emphasised antiques and primitives. My personal favourite was a shop that advertised "Gently Used Clothing" and had a little homemade pumpkin that I'm going to buy for myself and something for Big Sis to redeem the whole Enchanted-Forest-being-closed-down fiasco when I go back on Wednesday. I got back to the hotel and had some Rice Krispies for tea because I didn't want to go out and because the food in the hotel is just bad. I watched the finale of So You Think You Can Dance which took me up to midnight and then went to bed.

Today and tomorrow I had decided to devote to Old Sturbridge Village because you get a two-day pass and what a great decision that was. I had an absolutely wonderful day there today. The weather has been lovely; sunny and hot with a lovely breeze and the trees are starting to turn so there'll be a sea of green that'll be broken up with a spectacular red maple. It was quiet but not dead in OSV and the fact that it was a 19th Century village meant that people were actually walking places. I found out how to fire a musket, how to dip a candle, how to use a printing press, met some oxen, learned about schools in Massachusetts, tried some fudge, bought me a bonnet and a fife (I must stop myself from completely whimsical shopping) and rode on a riverboat. I spent about six hours there, enjoying the scenery and the company of the re-enacters, shopkeepers and craftspeople who were all very willing to talk about the museum and their own lives. Two of the men that I spoke to were semi-retired and I was wistful on behalf of my parents that there couldn't be somewhere like this for them to work, they would love every second of it.

This evening I went to the Publick House, which was mentioned in one of the recipe books in the museum giftshop as one of the best traditional inns in New England. I found my way there after getting directions from a girl on the desk at the hotel who clearly doubted my ability to get there in under a day without a car. It was less than a mile to get there, American perspective is very skewed. I did get nervous on my way back because it was dark and I'm on my own but I think that's reasonable. I'm most nervous of the traffic, though, my head keeps wanting to turn English-way and I have to force myself to look the other way so every crossing takes twice as long because I have to factor in being extra-specially sure that I am safe before I go. It was totally worth it as the food was excellent, the atmosphere was great and the service was lovely. They even gave me a doggybag of freshly baked bread and anyone who gives me free bread is... sod it, can't think of anything. I like bread a lot so it's definitely a good thing.

So I'm feeling very positive although am concerned that the talking to myself thing is getting a bit out of hand. It's something I generally do when on my own but have started doing it in public for lack of any other companions. I may have diverged completely into two separate personalities by the time I get back!

p.s. Thank you, Anonymous, for your comment. Do I know you outside of the bloggy world? I am curious. But I really appreciated everything you said, particularly the offer of violence. It's tempting but I think MuleBoy's got it bad enough as it is at the moment. For a start, he hasn't been able to go to New York so he's kicking himself at the very least.
p.p.s. Thanks also to Marion, I haven't been able to publish your second comment due to the phone number but I have written it down and will take you up on it if I have any probs.
p.p.p.s. Everyone is very lovely, thanks for reading this blog. It really feels like a lifeline at times.

Another Universe

I am in Sturbridge. And am about to go exploring after a ridiculously long period of time just being in the hotel. The journey on Friday was hugely, hugely long: frustrating at times; and emotional in the later stages as I indulged in some introspection as a result of being tired and without other amusement, having finished my book and run down the batteries on the iPod. The train journey was fine and broken up pleasantly by Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys as well as Regina Spektor to accompany the stages of the journey where I gawped out of the train windows. My goodness, there's a lot of pretty in Connecticut. I was so astonished at the capital building in Hartford, the state capital, that I pestered my neighbour to find out what it was. I don't think she minded that much.

After the train, I had no plans so in Springfield, Massachusetts, there was more pestering but this time of people whose job it was to be pestered and so they had no right to be as reluctant. I do honestly believe, from my experience, that Americans are actually worse than English people at the service industry. I get more and more English as I get more and more apologetic for everything, including my accent which is apparently unintelligible. The train people did, however, give me information and the phone number for the bus people, leading to the most bizarre phone conversation of my life, and I've had a few. Potentially the guy on the other end of the phone had had some bad experiences with English people in the past but I'm betting he's just had bad experiences with people. He was damaged and emotionally distraught and I did question whether I was being Punk'd. I'm never going to be able to recapture it but here's a sample of the conversation after about five minutes of tension:

Me: I need to get the bus again on Thursday to get to Boston
Him: Okay, the train stops at the South Station and the Back Bay
Me: Oh great, the Back Bay.
Him: What?! There's nothing there at the Back Bay! It's industrial buildings and the docks. What are you thinking?
Me: All I've got is the name of the hotel which is the Back Bay Hilton
Him: (barely concealed fury) There's nothing there!
Me: (very carefully now) I'm very sorry, I didn't know. What would you suggest?
Him: (silence. For about five minutes. I'm genuinely wondering whether he's crying or punching a wall. Finally...) You can get the 11.15 bus service from Worcester to Boston.

I spent the whole phone conversation, which was about 10/15 minutes, feeling as if I was walking on a knife's edge. I walked through Springfield to the bus station and finally, at the front desk met someone who said they loved my accent although this was said almost apologetically after he had gawped at me and I had to repeat myself. I decided that I would put on an accent after this so that conversations wouldn't take quite such a long time when asking questions etc. It backfired. Of course. Anywho. More pretty scenery and introspection on the bus, as well as a charismatic bus driver, which was nice. We drove straight past Sturbridge which, according to the guy on the phone, hasn't had a bus route since 1995. So I needed to get the bus from Springfield to Worcester and then spend loads of money on a fricking cab to go back the way I just came.

As the cab journey progressed, I started to get bad feelings about Sturbridge. The cab driver said we would be driving through towns and I couldn't see any. There were just odd houses dotted alongside the route. As we drew closer, I had the disturbing realisation that I was right. Sturbridge ain't no town. It's a glorified rest-stop. The hotel is quite town-like as it has shopping and facilities enclosed within the main part of the building but there is no real community here. I may be proved wrong as the week progresses, and I hope so, but at the moment it doesn't look good. It has to be said that I haven't made much of an attempt so far, I spent most of yesterday in my room, with brief sojourns out to the fitness center (rubbish) and the pool to make up for my breakfast of M&Ms. I was shocked how tired I was though, which makes it slightly more excusable. So, today I am making amends and will be exploring. Tomorrow I am going to head out to Old Sturbridge Village, which I am expecting to be the best bit and I will get a two-day pass, so that's Tuesday sorted too. I'll be grand.

Leaving New York

It's been a manic few days and I still maintain a complete love for the city. It's so diverse and, despite a fair few grotty places that I feel actually add to its charm, there are points of awe-inspiring loveliness. I slowed down a bit on Tuesday after managing to get back to sleep again, which was a huge relief. I took my first subway train to the World Trade Center site. After visiting the site and the series of galleries that make up the exhibition and tribute to the tragedy, I was left feeling that the people behind it are attempting to create an atmosphere that is very hopeful, looking to the future rather than dwelling on it. The site itself is filled with workmen who are about to start rebuilding and the plans for the memorial garden and new transportation hub are detailed on the information point. The area around it is bustling, understandably what with it being the city's financial district. The visitor's centre creates a progressive exhibition that deals with every stage of 9/11, from contextualising the World Trade Center for people who lived in New York and worked there, to the disaster itself, to the rescue and recovery, to a memorial room with carefully placed tissue boxes and finally to a room which showed messages of hope and love from around the world. The galleries never sentimentalised the tragedy, merely presented it and never touched on the "war on terror". It was beautifully put together and thought-through and I found it very moving without having felt manipulated.



I got back on the subway and headed back a little way north to SoHo (South of Houston) where I attempted to find the shop in my guidebook. After walking up and down Mercer Street a few times, I walked into a gallery and asked where it was and was told it had closed down. I was so gutted, I really wanted to get a present from there that was unique and original but not necessarily touristy. All the other shops around me were boutique-y and despite the US being criticised for obesity, no shop that I had so far gone into had anything bigger than a small-cut size 14. So much for shopping! So I joined Broome Street and walked along to Little Italy, half expecting that the Festa di San Gennaro would be cancelled. I was relieved to see glittery banners and some stalls as I approached as well as some bored looking cops stationed behind road bloacks. The Festa itself probably picked up more speed at night but during the daytime was a number of foodstalls and fairground games, alongside outdoor dining rooms belonging to the restaurants that lined Mulberry Street, the main thoroughfare of Little Italy. As my appetite was still a little reluctant I merely had an Italian lemon ice, perfect for the steaming hot day, and bought a cannolo (singular for cannoli) for eating in my hotel room later. Although the Festa was quite smallscale, it did give me the opportunity to see a lively side to Little Italy that potentially could have been quite quiet during the day. I enjoyed watching the aggression between stallholders on either side of the street as they shouted insults across the pedestrian area, it was nice to know that the bravado you see in fiction isn't entirely sterotype.



After I had discovered every nook of the Festa, ambling through, licking at my ice which had yummy bits of rind in, I headed to the top of Mulberry Street but couldn't find anywhere that looked like NoLIta. Realising I was on East Houston Street, I considered finding Katz's deli but I didn't want to eat anything, having turned down a cornucopia of delights (well, mainly pizza) already. I figured it would probably be crazy-busy as well. I regret it now, 'cause it would be nice to rub it in next time I see When Harry Met Sally and the orgasm scene but there's no point if I'm just doing it for the sake of it. That's been a mantra of mine on this trip - do it because you want to, not because you feel you should. There are many more things I could have done but haven't and all I can say to that is, next time I come, I shall do more. This is not my last trip to New York.



I located Broadway and decided to walk up it, which must have been a mile and a half, although it's difficult to measure in your head until you get to the numbered streets, what with 20 blocks being a mile, and Broadway skews it as it is one of the least geometric roads. It doesn't go in a straight, parallel line unlike the rest. Another reason to love this city; it's so logical apart from the crossings, which make me laugh they're so poorly thought out. I got back to my hotel and totally enjoyed a couple of hours of chill out time before I went out again for dinner and a show. Unfortunately, I left it quite late to get ready and fretted quite a lot about what to wear so only had time for a starter before the show, but that was probably a good thing given the sheer size of the portions and my current limited capacity for food which is restricting me to feeling hungry only twice a day. The show was fun, full of energy but not as moving as it could have been. The style was different but hardly one that, as a small Jewish lady behind me said on the way out, reinvented the wheel. One girl did stand out however with a frenetic dancing style and an extraordinary bluesy, folky voice that was atypical for a musical. On the way home, I decided that walking a mile (this one was easy to work out, hotel on 29th, Eugene O'Neill Theatre on 49th) back to my room in heels was a stupid idea and decided to get a cab - important New York experience no.12. I succeeded in stopping three but wussy little tourists incapable of stopping their own cabs nicked the first two, which was my fault for standing in the wrong place. I learnt my lesson and finally managed to snag cab 3.



Yesterday, I headed downtown again, getting the subway to South Ferry. I wandered through Battery Park, which had a surprisingly emotional effect on me, which was the theme of the day. I got my tickets and set off over the water to Liberty and Ellis Islands. I didn't get off at Liberty, it was enough for me to be close and I didn't want to go up the Statue so just stood top deck and gazed at her a while. After a while the ferry moved off and around and the audio announcement gave a picture of what it must have been like to have been the immigrants coming into Ellis and I got a bit teary again, imagining them seeing La Liberte and the Manhattan skyline and how extraordinary that must have been, and how simultaneously terrified and exhausted they would have felt with the uncertainty and the pressures of the voyage. When we got to the Island I think I spent about four hours there, I had a fun half hour randomly searching for relatives after realising that everyone else in there had a great deal more information that me in the proper archives. But the search programme was great and I found someone who is potentially an ancestor - Charles Carney, Irish/British, from Bradford, England. I shall get Our Kid (would he mind if I called him that too?) on the case! Then I spent hours going through the museum, which was an exceptional demonstration of immigration in the US; historically, sociologically and personally. I didn't even get to the last floor, I'd spent so long everywhere else!

I came back in the ferry and trotted along to the South Street Seaport for some actual shopping - managed to find presents and, finally!, postcards, which was a relief. I would have got into trouble with Granny if I'd not found any at all. I then had a dilemma about the rest of the evening, with my choice dictated by my single status and my back which had really started aching from the walking. I got back to the hotel, got changed and wandered back up to Times Square for a meal and to watch Stardust. I may watch it again when I get home, it's lovely and watching Mark Williams play a man who was previously a goat is something that is still making me giggle a wee bit.

Right, there we go, a comprehensive summary of two days in New York without any insomnia as an influence. I have written so much in my journal (best present ever!), and postcards, and a blog that it is making me a feel just a wee bit like I'm not on my own quite so much. Next stop, Sturbridge.

Here I Am

So, I am in the basement of my hotel at 2 in the morning logged in and letting you know what I'm doing. Unfortunately mainly what I'm doing at this moment in time is not sleeping. I'm very, very tired but my body clock is currently very confounded, doesn't know where I am or what I'm doing. This has also affected my appetite, much to my surprise. Who knew that could happen? It's very appropriate for the city that never sleeps, however.

Yesterday was amazing. I have decided that New York is fabulous. I couldn't imagine living here unless I suddenly became immensely rich but I love it. My favourite part was probably Central Park, particularly Shakespeare's Garden. I happily sat there and sniffed lovely herbal smells and watched butterflies for a while. I also sat in Strawberry Fields, on Drunken Accomplice's recommendation (I also popped into FAO Schwartz where someone was actually playing Chopsticks on the floor piano a la Big), watching the possibly self-appointed custodian and listening to her tales of wild nights and "twinking" roommates and tried to work out whether she had ever been a man.

I walked a lot, starting from my hotel on West 29th Street up 7th Ave (the Fashion Ave) to 34th Street where I walked around to the 5th Ave entrance of the Empire State Building and wandered around the top, although I didn't get so brave as to go up to the 102nd observation deck. I went just before the other tourists piled in and left as it started getting busy, with a real sense of the city's shape that I hadn't been able to get from a map. I then rejoined 7th and walked to Times Square, which was different than I expected despite having seen it on so many films. It is much longer than I thought and not particularly square-like, but as big and brash as I had hoped, even the signs for the subway are illuminated with golden sparkles. After a restorative, yet unfinished due to it's enormous size, muffin, I bought me a ticket for a show that I'm going to see tonight; "Spring Awakenings" and then headed up 7th Ave to Central Park. I almost felt that I got absorbed by the park. I originally intended to take the subway but ended up just walking and the park seemed to stretch endlessly on either side of me. The skyscrapers that I could see over the trees were a reminder of the city but from inside it all seemed so far away. I eventually, after much sitting and contemplating, got to the Metropolitan Musem of Art on 5th Avenue. I snuck in, I'm still not entirely sure whether or not I should have paid an admission fee, wandered about a bit but as an emotional rather than academic enjoyer of art found the exhibits rather dull and felt that I could have been anywhere, except for a few rooms which had been made into recreations of actual living spaces with items like staircases as exhibits. They were quite special but I couldn't find anything that explained them as a whole rather than the sum of their parts. This was a particular disappointment in the room with bed and the cupids as it was stupendously lovely. Maybe if I'd've paid I'd have had some kind of comprehensive guide book. I walked through an exhibition of Dutch paintings from the time of Rembrandt and found my eyes drawn effortlessly to a Vermeer painting across a room of flat portraits. I was very tired by this stage so decided to head back down 5th Ave and look for somewhere to eat and a movie theater. I contemplated watching two films but was so knackered I came back to my hotel room after one and effectively conked out at 8.30. I guess that may be the reason I woke up at 1.30 but I keep hoping I'll need to catch up - I've missed so much sleep!

Anywho, insomnia is a factor in this so don't expect such an exhaustive recounting in the future but that's episode 1 of my adventures. Hopefully there will be many more - I haven't fully decided what to do today but I'm definitely going to go to Little Italy as today is the Festa di San Gennaro. I'd also like to pop into a little shop on Spring Street for a present for Big Sis. And as I'm in Little Italy I may go to NoLIta (North of Little Italy) which is apparently a funky shopping area. And I have a theatre trip planned for tonight, if only I can stay awake...

Off I Go!

As part of my new life, I am off on what would have been my honeymoon on my own. I am terrified and hugely excited, particularly about New York, a dream destination of mine. It's going to be strange - I've never been away on my own before and holidays have tended to be with people who know what they're doing so I just turn up and follow them. A catch-all phrase recently, described as such by Penfold, has been "a voyage of discovery" and none more so voyage-y or discover-y than this. As I am going to be in towns and whatnot, I may blog as I go so be prepared to receive blogs from my travels. Learn of my awe at the Big Apple, be astounded by my inability to go anywhere without a car (as many Americans have been when I have tried to find out about public transport in advance of my trip), and marvel at my exploits. And please continue to email and comment so that in some way, I know I have my people with me (I nearly wrote peeps. It sounded wrong).

One of the things you can do is comment on my Daemon - I am nothing if not bandwagonny - I think it's accurate and given the nature of the world as described in the Dark Materials books am greatly relieved Brynn isn't a dog. I'm really not cut out for the service industries long-term.

Hard Times

This is a blog that I've been putting off for a while because the crappy bits of life are always the hardest to write about. MuleBoy and I are no more. The wedding is off and the arrangements are disassembled, with no small financial loss to my parents. I am now a single 27 year old woman living at my Mum and Dad's who can't drive and is in a job that she doesn't like very much. It doesn't feel like a hugely successful state of affairs. So I'm making plans and the very fact that these don't include MuleBoy is sad and unpleasant. I miss him very much as my best friend and my greatest comfort. I can't deny that the relationship wasn't perfect but I wish that we could have worked it out together rather than MuleBoy pulling the plug, which is what happened, in essence. For now we are taking apart our lives as MuleBoy is leaving the house that we shared at the end of the month, which will mean that we have to decide what belongs to who and find somewhere to put it all. It is still all very hard to believe.

Musicals

I have a strange relationship with musicals, both stage and film. There are several movie musicals that I would watch over and over again, often involving nuns or wizards or St Louis. I generally find out if they're on over Christmas then invite myself over to Mum and Dad's to watch them (I may have mentioned MuleBoy's hatred of this sort of thing before). There are several stage musicals that I have seen over and over again too and would still do so now - Guys and Dolls is one that I've seen roughly about 6 or 7 times, whether amateur, school or professional shows. But I am not very good at forging relationships with new musicals. Big Sis, after unsuccessfully asking me to listen to Rent, used an almost osmotic practice by playing it continuously so that I was humming it all the time and had to finally listen to it to find out what the words were. I had Wicked in my flat for ages before giving it back to Dad without having listened to it at all as it just felt too much like hard work. Maybe it's the packaging, or the fact that listening to a story on CD is too much like hard work. I think the former might be the key however, because make something look like the trashiest piece of naff and I will desire to watch it with every particle of my being.

I have craved High School Musical since I saw an advert for it sometime last year. I thought it would be the sort of thing that Big Sis would enjoy and bought it for her for Christmas. The fact that it's a film and not on CD probably helps, although I wonder whether I would have been more into Wicked if Dad had told me the plot: witches + high school = camp extravaganza. However, after watching it last night (I figured that buying it for someone for Christmas and then asking to borrow it six months later is a decent grace period), I couldn't help but be disappointed. I don't know about you, but when I watch a musical I expect decent songs and decent singers. And maybe some sincerity, at some point. However, I was confronted with this:



Now, they can sing, don't get me wrong, there's a tune and everything. But Jeezy Chreezy! It's so plastic. And all the singers sound like this, like they've somehow had their throats coated in plastic. Also, that girl has that expression for the whole film and how would you not run away if the boy started doing that face right in front of yours? Oh, and the other thing; she's a genius (hence the book reading at the beginning of the clip). I slap my forehead with my palm and go and lie down somewhere annoyed at the plot that involves a jock and a geek discovering their love for singing together and uniting a divided school. Then, I come into work and root through You Tube to find a clip of a film that was the sort of thing I was hoping for. Obviously as High School Musical was Disney, I couldn't really expect the underage sex, sexual experimentation and cross-dressing, but, oh, the music. Seriously, if you like musicals and people who can sing, hunt this down (as I plan to do in my lunch break tomorrow). Even Sondheim makes an appearance. It shares at least one thing with HSM, though. Its name is pretty much an "it does exactly what it says on the tin" type of dealio. Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you Camp:

So Tired

Dear Lord, I'm tired. We had a party on Saturday, which I left at 2ish on the grounds that my eyes were closing whether I wanted them to or not. I woke up at 8 after something of a restless night, mainly caused by the fact that MuleBoy managed to stay up the entire night and left me on my lonesome. Although this is something that I'm used to with the insomnia and all, it isn't something that I particularly like, especially when coupled with the fact that I could hear him downstairs laughing and talking.

As a result, MuleBoy decided to go to bed at 9ish last night and insisted that I come so that I didn't wake him up later, which also ruled out reading or doing a puzzle book in bed. I fell asleep pretty quickly but woke up with a mini-panic attack at 1.30am. I finally fell asleep again much later, after solving the cause for panic attack, watching an Al Pacino film (it was okay but if Michael Rooker's in a whodunnit kind of a thing, it's going to be him whatdunnit), putting the cats away so that Steve didn't jump on my face and Meatball didn't claw at the door. As there was a mere hour between the 6am when I dropped off and my getting up time, I'm now wondering if I would have felt better had I not bothered to go back to sleep at all. Oh, and considering his concerns about being woken, MuleBoy was not disturbed by me once despite my nocturnal to-ings and fro-ings. I feel like crap.

The plus side is that at least the party was good and I had a lovely time yesterday with Mum and Big Sis at a local Garden Show. The minus is that I have no idea when I'm going to catch up on sleep.

Not quite crystallised

It's never very sensible for me to write a post that hasn't been formulating in my head for at least a day beforehand. Otherwise, I spend a vast amount of time editing and deleting as I go along. However, the pressure of a dated blog has forced my hand and I must write something.

Things are moving on apace, particularly the wedding which is now less than three months away. I don't have a photographer which is something of a worry, but we can always busk it if necessary. People are coming, they have cameras, we'll cope.

I've heard back from somewhere about a placement in casting, yet to hear about dates, something else has popped up that I'm giving serious thought to and I have to redo my CV.

MuleBoy is entirely done, his last five assignments are in and we're feeling all light and happy with the knowledge that people can come round without him having to work it into his schedule. Always a plus.

It's raining but you probably knew that.

I saw Zodiac and it was very good. Dad'll enjoy it immensely, I reckon. Mum'll fall asleep but be insistent that she enjoyed it regardless.

I got very drunk on Sunday and miraculously did not get any form of hangover beside an appetite that felt like a yawning abyss. I was going out for an Italian the next day, though, so it worked out all right.

I'm in a play. I'm finding the lines something of a struggle as my discipline is shot from lack of practice. I've got a week to learn a lot of stuff. I'm sure I'll manage.

I gardened on Saturday and my legs still hurt. This may have been exacerbated by not realising the Greyhound races were outside.

I'm back to Urban Funk after it conflicting with work for several months and shall enjoy the last two weeks of the class enormously. I hope.

I've deleted from GoSupermodels and got addicted from MySpace. I discovered it's actually quite fun there when you start talking to people. Yay for fun.

Umm, let me know if I've left anything out. Perhaps you'd like to hear more about my exploits with an improvisational band known as F*ck Knows and the Dilapitated (sic) Llamas. I would change the spelling but I think it adds to the charm. This was while drunk on Sunday and we created 14 songs, the last of which was called Fifteen Songs because we'd miscounted. Other classics were Chicken Stew and Albino Loving. Strange night: Zombie bouncing down the stairs, magical disappearing pizza, MuleBoy's fanclub, Randy McNewman in the living room. It was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very good.

Things are Starting To Happen

MuleBoy's dissertation is finished. I asked for permission to print it out at work and now have it sitting in a drawer, awaiting one mini-amendment that required a panicky phonecall from his work. He has, by sheer jamminess, managed to get a full time job at the place where he was going to have to quit because they didn't have enough hours. He has but three essays to do and then he will be finished. He is set to graduate on 24 July, a day which I plan to celebrate fully.

The thing that has glued me to my place is done and I am nearly free to pursue other things. But I still don't know what to do. I am so fundamentally struck with ennui at the idea of continuing in admin but am not skilled in any other areas. I've been looking at placements but all are unpaid and we can't afford for either of us to be doing that sort of shenanigans for a while. And the wedding and honeymoon are in the way of most suggested dates. I'd love to join the Actor's Company but that costs 11 grand and, despite the structure of the company which allows people to work part time, that is extremely past my means. And I want a period of living at least a little bit within my means. That'd be nice.

My goal at the moment is to save for a postgraduate course at a drama school. Within this time I plan to look for other things to see if I'm better suited for them instead. I found something quite spectacular at the Donmar Warehouse which is my short-term goal. They've started a new thing, which is a trainee casting person and is supported by a bursary, so is paid. I phoned to find out what I could do to get it next year (it's a year post that starts in February). I'd need some casting experience beyond the amateur dramatics so have emailed a few companies about shadowing them. I think I have the skills for casting, particularly in the way that I can memorise actors and their careers. But it's frustrating that in order to get something paid I have to do something unpaid, which is similar to the sort of jobs that MuleBoy wants to go for. I may also continue to write and read film stuff and, if I do anything good, may send it to people.

I don't know what to do, as long-term readers will be well aware, but at least I am at the point where I can look for stuff rather than just wish for stuff to happen in the future. I've applied for a couple of adminny jobs already in order to make a start in London and can genuinely start to make plans. It's a relief.

In other news...

We kicked ass at the drama festival thing. Yay. The play what I devised* was recalled and got second best play of the festival, Zombie got best actor, Semolina Broccoli got Best Supporting Player, Mrs FW and I got mentioned as runners-up in the acting categories and Lorraine and Semolina's play won the whole thing and will go through to the next round. This does mean that Working didn't get through because only one team from each company could qualify, but I still get to tag along as a replacement for one of the original cast who can't make it. Which I think qualifies as being jammy.

I'm very excited because Mrs Drunken Accomplice is PREGNANT! From henceforth she shall be The Sober Accomplice until such time as she has ceased breastfeeding. Congratulations to all the Accomplices, especially Foetal Accomplice.


*MuleBoy reminded me of a story I like the other day. Someone I work with met Hello Darling on a train. Hello Darling said that she was going to see The Play Wot I Wrote in London. It later got back to Hello Darling that my colleague had said afterwards that "you'd think she'd have better grammar if she'd written a play". Love it.

Embarrassing things

So, I shall come clean. I have a tendency, as I think is well documented in here, to doss about a bit on t'internet at work. My current presence on my blog at 9am on a workday morning confirms this, I think. For the last couple of months (deep breath), I have been playing on the world's most embarrassing site for a 27 year old woman who has friends and a boyfriend. But I can't seem to stop. Big Sis accepted this when I told her, knowing my mentality, but Mrs Funny Whistler was rather disconcerted. It is called GoSuperModels and, basically, it's MySpace for people who really want to pretend to be models. Unfortunately this often tends to be 11 year old girls who can't type and overuse smileys. However, this was just my first impression as I used the site merely to play modelling games and buy clothes. Genius concept - play games, buy clothes. Now I'm addicted for an even worse reason than my need to pretend that I'm a model with an easily extendable clothing budget. I've got friends on there. Now, one of my friends is a mother-of-three who goes on there to make sure her daughters are safe and one of them is a 22 year old freelance web-designer who gets bored when she's working from home but the friends that I get on really well with are 14 and 15(!) We have the same music tastes, which is how I got into their club in the first place (clubs are a big thing in GSM) and they genuinely make me laugh. The other thing, quite important to me, is that people aren't allowed in the club unless they type well as the club does not tolerate webspeak.

Obviously, the age thing can make me feel awkward, but I do tell them how old I am and don't pretend to be anyone I'm not. I do get freaked when they start to talk about being alone forever because they don't have boyfriends but have to stop myself from contributing to a discussion about that because I'm sure I was equally melodramatic at that age, if not more, and shouldn't really start saying things like "don't be stupid, you need a slap", if only because people didn't say it to me. So I talk to them about GSM and music, we play word association games and "would you kiss this person?" games, during which I was surprised to find out that someone else would kiss Simon Pegg. There was me thinking he appealed mainly to 20/30 something women. That said, everyone on there is in love with Johnny Depp, which is an age gap and a half for most of these girls.

I think it's probably odd that I never got into MySpace when I'm pretty obsessed with this but there are a couple of reasons why it works better for me. 1) MySpace is about how you look in some ways. I put a Sara Silverman picture on my MySpace profile to begin with and got a deal of response that dropped off after I told people that that isn't me. GSM gives you an avatar and that is your physical identity. I prefer this as I like to pretend that I don't look like me. 2) MySpace doesn't have games or shopping facilities. This is rubbish.

So yes, I am a teenager in an adult's body, but I think you knew this already. I like to think that the GSM thing is more an expression of the part of me that likes to pretend she went to an American High School (seriously) and was a popular girl and is going to be a model. My obsession with America's Next Top Model is probably also an expression of this. Just don't hate me for it.

Strange Pasttimes

So, am living in a small vortex of nerves today. I normally get nervous before performing but there's nothing quite like having no safety net to keep the adrenaline going way in advance of the event. With Dude (an improvisational comedy night along the lines of Whose Line Is It Anyway, in case I haven't mentioned it before), my brain has established a quite remarkable feat which is to suppress any anticipation or knowledge of the event even happening until the day before, ensuring many nights of sleeping where there should be sleeplessness and fear. Unfortunately brain is not performing a similar task at the moment. With our current foray into a local amateur drama festival, we have reprised a piece that I am surprised I said yes to, given the inordinate amount of fear it inspires. I can only justify the decision by saying that I think I forgot how fricking terrifying it is to prepare and perform due to the rose-tinted specs of time and other people saying how much they wanted to see it again. As an actress who loves scripts and generally shouldn't be allowed to talk in real life without an edit function (a recent party where I talked a huge pile of crap really loudly is still making me shudder in recall, particularly where I insisted that meeting me was the highlight of everybody's life and then wouldn't let it go. It was one of those dreadful times when my ego had shouting privileges), I have a certain terror of being script-less. In this sense, scripts are the safety-net whose absence is making me sweat (ooh, it rhymes!) We (Mrs Funny Whistler, Big Sis and I) are embarking on a mostly wordless piece, devised by ourselves about four years ago about two women who piss each other off in the office and then have a bit of a boogie with the cleaner. I suppose I am fairly confident about it - I've been talking myself through it every night before going to sleep, which turns in to a shopping list:

MFW enters, wait for her to shred and type
In (hair in hat*)
Coat
Sit
Bag
Bra
Toys
Hair
Fidget
Magic Piece of Paper
Punch
Windows
Apple
Phone
"Hello. Oh, hi Rob. Yes, I know, I know. Oh yeah. Mmhmm, uh-uh"
SHREDDER
Sneeze
Fan
Filing Cabinet
Text Message
Tape
Revel in Desk Size
Tape War
Dance of the Chairs

*new idea from Big Sis so deserving of parentheses

But, if it isn't funny, what happens then? We had a technical rehearsal on Sunday where we did the Dance of the Chairs and not a smile was cracked, even by friends to make us feel better. Admittedly, the dance works because it comes after a gradual escalation of silliness and doesn't really work on its own but it was a huge blow to our confidence. Dad came to watch our subsequent panic-fuelled run-throughs to give us tips and his main piece of advice, which I am clutching, is that it isn't that funny. I had been playing it like a loon and he said that this gave the wrong impression and that, by toning it down, it would be more quaintly humourous than side-splitting. Oh, the relief. Now, I can quiet it all down, adding pauses and fun rather than clownish expressions and a manic pace. Finally, in our last run-through, we got the tone and pace right - clocking in at the twenty minutes required for the festival's rules. Now, it's just about whether I remember this as we fail to get any laughs tomorrow night. And whether Apple comes after Punch. And I cannot stop worrying.

I guess it has hit me so strongly as tonight I get to see the festival in action for the first time ever. I am nervous for our group who are performing and nervous because it is a reminder of what we have to go through tomorrow. That said, I am really looking forward to tonight because the tantalising glimpses of song, movement, music with wine glasses and the appropriate use of a cast member's hair have whetted my appetite. Let's hope I will be able to concentrate without my mantra of bra, toys, hair...

Red Carpet

As something of a film fancier and enjoyer of nice dresses, the Oscars is something that I get excited about, although always seem to forget to book time off work in order to be able to stay up and watch it. However, seeing as it overruns by a lot and gets a bit boring, that's probably a good thing as I can still enjoy it without having to sit through it. I've just been reading through a post via my favourite website Go Fug Yourself here (scroll down for Fugging the Oscars), which is a blow-by-blow account that made me laugh quite a lot. Essentially: Helen Mirren and Forest Whittaker won. Big surprise. Alan Arkin won, which is good as Little Miss Sunshine was genius, although I loved Mark Wahlberg so much in The Departed that I was secretly holding out for him. Martin Scorsese and Thelma Schoonmaker (my favourite editor) both won for The Departed which also won best film. Although there were better films, I'm just really glad it won over Babel and The Queen. I haven't seen either of those for a reason. The fact that Babel was by the same guy who did 21 Grams didn't encourage me to see it as that was one of those films, like Mystic River, that I felt I was supposed to like because it was very serious and important but came out of feeling very let down. I also read a review of Babel that said that if the same idea had been done with a more positive feel, it would have been ridiculously naive, but as it was a depressing subject matter, we're supposed to take it seriously, which is pretty much my feeling about 21 Grams and confirmed my prejudice. And I know I should probably see The Queen and get my ideas changed about her but I don't want to. She's just a woman with a crappy job who's pretty much out of touch with modern Britain for all of her hand-shaking and hospital visiting. I feel sorry for her but I'm not interested enough to spend two hours in her company.

To be honest, the awards are generally a let-down after all the hype and the speeches can be embarrassing but the outfits never let us down. Annoyingly my favourite dress of the year belonged to Reese Witherspoon. And it's dark blue, which I always feel is a back-up black at awards ceremony, i.e. dull. But unfortunately, having looked at several photos, I still love it to bits. It's gorgeous. Cate Blanchett's was much less upsettingly pleasant as it was interesting, unusual and on an actress who I respect and like, and who appears uncredited in Hot Fuzz (it is her - I've had it confirmed. I am no longer the crazy woman ranting about how I know it is her to a defiant MuleBoy. I am now the crazy woman with proof). Gwyneth, Penelope and Jessica Biel all came a cropper to unpleasant shades of pink. I liked both Eva Green and Nicole's dresses but their faces scared me. Cameron Diaz decided to wear white, which always looks bridal, and she managed to get a dress so architectural in structure that she looks like a bride from an awful 80s wedding. Or a really clean version of the Tricorn Centre. And she should stop being brunette. I thought that Helen Mirren looked great but she generally does. Kate Winslet, my favourite red carpet person, looked a bit lacklustre. Mainly because of her hair. But she wore a colour which is the most important thing. My favourite men were Robert Downey Jr, Clive Owen and James McAvoy. Eddie Murphy looks like he thinks that he's still in Dreamgirls and Djimon Hounsou, lucky bastard who got to sit next to Jack Nicholson in the front row (if I ever go to the Oscars, I want to sit there. Can you imagine getting little asides from Jack Nicholson? Also, he always genuinely looks like he's having fun), had shiny edgings to his lapels. Daniel Craig is always gorgeous but, like Eddie, seemed to forget he wasn't actually on set and had dressed Bond-appropriate. I know it's difficult to escape Bond comparisons in a tux but would refer him to Clive Owen's example. The rebel didn't wear a tie of any kind! And it still worked.

I can't wait until the highlights, I want to see the interpretive dance where they make images from recent films. I want to see Abigail Breslin and Jaden Smith be cute together. And I want to see the Dead Person Montage, which, if I'm honest, probably is one of my favourite bits of the show. Even if it isn't as good as what Mark LaMarr used to do on Never Mind the Buzzcocks for all the people he just wished had died over the year.

Lacking Inspiration

I have been finding it very difficult to do anything recently. My enthusiasm for things has evaporated temporarily. Pretty much the only things I have looked forward to are going to see my Dad and TV programmes (although these are very dependent on mood, except for America's Next Top Model which I could genuinely watch for 24 hours a day without getting bored). Obviously it hasn't been that bleak, I may be exaggerating a little. I went out for a Valentine's Meal with MuleBoy and we've been doing wedding stuff. But I missed an audition for Big Liam's band because I was going to the hospital the day after Dad's op and had spent the morning in floods of tears. I couldn't face getting a part in the next play so pulled out after auditioning. I haven't posted or written anything for a month. I've stopped going to the gym and ate nothing but sugar for about a week before moving on to junk food and cheese for the last three weeks. This, in turn, has led to hours of standing in front of the mirror hating myself, unable to find anything to wear. I am planning to go to the gym today but am finding it hard to shift out of patterns of self-hating leading to binging.

But my Dad is home and, if not entirely himself again, is getting there. Although it has led to some problems in my brain area, this whole experience has not been as bad as it certainly could have been and I have coped. My manager said yesterday that she would have been crying the whole time and I find it hard to believe that I wasn't. I had one bad day and that was it. I just feel like I've been crying the whole time. I have tears that spring into my eyes from time to time caused by random triggers like, for some reason, the end of The Railway Children repeating in my head. I'd walk down the road and "Daddy, Oh my Daddy" would hit me. Seriously, I just typed the blessed thing and it made me go. I think that what I need is some kind of finish to the whole thing. Some kind of train platform reunion where my Dad can dance a jig to prove he's okay and I can hug him and just feel better.

I am having second thoughts about posting this. Obviously, if you're reading this, the first thoughts won out. I saw Dad yesterday and he was up to sitting at the computer and had read my last post, which is good. But I don't want to write a post about how I feel crap because I've been mildly traumatised by my Dad's heart attack and subsequent triple heart bypass and then have him feel guilty when none of this is his fault. But I do need an outlet and this is my forum for my more selfish and self-indulgent thoughts. I just urge you, Dad, to understand that, however much I would wish to protect you from knowing that it was difficult for us, it was hard and we struggled at times but we would willingly go through worse for you to be alright.

When Life Goes Scary

I tried to post yesterday but had to stop as I was on the verge of embarrassing myself in a public place. It was a very bad day yesterday. I cried during the dissertation hand-in, although it was fortunately at a point when students were still lining up at the printers and weren't actually present. My Dad went into hospital on Tuesday night as a result of chest pains and then was told he'd had a heart attack and needed to stay in a week. We were all in a state of high panic but having got to the hospital and having Dad sit with us in the waiting room for a bit we'd all calmed down, but this news suddenly made it seem much more serious.

I closed off yesterday. I couldn't tell anyone except my boss at work so that I could leave early. I hadn't slept particularly well the night before and tiredness combined with a barely suppressed panic meant I just couldn't let anything out or I wouldn't stop. Dad's health since has been really good;, good blood pressure, good heartbeat but it's difficult to relax. I feel more relaxed but there's still a niggling thought in the back of my mind that when I'm not there, anything could happen. I wish I had the tools to defend my family against everything. A doctor and a warrior and a magician all in one. They are so precious.

I would break if anything happened to my Dad. I was trying to phrase it yesterday and couldn't find the words. I can't think of anything that expresses it better. I would break. I do not know anyone with more passion or the ability to express that passion and be so infectious with it. Although he can stumble with the words, his excitement is lifting and his sincerity is palpable. People are drawn to him and his talent and what is an indefinable air of being just kind of cool. Many's the time have I been told by people, or overheard, how awesome my Dad is. He's devoted to my Mum, and she to him, and their relationship is one of the best I've ever seen. Although he sees himself as curmudgeonly and grumpy, which, don't get me wrong, he can easily be, he is an optimistic and romantic bon viveur.

That last point may have to be trimmed somewhat with a post-heart attack diet but what can you do? I think evidence of his awesomeness can be seen in the response to me telling people; emails and phone calls and visitors have been popping in and I'm so grateful for all of this. People are amazing.

Crazy Lady

So, I'm back on a diet and back to obsessing about food. I'm sure you're not exactly fascinated by this and I know that I can get a bit repetitive but, as with Herself and her drinks list the other day, sometimes it is good to use the blogs for our own means as opposed to providing entertainment. I have managed to eat very little this week, which I am quite surprised by. I was ratty when I came back from a training session this morning because I hadn't eaten and there were biscuits and everything. I have now eaten and my mood has been restored. I'm eating a bowl of cereal for lunch as I hate sandwiches that have been around for a while. I only eat sandwiches at home because they're fresh. I think it has to do with getting cheese and cucumber sandwiches at school; when I got to them at lunch, the bread and cheese would be soggy from the cucumbers. If I remembered, I'd take the cucumbers out when I got to school and store them separately. I can't remember if I ever actually told my Mum or not, that probably would have been easier.

Anyhoo, yesterday was a work hand-in and I was up and down like a yoyo so decided not to do the cereal thing and got a gross wrap that was 9 Weightwatchers points. I threw half of it away so it counts as 4.5, I reckon. Had to do the same thing just now with a sticky toffee Mullerlite thing. There weren't any apples at the corner shop and I'd seen a persuasive advert of a Mullerlite and a chocolate button, saying that they were about the same fat content or something so thought that the Mullerlite would be brilliant because so much more filling. Unfortunately it was really sickly, so have wasted £3.55 this week on food that I have thrown away. Very frustrating. And really, who sells crap yoghurts over apples? I went to Tesco Express while walking in to work this morning (get me) and they didn't have any of the apple type that I am currently eating so didn't get any there. I'm into Granny Smith's at the moment, before that it was Cox's, before that, Gala and Braeburns and I really only ate Granny Smiths in my teenage years. It does make it slightly awkward that not only do I only eat one type of fruit but that I also only eat one type of the one type of fruit that I do eat. Does that make sense?

I have been to the gym Monday and today and walked either to or from work every day. When I get home, MuleBoy has generally cooked something massively unhealthy, so that is something to change for next week! But as a cap to the day I've been having pure sugar. I had five After Eights on Monday and four Minstrels last night. It's something to look forward to. This restraint will last until the weekend, I reckon. Then I'll probably be just as crap as before. But at least I'm trying now.

The cats' diets are going pretty much as I expected. Having been back for their second weigh-in (they have to go every six weeks) Steve has lost 250 grams and Meatball has gained 100. I'm not quite sure how she's managed this. I put on weight because I can go to the shops and buy more food, which I can't really imagine her doing. So we're going to exercise her more, which currently involves us running to the top of the stairs with her food. She stops and looks at us from the bottom and waits for us to come back down again. I was in a rush this morning so gave up after she sat on the fifth step and refused to go any further. In light of this, the cat harness that we've bought in order to walk her is starting to feel like a wasted purchase. I'll give it a go at the weekend, I think. Maybe at night so that no-one can actually see me walking a cat.

Waking Up

Happy New Year everybody!

I've been in hibernation. It's been very nice. Taking the first week back at work off is becoming something of a tradition and it is generally extremely lovely. I sleep a lot, eat a lot, play games, spend time with MuleBoy, watch old films, stay up late and avoid the shower. I know, I know, the last bit's gross. It's just really nice falling out of the world for a while.

So now I'm back. Can't say that I've done anything constructive yet, except plan to not eat very much today and I made myself bring in my gym bag. Early days. And to be honest, I'm not really convinced that I'll get very far with any resolutions that I've half-heartedly formed in my head. But I'm currently feeling content and warm-glow-ish, which is worth a lot. Excited by the future and all the possibilities. I can see an end to MuleBoy's degree, he has a new job at the mo, I can see an end to my job and the start of something new. Everything seems shiny and new, just like it should do after a decent hibernation.