Fetish

This summer I shall be wearing green. Mainly so I can wear my apple-green Birkenstocks and these funky little beauties:


noo_shoes.jpg


I think I may be turning into Imelda Marcos.
1.6.04 11:12


Peripatetic

I was faced with a momentous decision this weekend. Should I leave my bijou flat in genteel West Dulwich and move to the mean streets of Archway for a more authentic London experience? This decision necessitated considerable soul-searching. I agonized. Then I did what I always do in this sort of situation - I made a list. I love lists. So... pros and cons for moving to Archway:


Pros


- A bigger room with a double bed, rather than the poky single room I currently reside in. Which means I can lure menfolk back to my lair. Big plus.


- Better transport. The flat is one minute from a tube line. No more hiking to the overland station to wait for a train that comes every half an hour (if it comes at all). Myriad bus routes nearby, as opposed to just one bus service (the Number 3, which is the Devil's own omnibus). And I'd be in Zone 2, saving me £££s every month and shaving at least half an hour off my journey to work. Plentiful cabs that will actually take me home for under twenty quid. Not having to crash at friend's houses because I've missed my last train. The list goes on and on.


- No noisy neighbours who play pumping drum 'n' bass then wake me up by having loud sex at 3 o'clock in the morning. Which means that I won't snap and kill anyone with a clawhammer. Always a bonus.


- Within walking distance of two supermarkets. No more 20-minute uphill hikes to buy bread. Bliss.


- Easy access to fast food restaurants (okay, this could also be in the 'Con' column. But I've had 3 years without being able to go to the chippy for my tea. Oh, the horror).


- A shower! No more washing my hair with a cup in the bath! Sweet Jesus! *hyperventilates*


- A TV aerial, meaning I can actually tape stuff off the telly. Rather than asking my Mum to video programmes and then post me the tape. Saves on jiffy bags and postage.


- Sharing with Evie, who can make me laugh even when I'm hungover. Which is a rare talent indeed.


- A cat!


 


Cons


- Um, actually, I can't think of any.


 


So that was the decision made. I told my flatmate last night that I was moving out and she took it very well. Maybe she was secretly relieved. I mean, I'm always out gallivanting on some cocktail-related adventure and I never seem to get round to cleaning the bathroom...


I'm going to be a North Londoner. Golly.
1.6.04 12:39


Bad Ideas Of Our Time #10

Staying up to watch Derren Brown's "Seance". On my own. Then having to go to bed with the lights on and Radio 4 playing so the ghosties wouldn't get me...


 


And all because of my unreasonable crush on Derren.



Oooh. He can get inside my mind any time he likes. Fnar.
1.6.04 13:05


A typical day at Clerkenwell Towers

Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored.


Greek yoghurt with strawberries.


Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored.


Phone call to locksmith.


Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored.


Water trees and remove dead leaves. Panic about whether they're dying or not. Decide they're not.


Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored.


Escape to the gym for an hour of Pilates.


Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored.


Go home.


 


 


Admit it. You all envy me, don't you?
2.6.04 13:28


Toute seule

After surviving 8 hours of crippling boredom yesterday I figured I deserved a reward. I also felt like having some "me time". So I went to see "Bad Education" at the Barbican.


I have to watch Almodovar films on my own. They are the cinematic equivalent of a candlelit bath with a glass of red wine - indulgent and calming; a solitary pleasure. I feel the same way about the Barbican itself. Wandering around it and getting hopelessly lost (as I invariably do) is a strangely peaceful experience. It's like wandering into a conch shell. And there's always something new to discover. Yesterday, while trying to find Cinema 2, I stumbled across the Conservatory. A huge room, three storeys high, full of tropical greenery. Koi carp swam lazily in a pool, and birds swooped and sang amongst the foliage. It was so magical I almost wanted to cry.


That's the thing I love most about London. Its secrets.
3.6.04 12:24


Motivation

It's been 9 days since I last had any alcohol. A pint of Hoegaarden would go down really nicely right now...


But I got on the scales this morning and I've lost 4lbs in under a week. So maybe I'll have a diet Coke instead...
4.6.04 15:20


Nepotism

"It'd be silly to turn dad down when he keeps giving me great parts."


Thus spake Rebecca Hall, daughter of theatre director Sir Peter Hall. She will be appearing in three of her father's productions for the Peter Hall season in Bath.


Good to see British theatre is a meritocracy, eh? It makes me sick.


*grinds teeth*


*sharpens knife*


*looks up Rebecca Hall's address in telephone directory*


*stomps off with mad glint in eye, knife flashing in the sunlight*
7.6.04 15:38


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