Ridiculously late and am utterly bollocksed. Determined to blog daily. Also for some reason not using personal pronouns or other linky words. Now weirdly feel like Tilly in Miranda. Going all: ‘Bear with, bear with.’
Shush now brain.
Read Moose Allain’s Storify collection of tweets sent by people who have made embarrassing faux pas in public. I have literally wept with laughter until tears were falling onto the desk in rivers. Check it out. I defy you not to howl.
Cracked on with some of the frankly terrifying amounts of To Read piles (note the use of plural here) accumulating at the side of my bed. Wondering why I am incapable of going into a library without coming out with at least four books, even though I haven’t got time to read everything. Someone sent me the definition of the Japanese word ‘Tsundoku’. It means to buy books even when piles of unread books litter every available surface. That is me. I am that. That is what is happening.
I will not be able to be the crazy cat lady. The books will fill up all the crazy cat space for the crazy lady. There may be room for one, well read kitten.
I recommend reading Quentin Crisp’s The Naked Civil Servant, if you haven’t already read it. Bitchy, catty, unnecessary, also very funny. Particularly about why people do Morris Dancing.
Addicted to watching 24 Hours in A&E on Channel Four, in a slightly maudlin, slightly sentimental, slightly hiding behind my fingers kind of way. In a very odd way it does restore your faith in human nature. Also, how ruddy calm are those doctors and nurses? It merely reinforces for me what an absolutely appalling specimen of nurse I would be. This is entirely backed up by evidence of my lackadaisical approach to home nursing based on my own belief that most people really want to be left alone in the dark with tea and pain relief and quiet. In fact, this is what I want. What most other people seem to want is an endless supply of soup and sympathy, neither of which I am good at.
Also addicted to bread. Bloating is now occurring. I have devoured about four artisan style loaves of various provenance this week. I look like a cross between the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Also, my stomach hurts. I must stop compulsively eating bread. If I wake up with raisins for eyes it will be nobody’s fault but my own.
Found an amazing vintage shop in Leicester today on my travels. It’s called Dolly Mix Vintage. Lucky for you it also has an online shop. You can thank me later. It has been there for years and I am mortified I did not find it before. My bank account is probably not that mortified. Two floors of vintage heaven. I only bought two dresses. Considering the sheer quantity and variety of loveliness on show, this was very restrained. One dress is very tight. Hence me needing to stop swallowing entire loaves, even though they taste like wheat based heaven.
Another late discovery has been a cafe bar called The Cookie. It has been around in various iterations for ten years and I’ve never been inside until today, when I had a fabulous lunch. It is my new favourite. I shall be going again. And again.
Came sixth in the pub quiz this week. Realise, based on rather all encompassing bird themed questions, that my entire bird spotting knowledge if not bog standard penguin, robin, pigeon etc involves me deciding all birds are cormorants. Why I think all birds are cormorants I don’t know. It’s particularly troubling given that I live in the East Midlands where there are actually no cormorants at all. Perhaps it is their mysterious allure that is calling to me? Perhaps I am just shit at doing twitching or ornithology or whatever it is you young people call it today.
Managed to avoid Oscar’s sports day. Whoop!
Going to a Motown tribute style concert tomorrow with friends. I have never been to see a tribute thing before. I do like Motown though, and as most of my favourite Motowners are now dead, it is the only way. Plus I am still all about embracing new experiences, and not re experiencing old, poopy ones (see Sports Day avoidance above).
Going to see a play on Saturday called: ‘The Motherfucker With the Hat.’ Am taking enormous pleasure in telling everyone exactly what the title is when they ask me what I’m going to see. Particularly gratifying in the school playground.