tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75508642011-04-22T01:39:24.990+01:00Picklenoreply@blogger.comBlogger511100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1094021889685329922004-09-01T07:57:00.000+01:002004-09-01T07:58:09.686+01:00

...I have a cunning plan.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1093972133278624652004-08-31T18:07:00.000+01:002004-08-31T18:08:53.276+01:00

Miss Elaine Neous also rides again. Again, not myself...honest guv! Thanks Ruth :)

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1093950714904303362004-08-31T12:00:00.000+01:002004-08-31T12:13:07.833+01:00

However it's definitely not me. (Thanks for letting me know Sal). Although, thanks to my Florida Namesake, I've tracked down an old mate, Dough Boy, who I used to work with a few years ago, and he is now forging a new life for himself in Canada (but still banging on about Leeds United).

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1093939950830173402004-08-31T09:11:00.000+01:002004-08-31T09:12:30.830+01:00

After almost a week of lazing in 5 star hotels, I can't quite get used to life a la self-catering. No turn-down service! I've had a wonderful holiday. Loving Denmark. Loving Stereolab. Loving Har Mar Superstar, (even if I did get a bruised ass sitting on a rail whilst watching him) and Morrissey singing Smiths songs. Loving the Bolsover Castle. Have been utterly lazy, reading books, out of

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1093878711209139932004-08-30T16:10:00.000+01:002004-08-30T16:11:51.210+01:00

If you sit on a metal rail for an hour, you're gonna get a sore bum. *snigger*

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092760560248708212004-08-18T08:30:00.000+01:002004-08-18T08:33:23.280+01:00

Feel free to trash the place, leave lies and slurs in comments or amuse yourself making up names and email addresses for my Quiz. While I'm away I'll be: 'working' in a soundproof room; dancing in a field; sleeping in a department store; having men push something large up my back staircase; visiting a hospital with a bunch of grapes; lying through my teeth; sweating in a moshpit; playing with

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092727182002648102004-08-17T08:12:00.000+01:002004-08-17T09:26:02.050+01:00

I'm 2 days away from holiday and everything is crap. Something else has come up that I'll have to deal with because no-one else can or will step up to the job. I'm fed up, tired, stressed and emotional. I'm going through something for the first time and I'm not sure how to go about the task. I haven't had an 'actual' holiday since January. The one person I should be able to share this with is

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092643405871614102004-08-16T09:05:00.000+01:002004-08-16T09:08:14.066+01:00

...so Beatrice Lilly Boo was naughty this morning. She gave me 3 Belle & Sebastian tracks in a row (despite being on shuffle)... ...so the third B&S track was 'The Boy With An Arab Strap' (which you all know as the theme for...*clicks fingers*...is it Teachers?). There's something wrong about that title. I'm sure we're not supposed to say 'Arab Strap' anymore or maybe they just mean a boy

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092574752210484732004-08-15T13:55:00.000+01:002004-08-15T13:59:12.210+01:00

I just saw a nun walking along with a baby strapped to her front. The Catholic Church is either getting more relaxed or there's a sad story.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092394634474710612004-08-13T11:54:00.000+01:002004-08-13T11:57:14.473+01:00

Practise your drunken stagger home from the pub, courtesy of the caring Swiss. Move your mouse in the direction you want him to lean.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092322666943841802004-08-12T15:55:00.000+01:002004-08-12T16:00:03.050+01:00

Oh, there seems to be a hell of a list under the banned controls. So if you're banned, do feel free to drop me a line and we'll review.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092318177335143282004-08-12T14:40:00.000+01:002004-08-12T14:42:57.336+01:00

The bruising from my botched blood test continues to creep across my elbow. This is how it looked yesterday. Today the bruising along the vein goes further up and down my arm under the skin and thick purple fingers reach out across the skin inside my elbow. There are tiny little radial bruises further round my elbow. I've always bruised easily. As a child, my skin was translucent in

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092297652911030782004-08-12T08:42:00.000+01:002004-08-12T09:18:11.983+01:00

Do pregnant teenage/young girls in South East London look unhappy because they are? Or because they catch you looking and know what you are thinking (Jeez! Burberry do maternity boobtubes?). I worry on buses as I watch a driver sitting right on the back wheel of a cyclist, and I watch the cyclist powering on, concentrating hard, knowing that there's an impatient driver sitting right on her

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092157283520882732004-08-10T17:55:00.000+01:002004-08-10T18:03:34.936+01:00

Last week Alan asked his readers to write a short piece about someone we saw in the street. I finally got round to writing it but I can't find his post to stick it under, so I've put it here. He sat right at the front of the bus, on the pavement side, leaning forward, hugging his stomach as though he was in pain. He wore a pale denim jacket, stonewashed with a blouson style elasticated waist.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092150195340520592004-08-10T16:10:00.000+01:002004-08-10T16:03:15.340+01:00

I feel a bit shaky. Am not very good with injections or blood tests so you can imagine my distress at one arm/vein not working meaning the whole procedure had to be repeated on the other side. "Do you want me to bring the vein up?" I quipped. OK, so I didn't quip and in fact, I cried. Spent an hour being measured and tested on various machines. Apparently I suffer 'air hunger' or

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1092125179555190722004-08-10T09:04:00.000+01:002004-08-10T09:07:25.523+01:00

In 2 hours time, I'll be naked but for a robe with a gap down the back and people will be wanting to prode and probe me. Went to see David Cross (doing stand up comedy) last night. Am disappointed to say that I didn't like it that much. I feel guilty because Chap took me. Is it OK to not like an act under those circumstances? Oh well, he's never known me to be polite on any other matters...

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091788090735608142004-08-06T12:02:00.000+01:002004-08-06T12:06:57.800+01:00

I'm fortunate (pops tongue in cheek) to work with Planners. To be more specific, elderly planners who remember the old days and have a lot to say about what is wrong today. Meetings with these planners can be very long and tedious yet fascinating. A quick meeting today to plan an event next March turned into a two hour debate which covered Greek history, the Great Fire of London, Nash, Wren,

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091693152971638972004-08-05T09:56:00.000+01:002004-08-05T09:08:54.813+01:00

After the stresses of recent weeks, life's a bit quiet at the moment. Which is very nice. I tottered home last night, opened the post, ate some raspberries, went for a walk round the Common, cooked up some wholemeal pasta and a spinach sauce, made a beetroot-carrot-pear-apple juice, cleaned the kitchen, added some more air to my airbed, chatted on the phone, watched an eviction, sent some text

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091607547380971272004-08-04T10:18:00.000+01:002004-08-04T09:19:07.380+01:00

I can't get into Blue Witch today. Is anyone else having problems? *distress*

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091606741193997252004-08-04T09:49:00.000+01:002004-08-04T09:06:40.143+01:00

...that the boiler works but the pilot lighting bit doesn't and it needs a new valve thing. I'm glad because I would have felt a right arse if he'd turned up and flicked a previously unseen switch and within seconds everything was flowing. I was also relieved (when he got it going) to see how good the hot water pressure was. Unfortunately I'm still taking showers at work, it can't be left on

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091523637383828322004-08-03T10:59:00.000+01:002004-08-03T10:00:37.383+01:00

I've read two similar interviews in the last 12 hours, both with women who have gone through very painful public break-ups. Sophie Anderton was interviewed in The Observer on Sunday, where she talked about her battle with cocaine addiction and put her 'recovery' down to her new boyfriend who, one takes from the interview, completely controls her life now: "'[his club] is so exclusive, to be

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091435293940970252004-08-02T10:27:00.000+01:002004-08-02T10:45:39.000+01:00

Where to start! It's been a eventful weekend... I collected the keys from the Estate Agent on Friday. As I walked towards the Agents I felt so relieved that I wouldn't have to see that odious little man ever again. I was cheered by his red sweaty face, he really can't handle the heat. It felt so good to stand on my own in our flat at last. Just under 4 months since we had our offer accepted

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091199247815194672004-07-30T16:50:00.000+01:002004-07-30T15:54:07.816+01:00

My sister and I are now on the property ladder. We have exchanged. We have completed and our lovely solicitor has waived the extra fees. I'm so excited I want to pee.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091196550420399732004-07-30T16:05:00.000+01:002004-07-30T15:09:10.420+01:00

...and complete is minutes away. *cries with relief*

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091111026758078822004-07-29T16:20:00.000+01:002004-07-29T15:23:46.756+01:00

My alarm started singing. It was 5a.m.. It didn't wake me, I had been up all night staring hopelessly at the images from New York. I was on the move, and again I felt numb. I showered, dressed, repacked my bags and then stood looking around the bare little room, with it's walls covered in writing. It had to be done. The writing needed to be on the wall. I found a biro and added my name,

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091092781137526872004-07-29T11:18:00.000+01:002004-07-29T10:19:41.136+01:00

...21 days since I last smoked. I just thought I'd mention it.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1091014083473637192004-07-28T01:08:00.000+01:002004-07-28T12:28:03.473+01:00

Rad sent me some comics last week, 'Slave Labor Stories'. In my rush to leave on Friday night, I left them lying on my desk, with the bag and Rad's compliment slip. Monday morning came and I searched through and over my desk, looking for the comics. I couldn't remember for sure if I had locked them away in my cupboard or put them elsewhere. We do have a tea leaf in the office who sometimes

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090934749787416562004-07-27T15:18:00.000+01:002004-07-27T14:36:16.113+01:00

With a bounce in my step and my new local t-shirt, I strode out into the street feeling fresh and brave. I had a purpose, I had direction, the sun was shining and I had braved the hotel 'restaurant' and eaten, silent amongst my loud contemporaries. A few weeks before, a friend of mine had got me a map of Bangkok and drawn me up an itinerary for a day which took in temples, palaces, boat trips

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090915997530079722004-07-27T10:12:00.000+01:002004-07-27T09:18:29.333+01:00

The mini iPod is called Beatrice Lilly Boo. This is obviously the name I've got stored up for my first born daughter. Except I'm not particularly desperate to pass on my genes to any child of mine, especially not a daughter. So the mini iPod got the name. Loading up Beatrice Lilly Boo was quite a labourious affair, for Chap. I lounged on the floor at Chaps house, drinking wine and reading

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090833493515332842004-07-26T11:15:00.000+01:002004-07-26T10:18:13.516+01:00

I've started packing to move. No, not the flat, don’t be so daft! Moving down to the parents house in Sussex. Packing actually means unpacking in the first place. I never unpacked when I arrived at HC's so I'm just going through the boxes of books and things, trying to decide what can go and what can stay. The flat I'm hoping to buy is yards away from where I live now, but unfortunately my

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090596880027740652004-07-23T17:32:00.000+01:002004-07-23T16:34:40.026+01:00

And this is how I'll be swaying my hips to Morrissey.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090586908236229362004-07-23T13:46:00.000+01:002004-07-23T13:54:08.930+01:00

I shut my hotel door behind me and locked it firmly. As well as the lock, it had a loop to add your own padlock. I had bought with me my Holmes Place padlock which I stuck on the lock. My padlock looked strangely out of place, emblazoned Holmes Place announcing to all that inside lived a Londoner, the sort that thought spending on a premium gym made you a better person. I was full of

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090578415236956982004-07-23T12:26:00.000+01:002004-07-23T11:26:55.236+01:00

Loving Devastatin' Dave...

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090573352314995892004-07-23T11:02:00.000+01:002004-07-23T11:23:05.453+01:00

When all is good, I can be a lovely, good natured and sensitive soul. A team player, a manager, a good listener and a slightly overweight private dancer. But when I'm angry, this ugly streak comes out of nowhere. It lashes out instantly before I can tuck it away again. I always regret what happens in those instant moments. I do work to control it and the moment I see it, I give myself a

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090401340388257802004-07-21T11:11:00.000+01:002004-07-21T10:18:59.353+01:00

For a moment I thought I was back in my airless little attic bedroom in Chiswick. And then the fan creaked and the noise from the street and from the other rooms in the hotel started to seep into my consciousness. I was in a dirty little hotel room in Bangkok. I was alone, I only had 2 pairs of shoes and I had no idea what I was doing. I had more or less run away from London. It wasn't

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090398056070588262004-07-21T10:01:00.000+01:002004-07-21T09:20:56.070+01:00

I've learnt more about my food and body from watching You Are What You Eat, than I have in a lifetime of lessons, magazine articles and lectures from doctors. I really want to hand myself over to Dr Gillian McKeith, I want to lie on the floor and have the vertically challenged, faeces fixated, Doctor prod my intestines and tickle my liver and tell me where I'm going wrong. White bread! In 1

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090312390571060112004-07-20T17:32:00.000+01:002004-07-21T09:37:22.620+01:00

I felt the plane shudder as the undercarriage started to descend. Ignoring the Steward's instructions, I slipped on my ear phones and flicked through tracks to find the right tune. I pressed my face against the small window and watched the landscape get closer and closer.   8 hours before I had left England. 6 hours prior to that, broken by the strain of saying my goodbyes, I had checked in

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1090238288307588792004-07-19T12:55:00.000+01:002004-07-19T12:58:08.306+01:00

Almost without noticing, without thinking, it seems, you've arrived where you see far. Thirty years back, more, the path vanishes, thirty years ahead, more, the path vanishes: and you're forced to sit down in your own shadow to think. Memory, mother of truth and myth, tell how the terrain divided the stream.  Eira Stenberg

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089965202115541622004-07-16T17:05:00.000+01:002004-07-16T09:06:42.116+01:00

Little girls are so grown up these days. Two sisters, probably about 9 and 11,  got on my bus this morning, each in their school summer dress, each with their hair tied back and each pulling a little stewardess style suitcase.   They either have very organised working parents and are all leaving on holiday tonight, or they were running away in a sensibly well packed way.   The first sister (

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089879240789937922004-07-15T08:47:00.000+01:002004-07-15T09:14:00.790+01:00

Things continue to be mundane. Things are moving again on the flat purchase which should be good news, but now the solicitor has written to me explaining that, as per clause blah blah, we have incurred extra hours of work at a cost of £125 per hour. He's being "quite" sweet about it and has said that I should try to get a reduction in sale price and we will discuss the extra costs after

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089790549217732892004-07-14T08:21:00.000+01:002004-07-14T08:38:10.500+01:00

*pulls the tourniquet tight around arm* So I didn't get much sleep last night *taps syringe* I had one of my 'calm panic attacks'. I think of them that because they don't involve tears and gibbering, just an overwhelming idea that something bad is going to happen. *taps vein* I was home alone last night. As I was going to bed, for no reason at all, I had the idea that someone was

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089704624015506262004-07-13T08:43:00.000+01:002004-07-13T13:56:52.413+01:00

I've not met my solicitor face to face yet, only spoken to him on the phone. Some of you may be aware that my flat purchase has not progressed in the last six weeks for many obscure reasons. I am suffering badly with flat purchase frustration. Last night, in dreamland, I started stalking my solicitor - taking up residence in a tree over the road from his office window - to make sure he was

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089621313784230602004-07-12T09:16:00.000+01:002004-07-12T09:35:13.786+01:00

Went to the NFT on Saturday night (an attempt to reverse damage from Friday night) and watched Brighton Rock. I had read the book years ago - as a teenager when I first fell in love with Brighton and started to go down every Saturday on the bus, to hang out in HMV or along the Pier. The film wasn't as good as I had hoped though. Something was missing, something didn't click. Richard

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089465882216026852004-07-10T14:20:00.000+01:002004-07-10T14:24:42.216+01:00

...I've lost my toking stamina. I'm ashamed to admit that last night I whited out badly at the Massive Attack gig. 9 months off the stuff and the lad turns up with some smokes so fresh you can smell it 10 paces away, and it's wrapped in 4 bags. I was honest from the start "Pols, me ol'China, I'm not up to scratch...I'll just take it slow". He laughed and billed up. What a night...

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089375094762301982004-07-09T13:08:00.000+01:002004-07-09T13:13:20.470+01:00

...focus on work, focus on weekend, focus on plans for Copenhagen, focus on Massive Attack tonight, focus on NFT tomorrow night, focus on mini iPod...go and buy a pair of shoes...ANYTHING but go back to see what lies are being said now.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089364210535568452004-07-09T10:09:00.000+01:002004-07-09T10:10:10.536+01:00

…you know that moment in a relationship when something from one's past comes out? Chap: I've booked us a room here Mundunia: Oooo nice. I say, soundproof rooms. I'll bring the whip! Chap: You have a whip??? Mundania: Er. I used to. Not anymore. Silence…for a while…then talk of iPods. *mutter* it's a very competitive marketplace you know, a girl's gotta have a special talent.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089294143329932242004-07-08T14:24:00.000+01:002004-07-08T14:42:23.330+01:00

...I'm fascinated by my City and it's history and like another famous London blogger collect books, maps and legends and am found snuffling around graveyards or carparks, happy in the knowledge that I'm standing where the Roman Amphitheatre once stood (slap bang under the Guildhall). More than the knowledge of just knowing where things once were, I like to touch and feel. I have a thing for

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089272812432321962004-07-08T08:32:00.000+01:002004-07-08T08:46:52.433+01:00

...I feel like I've got a few days off. I haven't really. A particularly demanding friend has gone to Barcelona for 4 days so I won't get any phone calls. She's doing a huge amount of reviewing of her life and for some reason has decided that I'm the person to keep updated and bounce those ideas off. I feel like a tramopline at a Big Girl's party. Hurrah for storms! Last night the wind

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089216851167068372004-07-07T17:05:00.000+01:002004-07-07T17:14:11.166+01:00

...to go shopping was floated by Courtenay. So I bought a Mini iPod, tickets to go see a band on Friday night and, oops, a few days away in Copenhagen. And you know the terrible thing: it's cheered me up no end. That's not good. Spending money is my drug. In case of emergency, throw money down a pit.

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089186114059195072004-07-07T08:17:00.000+01:002004-07-07T17:17:53.166+01:00

...pisses me off for many reasons, but what mostly cheeses me off is the "customers who bought this item also bought" Yes! I have those albums too. I know I'm unoriginal, please don't ram it down my throat. A friend is to become a Father and I can't feel happy about it. It's not that I disapprove - he's married, to someone he's been with for 5 years, they own their house, they both work,

Picklenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7550864.post-1089130366628219052004-07-06T17:10:00.000+01:002004-08-10T08:21:30.610+01:00

...for yesterday I deliberately started something and then did everything I could to take it to the end. I know why I did it - I did it because I didn't want to be part of the clique anymore, I wanted to force my removal from the site. For the record, I don't like what I did. What I didn't want to happen was for someone else to get verbally abused by the same person. To her, I genuinely am

Picklenoreply@blogger.com