Montagne russe

Minus
My Special lady Friend has been in a bad mood for the past two days, and I didn’t manage to make it better. Nor did I really have the time or the energy to try harder because work’s been a bitch.

Plus
Today, someone at work who likes me gave me various Italian delicacies in a basket, and a bottle of champagne.

Minus.
Italian food. Perhaps it was a subtle way to allude to the world cup final?
I don’t like champagne.

Plus.
I don’t give a rat’s arse about football, and if you add Crème de cassis to a glass of champagne it’s a drink worthy of the gods.

Minus.
Yesterday, someone I know lost three fingers in an epileptic fit/freak hairdryer accident.

Minus.
She is was a pianist.


In my most childish, impossible, fairytale daydreams, I’m always a healer. Of moods, bumps, bruises, breaks, pains, and of lost fingers. Once I read somewhere that wishing for magic was one of the signs of depression. I do it all the time! Don’t you?

I do hope to make up for the sobriety of my youth

1. People of blogland, you do look good for January, that limp, fizzleless month. I admire you. But enough about you, let’s talk about me. Yesterday was Wednesday, so I wanted to quit my job. By 6pm I was so tired with work I couldn’t spell wensday wenesday wfuckit anymore.

2. (What do you do you get such a lovely complexion, blogfolks?) Every Wednesday I want to quit. In fact every Wednesday I want to throw things, and run out and never come back again. Wednesdays are all kinds of crap. Thursdays ease off a little.

3. Today as things were easing off, an old man in a purple jumper asked me which bus I was waiting for, then immediately added: I’m not trying to chat you up, I wouldn’t want to cross your partner. Is he the jealous type?’ I cocked an eyebrow and felt mildly insulted that it wasn’t me he was afraid to cross. Not only can I not quit, but I don’t even seem to look remotely intimidating. Still it gives me an idea for when I’m retired and old. I can stand in bus stations and chat up unsuspecting youngsters. And wear purple, and spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves, yes.

Today’s highlights

1. 6.45am; just out the shower, I slither back into bed next to my Special Lady Friend. The room is hot and so is she. She doesn’t complain that I’ve pulled back the covers. I have 15 minutes before I have to leave home. Yay.

2. 6.45pm; at the end of a 2 hour 15 minute meeting, we reach the bottom of the agenda and ‘any Other Business’; buttocks clench up, breaths are held, but mercifully no-one pipes up. At this point one of the Work Trolls usually launches into a 15 minute diatribe about the lack of staples/ the state of the staffroom, but today the trolls aren’t in. Yay.

3. People of blogland, I can’t wait to go to bed.