everything

well i don't really know what i am going to type here but i feel like typing so i will type and see what comes out.

been thinking about the ross/brand fiasco with the whole andrew sachs messages thing. i wonder did andrew sachs think of the spaniards he was taking the mickey out of when he was playing a bumbling spanish waiter? i don't understand how its acceptable for him to complain about some (according to the daily mail) lewd comments when he used to pretend to be an absolute idiot, potentially offending an entire race of people. you cannot turn the sodding radio on without hearing something about the story, i am so sick of it. obviously not so sick of it since i am waffling on about it now.

oooooh news, the flat is coming along v well. paper is all up in the sitting room now, just the picture rail, skirting board, green paint, gloss and a new door and it'll be done. actually when its listed like that it seems like an awful lot to be done. definitely a weekend's worth of work..... rubbish.

hopefully once that and the bedroom are done it'll be all nice and Mr T and i will get on a little better. or i'll just find something else to moan about which is more likely.

definitely got to get myself motivated with the gym again, have done sooooooooo badly this week but i think maybe i need to ease myself back into it, can't be as super hardcore with it as i used to be. i don't want to be natalie cassidy.

irrational

I have no idea what it is but I am constantly angry at the moment. I am behaving like Kevin the Teenager, it is stupid.

Oh and I've hurt my knee. I don't know if I should go to the gym. I don't want to make it worse.

I wish I was in bed.

The end

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Saw Richard Herring doing his 'Headmaster's Son' stand up tonight. Wasn't sure if we'd even get there as Mr T was told this morning his Grandmother is not long for this world so to speak. We went tho, he wanted to go anyway didn't want to waste the money I'd spent on the tickets (typical). It was really funny and got me thinking. He spends the show exploring whether or not his parents, in particular his dad, are the reason he is the person he is today. In the end the conclusion was, no, you are what you are and its your own doing, you make your own decisions and those decisions make you who you are. I was thinking I should take the psychotherapist to see that gig. Maybe then it'd be obvious its nothing to do with being abandoned as a child, bloody pyschology.

Anyway, I don't have a lot else to say because all that's happened this weekend really is finding out that Mr T's Nan is in a bad way and I've been to see Richard Herring, clearly only one of those things bears thinking about right now.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh

I am trying to write a letter to the woman who deals with complaints at the local PCT. I cannot think how to word it. I have writer's block. I wonder where the apostrophe should be in that phrase?

That is all I have to say right now. I am just using avoidance tactics so I don't have to get on with writing the letter.

Calling Nick Knowles

I fear the DIY disasters have started again, rather like a repeat performance of about 2 years ago when we completed the sale.

Yesterday Mr T sanded the sitting room floor. I came home to find the only way to access the fridge to cook dinner was to move one of the couches out of the way, into the breakfast bar creating a small tunnel for me to crawl through to get from the fridge to the hob. This, however, created another issue, the only way for Mr T to get to anywhere else in the flat was to go out of the kitchen door, through the garden, round to the front door and back again when he was finished. Only he didn't have his front door keys, they were by the door. I had to climb through my tunnel, open the front door, go back through the tunnel and carry on cooking. It was a little like the grown up version of when you push the furniture together and make a tent with an old sheet when you're a child, bored in the summer holidays.

So anyway, I made a start on varnishing, trouble is I don't like the colour of the varnish we're using. Always an issue. Now because I am so picky - I'm not picky, just exacting - we have at least one extra day of the entire sitting room being in various areas of the flat. That includes the fireplace, in pieces, in the hall. I keep walking into the sodding thing. It reminds me of the old days, when we bought the place and the front door fell out and shattered. Oh and when the plaster dropped off the wall in the hall.

Tonight, I am making my second attempt at varnishing, going to see what it looks like with a coat of clear varnish on. Fingers crossed it looks ok because otherwise there'll be a third day of climbing through a tunnel to get around the kitchen.

i have the hump

I feel like a really bad person for saying this but today I was intending to take the day off as a holiday. I didn't, I changed my mind. I then decided that I'd come in and maybe ask if I could have a half day. My thinking behind this was that I was going to take some time off before Other Secretary leaves just because I know its going to be a pain in the bum and seem like a great inconvenience to everyone if I take time off when I am working on my own. Anyway, I come in today only to be told Other Secretary has an interview today, weird since she didn't know anything about it yesterday and that somehow before 9am one has been arranged. I don't know if its my naturally suspicious nature but something stinks there. She knows she can't be told off for taking time off for interviews when they're the ones making her redundant. Must have just fancied a long weekend I guess, also a bit of a coincidence that she's off Monday for an interview and next Friday. Weird how interviews seem to happen just around the weekend.

I am a bad bad bad person. It could be entirely genuine. Somehow though, I doubt it very much.

Am I going to hell?

the angry anorexic

I am livid, its not the norm for me to advertise my eating disorder, its probably fairly obvious to others and its not really what you say when you meet somebody for the first time, "hi my name is L and I am an anorexic", which is why it was with sheer horror that I picked up a letter from the hospital dealing with my apparent issues tonight when I got home from my usual punishing 1212 calorie burning in the gym. The 'Eating Disorder Service' had kindly used the window of the envelope to advertise themselves. Basically, they'd not really folded the letter properly and plain as day in the window was the name of the department so now my postman, the people wotking in the sorting office and who knows who else all now know that they are writing to me. Ironically enough the letter mentions about confidentiality and how if I wanted them to write to the Partners in my office saying I need time off for appointments they would and as a matter of confidentiality they wouldn't use letterhead so the Partners need not know which service I am using. No, they might not know but the sodding postman does.

Grrrrrrrr. I am finding I get more and more disillusioned with the NHS every time I have to deal with them. Maybe the National Health Disservice would be a better name.

Speaking of which, is it false advertising to call something a 'Lucky Dip' if the purchaser doesn't then go on to win a single penny with the so called lucky selection of numbers? Or is it just lucky that you didn't keep that £1 to buy 12 cheese topped rolls with? That issue is for another day, I cannot talk about the dreaded and irresistable cheese topped rolls right now because I'll probably not sleep for thinking about them.

Anyway I am off to write to the National Lottery and threaten them with false advertising.

Good night.

Supernanny and other infuriating things

I've just sat through an hour of a child screaming at and slapping its parents. Jesus I have no idea how those people cope with the little brats, I imagine I was no angel as a child, I'm brattish enough as it is, in an indignant way, I don't have hysterical temper tantrums (just tantrums about the prospect of putting food in my mouth but thats for another day). I was far too wary of getting on the wrong side of my Dad to even consider being such a little twat.

I honestly think the government should look into using episodes of Supernanny as a contraceptive because if anyone watches that programme and still chooses to have a child then seriously they should be put away somewhere because surely thats not normal? Or is it me who isn't normal? I've never wanted children or at least not that I recall, even less after watching that programme. Seriously, at one point I thought the Sky+ had suffered a glitch and crossed part of it with The Exorcist, it was only when the child had yet to vomit all over the bed or for her head to do a total 360 turn that I realised it was still Supernanny.

I've now put some fly on the wall style programme The Family on, it looks just as infuriating as Supernanny. Thankfully Mr T isn't here. If he was no doubt he would be as infuriated by me shouting at the tv as I am by the things on the tv. This is where having a laptop is dangerous because I am so going to throw something at the tv. No, I'll just change channel and see what other dysfunctional bunch of idiots are being broadcast elsewhere...Or at least I would if all of the channels hadn't been shifted round and I can no longer find anything.

Mr T is on his way home, Family Guy will be on soon enough no doubt. Or something painfully dull about archaeology, gardening or engines. Christ if he ever finds a programme where an engine from 1800 is dug up in a garden he'll think he's died and gone to heaven.

Oh my god, when did I become so middle aged? Its hideous to think that I am sitting here moaning about the tv. I am going to end up such a Daily Mail reader if I'm not careful.

Note to self. Work on getting a life. A life which doesn't involve wearing an apron and listening to Radio 4 whilst baking scones.