Thursday 4th May

I am reliably informed that actually I had six pints last Friday, not four, so that makes things slightly better, hehe.

I must again thank everyone for visiting me, I passed 4000 hits this week - that's over 1000 in just under four months, thanks guys! I'm all fluffy now *beam* keep visiting, I have big plans, if I ever get round to them..

So, the *best* news I got this week was that on Tuesday somebody called me and asked me for a job interview for that excellent-sounding job I applied for last week. It's on Fleet Street! How cool is that, when people ask me what I'm going to do when I graduate, I'll be all like, oh, you know, I got this job on Fleet Street, lalala (if I get it that is) (think positive!) The funniest part is, they're going to give me a spelling test and everything....my mum rang me up yesterday and asked me how to spell antidisestablishmentarianism and I did OK, so I'm not that worried (cackle). I just think it's sod's law that if I want it too badly, I won't get it. But we're overstaffed at work in the mornings nows - this morning we had 22 cleaners...this time last year they were struggling to get 15. Since I'm the only one not contracted, I have a feeling I might be the first to go. I said to my manager this morning, do you want me to stop coming in? and he was like, yeah that's probably for the best. I tried to look like I didn't care but strangely found myself all choked up, I thought, well it won't affect me until the end of June because that's when I'll get paid for the overtime I'm doing now, so I have 2 months to find a job, and without a safety net I'll probably do better. But then later he came up and said, it's OK we'll find something for you to do somewhere. I just hope it's not the job I did this morning. I spent two and a half hours on my knees, and not in a good way, blowing all the dust bunnies out from underneath the fixtures on cookware. It's the hardest mornings' work I have ever done, I didn't even have 5 minutes free to skulk around, like normal. My knees are all bruised too *sulk*

This evening though, my supervisor came up to me all friendly like and said, "When you come back from your holidays [ie, my exams, some holiday!] I'm going to change your section, you'll be doing this and this only, OK?" And I smiled a secret smile that said I'll be handing my notice in before then if all goes according to plan, and agreed with him. I nearly told him about my interview but after he tried to belittle me so hard last time I just kept a lid on it. Let it come as a nasty shock to him.

Have decided to move in with Allen (from halls) and Arran (from halls) and Dave (NOT from halls - Allen's friend) and Jen and maybe Zoe next year. This may involve moving south of the river *shudder* but then, with so many people, we can get a massive house and digital tv. And I won't be tied up to a job in north London by then, whatever happens. Also, if I move in July, I can get a BT line and get 24 hour free access on Freeserve, woo hoo, or maybe an ADSL line *big happy face* I signed up with the dark side at the weekend and got BT Internet but I'm so hacked off with them bouncing me automatically at midnight, I mean, why can't they make it free off peak calls? Why finish them at midnight? I don't understand.

Looks like I'm not the only one trying to find work cos I got the following mail from me old mate Bernie today, it really made me laugh so here it is. He's reapplying for the job we had last summer, where I met him and Jen and Kez. I think he's *crazy* but there you go, money is money. I told him to apply for the same job as me...but here's the mail.

They want to know this stuff..
Please give reasons of why you are suitable for this position, your reasons should provide evidence in the following areas:
1) Working in a team
2) Quality of work & accuracy
3) Communications skills (Written & oral)
4) Drive & energy

I hate this kind of shit. I have no idea what to write, and I'm no good at bullshitting. Scary thing is, this is the Edexcel form. I can't understand why they need all this crap filled out again when I've already worked there.

I'm tempted to say:
1) Fine, as long as I don't have to talk to any of them
2) I'm a perfectionist but I'm also lazy. So I'll do a bad job and then complain about it.
3) I can read, I can write, I can speak, I can put scripts in numerical order. What more do you want?
4) I can't drive, and I haven't got the energy.

You seem to have job offers left right and centre. But then again, you've got something I haven't ... those Bunny eyes :-)

There's also a question that asks 'Why are you applying for the position of Temporary Clerk?' I'm tempted to say cos I need money you thick bastards, but I'm probably gonna be a real sycophant and say how much I enjoyed it last year :-)

Bernie, I have to say, if you go back there, you're braver than me *beam* *tickle*

Friday 5th May

The day dawned as bright and sunny and full of promise as it did on the day Labour won the general election three years ago, and Ken is mayor, and *already* the newspapers and the media have started to question how good he will be at his job. I can't honestly say that I have taken much notice of what had been said about him before yesterday, but I'm fairly sure it was mostly good, and now the papers are full of, "Let's not have a repeat of the GLC fiasco you sly money grabbing balding old git." *I* voted for him because he was the only independent candidate who had a snowball's chance in hell of getting in, and from day 1 I have said that the mayor shouldn't be affiliated to any particular party. Granted, Ken's as red as those amazing scarlet shoes in the DMs store I have been coveting all week, but the Blower cartoon in today's Standard, of the Labour flag flying above number 10 at half-mast (which raised an audible giggle from me in front of a number of people), is proof enough for me that he is as independent as they come.

But enough pigeon politics, I don't really know what I'm talking about and that will become blatantly obvious if I continue (grin) and onto more important things, such as those amazing scarlet shoes. They called out to me when I went and bought new shoes on Wednesday (carbon copies of the old brown T-bars, in black, with a little cut out pattern, very schoolish). I tried them on and walked around in them for so long the sales assistant started trying to make me try on different pairs. However, I couldn't justify buying them because they don't go with everything, being red, and they seemed a little frivolous at 40 quid. So I have decided that if I land that job I'm going to buy them to reward myself. Doubtless, if I *don't* get that job I will find some other way of getting them such as "present to celebrate end of exams" or "silly way to spend the last of my student loan". I think everyone needs a pair of red shoes, metaphorically, anyway (lame justification).

Monday 8th May

Decided to break this up again, it was getting a bit long. It's amazing how much I find to write about, sometimes.

Shock, horror - I started seriously thinking about revision today *gasp*. I've just finished reading "The Accursed Mountains" by Robert Carver - it's a travel writing book about Albania. I have to say that I couldn't take the guy seriously from right at the start when he said that Patrick Leigh Fermor had "enthralled generations of readers", since any student of travel writing worth his or her salt knows that, although Leigh Fermor travelled in the 1930s, his first book didn't come out until 1986, thus enabling him to enthrall one generation at most. As soon as I read this I regretted buying the book. But I have to say that, having finished it, he was eloquent and extremely funny, if a little gloomy. Maybe his subject matter incited nothing but gloom, who knows. He shares the fatalism of many of the East European travel writers I've read, he's constantly envisaging his own death..."It was dark outside and the wolves were howling once again. By the fireside one of Baskim Bajraktar's womenfolk was crouched like a witch from Macbeth, stirring a skillet of steaming milk...It only wanted Wright of Derby to paint this moving scene - 'The Pathetic Death of an English Tourist in a Picturesque Hut in the Albanian Highlands'". At least he admits he's a tourist, so many travel writers spend half their texts vehemently denying it.

But I digress! Just practicing for the exam, y'know, and trying to spread a little culture while I'm at it *beam*. It's a very readable book, at any rate, even if the author knows less than me about Leigh Fermor even after interviewing the man at length. Wow, that sounded really patronising, he's probably nearly three times my age as well (grin) that's what a university education does for you...makes you think you know better than everyone else.

I was talking to Billy the Chef at work about my education the other day, in passing. It was a most amusing conversation....
Billy the Chef: Awright you old slapper!
Me: Less of the old! (industriously polish door)
Billy the Chef: Go on, polish it harder!
Me: Why, is it turning you on?
(Silent pause)
Big pile of plates next to Billy: CRASSSSHHHHHHHHHH! onto the floor
Billy: (tries vainly to make bus boy take the blame)
Me: (absolute hysterics)
Billy: (attempts to recover) This is the future of our country! Look at her! I think we should all emigrate asap...
Me: (rallies a bit) I was voted Most Likely to be Prime Minister at school so you should keep your eye on me!
Billy: Yeah but you went to some school for spastics
Me: (moves in for the kill) Actually I went to public school
Billy: (pause) Oh (pause) (thinks of something) (sneery voice) Do mummy and daddy have money then?
Me: (thinks) Yes, you idiot, mummy and daddy are loaded, that's why I have to mop floors for my rent money
Me: (says) Mummy and Daddy *were* loaded...and then I got a scholarship
Billy: (total dumbfounded silence)
Me: (audible cackle)
Billy: Alright, alright, fair play, that threw me...what are you studying at university anyway?

It's like Richard the Maintenance Man says, you should never underestimate *anybody* in that place. I'm sure there are plenty of staff who think that I'm working as a cleaner because I'm a single mother or mentally impaired or something, I'm tempted to stay at Fenwick just long enough for them to print details of my graduation in the staff magazine, prove everyone wrong.

But not that tempted *big grin*

Emilia and I bought a paddling pool on Saturday. We were sat in the garden, it was incredibly hot and sunny, I've got strap marks and freckly shoulders now, and Zoe's arms and legs are distinctly tomato in hue. Anyway, we got to talking about how it was too, too hot and it would be so nice to have a paddling pool, so we went to Argos and bought one. Goodness knows what I'm going to do with it when I move, I hope I have a garden. But it was only 13 quid and it's 6 feet across. Blowing it up without a pump was fun, as was filling it without a hose, we carried buckets back and forth until we got bored. The next morning, Sunday, I got home from work and paddled my feet in it, it was heavenly. Then we took pity on the landlady's grandchildren who were so jealous that they went and got a washing up bowl full of water and started playing in that, and invited them over to play in our vastly superior pool. Since the little one is only 22 months old, we figured the odds of him having pissed in our vastly superior pool were pretty high, so we let all the water out, and haven't been bothered to refill it yet. But it's just what we need for our next party...we can have a pool party *grin*

However, as the Muller adverts are always pointing out, pleasure must be accompanied by pain. Or, in my case, acute embarrassment. It being so hot, when Emilia and I traipsed up to Edgware to buy the pool, I was wearing my oldest, scuzziest clothes, and since we walked most of the way and I had to run for the bus home, I was all red and sweaty too. Nevermind I thought, as I sank into the back seat and hid behind my sunglasses, clutching my oversized bag full of paddlking pool, there's absolutely zero chance of my meeting anyone I know.

Oh, but anyone who reads this regularly will know that fate is very rarely so kind to me (ironic grin) For who should appear, sitting in front of me? I perused the back of his neck, the ginger hair, the profile...oh god, it wasn't...oh, but it was...the ginger guy from the night bus Zoe and I caught home in our hideously inebriated state a couple of weeks ago. I shrunk into the upholstery a bit more, hoping to blend. It didn't work. I rapidly texted Jen, Emilia and Zoe in my shame. They were no help, none of them replied. He kept almost catching my eye. I stayed carefully hidden behind my sunglasses. The bus passed through Burnt Oak and on down the hill into Grahame Park, where, and this is the really good bit, as we pulled round Quaker's Course, who should I glimpse tottering away from the library in her only pair of sandals but Zoe. I managed to phone her quick enough to stop her from walking past the bus and the two of us sat at the front for the rest of the way home having discussions about him though gritted teeth. He had by this time put his sunglasses back on but stopped staring at of the window and started looking in our direction. I have never been so tempted to walk through Grahame Park in blistering heat carrying a paddling pool. To make matters worse, when we got off the bus, I turned around to see him looking straight at me and pulling this sort of half amused look of decided recognition. So there was no chance of me being wrong, or of getting away without him realising it was me.

Things like this only ever happen to me. Now I'm stuck trying to decide whether I looked better at 3am after 7 hours out on the piss, or at 3pm after running for a bus. It's a close thing. The former wins because at 3am after 7 hours out on the piss, I *think* that I'm actually not bad looking. The stupid thing is, I'm trying to judge the opinion of a guy I can barely remember speaking to, who I will never see again. My mind must be a very scary place to go walking.

Speaking of which, I got myself really hacked off yesterday trying to work out why the hell February only has 28 days. It made so much more sense for the year to have 7 months with 30 days in them and 5 with 31. I was really pissed off about it, for about half an hour, until Mod told me it was something to do with lunar cycles. I don't know what's wrong with me lately.

Friday 12th May

Questionable Why I was asked to go to an interview for that seemingly-perfect sounding job when everybody else in the room had a professional background in desktop publishing, web design or proof reading
Irritating Knowing I missed two errors on my proof reading test
Unreasonable My evening supervisor
Verbal abuse What Jen thinks I suffered at hands of aforementioned evening supervisor last night when he shouted at me that I was useless and no good at anything and that I wasn't allowed to even speak to him anymore because I was so crap at my job
Praise What my evening supervisor has done about my work for the past 3 weeks
Cigarette Ash Something which would not have been on the floor for me to not mop up if the waitresses had swept the place properly in the first place
Cleaner Something which I am going to cease to be shortly, either by choice or otherwise
Ominous When one's phone bill arrives in an A4 envelope
Typing speed Mine averages 85 words per minute which I don't think is too bad considering I don't touch type
Graduate with typing speed of 85 wpm Still totally unemployable
Edexcel The hell on earth I worked in last summer which I am thinking of reapplying to in desperation
Good news Something which is totally absent from my world

Well, on a very small plus side, I did a word count on my entire diary the other day, and it is almost 50 000 words long. Combined with my journal (which I keep in long hand in a book hidden in a highly secret location) I've probably got enough for a book.

Let's talk about the icing on the cake for a minute. Regular readers may have noticed the distinct absence of references to Phil aka the Thug in the past couple of months. This is because I hadn't spoken to him in a couple of months. Everything was fine, it was finished with, whatever. Then, as recounted in this diary, a few weeks ago he rang me up and acted as if nothing had happened, which I found a little confusing. Then I saw him online yesterday and he was really offhand, which I attributed to his having to work in Liverpool every day now. But it appears he has met someone else and he doesn't know how to tell me I can't stay at his at the upcoming Forest gt, so he told Richard instead, who told Jen, who told me.

I would like to here and now, for a bunch of people who have never met him, because I will never bother to directly give him the satisfaction of knowing how pissed off I am, to set the record straight.
Point 1 I never asked to stay at his for the gt, I'm booking a B&B with Jen
Point 2 He never told me I couldn't stay to my face - possibly because I never asked and had no intention of doing so
Point 3 *I* hadn't spoken to *him* for a few months, goddammit, and I was under no illusions about what was happening
Point 4 THIS is what irritates me the most! *HE* phones *ME* and then turns around and hints that *I'm* the one clinging, when I hadn't phoned him in TWO FUCKING MONTHS! I'm going to slash something....
Point 5 I cannot believe that he has so small an amount of respect left for me that he has to sneak around like a coward and tell my friends things he is too cowardly to tell me to my face

I just hope that anyone who knows me will know that I couldn't [snipped because even though everything I typed next was true, it doesn't need to be aired here and I'll be sorry if I leave it].

So much for that, anyway. I wash my hands of it. [More snip snip snip...I've got a print out of it...ring me up and I'll read it to you *grin*] It irritates me even more that I don't even get to argue with the git because he avoids confrontation like most people avoid open man hole covers. Grrr....it's one of those angry moments again.

When am I going to learn, I ask myself. Every time I actually start to trust someone just a tiny bit, every time my faith in human nature starts to be just slightly restored, every time my self-confidence reaches a level just above zero, it all goes horribly pear shaped. Am I just picking the wrong people to trust? Am I just a bad judge of character? Or is it something I do that makes people be like this to me? Maybe I really am a psychopath. But most lunatics are happy most of the time, and that's certainly nothing to do with me. Whinge whinge whinge. To quote Joe Jackson, sometimes we wonder where the real men are - presumably the ones who say nothing but "You and me baby ain't nothin but mammals, so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel" (to quote the Bloodhound Gang) and then disappear in a puff of smoke when the sun comes up. *Sigh* I think I live my life in song lyrics. I got all philosophical last night listening to my pickmeup song "Make someone happy" because the last line is "Make just one someone happy, and you will be happy too", and I thought, that's a load of bollocks! I spend most of my time trying to make other people happy and nobody is making me happy at all *stamp*

I think my boss is just picking on me because I took Wednesday night off for a revision class and he didn't really want me to. But what can I say, it's way more important for me to go to revision classes. Esepcailly revision classes that involve 2 bottles of wine and very little revision at all, actually, but a nice discussion where my lecturers tell me that if I was to answer the questions on the paper which I am aiming to answer, assuming they come up, then I'll probably do really really well because it's not something we've gone over in great detail in class. I've quit mornings at work now, too, so I really have to get another job to avoid being destitute by the middle of June. Coo, it never rains but when it pours, eh.....

Sunday 14th May

E-mail...it makes us happy....
"Why did my search for Cuba find your diario? I'm not complaining because your alternative CV was worth it; but I did a search for cycling holidays in Cuba and it found your diario... Perhaps it's just one of those mysteries of cyberspace... Keep writing the diaries!
Pete, looking for a bike holiday in Cuba"

*Preen* people who don't know me do actually read it then *smug look* Although presumably not *all* of it, that would take hours.

The nightmare of last week spiralled downwards throughout Friday night and all day on Saturday and it was only going and sitting and writing in Russell Square for 3 hours after work tonight that has made me feel better....there's something about the smell of wall flowers on a summer evening (without trying to invent new cliches) which is just really calming. The writing helped too, of course. Just as well that everyone I asked to come out and drink coffee with me said no, otherwise I'd still be as miserable as I was yesterday, and that was pretty miserable, heh.

GOOD news is that...*cough cough*

So that's how Zoe and I ended up going out to drink on Friday night, and of course ending up really hammered. Well, I was really hammered. Zoe keeps moaning that she can't get drunk anymore, she just drinks and feels sick for a day and half afterwards without all the fun drunk part. Fun (screws up nose) ah yes, drunk and fun. Well it was mostly fun. We were in ULU until 11.30 and then Keef and another random flatmate, called Abhir, turned up, unaware that ULU doesn't let anyone in after 11pm. So we all went to Break for the Border instead which was totally empty for a Friday night, which was a good thing, in my opinion. I fell over a tree on the way there because I turned to say something to Keef and didn't see it coming. And probably because I was drunk, admittedly. We proceeded to drink Red Stripe (Red Stripe? EH?! I hate beer! I must have been drunk) out of vast jugs. I've said it before and I'll say it again - it's astonishing what seems logical when you're drunk, in terms of both what one says and what one does. But nevermind. I think a good time was had by all, although Zoe sloped off early because she felt ill, so I had dinner waiting for me when I stumbled in at 4am.

Woke up manically early on Saturday morning (lack of curtains & south-west facing room combination is not a good one) so went into uni, did nothing but see that guy I fancied at Edexcel last year, twice, and talk to harried-looking colleagues for an hour, then came home and broke my ICQ. I was shamed into trying to upgrade it, against my better judgement because I am so crap with these things, they break almost by me looking at them, but then I hated the upgrade and when I uninstalled it, it had broken my old ICQ, in spite of me doing 2 different backups on different drives. It took me 5 hours to fix - including a mega-frustrating hour trying to work out how to put the net detect agent icon back into my task bar - nobody laugh, it wasn't funny at the time, it's not that obvious if you don't know how to do it you know *glower* - and it's still not right and the whole exercise just made me feel like a total idiot which was the last thing I needed....whinge whinge whinge....

But things are looking up. Not sure why, but they are. And somebody sent me fan mail! Things are definitely looking up

Apologies....apparently Phil thinks I was a little unfair with my entry about him from last Friday. This is because he messaged me to say I couldn't stay at his right after I logged off on Thursday, and ICQ apparently messed up and so I didn't get it. I took the entry below down for a while...but I have put it back now, slightly edited...I don't think anyone has the right to censor what I say on my own web page, sorry. But I will admit that at the time of writing I was being a basket case for a number of reasons and was in a highly emotional state, so it might have been a bit blunt. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, not that you ever read this anyway, but I usually spend my time defending you and I don't see the point in that anymore. I just wrote in this diary what I would usually write in my other diary....and you always wanted to read that (grin)

But, sorry, anyway, and everyone reading this - I was unfair and went a bit over the top. But you should have read the first draft...the one which never saw the web...that was even worse (beam)

Thursday 25th May

OK, my apologies to everyone, I think this is the longest I have been without updating ever since I started this here diary, but let me off - I'm a graduate! Well, a graduand. And I've been busy with my finals. Here is a quick synopsis of the past 11 days -

Work, study, smoke too much, drink too much coffee, try to work out strategies for chatting people up in the library, worry, read some books, worry some more, sleep, stop eating for 3 days, start eating again, eat the wrong things, worry about weight, worry about work, worry about getting a 2:2, worry that all my travel revision centred on primary sources instead of secondary like everyone else's, stop sleeping properly, get sun burn, have nightmares, worry some more, elevate worrying to level of panic day before travel writing exam, experience brief euphoria after actually enjoying the exam and quoting from 11 different sources (which has to be a record) from memory, experience major downer as the worry/insomnia cycle restarts in time for the next exam, realise I have 4 days to learn the most recent 150 years of Russian history, panic uncontrollably, decamp to LSE library, come back to my house and panic publicly at Emilia's goodbye party (which was well attended by students from SSEES I had spent 3 years nodding to in corridors and never actually spoken to), get drunk and giggly, get drunker and maudlin, go to bed panicking about lack of work, go back to LSE library on Sunday and study for 10 hours, come home knowing nothing, panic, don't sleep, go back to library, evacuate for fire alarm, panic, study, work, study, panic reaches fever pitch, peak at 2am and go to bed promising myself I'll get up at 6am, get up at 10am, panic so much I can't study, consider ramifications of not turning up to exam, try to eat and almost vomit, take exam, breathe enormous sigh of relief when I realise the paper's actually not so bad, consider claiming that the purges do have a rational explanation and that explanation is that Stalin was only 5 foot 3 inches tall, decide to play it safe instead, manage to squeeze the phrase "for reasons of brevity" into my last essay, finish, intend to go to Alexandra Palace and write for a few hours, go to pub instead "for one", get absolutely blind drunk, slag some people off and nearly cause a big riot, bring home bloke from SSEES, actually sleep properly for first time in months, do washing, half heartedly tidy house, watch repeats of Eastenders without feeling guilty, read trashy novel from cover to cover in 5 hours, go to pub, get teased a lot, go to Steps concert, sing myself hoarse and pull a muscle in my shoulder, try to get bus home and end up lost in Neasden at 11pm, stay up til 4am JUST COS I CAN, read more trashy novels, get job interview as a call screener for those chatlines you see advertised in the middle of the night, work, eat ice cream, flirt on ICQ, write diario.....OK, that's about as recent as it gets *beam*

Alright, that's it for little stuff. In bigger news....I finally quit my shitty job. I quit last Friday, officially, I'm free as of June 7th, ostensibly because I'm a graduate and I don't need to clean toilets to pay my rent, secretly because they banned me from working Sundays without telling me why and I can't afford to keep the job without the overtime. I am still extremely angry about that, my boss didn't even have the guts to tell me to my face, he left a message for me, and since I was the one who stepped in and worked the Sundays when nobody else would, and when Rita started blowing them out, I consider it to be the most terrible insult for them to do this. I said so to my personnel manager during my exit interview and she started stuttering on about fairness in rotas &c, I just turned around and hissed, "well now there's one less person to worry about, isn't there" at her and she moved swiftly on. If we had a union, I'd make a complaint, although it probably wouldn't make much difference. They're just back stabbers, the lot of them. This made for a lot of extra stress which I could have done without during exam time, but like I've said before, it never rains but when it pours and I was absolutely ecstatic once I'd actually done it. And absolutely terrified, hehe. This is my first time being unemployed in a year and a half.

But like I said, I heard today that I have an interview for a company that runs those late night chatlines you see advertised on telly, as a call centre monitor/customer services type bod, and although the hours aren't great the money is, and it will be good experience, and there's room to progress, apparently. And it sounds like fun - the woman said I had to be "broad minded" *cackle* And I'm looking into applying for a job as a researcher at the House of Commons, although I don't expect to get it, it would be good experience to see what sort of people they are looking for. Their ad said "people with a 2:1 degree (which I probably have) and a background knowledge of East European/Russian history and politics. C'est moi!

I love being able to ramble on about nothing in particular and not have to think about going and revising in a bit. Even though I'm going back for my Masters, this still feels like the end of an era, like I've been working for these days for my entire academic career and now they're here, I just don't know what to do. All my life I have been waiting to graduate, never really imagining life afterwards, for all my plans, and I'm shocked that I actually made it *beam* When I said that to Mother Hand, she said that's what I said when I finished my GCSEs, heh, but I think this is a bit more of a turning point for me. I started thinking about it in one of my exams, thinking, for the past 17 years I have studied and studied and it all comes down to how much I can write in the next 3 hours....that wasn't a good strategy because I freaked out and got writer's block for about 5 minutes hehehe

Dru said something to me the other day that has been preying on my mind ever since, I'm not even sure whether he was joking or not but it's really got me thinking, he told me I'd grown up way too fast. I guess in a lot of ways I think that but not in others. For example, I think the whole saga of my parents and moving out at 17 forced a maturity in me that a lot of other people my age don't have, but I also know that when I get drunk with Jen the two of us get really silly, like sitting across from each other and sending text messages about the people sitting next to us all night and racing each other to tube platforms. But I see these as necessary concessions to make up for the fact that I'm a sarcastic, hard-bitten cynic for most of the time I'm sober, who rarely admits to experiencing any emotion that might expose myself to teasing, so that I have to write them all down in a book to keep myself from going crazy. That was an interesting leap from the topic at the start of this paragraph, hehe. Now I'm all pensive and introspective....and it's time to switch pixels for pencil, I think

Tuesday 30th May

Mother Hand related to me the other day that she had been in conversation with Father Hand and he'd commented on how proud he was that his kids were so cosmopolitan and always doing things a little off the wall...well I think that's what he meant...and Mother Hand agreed....so I think they will both be justly proud of me, since today I landed a job in the porn industry *very loud cackle*

Yes, it's true, I am the newest call centre monitor for Virtual Universe, England's biggest company sepcialising in communications, namely dating/chatting phone services, they're upgrading to 1000 lines next month and launching a website, it's all very up-and-coming and exciting. My job will be to check people aren't leaving illegal messages on the system, ie, offering their services as rent boys, trying to pick up children, attempting to sell their car &c. They really stressed the broad-minded part, and I nearly turned around and said, "Well look, if I told you about my weekend you'd know that broad-mindedness is something I have in abundance, it's not a problem" but well, I bit my tongue and mumbled something about experiences with dodgy chat rooms (can anyone remember Spettitt on Minerva? Richard? ho hum...). So, they offered me the job on the spot, I start training next Monday, they reckon with my vast experience (knowing grin) I'll make supervisor if I play my cards right, and all this after I was 15 minutes late for the interview, am I impressed or what?!

The irony of this does not escape me. My weekend...my entire week last week, actually...was so totally mad, it would have to be something this amusing to top it. The weekend was the most interesting bit *mysterious look* but I fear to say too much. Jen and I went up to Manchester for the Forest gt which was sparsely attended but still a good laugh, in most respects. The wholly predictable Thug rang me up and invited me back to his house *beam* I should have put money on it. Against everyone's better judgement I decided to take him up on the offer (Hi to all new Northern readers *cackle*) ANYWAY....so after an amazing adventure with a taxi driver who had less idea of where we were going than I did (and that was an achievement) I ended up back in sunny Walkden smoking hash and watching the porn channel with Phil and Phil's mate Shaun until about 5am when Walkden sort of *became* the porn channel, well, sort of. I mean, the porn channel doesn't much lend itself to phrases such as "Put the light on, my boots are stuck!" and "It all looks so easy in the porn movies..." and "I'm just going to have to lean on your head" and "This is undoubtedly the most surreal moment of my entire life" and "Wow, it does actually have a plot, I usually fast-forward past this bit" (I mean PLEASE! Sick and wrong!) (Note to self: after everything else, this is the only bit you think is sick and wrong? Away with ye, harlot!) (Do I want to say more?) (not really). So, well it was certainly interesting, in a try-anything-once way (grin) My motives are not what you might think, but then I've never claimed to be the most stable of people, and I got what I wanted, even if it meant getting things I would have passed up under normal circumstances...there, I've been as honest as I'm going to be this publicly (stoical grin).

Jen thought it was a regression on my part (going over there at all, that is) and maintained virtual silence for the first hour of our journey home, but I'm 21 years old, I've got really good at playing grown-up, I know what I'm doing. Sometimes. She got over it. I still find it surprising that anyone cares enough to be worried about me, it's quite comforting in a way. Wow, that was a line straight out of "101 Martyr Phrases", wasn't it (big smiles).

Well, this entry is a day late now, so I have had a chance to speak to Mother Hand and gauge her reaction to my new job. Snaps to her, she tried really hard to sound happy for me, and it was only after I'd been harping on about it for about 15 minutes that she asked me why I was so happy to be doing such a filthy job. I pointed out that it's not actually going to be *me* heavy breathing down the phone, I'm there to make sure it doesn't get out of hand (oh dear, terrible pun) but she wasn't totally convinced. She pointed out that having told my father's staunchly-Baptist parents that their grandson is now working in a casino, she couldn't envisage having to tell them their eldest grandaughter works for the porn industry. I told her to say it was telecommunications. I still maintain it'll look fab on my CV (although according to my new employers, my CV is already fab - they were very impressed with the scope of my jobs so far, which I found minorly surprising, since apart from camp it's all pretty mundane...but I digress). I mean, how many people can claim they are flexible enough to go from cleaning up shit to listening to people talking about it? Another talking point for any future employers..."Ah yes, Miss Hand, we see you studied Latin at A-level, that was an unusual choice. And you did Camp America, that must have broadened your horizens, I bet that was fun. And you worked for the porn industry! My, my, yout *have* done some unusual things..." And I'll be sitting there thinking, yes, but none of them are on my CV, and I'll smile to myself and suppress a giggle of remembrance.

Emilia left yesterday to go back to Finland, it was sad to see her go. Considering I hardly knew her when she moved in, we've gotten on extremely well, she endearing herself to me by liking ManUtd (NOBODY SAY A WORD!), me endearing myself to her by letting her use my computer, sharing the common bond of impossible relationships and disbelief at the length of time Zoe can spend plucking her eyebrows. She left me both her bottles of liquid Christmas from the Czech Republic, which I love her for. I don't know what it's really called, it's some kind of spirit, and it tastes just like you would think Christmas would taste. She also left me this interesting raffia thing on my keyboard, I idly wondered what it was before I pushed my finger into the finger shaped hole and realised far too late that is was a finger trap. Took me about 5 minutes to wrestle free. Cheers Emilia hehehe. I'm keeping it to use on unsuspecting men if my "Wouldn't you much rather sleep in my bed than in that cold, uncomfortable spare room" line doesn't work.

That said, I'm sworn off them for a while now. No, honestly. It's just all getting too predictable and out of hand. It's getting boring. At the risk of revealing myself as a closet anti-realist, it should be....what's the song..."There is starlight, all night, when we're close together, share the feelings, dancing in your eyes." I had that, once, and not very long ago - it was nice. It didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, but then, as I said, I'm an anti-realist, realistically things will *never* turn out the way I want them to - just the way I expect them to (closet anti-realist, conscious realist - the two aren't as hard to reconcile as you might think heh). So maybe now I'll wait for someone to truly surprise me, as never happens, and then I'll know I'm onto something good

Mr Flibble says, Game Over Boys.