Hush now child....

I wish I had stuck to my guns and never told anyone.

There was a reason I kept it my secret. Thank you for reminding me why.

Are you so strong, or is all the weakness in me....

I just finished a telephonic chatter with the ole dear. She attempted (unsuccesfully) to stealthily slip into conversation that she happened to go on a jolly jaunt to the chiropractor the previous week, and he had discovered, after much japery, that she has next to no pain sensation in her feet, fingers or neck. She told me the story purely because she found it amusing.

She is a daft bloody hippy.

I constantly wonder what I would do without her. When she tells me she's been to the doctors, I always have the same gut reaction. It is as though someone is squeezing my bronchials tight, choking me from the inside out. As though someone has filled my lungs with dust and ash, and try as I might, I just can't breathe. Such is my fear of losing her.

I get scared that the last time I spoke to her will be the last time.

I get scared that I spoke too much about me, and never enough about her.

I get scared that she'll never know how astounded I am by her amazingness.

Often, after hanging up, I will find an excuse to call her back...
Just so I can tell her I love her again.

Cud and other such things....

RuminationRu`mi*na"tion\, n. [L. ruminatio: cf. F. rumination.]

1. The act or process of ruminating, or chewing the cud; the habit of chewing the cud.
2. The state of being disposed to ruminate or ponder; deliberate meditation or reflection.
3. (Physiol.) The regurgitation of food from the stomach after it has been swallowed, -- occasionally observed as a morbid phenomenon in man.

On the odd occasion that I scroll back through my old posts, I am somewhat saddened. I am disturbed by my preoccupation with the shitbag boy who defecated all over my life for four years. I want to give sad, broken one-year-ago-Me a massive hug and make sure she knows it's going to be ok.

I would like to get a big black marker and draw a line on my computer screen, separating pre and post-life-saving-epiphany.

Or, I would like to work out a way of chaptering my posts.
Technology has me beat.

I wish I had Stretch Armstrong limbs so I could reach to Frome just to touch her....

Without a doubt, one of the most astoundingly talented, beautiful and downright coolest ladies I have ever met. Lucky for me, I get to call her my best friend too... She lives in a beautiful little house in Frome (best bathtub in the land) with her delicious hubby Lu and their little terror-puppy Elvis.

She runs the rockin'est boutique, and I thought I would do a spot of pimping as I am desperately in love with everything she sells, and does and says.

http://www.deadlyisthefemale.com/home.php

Enjoy!
x

P.s - Claudina, mon cherie, tu me manque. Cannot wait for June!

Weekending

Favourite moments of my weekend thus far:

1. Finally getting to bed on Friday night. Unrivalled bliss.
2. Fleshing out mine and Trickey's plans for world domination.
3. Spending time with some of the loveliest people I've ever had the good fortune to meet.
4. Laughing so hard at Gem's 'noise' that cider bubbles burned my nostrils.

Once upon a midnight dreary...

I will never admit to anyone, all of the things you did to me.
I'm scared they will think I am stupid.

Tardy. Two months tardy.

8am. I am sat on a freezing cold bus opposite the sourest, most miserable, pucker-mouthed hag I have ever laid eyes on. We are stuck in traffic. My ipod has just died. Phone rings. Landlord.

"Morning! Ummm... We're selling the house and you have to move out tomorrow, and sleep on the street with nothing more to wear than bathing suit bottoms and a fedora for warmth".

I have the worst luck when it comes to houses. In the past three years, I have moved house (a vomit-inducingly stressful) five times. I have lived in seven different houses. SEVEN. 'Crikey Moses' I hear you cry! 'How can that be so?' I'll tell you how:

1. Archway
For four blissful, alcohol and chip laden years, here I lived with my beautiful Claudia. My room had floor to ceiling windows which overlooked my garden. Perfect vantage point from which to watch the neighbourhood fox slide and shuffle it's bottom down a shed roof each night (worms?) I wrote my dissertation here, I got my tortoises here, I met the boy whilst living here (we concluded our first 'date' by eating crispy duck and drinking champagne sitting on my bedroom floor *sigh*)

2. Watford #1
I am still incredulous that I ever left London for Watford. To live with a boy. But being broke and enamoured and jobless, it seemed like a sensible thing to do. Yet within a month we had to move out because the place was being sold. Which in reality was a darned good thing as Euston Avenue was the PITS. It should have been destroyed. Am pretty sure it was a genuine health hazard.

3. Watford #2
We were meant to move into a wonky old house in Bushey with a claw-foot, roll-top bath and a cellar but of course that fell through. Instead we moved into a big shiny new house. Difficult to look back on this with fond memories as this is where 'break-up mark 1' took place. Still, it was fun. And big. And my room had an en-suite. But I guess eventually it dawned on me that sans garcon, I had very little reason to remain in Watford. I missed the Big Smoke achingly so. Andy and I decided to quit our boring jobs, get new exciting ones in London and move house. And then the boy decided he wanted to come too.

4. Highgate
We were meant to move to a three bedroom flat in Bethnal Green, but of course that fell through. So instead the boy and I moved to a beautiful two bedroom art deco appartment in Highgate village, with gargantuan gardens and a wrought-iron spiral staircase. When the boy began his round-the-world tour (impending doom), my sister and her kitten moved in to help with pennies. And then... The epic heartbreak happened. So I had to move out. Philandering fucker.

5. Watford #3
So, rather than live with potential random loons and pay muchos dollar and have to move swiftly, I decided to stay with my Claudina at her and hubby's new house in Watford for a month. They looked after me good and proper and helped to mend my broken heart. I was a terrible house guest - I never made dinner, or did any cleaning. I was always too hungover to tend to their hangovers. I left my telly on all night. But people do daft things when they are in chronic amounts of pain (also during this time I canoodled someone I DEFINITELY should not have, started some very unhealthy ritual internet stalking, and developed a bit of a drinking habit. Thankfully, my best friend is the best best friend anyone can have and she made it all better. By snuggling me up on the sofa, watching America's Next Top Model and feeding me crisps. She rules).

6. Brick Lane
This was meant to be the ramshackle house with the crazy Eldorado furniture, BUT OF COURSE THAT FELL THROUGH so instead, Mr Hall, Danni & I moved into the beautiful house I just vacated. And it was the bawmb. So much fun; reunion with the boy, getting trapped in the bathroom and needing to be rescued by Alex at 4am before I drunkenly smashed the glass partition above the door to get out, finally getting promoted....

Ok, so it hasn't all been roses. Since March 2008, we had 12 people come and go. Not because we are bitches and no one wants to live with us, but because we really do have the worst luck when it comes to houses. The stories I could tell you - debt, drugs, saxophones, Kylie tour and Jean-Paul Gaultier sailor suits, contrary frenchies and so on...

7. Archway # 2
So here I am, back where I started, in the cutest little flat in the world. And it's mine all mine. Sort of. I've only been there a month, and there's been a fair amount of drama and heartache already, but luckily, I am the mostest toughest cookie who ever lived so it's all fine and dandy. I just hope this one lasts a bit longer than the others.

HOLY JESUS SHIT. Were I not so lazy, I am sure I should have scheduled a breakdown.