Disentangled

The washing's done and there's half an hour's daylight to hang it out. But there's a cat sitting on my shoulders purring away; we're having one of our rare moments of harmony in the post-rainstorm lull, and I'm loath to sling her off.

I just took a peek at a survey on MySpace. It had these questions in it (alongside, to be fair, some normal-ish ones).

5. What is your hairy doing today?

8. Have you ever had a black and white minstrel?

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wymondham who is be straight?

17. Last time you went to smoke Six Fags?

18. Do you have any toiletry paper in your house?

23. Last time you had someone cork for you?

28. Do you pick nose guitar?

42. What is the last thing you stuffed?

43. Did you ever drink Pepsi and Meths?

48. Last time you farted under a carpet?

49.do you have a black thing?

Can anybody pleeeeeeeeeease enlighten me as to how one goes about farting under a carpet..?

"Would you do topless cleaning for £20 an hour?"

I'm far more interested in tea and toast than Occasional Housemate's hypotheses; inform her that I would and start squeezing my teabag.

"Well, then I might just have a job for you next week," she smirks, and departs quick-smart.

Not so hypothetical, then. Cheeky bint! Who does she think she's speaking to? I mean - cleaning..?

Coupla multigrain ryvitas (they've got seeds on 'em and everyfink), plastered with low-fat cottage cheese and pickled... something (tonight I'm going for beetroot on one and Branston on the other, cos I can never make my mind up). Splendid. Looking forward to re-emergence of cheekbones from facial flab - they're on their way, I can feel it!

- a mature musical-type personage to ping your pants at, who would it be? I'm having Jimmy Nail.

4 out of 10 joiners would still give Britney Spears one, even though she's let herself go. What do you think?

It's been a jolly nice day in blogland and reality. I've finished my pancake and jam, set my alarm for 4.45am and now I'm off to bed. G'night.

I'm going to have to put the bin out before I get in the shower and warm my feet up.

Bums.

We're indecisive in the offies, me and Glasgow Mate. Wine? Well, what colour... I'm not keen on white; she doesn't like rose; red makes your teeth purple and we're off out dancing... perhaps some posh cider, then?

"We could get some Bloomers!" she enthuses, then wonders why I'm pissing myself laughing by the Bulmers display.

- makes his dating website profile pic one of him clad in chequered pyjamas, curled up apparently asleep with his head on a giant teddy-bear?!?!?

Copdam, this is not entertainment - it's sick, SICK I tells ya!

(And to think I told someone off for looking at motorbike crashes on YouTube last week!)

*shudder*

I think I've seen enough...

I'm no vehicle mechanic. I'm sure there is a valid reason for repeatedly revving your engine without going anywhere, just outside my front door at brunchtime on a Sunday. But FUCKING STOP IT ANYWAY.

That will be all.

My primary 7 teacher was forever dismissing excuses with her foot. As in:

"Thought you were allowed in the gym, my foot!"

Struck me as a helluva funny thing to say. Still does, even armed with the knowledge that it's just a kiddy-friendly version of " - my arse!"

Which reminds me of a (t)wit of the week moment, as I'm puffing on a post-party fag under Occasional Housemate's disapproving gaze:

OH: I see you're smoking again, then

Me: Ach, I'll stop on Monday

OH: Stop, my arse!

Me: Why, what's it going to do?

Anyways. I have a mountain of washing and a molehill of enthusiasm to contend with tomorrow, so I'm off to bed. G'night.

- at lonely people seeking true love with other lonely people via the internet. But poor Gaz700 appears to have an ivy growing from his right lughole in his profile pic, and it is funny.

(There again, what am I doing on the dating site at half past midnight, surrounded by chocolate wrappers? Copdam, this is all your fault!!!)

1. What was the last thing you cooked?
ciabatta pizza last night

2. What was the last thing you tried on?
Some of my thin clothes last Saturday prior to going out - funnily enough, they're still too small.

3. What was the last thing you purchased on credit?
Scissor Sisters CD off Amazon for Dad's birthday.

4. What was the last thing you put a postage stamp on?
Sent a big pile of cards and presents just before Christmas.

5. What was the last thing you took a photo of?
This - thingy, on the beach in Aberdeen; it was like a wee mini Stonehenge.

"Hot potato; cold shoulder"

Apparently, this is when your missus has your tea on the table but she's in a gurn with you. According to the boys at work, bless'em.

Been vaguely pondering the Green-eyed Fisherman situ for a few days... this morning I found myself plumbing away happily (but of course!), droning Robert Palmer's lesser-known "A Dickhead To Love".

Coincidence? Methinks not.

Two tiny ways of making your life better, cos the little things never make it into Life Overhaul Guides, and they're quite good really.

1) The next time something makes you laugh till you're choking and about to wee yourself, change your phone's welcome message to something that reminds you of it. A giggle every time you switch your phone on.

2) Use postcards, letters, Christmas cards from your favourite people as bookmarks. If you have a read before bed, you'll be reminded of Good People just before going to sleep.

Brainfart (n.) - a period of fuckwittedness during which a task requiring non-fuckwittedness was attempted.

eg/ "I must have had a complete brainfart when I laid those pipes."

What five things are you grateful for today and why?

1) My mum. She really does know everything.

2) My friends, real and "imaginary" - make the awful things less awful and the good things even better.

3) The animals. They don't give a toss if I've made an arse of myself today; they're just glad I'm home.

4) My job. I've wanted to be doing this for a decade and a half, and now I finally am. Long may it last.

5) Funny stuff. It's all over the place if you only look for it. And it's good. Especially Jack's signs.

a. list seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself
b. tag seven people to do the same
c. do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it"

1) My driving instructor cancelled our lesson 2 weeks ago and said he'd be in touch... I strongly suspect he's dumped me.

2) Our gineau-fowl escaped at the weekendand can be found waddling around the industrial estate in procession looking ugly and indignant.

3) I've had Ian Dury's "Billericay Dickie" stuck in my head all week.

4) I pretend to hate the cats, but when Freddie sat on my chest and started washing my face last night it made me laugh.

5) I got the second-highest grade in Scotland for my Higher English.

6) My estranged husband used to call me "Mrs Ghastly Banana Hammocks".

7) I'm fiercely protective of my washing-up bowl; improper usage will result in shouting and bad language.

I tag:
Donny_ton
jokrack
Strangeways
doddsbloggs
cropwings
10loves10 (if only to read the resulting diatribe!)
davidjohn

And now I'm going to bed. N'night.

1. What would be the contents of your perfect pie?
Mmm. Steak, tender and melty, with a beery meaty gravy.

2. Lift your eyes from the screen - what's the first thing you see and how did it get there?
A poster about photocopying; presume the friendly librarians put it there.

3. What, if anything, would you like to get rid of in your life and why?
Winter, the dark makes me feel funny.

4. If you were building your own house what one room would you include that you don't have now?
A bathroom with a huge bath and loads of natural light.

5. When you were little people asked "what do you want to be when you grow up?" Does your answer then match what you do now?
No! I wanted to be a teacher, a track and field athlete (long jump and 800m, I thought) and a parent - have failed spectacularly at all 3 and am blissfully happy as an unfit, childless trainee plumber.

I have just proven beyond all reasonable doubt that it is impossible for me to go online for a wee while then get up and do something useful. Have resigned myself to the fact that if the PC goes on, I'm glued to it for the whole evening; if I want to get anything done, it stays in its box.

Bums.

I'm going to bed.

An unfloored loft, with a 4-day hangover, and a blowtorch, in the dark, is a very very bad place to be.

I've just been listening to Kirsty MacColl on youtube, and what a bloody talent she had. The knack of succinct-ness; saying in 2 lines what it takes me 3 paragraphs to witter; the music that gets right inside your skin and makes you feel - I dunno - justified? She shoulda lived, made more music, or at the very least not been mangled by a speedboat in front of her kids. Rest in peace, Kirsty - you were bloody marvellous.

- listen to Kirsty McColl's "Don't come the cowboy with me, Sonny Jim". There's a line, it's pure genius, is goes:

" - I fell out of favour with Heaven somewhere and I'm here for the hell of it now"

It kept me going all the way through the last year of uni in the manky bedsit with the mental neighbours and the dumped-ness and the brandy.

Respond to this, ask for a year to write about, and write a post about what you were doing in that year.

Prydwen gave me 1996.

I was a good girl til 1996 - top of my class at school; too busy studying to bother with the pub and too weird for boys to bother with me. Then I got my unconitional acceptance for uni and decided to take a bit of a break... discovered the pub, and snakebite and black, and fags, and older men who were only after one thing... oh, it was such fun! Felt pretty and happy for the first time in my life. Spent the summer working in the chippy and running wild at night.

Went off to Aberdeen uni in September... I mind the bus pulling into the city and it was so big and bright and noisy after 17 years in the back of beyond, I'll never forget the thrill of being so so sure that my real life was just about to start.

I was mates with Andy and Carine, they lived in a flat - a real flat! - just down the road from my halls. We went out on the piss every night of the week, and I picked up all kinds of undesirable men and did all kinds of things with them... uni wasn't going so well; never quite got the knack of turning up for class on a regular basis.

The week before my 18th I managed to get hit by a car and spent a few days in hospital with concussion, shock and puncture wounds. Nobody wondered where I was. I had to buy a pair of jamas from the hospital shop to go home in cos they'd cut my trousers off me and there wasn't anybody to visit with clean clothes.

After I got out of hospital I got myself involved in something I don't want to blog about just in case anybody from work's secretly reading. But it wasn't very bloody clever.

Then I met Dave, a classmate of Andy's and we had a brief fling behind his fiancee's back ( I know... I really was a horrible selfish cow). I was smitten with him, he had the brightest bluest eyes and a magnetism that I couldn't explain or resist. (Several years later I came across a story in a magazine by an ex of his, apparently he'd attacked her and bitten her face during a row. Why can I never recognise a psycho when I pull one?)

Through the non-clever activity I met Clare, a lesbian, and we had a really screwed-up attempt at a relationship. She was a mess of guilt and defiance and addiction; I don't suppose I was much better. She was completely obsessed with me, said I "shone". She also tried to strangle me while I was sleeping.

I met Dodgy Danny at the same time - now, he was completely mad about Clare, but being a lesbian she wasn't interested. She was completely mad about me, but to be totally honest I was secretly in love with Danny. But he wasn't interested in me cos he was so into Clare... of course, we all ended up going to bed with each other at various stages. What a mess!

By this point, Andy and Carine had washed their hands of me, I'd dropped Sociology, was failing Psychology and hadn't been to a French class for months.

Then it was Christmas and time to go home to home to Mum and Dad and show them what I'd made of myself in 3 months of the leash. Poor parents!

Anybody else fancy a year?

it's nice to be a lunatic!

and I thought to meself, I bet Dafter likes that song. Do ya?

Well, trainers. Those canvas ones with a white rubber bitty on the toe like Converse, is that a baseball trainer? They're navy blue and they've got "Fat Willys" written on the side in neon, and they make me smile cos I'm quite peurile really.

What was the last song you sung and how long ago did you sing it?
That Scissor Sisters one that goes "I can't decide whether you should live or die", last night wobbling about the portakabin spilling wine everywhere.

What was the last joke you told?
About the tantric sexual position called The Plumber - you stay in all day but nobody comes.

What was the last joke you heard?
Cannae mind.

What was the last thing you pinched and who did you pinch it from.
Occasional Housemate's orange juice this morning.

What do you wish you had that you haven't already got
I'd like to own the portakabin.

What is your greatest fear?
Losing my apprenticeship again.

What is your earliest memory?
Getting put to bed when it was still sunny outside, and crying cos I wanted to go out and play but couldn't speak yet, and getting given some toy and thinking noooooooooo, this is not what I was asking for.

Aside from property what is the most expensive thing you bought?
My bike, 15 years ago, for £150. Only time in my life I've spent money and got something to show for it.

What would your super power be?
Perfect memory.

If you could edit your past, what would you change?
I'd've looked after my teeth.

Have you ever said "I love you" and not meant it?
Dunno... still making up my mind what "love" is, but have always believed it at the time when I've said it.

What is the closest you've come to death?
Car accident 11 years ago.

How would you like to be remembered?
A strong person who did their own thing.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you to date?
Peace of mind is remembering to appreciate when there isn't a crisis going on, and accepting things as they are when you can't change them.

Spent the weekend in Ullapool with Green-eyed Fisherman and his kids. It was allright. Woke up this morning in my own bed, spent an hour and a half looking for my glasses, drank 3 litres of orange juice and the hangover went away. Occasional Housemate is chilling out with radio 2 and a book on self-sufficiency; I'm just in from playing with the dogs. Twatting about the yard in my pyjamas and balaclava in the sunshine with 3 mad collies who love me. My life is brilliant. I'm so glad I didn't abandon it and go and tag onto the end of his instead. Very happy.

I mean, not literally... the wee boys at college suffix each other's names with it; last night I went out on the single fish with Looks-like-Draco-Malfoy-boy, KC-the-cool-kid-boy, Dirty-Wicker-boy and Impossibly-hairy-sixteen-year-old-boy. And this morning, in addition to lengthy wind-ups on the topic of snogging sad little men (I wasn't!), I have become Midorikaeru-boy. I feel all warm inside. I mean, I maintain that I'm here for a career not a bloody popularity contest, and that I'm happier reading my book alone than pretending to be interested in cars and wanking. But it's nice, to feel a wee bit of belonging, sometimes.