A-voting, a-voting, a-voting we will go

C and I are off to Australia House, the Australian High Commission in London, to vote in Australia's general election, held back home this Saturday.

As opposed to Britain, voting in Australia is compulsory, and to be honest I believe it should be. Everyone should have their say in how their country is run, even if it is misinformed, self-helping, or wrong, rather than the slack arse apathetic way that causes only 32% of Londoners to have voted in the last local elections.

So why are we going? 3 reasons:

1) I truly believe that everyone should vote. Don't get me started, I've had many a screaming, stand up, finger in face pointing argument about this point. I don't care. It's my point, so just deal with it.

2) To vote against Little Johnny Brown Nose, and get his team of cronies out of office. Voted into everlasting power in 1996, Australia has been in the grip of a coalition government for the last 11 sodding years. Holy Sweet Baby Jesus I don't think I can articulate just how much I hate him.
It's John Howards racist, lap dog following, lack of spine, knee jerk reactions and frankly childish attitude that have caused me many an embarrassing and angry moment. The most memorable no doubted being when Australia lost to England in the 2003 Rugby World Cup, and Little Johnny Brown Nose had to hand the English team the trophy. Now don't get me wrong I was pretty annoyed when England won, but honest to god if I was the Prime Minister, I would NOT have had a face like a smacked arse whilst handing the winning team their trophy. I mean he's the Prime Sodding Minister. He's supposed to be representing our nation on the world stage. How did he act? Like a spoilt 5 year old that was ready to throw his toys out of the pram, fall on his face, start screaming, kicking and punching the ground. It was his frankly embarrassing and pathetic behaviour which was the direct cause for me screaming at the tele "JOHN HOWARD YOU'RE A FUCKING C*NT" at the exact same moment The Ex-Flatmate came up the stairs whilst on the phone with his Dad, who said "umm.. yes, John Howard is quite bad isn't he".

3) I'm hoping they'll be dishing out free lamingtons in the voting queue.

In other news: The Ex-Flatmate is coming back to London tomorrow morning!! I have to get up at 5.30 am to get him from the airport. No he's not had enough of Australia, he's just here for a holiday. More to follow...

Friday Moment of Zen: A shout out to the big fella's boat

Last night we finally got broadband!!! It's taken over a month for BT to fuck about with out phone line, and then another 10 days for the broadband company to set it up. (BTW, I absolutely detest BT now. They fucked me around for 2 weeks straight, trying to get my old number connected to my new house. Everyday they would promise me that the phone would be connected by that evening, and every day I would have to call up and say "well you know what? Still no dial tone". I hope I never have to speak to someone there again, because frankly, they are truly rubbish).

Anyway, I digress. Now having gotten broadband connected to my house I tried to set it up last night, obviously to no avail because I didn't have any of the settings for the router or modem and also because, lets face it, I'm really not that much of a techinally minded geek who can set up home networks or fix media pc's. So The Ex-Flatmate had to get waken up at 7am Sydney time to help me through it, and give me all the old settings. In order to pay him back, in non monetary terms, for the hour international call last night, I'm going to post this link of where the boat with all his gaff (his bike, guitar, nerd books, porn) currently is in the world. At this precise moment, the CMA GCM Verlaine, call sign DASO, is just south of Sri Lanka. Seeing as he packed everything off about 7 weeks ago, at this rate, he should get his stuff, I dunno, sometime in the next year?

There you go, kindof zen like. Whilst none of us are on holiday, at least The Ex-Flatmates porn is taking a nice lesiurely cruise around the Maldives.

Back from everywhere

Holy crap. It's been ages since I've updated this blog.

In the last month the following has happened:

• FOP week came
• FOP week went - some brilliant meals, and more booze than I like to care to remember.... including 1/2 a bottle of some random italian liquer that Li and I polished off, after a night of wine, cocktails and dancing....
  
• I completed on my flat
• I moved into my flat, a week earlier than anticipated because I was too hungover from the Italian liquer FOP night to argue with everyone. To be fair, it was the best thing I could have done because the brilliant friends all pitched in and helped, like the fabulous people they are.
• The Flatmate fucked off back to oz.
• Any sadness I might have felt for his leaving, quickly disappeared when I realise how much crap he left in the flat for me to sort out!
• I went on an 11 day holiday in China. I would have blogged whilst away but had no internet access. I ate myself stupid, which has led to comments when I got back like "Well, there's something on the back of your coat, but you won't be able to see it because you're arse is so big now" - quote Dr D, 2007.
• C moved into my flat, and now we are living in domestic harmony. We've had our first, very domestic phone call where I asked her what time she was home, and what she wanted for dinner.

I've got entries for all these random events, which I will sort out over the weekend, and post next week. Watch this space.

What a week

There has just been too much going on in my life for me to take it all in. And I know this post is going to sound all whiney, but that's exactly how I feel at the moment. Tired, emotional, and really overwhelmed by everything. All I want to do is stay at home, watch tele, and just dig my head in the sand. But unfortunately, it's time to start acting like the adult I'm supposed to be, and just get the bloody hell on with it....

1. Moving house & the great appliance debacle
Holy crap there is so much to do. I have to get so many services ported across to the new place, like water and gas and electricity and phones. On top of that work has been a bitch, so I can't seem to find the time to do everything. PLUS, I have to buy a cooker, fridge and a washing machine, and for some reason I just can not make up my mind. I've never heard of brands like "Indesit" (or as I've now heard them called Indeshit), "Cannon" or "HotPoint". How am I supposed to make an informed choice? I think I've got the washer/dryer/fridge/freezer thing nailed down. I just have to get down to buying the bloody things.

The thing is that now I am suffering from a total lack of conviction, and I am completely indecisive about everything. I was trying to buy a card reader this morning, and got totally flustered about buying a £8 reader or a £6 reader. The cheaper one is from Amazon, but the more expensive one seemed to have a longer cord. This is all it takes to floor me now. I can't decide if I should have one piece of toast or two. Eat sushi for lunch or hot dogs. Am I thirsty now or not? Do I want to sue the people who are selling me my house or not??? What is fucking wrong with me????

2. Police
I got a call on Tuesday from Aylesbury police. We went to Aylesbury for the weekend last week to show The Flatmate how random the whole place was. So when I get a call from a police woman, saying that she has some questions for me I think "holy crap? What did I do? Did I assault someone and not remember it, even though I wasn't that drunk? ". She then asks me if we stayed at the hotel which we did stay in. This has me thinking "hmm, I'm sure The Flatmate paid the bill? We did take the biscuits from the room, but they were supposed to be complimentary??? We didn't trash the room at any stage.. maybe they're calling because I couldn't get the tap to stop slowly dripping... Maybe it is over the 50 pence biscuits... but they weren't even that good..". The police woman then starts questioning me on whether we saw anything suspicious on Saturday night because they are investigating an incident of a rape at the hotel, possibly involving a man or a member of staff. This has me completely freaked, because we were there, but we didn't see anything.. admittedly, we also had a good amount of whiskey and cokes in us, but still... that's really freaked me out to be honest... What if C or I had been alone in the room and someone tried to break in? What if they accused The Flatmate because he was alone in his room? How could I have been at a hotel, where there were so few people, and not notice some woman had been brutally assaulted? There is this real feeling of guilt for some reason, that I can't seem to shake.

3. FOP
FOP week has been moving along slowly. Unfortunately The Flatmate called me up all in a state because all the restaurants he wants to go to are full on Saturday, and he didn't think about making any arrangements prior to today. This gets me annoyed because I'd spent most of the week "reminding" (ok, fine, nagging) him to get things organised, and he'd just get annoyed at me for "reminding" (nagging) him. So I didn't have the greatest amount of sympathy when he spent ages on the phone complaining that he'd left it too late. All well that ends well, because he finally found somewhere, we just hope that all the vegetarian/vegan/non-beef/non-red meat eaters will be ok with an Argentinian Steak House. I like steak, and yes, my name is Jack and I'm alright.

4. FUCKING HOUSE
I've officially completed today. So officially I am supposed to be living there today. I am supposed to have the keys. I am not supposed to have the sellers living there. I told my solicitor about this whole not moving in until Sunday thing, and how the estate agent (never deal with Foxtons) had specifically told me not to say anything to them, and she's gone dead set nuts. Now she's servicing them notice telling them that if they're not out we're going to charge them, and if they aren't out on Sunday at 2pm, we're going to sue them. Apparently I could ask them to pay for the two days they are living there, and if they didn't pay then it would be up to the estate agent to pay, completely explaining why the estate agent didn't want me to say anything.

I just want an easy life! I just want to move in without all this freakin' hassle. Fuck fuck fuck.

On the plus side, Calv pointed out that we are going to a casino tonight, and if I get the keys today, I could just throw them on a roulette table and say "all on black". Then I'd have to explain to everyone why I was living out of a cardboard box, because I don't own a house anymore.....

FOP, Wrists and Boggle Eyes

I know I've not finished regaling (aka boring) you with stories of Svalbard (where it's not -37.6C, but when we were there it was a pathetic -1C) but so much else has happened, so I'll do Svalbard later.

1st: Groaning Debt
It seems that after 6 painful, head banging against the wall, hair wrenching months, I've finally exchanged on my flat! I'm getting the keys on Friday, and legally, I'm bound to it like a hostage, gagged and flung into the back of a car. However, as nothing with this house has gone smoothly, the vendor can't move out of the flat until Sunday, because he can't drive and he has to wait for his brother to help him move (what is wrong with hiring a dude and a truck I ask?) , the vendor, his girlfriend and son will be squatting in my flat for 48 hours. My esteemed estate agent told me "well, this does happen all the time, but best not mention it to your lawyer eh?". So obviously not trusting this sleazy man as far as I could throw his short, squat, rotund, little body, I ran and told my lawyer who was less than pleased. But still, squatting aside, it's done now, and some of my lovely friends are helping me move my junk on Monday. Love the lovely friends

2. FOP
It's finally happened. The Flatmate has an end date, a get out of jail, exit strategy finally planned.

Last Friday, removalists came to pack up his stuff and ship it all back to Australia. Naturally, being a complete hoarder, his estimated 15 boxes turned into 35, probably because he's taken a load of my crap too (why? my dresses won't fit him, he's way too tall!). So our flat is not 1/2 empty, and devoid of all things his. Amusing he's living out of a suit case for the next 2 weeks, and because they've taken all his stuff, including his linen, he is sleeping in his sleeping bag, on a naked mattress. Talk about temporary. Also, being seduced by the lovely warm March spring weather last week, he packed all his cold weather gear, and now is paying the price as it's fucking freezing in London, and it's starting to snow again. Snow. In London. In March. It must be some sort of punishment from the gods for abandoning me. Obviously the gods are on my side, and want the wicked Flatmate to freeze. Ha!

So the next 2 weeks are FOP week for The Flatmate (FOP = Fuck Off Phil). A vast array of events, all involving eating, drinking and spending money I don't actually have anymore.


3. Punishment for Boggle Eyes.
Speaking of punishment, on Saturday, probably in answer to me taking C and The Flatmate to Aylesbury, where Dr D grew up, for a truly, mid England, thug filled, old men coping off with old women in sleazy nightclubs, with lots of underage kids thrown in the mix as well, night out. We thought The Flatmate needed to see the randomness that is a night on the tiles in Aylesbury. And also I was making a last ditch attempt at keeping The Flatmate in London, by throwing a 5Ft 9, blond, yes slightly boggled eyed, friend of Dr Dr in his path. Of course it never works out the way I plan, as whilst she looked kindof interested in The Flatmate, that interest waned very quickly when Dr D said "well, I work with her* (pointing at me) and he (pointing at the Flatmate) lives with her (pointing back at me).." At this, her boggle eyes looked at The Flatmate, then back at me, then back at the Flatmate, probably trying to work out what sort of weird bunch we were, then she buggered off literally 10 seconds later. So in punishment for me trying to change The Flatmates destiny, I've managed to end up with tendonitis (or more accurately De Quervian tenosynovitis) in my right wrist. Basically, my wrist is fucked, and I can't grip, hold a pen, move a mouse or type. You find being a programmer who can't type or use a mouse is very difficult. I went to the minor injuries unit at the hospital yesterday, only to wait in the queue behind what seemed like a thousand people, all of whom seemed to have open cuts, broken feet or missing limbs. 2 hours I sat waiting, so I could finally see a nurse, try and explain that whilst I did go out on Sat night, and yes, my wrist started hurting on Sat night, I did not go out, get pissed, and fall over and hurt myself, and that this definitely is not a UDI (Unidentified Drinking Injury). 20 seconds of looking and my arm, she sticks my wrist in a splint, says "rest" and packs me off. So much for the NHS.

*Amended because Dr D has issues. BIG HAIRY ISSUES.

So that's what's been happening here. Sprained limbs, house moving, and FOP events. It's going to be very weird now as we start doing our "lasts" of everything. Last dinners at fave restaurants, last nights in, last fights involving fisty cuffs, and kicking.. It all sounds a bit perverse huh? Good thing The Flatmate never reads this..

Easiest way to make a man come running

1. Walk past the man's bedroom, muttering slightly
   
2. Walk past again, this time holding a tool box - this obviously makes him prick his ears.
   
3. Open tool box, spilling some of the screwdrivers on the floor - this is to pique his interest and make him knit his eyebrows together a little.
   
4. Walk into the bathroom, screwdriver in hand - he's getting more interested/nervous
   
5. Start unscrewing the piece of wood behind the toilet, to get to the toilet cistern - his head pops out the door. At this point, he will ask "do you need a hand?", to which you have to look around, smile and say "no thanks!"
   
6. Put the 'blue loo' cleaning block in cistern, then start screwing the wood back into place. When inevitably, it does not end up quite flush against the wall, say loudly "oh damnit, that's not supposed to go like that" - this makes the man ask his brother, who is on a call from Australia, to hold on a minute.
   
7. Go back to the hall, take out hammer from the toolbox, then start hitting the wood, to try and get it back in place.
   

This is my sure fire, never fail, guaranteed way to make the man (aka The Flatmate) throw the phone down on his international call, run out the door, down the hall, into the bathroom, saying "Um, ok, are you sure you don't need some help? Don't need me to come to the rescue then?"

Hmmm, and I'm supposed to be owning a house soon? Now I'm not sure that's the best idea is it...

No more feelings of rejection

It's finally got me. On my birthday, after too much fondue, meat, cheese and chocolate variety, the gastro bug that's taken everyone down got me too. Whilst it is annoying throwing up everything you've eaten, I've taken the pragmatic approach of thinking "my female friends will be proud of me.. at least I'm not injesting any calories".

Unfortunately it wasn't so bad that I couldn't go whoreing myself (AKA doing a presales demo/meeting/training) at a large financial institution at Canary Wharf , but I was sick enough to go home halfway through the day yesterday and stay at home today.

The thing about being home from work is that I always end up padding about the house, unshowered and in my pj's... lying on the couch, feeling sorry for myself, and smelling slightly ripe... The good thing about having a stomach bug is that I have absolutely no appetite, because everytime I eat, my belly feels like it's full of little dwarfs, doing summersaults, with little shoes that have spikes in them.

So today, I've watched the 1940's Noel Coward classic "Brief Encounter", which is a terrific example of stoic british angst at it's finest. Lots of long looks, sighs, fainting spells and "oh darling, don't look at me like that, it's awfully shamefull what we're doing. One must keep one's composure". The Flatmate as less than impressed with the whole film. And now I'm off to show my xbox some love, since it's sulking because I've not paid it any attention today. The Flatmate is off to have lunch, because he says there is a funny smell here... maybe I'd better shower first... hmmm

On this day..

1. 1473 - Nicolaus Copernicus, famous astronomer, whose at the time controversial theory called "De revolutionibus orbium coelestium" is percieved as the starting point of modern astronomy, was born on this day
2. 1985 - EastEnders is first aired on the BBC! (You can see my new and old house on the map in the start of the show). I love a show which can make you think "no matter how bad I think my life is, at least I'm not pregnant and still in love with the man who I am having an affair with, who doesn't want to have an affair with me, but is only doing it because his wife wants to buy my child".
3. 1861 - Serfdom was abolished in Russia
4. 2007 - It's my birthday, and I am now "officially" in my "late 20s". 28 was my mid-late 20s. Undeniable, 29 is my late-late 20s.

As it's my birthday, and to honour my german ancestry, to celebrate chinese new year, and because it's the last day of my "Birthday Season", we went to Kurz & Lang for a german pork sausages and sauerkraut for lunch. Tonight, a few of us are off to a Swiss fondue restaurant, where The Flatmate will try not to be sick, since he reckons he's now been hit with the gastro bug that's making the rounds of our group.

Present wise I have done exceptionally well. Dr D got me a DIY book, my friend Pop, who has amazing taste in fashion, gave me a cool pair of earings that appeal to my catholic side by having what looks like bits of rosary beads dangling from them ! Lee got me a cool book chocka full of American Diner recipes. My friend, Campbelly got me a champagne recorker so that I can safely induldge in Champagne Thursdays without feeling the need to neck the whole bottle in one go. And finally The Flatmate, C, Calv, Magic and Dr D gave me an XBox 360!! WOW!! I can now play Halo, which I love, as well as Gears of War, which is just plain frightening!

I also got these beautiful roses from my mum.

On Saturday night, C and I had a lovely dinner at a local pub, which 20 of our closest friends came to. On the way back to our place, for the inevitable party, I walked everyone past the soon-to-be-mine flat, where we all stood outside freaked out the vendor... Why having 15 or so people standing outside their flat, pointing and going "oooh" and "so when do they move out?" would freak someone out is anyones guess. They didn't look too happy looking out of their windows, desperately trying to call the cops...

And yes, if you're wondering, the inevitable party did end at 4 am when we sang our voices dry with some awful/awsome Singstar.... A really serendipitous finding that night was that I own all the ingredients needed to make some kick arse cosmopolitans, which Lee, Pop and I drank by the huge red wine glass full.. no wonder I didn't surface from my room until 1 in the afternoon!

All in all, it's been a pretty good birthday season. I'm not too worried about getting older.. though I'm sure that's going to change soon. But right this very minute, I will own a house soon, I'm going to Brussels for the weekend, then I'm off to Svaldbard and China in a few weeks, so at this moment in time, life is pretty damn tasty!

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Hats made of seals are bad

For some insane reason, The Flatmate, Calv, Magic, Dr D and myself are all off on holiday in a few weeks time to Svalbard. Officially a part of Norway, it is Europe's northernmost territory, and is way inside the Arctic circle, being about 1000 km from the North Pole. In fact, I think it's as far north as you can get before they slap the title "explorer" on you. The whole territory has only 5 towns, the smallest one having a grand population of 10 people and the "capital" having a population of 1,800... My last job employed more people than that!



The fact that there will be no sun for the whole time we're there means we will hopefully see the Aurora borealis, which I think is the main reason for us going... The fact that the average temperature is about -12C, which goes down to about -30C with windchill, is not the thing that's freaking me out the most... It's the fact that for years now I've always thought of polar bears as cute and cuddly animals, who drink bottles of coke, nuzzle their young, are romantic to their partners, and love to give humans hugs. However, the 500 or so white cutie pies which are on the territory are the biggest threat to people, and if one tries to attack you, you are advised to keep shooting it until it stops. Killed by lead poisoning. Thus, you are told to never leave a settlement without carrying a rifle.

Which you can hire.

Without the need of a license or even the knowledge of how to use one....

So in honour of this new found polar bear fear, this is my Friday Moment of Zen: Of all the freezing, north pole equipped, fuck off hard core weather gear I will be wearing in Svaldbard, not one item will be a hat, shaped like a seal.

Enjoy!

For The Flatmate

Whilst watching an episode of 'Friends', Ross' g/f comes in and finds them playing Strip Happy Days, and goes "Ok, I'll catch up" and takes her top off.

The Flatmate: "Damnit! I came in late, and only saw the end of that!"
Me: "Damnit! If only we had a tivo box of some type which was recording what we were watching!"
The Flatmate: "Damnit! And if only that tivo box meant I could rewind and see her in her bra!"
Me: "Well why don't you then?"
The Flatmate: "Well, I would, but if I did, you'd blog it."


The Flatmate - you're so damn right.

In Loving Memory

There will be no Friday Moment of Zen this week for 2 reasons:

1) I wanted to talk about the gorgefest that Sunday night will be thanks to the Superbowl. I don't even watch american football, but any excuse to eat nachos, buffalo wings, ribs, and guzzle bottles of beer is ok with me (I'm so classy!). And whilst I do have a full post about Gorgefest Sunday Superbowl, I can not find any pictures of chicken wings that do them justice.

2) Today's entry will be in loving memory of The Flatmates Nintendo Wii.

Which I apparently bricked by sending him an email.

Oh yes, that's right. The Flatmate's Wii, which we got him for Christmas, and which you can not now buy for love or money is bricked. Dead. Fucked. Gone. Bye bye.

Apparently by sending him an email which has loads of html tags in it (who knew that a Eurostar itinerary could so lethal?), I've managed to kill his Wii. It starts up, begins to play the Wii music, then boom. Dead. It just stops working. He's been on the phone with Nintendo customer support, and they've never seen this before, so he's now had to send it back the very same day he bought a brand new controller so we could play 3 player Mario Carts.

Oops.

So to help stop him from topping himself, we took him out last night to get a bit pissed. And in loving memory of the games console that everyone wants, but no one can get, I'm missing out on the Friday Moment of Zen, because for him, there can no longer be zen like state of being.

The mother of all parties

We had our 6th Annual Australia Day (now with added Witangi Day) BBQ party on Saturday night for possibly the last time ever. What with The Flatmate moving back to Oz, and me moving into my new apartment, both of us are leaving our current mother of all parties house for much more sensible, grown up, less teenage abodes. Our flat does seriously rock when it comes to throwing a damn fine knees up mother brown shindig, as we seem to be able to make as much noise as we like, make as much smoke as we like from numerous bbq's on the balconies, party on until 7am, play singstar and screech so loud you could hear it about 1/2 a mile away (apparently), and we still know no fear of our neighbours complaining or calling the cops. We think this mostly has to do with the fact that our neighbours aren't legally allowed to live in their "flat" because it's zoned to be an office, and not as a house, and since we hate them, we really don't care. (Childish? Oh yes, absolutely).

As it was a bbq, I prepared all the food on Friday night before going out, so we had tandoori lamb, pork tocino, big fat chorizo sausages and adobo chicken. I figured everyone else would bring all the standard fair of bangers and vege crap anyway. And as it was a celebration of all things antipodean, I made a pavlova (well, two in fact because I started to make it after I had a few drinks and then my friend C and I got the temperatures wrong, and baked it at 250C not 250F... we only noticed it's blackened charcoal like texture when the fire alarm went off... ooh masterchef, eat your heart out!). My friend from Oz C made some delicious Anzac biscuits, and a mate P made lamingtons. It's amazing when you immigrate to another country how it's the little things like snack foods and deserts, which you can get freely in your home country, but after years way, are the ones that make the biggest impact on you.. each bite of a lamington or an anzac brings back feelings of nostalgia for backyard swimming pools, scorching summers in December, cicadas, and friends and family... The humble pavlova is enough to make grown antipodean men weep (and grown antipodean women quake with fear of demolishing the whole cream laden thing and growing sideways...).


This years Aussie day bbq was definitely one of our most successful ones to date. Starting at 6pm, it ended with the last few scragglers leaving our house to a rising sun at 7am.. Loads of drinks, food, and of course the obligatory singstar all made their mark over the 13 hours of parting down.. If it seems that singstar is all we do at our shindigs, well... you'd be damn right. I now seem to own every single one of those damn kareoke playstation games, and they are so fucking addictive! There is nothing more fantastic than watching your friends try to battle it out and out sing each other on cheesy classics like "Gold" by Spandau Ballet, "Little Respect" by Erasure (DAMN YOU MAGIC! He beat me by only a tiny fraction.. i swear that man practices!), and my person favorite "Sweet Home Alabama" (yeehaw!). One of our directors from work came with his wife, and at 5 am, after we'd turned the playstation off, jumped up, mic in hand and said "COME ON GUYS! We have to crank it up! Let's start singing!!". You have to understand, we only started up again because he's the boss, and not because we're sados... Fuck it, I don't care, I'm not proud. I love singstar. What I love about is that it's the people who come over and think that it's going to be really sad and pathetic are always the ones that end up releasing their secret rock god, complete with Pete Townsend style windmilling, finishing songs with a rock and roll arm in the air, head held high, score way down low... it's so much fun!

My top 5 for this year's party is:

1. None of our furniture caught on fire (unlike one year, when ignited absinthe spilled out all over our coffee table!)
2. Everyone who threw up did it either outside or in the toilet (unlike last year.. very very messy... )
   
3. There are reports of people not recovering until 5pm Sunday night
   
4. I didn't pass out, wake up at 5 in my bed, still in my clothes, and think "oh, the party's over! And everyones gone home!"
5. Dr K, who is one of the worst singers alive, who still loves doing it anyway, decided to trash talk one of the girls from work, who was so excited about singstar.. As she warbled away, he yelled out "Come on! Try and sing at least one note!", to which she turned around, screamed "I'm trying my best!" and then threw the mic straight at his head... That really makes me giggle!
   

I'll post some pictures tomorrow, some of which are priceless... Least of which is one of our friends in the "sex hat" (a leather biggles hat someone brought to our place years ago, but which neither the Flatmate or myself can come around to touching to give it back to them, because it really, really, really does look like a gimp mask...), my "high maintenance mask" and pavlova all over his face...

Ah, what a fantastic way to celebrate Australia Day...

Odds and Betting

I've just come back from watching Arsenal beat Liverpool 6 goals to 3 in the Carling Cup at Anfield. The odds on that must have been massive!

Then, on the walk home, The Flatmate and I found a tennis ball we started kicking about. Near our house is a huge Boots warehouse where late at night big semi trailers come to drop off goods. As we were walking along, we saw a semi trailer coming towards us, so I kicked the tennis ball to the curb, so to avoid it being run over by the truck. What are the odds that the semi trailer not only aims directly for the curb, running over a tiny tennis ball and squashing it flat, but also then reverses to have another 3 goes at it with all the wheels on one side?

Pretty slim of you ask me.

So with this renewed sense of strange odds in the air I'm going to jump onto the Betfair website, and find the biggest odds I can find, and blow some of my soon to be mortgaged to the hilt money on it. Not alot, just a bit. I reckon that tonight's the night kids. Mama needs a brand new washing machine. Come on lady luck. Bring home the bacon.

Update 12.04 am: I've just placed £2 on the Diamond Halo (come on! with a name like that how is that not a sign??!?) to win at £26-1 at Penn, Race 2. It's not the £1000 bet I was looking for, but a girl's gotta start somewhere. If this one doesn't win, then I will go to bed, and sleep. If it does though... oh la la. I might just keep on going until I lose.... stay tuned for my slippery downhill slope towards Gamblers Anonymous!

Update: 12.13am: Well, I'm off to bed then. Nice early night for once. Stupid fucking horse. Hope it's on it's way to make some hefty glue.

Painful Wii

All of us bought The Flatmate a Nintendo Wii for Christmas, which he loves. If you don't know, the Ninetndo Wii have take gaming to a completely different level, and instead of just having a hand held controller which you press buttons on, you play by holding a controller and doing proper movements. So you would play the bowling game as if you were actually bowling, baseball as if you were actually hitting a ball, you get my drift.

Annoyingly of course, because he plays it all the time, he is getting too good for me to even compete against. So tonight, all beered up, I feel for the first time in ages that I could actually beat him at tennis, a feat I've managed to get close to, but never of course actually doing. So watching him, all excited like a child on Christmas, waiting for him to beat who ever he is playing, I stand there, anticipating the joy of victory that only booze can self delude someone into thinking they can achieve. And then he completely smashes my elbow and arm with his hand and Wii remote whilst he's trying to do an ace, leaving me to hobble down the stairs, cluthing my painful arm.

Stupid Flatmate, stupid Wii. Grr.. I hope he goes home soon.

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Being paranoid at office Christmas parties

I've got my office Christmas party tonight, which I've been helping to organise since last February. Finally, after months of work, it's upon us. And I'm really not looking forward to it. At all.

The problem with my work is that there seems to be an abundance of very good looking girls who work in my team. You'd think that that wouldn't be the case since I work in IT, notorious as it is for being a male dominated industry, but there you go. These size 0 girls, who laugh allot in the way popular girls in high school do, and get chatted up by all the guys in my team, means that I end up just standing there like a nigel-no-friends, getting more and more pissed, trying to be funny and interesting to anyone who'll talk to me, in a desperate attempt to compensate for my lack of looks. (Why? Why do I care? Why do I often spend nights in the toilets texting the Flatmate screaming "it's not fair! Why can't I be annorexic. Then I'd be popular" Why? Because I like to eat food that's why. (I know, I know, being annorexic will not make you popular when your a walking skelaton, but from this end of the weight spectrum it sure seems to fucking help)).

Last night I spent about 2 hours in the bowels of my wardrobe trying on every single article of clothing that I own that vagully resembles something dressy to try and work out what dress/trousers/top/shoes/ear ring combination to wear. And since our house is so crap, we do not have one single mirror where you can see yourself in fully head to toe. So to check myself out from my head to my chest I have to go to my bathroom mirror, to see my chest to my lower thighs I have to go to the Flatmates room and look in the mirror on his bedside table, positioned just at the right height to be nicknamed "The Gut Mirror", from there down I'm on my own. This constant circular trek from my bedroom, to my bathroom, to the Flatmates room is exhausting and frustrating. Then I end up moaning at the Flatmate about how unattractive and wide I look , to which he at first replies "no you look fine", however a few hours later, after my millionth costume change and footstamp, he will just roll his eyes and go "I liked the first thing you had on, just wear that. Or just wear ANYTHING, I do not care any more. Please, it's 2 am. Go away".

The party is in 3 hours, and I still do not know what to wear. God damn it. I was going to leave now at 4pm to get home, shower, change and get ready, but then I realised that even though I am heffer like, even I do not need 2 hours to get ready for the ball.

Grrr. So there is no zen like moment today. Just angst and annoyance. Merry fucking Christmas

So Bittersweet it's palatable

The Flatmate wanted to show me a few pictures of his niece he got tonight from his brother in Oz. This quick 5 minute digital snapshot exhibit obviously turned into a 40 minute look at every digital picture he'd taken in the last 6 years of our lives in London. I love looking back at how we've changed, not only physically (more hair, less hair, wider, thinner, and back again), but also at all the random things we've done, and mostly how happy we've seemed doing it all. We've spent the better part of the last hour going "oh my god! Look at our old house in Swanley! We literally owned nothing back then! Remember how we were so poor, we could only buy one Christmas decoration a week!" and "yuck! What was I thinking wearing those clothes out? EEK!" and "You look much better with a beard. Definitely. Never shave it off again."

So many pictures are of our urban family - a collection of people, who, according to hundreds of pieces photographic evidence, seem to spend countless hours in pubs drinking their salaries away. None of us have family in London, so we seem to cling on to each other for support (or because we weren't drunk enough that we have to cling to the floor for dear life). Looking back 5 years worth of pictures, we've been such a great bunch of druken louts.

I guess seeing as The Flatmate is going home at the end of February, tonight has left me with a real bittersweet sense of pain. I love looking at these pictures, but I hate how it leaves me with a real deep in my guts, down to the marrow of my bones sadness. Sadness partly at getting older, but mostly because I really like my life this way, and I hate the idea of it all changing. It's almost a child like, foot stamping annoyance and anger that things have to move on, and that I can't make time stop and just keep things the way they are, because I can't see it ever being this good again.

Soon I'll be moving out of my home (finally my draft contract has come through) so I should be moving into my new place sometime in January. And I don't feel excited about this, I just feel scared. And, pathetically, I feel really lonely. This is so stupid, becuase I don't know why, since clearly looking at these pictures tonight, I am very, very, very lucky to have all these fantastic friends, and so I have no reason to feel like this at all. I know that whilst it might feel all dim and low at the moment, eventually, somehow, everything will work out, and I'll come through this fine, and not even understanding how I ever felt this upset.

OK, sad rant's over now. I just needed to vent. Tomorrow's topic: the sheer panic I'm currently feeling about my office Christmas party. I normally don't dread a good knees up mother brown. But this year, honestly, all I can think is eek: I will never look good enough to go to this stupid party, what with all the bloody model like "easy on the eye" girls I now work with, who don't look like they've ever eaten a proper meal. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Oh yes my friend, I am action packed full of issues. Action packed.

Random Conversations on My "Friday"

1. Quote The Flatmate: "But surely any type of fisting can't be good?"

2. Upon opening our advent calenders today 6 DAYS LATE:
The Flatmate: "ooh my milkybar advent calender today says 'Santa's coming'"
me: "Eww.. and it's white!"

So very childish. So very funny.

Today is "Friday" for me. I've got Friday off. I'm doing sweet fuck all tomorrow. Tools down time everyone. Tools down.