So, here I am, alone in Berlin. Pressing reset, or something. It’s been something of a difficult month. Actually, make that a difficult eight months [I counted] – so do excuse my recent hiatus. I think I might be [just about] back. Here’ goes.
I was clearing out an old drawer the other day and found my ticket to the Turner Prize in 2007. This went on to remind me of my first ever blog post, titled: there will be no miracles here. Call it creative borrowing from something I saw at that very exhibition, which took place over five years ago. And I started this blog some months over three years ago. These two things made me think: if only I could speak to my three/five-years-younger self. I know exactly what I would say to her.
Anyway, impossibility aside, here’s some recent phone photos [got to ease myself back into this gently, after all]. I’ll leave you to guess the wheres and whens.
So, I’ve got the afternoon off. I planned to come home and send out a few emails, you know, catch up on my admin. But no. Hotmail is not working. For, I think, the first time ever? So now I feel stranded. I’ve just had a banana and a diet coke. And that’s about all I have to report. Oh, apart from the fact that when I wore my new jeans for the first time the other day, they ended up with beer all over them (booze Britain) so I washed them immediately. Stepped out in them for the second time today and have come home with mud splashed up the back of my leg. It’s not even raining? Only me. Harumph. And now, because I’m so annoyed about all of the above and more, here’s an aesthetically pleasing picture.
Have concluded that I must tweet less if I am to blog more. So many of my ideas are frittered away in throwaway tweets when they could be better spent on here. I mean, you’d love to hear more about my hangovers and the like, wouldn’t you? And my penchant for chips, my weather reports, my mooching, my obsession with Made In Chelsea (yes, you may roll your eyes at this point), and, of course, the fact that I saw Paul Scholes on a big red bus yesterday and then heard the news that he has retired today (unrelated, obviously, but of great interest nonetheless). I’m sure you would.
I’ve got an afternoon off today. Lovely. Am going to drink iced coffee, eat fruit, watch catch-up telly, read all those papers/magazines which are stacked up beside my bed so far un-read and make Glastonbury-lists. Yes, you heard – GLASTONBURY LISTS. Eeeeeeeep! I’m doing unbelievably well in not hyping it up (probably because I want to lose about a hundred pounds before it and I actually wish I had more than three weeks in which to do so). Lists I will make, pounds I will probably not lose. BLAH.
I had a spam comment yesterday which enthusiastically stated: “this blog is extremely cool! how can i make one like this!” Yes, double exclamation. I wasn’t fooled for a second.
So, how does one make a blog like this? These days, I’m not quite sure. Metaphorically speaking, I’m uninspired. Physically speaking, I’m having a ‘mare. My primary concern is the fact that the font on the blog is showing up differently on my laptop to how it is on the computer. The laptop is showing how it should/always has looked whereas the computer is doing something horrible to it. The boy has fiddled with the firefox settings to bring it back to nearly-normal, but it’s still not right. So, I’m a little (translation: a lot) concerned that you are all viewing the blog in this new, bogging, firefox-update format. So, if this is the case, just so you know, it’s NOT HOW I WANT IT TO LOOK and you should all fiddle with your settings so that my blog looks right again. THANKS.
That’s it, folks. Like I said, I’m a little uninspired. I finally finished that mammoth novel I was involved with (Shantaram, if you must know) and now feel like there’s a bit of a void in my life. Also, don’t you think I’m doing a grand job at not mentioning the unmentionable thing which is a feeble four weeks away? (Actually, 3 weeks and 6 days, if we want to be pedantic). Will ye go, lassie go.
…i can hear the flowers a’growin’ in the rubble of the towers.
Weekend off. Pastel yellow nails. Cava. A casual play-off final. A birthday brother. A Booze Britannia. Must get some sleep. Oh and this is top 30 material – just to settle my excitement. Get a load of it.
I seem to have lost my blog voice a bit this week. Nothing new, I suppose. Not much to report, anyway. I’ve been working, eating things I shouldn’t, trying not to bleed money everytime I leave the house, delivering unwanteds to charity shops – all whilst being smack bang in the middle of a 933-page-novel which is super addictive. I’m having to fight the desire to hibernate with it (plus the unceasing desire to flick to the last page and read the last sentence of the book – am I the only one who suffers this torment?). This book is providing a welcome distraction from the drudgery of job-hunting; I see it as feeding my mind and preparing my soul for more of the same. Far-fetched? Probably. And now, an entirely irrelevant but entirely pleasing picture, just because.
…and that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
I discovered a blog yesterday. Longest acres. It’s set on a farm in North Carolina. Already sounds like something from a film, doesn’t it? Anyway, it absorbed my attention so quickly and so fully that I eventually found myself right back at the start, at her very first post (with a little blip of sadness in the middle re: Oscar – you’ll see). Now, I’m not usually an interested-in-farms sort of girl, but this blog makes it look ethereal. You are all, by now, familiar with my weather-preoccupation; this blog is going to be a perfect way of watching seasons change – don’t you agree?
I don’t know about you lot, but I’m actually relieved to be getting back to the grind. I feel massively over-indulged too, so it’s all about broccoli and carrots today (although I’m sure that won’t last long). But firstly, a massive coffee to de-puff these eyes of mine. Hope you all had wonderful weekends. Now, back to work.