…And I’m into this, walking home from my induction„ making me smile. 

I went to Ikea cos I don’t have a bed and I want a sofa bed but I don’t wanna spend loadse of dolla’ - after what seems like hours trekking around the maze of stuff for houses (yawn) -  I get to the warehouse bit where all the stuff is in boxes - an’ i’m looking at the box an’ i’m thinking about my little car - I have a tape measure (but who am I kidding I didn’t measure anything before I got here) - I give the box a cheeky measure anyway - might as well look profesh  - then nod in appreciation at the box (as it’s exactly my height)….but this helps nothing. After some minutes thinking about this problem, I give up - cos I can’t be bothered to drive here again (I don’t have a satnav, but I do have a good visual memory, so i have to look at all the stages of the journey on google maps; yes this morning I dragged myself to Bristol Ikea before I drove here) - So I start lifting the box onto the trolley. I feel like a single parent or something, but luckily I’m buff and it wasn’t uber heavy so I didn’t have to play a woman card and get someone to help. Phew. Although there were plenty of men striding around, riding a ‘flat packed furniture’ high… (I shouldn’t mock, I quite like to build the odd bit of furniture) Anyway - some tense moments down the travelator as I start to doubt the polo capacity. BUT NO, the Polo is a beast - all is well. Happy ending high. 

Inadvertently ran 6 miles on Tuesday: my feet told me I needed new trainers. Well shit - last time I bought running shoes was 2 years ago - main points of contention: I have long feet, I have slim feet, women’s running shoes go up to some sort of pygmy size 7, men’s running shoes get wider as they get larger. 

If I’m going to take this running thing seriously I figure I should get proper shoes. So I roll to the Sweatshop in Teddington, resigned to running on that small treadmill they have and then spending all my pay check. OR…what could be more fun is to get some youth-ish guy continuously bringing me the wrong-size-and-visually-offensive-shoes (I’m sorry but I’m not even gonna try on that fluorescent yellow one cos i ain’t running in it.) …and then trade off shoe advice for - what are you doing at uni/ do you go to Oceana much. Oh hell no and no. Fuck my life: if you’d given me good shoe advice I might’ve been more endeared to you… I try some more shoes and then it’s a casual avoidance of some sort of number exchange and I’m back at the train station. Teddington has the appearance of a backwards crack hole: won’t be going there again.  

So I just bought shoes online. Get a little bit excited when they turn up. Now, if a website says a shoe is black/red/silver I do not expect ‘navy’ to get all up in it’s shit. I think ima have to send them back…and sacrifice £3.99 postage because of the ugly clichéd man trainer appearance. If I’m gonna be wearing the shoes they need to make me happy…by being a bit intense. Apparently there’s some running shops in Wimbledon…so the exciting journey continues. 

… the evidence would be highly unreliable. Have now spent 2 hours (on/off - we have lives*) trying to remember what film we all (me flatmates etc) watched at the end of 2009. Turns out it’s v.difficult to remember the past. 

Still don’t know what the film was, but we have deduced that we would all be very good detectives. We have detective minds… 

If a guy had a pet peacock (a bit unusual but we won’t condemn the mavericks) I can’t imagine why he’d have to employ bravery to show it to me. Are peacocks vicious? And why is he hiding it underneath something - surely the peacock will get smothered. 

The trailer for this film makes it look like some serious shit is gonna go down: as do these quotes> “The best Hitchcock film Hitchcock never directed.”

“The final forty minutes of the film will take you on an emotional rollar coaster ride, that you won’t be able to shake for days”

“A bizarre and completely unpredictable mystery.”

“A shattering conclusion”

The people that reviewed this film must have been highly retarded. All of the above statements are totally incorrect - here are the correct statements:

“Hitchcock directed good films”

“The final forty minutes of the film will peter out and have you asking: ‘is this seriously going to be the end of the film?’ and ’ Surely, surely something will happen.”

“A predictable documentary”

“An anticlimax”

It was not believable as a documentary because although it was real life it seemed like watching bad acting…(?) There are, however, some amusing parts and before you realise it’s going nowhere the ‘build up’ is good.

Hey why not have a bit of a ‘recent life occurings’ update. 

So went to hand some work in - climbed all the stairs  - realised i didn’t have a pen to fill out the form. But wait - there are some people using a pen, and there is a pen next to them - the pen doesn’t belong to them - result. Naturally I then steal the pen. Here is the pen: 

(it’s blurry as i don’t want the pen to be identified) & then I made a motto: ”In life you should take every opportunity to steal a free pen.” This is not a contradiction - for free read unattended. 

Then things were getting a bit tensionous in the flat - what with all work and no (well only a little) play - so bought me flatmates some surprise cupcakes. I like to think i spread the joy. 

Also went into the man section of primark today and discovered that it is the culprit for the offensive chequered shirt. The man floor is like a sea-park where the chequred shirts are the water. Not cool. 

…my food shelf: 

Dinner would be just a little too creative.

But - my thing is -  as long as this situation: 

…is ok - ASDA can wait. 

Brilliant. Also applies to…all other forms of cancer or organ specific diseases (I think) …may have to get a professional in about that - I could be at risk of testicular cancer and not know about it.

minusmanhattan:

Aw fuck.

Back in the (wilt)shire, my bruv and I decided we’d like half a million pounds. Where is this kind of money available to commoners I hear you ask? The golden arches of dreams - that’s where. So we rolled to Macky D’s, making a deal that if either of us got the Park Lane and Mayfair sticker we’d split the money: like on that show Golden Balls. (Where in actual fact everyone just steals the money for themselves.) 

We made off with the food and to the park, to find out if gambling with our digestive systems would pay off. 

It was very nerve racking and intense:

Conclusion: My brother won Old Kent Road, possibly the lamest of all the roads - but I totally got Park Lane. [So if anyone has the Mayfair sticker, 250 grand could be handy - think about it. We can make a deal.]