HELLO OUT THERE!
I'm used to making my opinions public. I've had two of my diaries published as books and I do write a v famous advice column for my school mag (it had mega press coverage), but this is the first time I've gone electronic. (Usually I delete everything by mistake.) So I'm a bit nervous. But there's a universe waiting to hear what I think. So here it goes! (Note to You: If you've been up a mountain in Kathmandu or something and have never heard of me you can go straight to my Christmas letter to get caught up.)
This really is turning into a Police State. Can you believe it? Last year half-a-million people had their emails, Internet connections and phone calls intercepted by GOVERNMENT AGENCIES! Buskin' Bob said he didn't think I had anything to worry about since it's unlikely the government is too interested in what Disha and I think of Amy Winehouse or platform shoes.
Tonight Buskin' Bob decided to take our minds off the cheese salad we were having on Neanderthal Night by giving us questions from the British Citizenship Test Study Guide. (Who says we don't have FUN at our house?) You wouldn't believe the questions. What do the Welsh do for New Year's? (My guess was Get Drunk Like Everybody Else.) What percentage of the population is made up of ethnic minorities (if you read the tabloids, at least 150!)? What did the Prime Minister used to be called in Latin? Except for Buskin' Bob, who obviously cheated, We ALL FAILED. Though I did get a point for saying that what you call the PM in Latin now is Magnum Liarus.
V lonely without Disha to talk to. Marcus is brilliant (unless he's in one of his Arsenal-lost-again moods or dragging me across London looking for street art), but, let's be honest here, he's A BLOKE. When I start chatting about some girl at school or clothes or whatever he thinks I'm being critical and judgmental, when all I'm doing is communicating. So tonight I rang Disha and said I was tres sorry for making her doubt Will. I said I'd made a mistake. [Note to the Prime Minister: It Isn't That HARD] D forgave me. (She doesn't really have anyone else to talk to either.) She said she knew I was only trying to protect her, and she appreciates my loyalty. But if I ever get her driven home in a police car again she ABSOLUTELY and BEYOND ANY DOUBT won't speak to me again. Apparently, it nearly gave her mother a coronary.
Lucrezia's dance school is having a recital and she's going to be some sort of wood nymph (talk about MISCASTING!) So (because I'm tres artistic) I got volunteered to help her make a Woodland Crown. She came equipped with an assortment of wired paper butterflies, leaves and flowers and a plastic hoop, so it was my job to wrap some ribbon around the hoop and add the decorations. I thought it looked pretty good. But Lucrezia, of course, wasn't satisfied. She said it looked UNSTABLE. I said the only thing that was unstable was her. She went off in a huff. About ten minutes later she starts screaming like wild pigs are attacking her. She decided to superglue the ribbon and all the doodads on so they wouldn't fall off while she's dancing. And then she put it on her head to see how it looked. It looked okay but it wouldn't come off. The MC had to cut it off with nail scissors. Rang Marcus and told him that if he ever wants children he should get a new girlfriend NOW.
Marcus says I should just tell Disha that I'm sorry for making her distrust Will. I said I didn't think I had anything to apologise for. If you ask me, it was just v unlucky that we picked the one time he actually turned up where and when he was meant to. Marcus said maybe I shouldn't be a vet, maybe I should be a politician. They don't ever say sorry either.
Marcus is all excited because there's a new street artist in London all his art-school mates are talking about. You know, like Banksy, only this geezer puts fly bills up all over of satirical political photographs instead of stencilling them on railroad bridges. Marcus heard there was a new batch down by Piccadilly, so on My Day of Rest he dragged me along to see if we could find one. We DIDN'T!!! Had a fight about the value of buying art versus tramping miles in the cold to rip some off a wall. Ended up EXHAUSTED in St James's Park. Marcus went off to see if he could get us a hot drink somewhere while I collapsed on a bench. Was sort of nodding off when I realised that someone had sat down next to me. Since I read the papers and watch the news, I am tres wary of strangers sitting near me. Glanced over. This Bird as big as a small child was sitting next to me! Really!!! I screamed even louder than I did when Duck Dog took flight! Marcus thought it was hysterically funny (apparently, it was a pelican). He LAUGHED ALONE! Considering my Encounter of the Third Kind with that iguana that time, I am seriously considering never going into a park again. Which also means that I'll probably have to live in the city forever because I'm certainly not risking living in the countryside. When I told the MC what happened she said maybe I should think of becoming a vet, since I obviously have a special affinity with animals.
This week it was Nan and the Vicar came over for Call Me Caveman Night. (Noticed that the MC didn't keep the heating on for them!) Because she couldn't see what she was doing (well, who could?) Nan kept putting her olive pits on MY PLATE. It was tres gross. But maybe it could be an effective diet. You know, you can't actually see what you're eating or what debris other people are dumping on your plate, so you don't eat. I wonder if I can patent it.
Disha's not speaking to me!!!! Apparently, Will had gone straight from work to the cinema and was all put out because she stood him up. So, ignoring every rule in the book, when he asked her where she was she told him THE TRUTH!!! (I mean, really, how old is she? Three?) Will got mad at her because she doesn't trust him. So she got MAD AT ME. She said I'm like a character out of Shakespeare. I said you mean doomed and misunderstood like Ophelia? She said no, evil and manipulative like Iago. This is what you get for trying to HELP A FRIEND. Have made a mental note not to do it again.
Disha still being tossed back and forth on the stormy seas of love so I finally got her to agree to a stakeout to see where Will goes when he doesn't meet her like he promised. They were meant to be going to the cinema so we got disguised (hats, dark glasses, attractively wrapped scarves) and went over to where he lives and positioned ourselves in the bus shelter across from his house. Some pervert stopped and offered us a lift (AS IF!), but otherwise all was quiet till the Bill turned up! They wanted to know what we were doing, loitering at the bus stop like that. I said we were waiting for a bus. Even though they get a car with their job the coppers obviously had experience with public transport because they suggested we try walking. Disha started crying. The coppers thought it was because of them (it wasn't - it was because she looked at her watch and realised how long we'd been standing there) so they drove us home. Mr Burl from next door was just coming through his front door. He wanted to know what I'd done this time! [Note to Self: NEVER become a grumpy old git who doesn't get over past grievances!]
Philosophical mood continuing (possibly due to my Close Brush with Death yesterday). Took Duck Dog and Marcella to the park this morning (Lucrezia wouldn't come because the park is dirty!). Marcella was yammering on about how much the jeans she wants cost, and how much the shoes her best mate got cost, and how she wants some plastic bag that costs nearly A THOUSAND QUID, etc. It all got tres wearisome. I said are you seriously saying that just because a bag's made by Dolce and Gabbana it's worth a thousand quid? She said she reckoned that was CHEAP. Apparently some woman in the States just sold a ten-year-old grilled cheese sandwich on eBay for $28,000 because it's got the face of the Virgin Mary on it. Marcella said at least you could carry stuff in your D&G bag. You couldn't even eat the sandwich.
Continuing my thoughts about the depressing Nature of Life, I discovered that there are even more things to worry about than I previously thought. Sigmund was taking the Step Monster away for the weekend (one could only pray that he didn't bring her back again)so he brought Duck Dog round to ours so Muggins Bandry (that would be ME) could look after him. I was tres busy today and couldn't make it to the Heath, so I took him down the road. We were strolling along, minding our own business, when the Muppet cocked his leg on this lamppost and the next thing I knew he shot into the air so he was looking me right in the eye! All these blokes came charging out of the pub when they heard me scream. (Which, personally, I found v reassuring.) Apparently, Duck Dog was the third dog to get clobbered like that from the lamppost. Everybody said it was a miracle he hadn't been killed (like the last dog to do that!) and that I was a hero because I'd had the sense to yank him away by his lead. (To be honest, it wasn't sense, it was PANIC.) But what if his lead had been metal? What then? I reckoned it was a miracle I hadn't been killed, too.
Mags, Sappho and The Germ came over for supper last night. Sappho (who only approves of things that aren't popular, of course) was thrilled that there wasn't any electricity. (Except for the electricity that keeps us from freezing our toes off. Fortunately, though the MC has a lot of trouble with the double standards of the Prime Minister, she doesn't have any trouble with her own. So though she doesn't mind giving her only daughter pneumonia, she draws the line at her niece!) Sappho said we've all got to learn to do without (unless you live in The Third World, where you've already learned that). She and Mags are going to get rid of their car and go everywhere by bike or public transport. I wished her good luck [I've stayed away from my bike since that time it tried to kill me, but I am an ONGOING victim of London's public transport system, so I know whereof I speak, believe me!] When she finally stopped gushing about how wonderful it is that we all bang around in the dark one night a week, I expressed my surprise that The Germ had a doll with her (she hit me with it). Having had the v long lecture about the corrupting influence of dolls (Bratz and Barbie) and the reinforcement of stereotypical gender roles by dolls (baby dolls, etc) MORE THAN ONCE, I'd reckoned The Germ was going to be strictly a stuffed animal sort of child (a Koala, probably, since according to the paper they're into lesbianism in a major way). Sappho said RAG DOLLS DON"T COUNT. Especially when they're made by Nan from old scraps of material and knitting wool - which apparently makes it both eco-friendly AND a family heirloom. I said I didn't think it was going to make it to the family heirloom stage the way The Germ was gnawing on its foot.
Sigmund says it's been proven that money doesn't make you happy. I said you mean all those City types and CEOS who make millions of pounds aren't happy? He said not really. He said the happiest person on the planet is some Buddhist monk who lives in a cave (or someplace like that) and would never think of dumping a £500 bottle of champagne over somebody's head (which, according to this programme on the telly, is what City types do all the time). Sigmund says this bloke's written a book. I said what'd he do, carve it in stone or use a quill pen? Sigmund said he reckoned he's used a computer. Even the Dalai Lama owns a watch. I'd be tempted to check out this book (you know, out of Intellectual Curiosity), but I'm worried it might involve Yoga. Yoga, if you remember, didn't make me happy - it nearly did me in.
Another day, another disaster! Apparently Lucrezia (whose insanity includes having a tres literal mind) unplugged the fridge last night so it wouldn't use any electricity. EVERYTHING DEFROSTED. Hope surged in my heart!!! I said did this mean we were cancelling Let's Live Like Primitive Man Day? The MC said no, we're just rescheduling it to when Lucrezia's at her mother's.
It was Let's Live Like Primitive Man Day in the House of Horrors today. You remember, when we're not allowed to turn on a light or listen to a radio or even PHONE anyone. So had sarnies by candlelight. Marcella said she was going to report Buskin' Bob and the Mad Cow to Social Services and left the table in tears (so what else is new?). Needless to say, she couldn't find the phone in the dark (all mobes had been confiscated by über Führer Jocelyn Bandry), and came back. Lucrezia set my mother on fire, But since this sort of thing happens all the time, Buskin' Bob put it out v rapidly by whipping off his jumper (no heat, of course so he was well prepared!) and smothering the flames. Anyway, it was all too much for me so after we ate I went next door to Willow's to recuperate (and thaw out!). Discussed happiness etc with Willow. She said that's why she decided to become a Life Guru. Because people have lost their way and build their lives round shopping rather than simple but meaningful experiences. I said did that mean she's got some clients. She said not yet. She said it's a problem when all the unhappy people you know are poor and worried about paying off their credit cards as opposed to stinking rich and dependent on alcohol or drugs. If poor people have a couple of quid left over they're going to buy a lottery ticket, not give it to her to tell them to lie on the ground watching the clouds drift by.
Correct me if I'm WRONG, but aren't these meant to be The Best Years of My Life? [Answer: Yes, they are. They certainly aren't going to be when I reach my mother's age and have hot flashes, grey hair and burst into tears every time I get my credit card or bank statement!] And yet I find myself in a tres DARK, BROODING and PENSIVE MOOD. Disha says maybe it's because Sigmund's right (it has to happen sometime!) and there is something cosmically depressing about February, so, even though I survived it, it's influence hovers over me like a bird of prey. I don't think that's it. Was looking over my diaries the other night and couldn't help but notice that a RECURRING THEME is MONEY. Mainly the lack of it. Which is why I, personally, am blaming Whitney Houston and Britney Spears for this Winter of My Discontent. I mean, here they had all this fame and fortune and pushy mothers and what happened? THEY"RE MISERABLE!!!! Whitney goes into meltdown and winds up selling her clothes to pay her bills and Britney goes into meltdown and shaves all her hair off. So what's the point of achieving anything if it isn't going to make you happy? Disha says you have to define what you mean by Achieve. She doesn't think singing 'Hit Me Baby One More Time!' is up there with discovering the Meaning of Life or bringing about World Peace. I know she's right, but you'd still think the money would cheer you up, wouldn't you?
|
Friday 30th March 2007 
Thursday 29th March 2007