Ho hum.

Throw clothes into a bag.
Throw makeup into a bag.
Throw...well, just throw loads of stuff into a bag.
Clean out Super Hans.
Clean out the goldfish, or at least a partial change.
Clean out the gerbs.
Clean me.
Double check train times.
Do this by 11pm so that I can get a good night's sleep.

Achieved so far:

Spent about £200 on clothes.
Bought jaffa cakes and mini pringles. And butterscotch Green and Black's.
And Haribo.
Eaten two mince pies for tea.
Squeezed The Spot. Bad idea. It's luminous.
Tried on all clothes in the hope that most won't fit as usual and I can take it all back. (Alas, keeping all bar one item. Still, get paid tomorrow.)
Got into pyjamas.
Watched Buzzcocks.
Texted idontknowwhy to find out where we're meeting. I do hope I recognise her.

Sigh. Going to be a very busy morning!

I'm distressed. Had a stupid day with lots of cryers and wailers and moaners. I've ran out of sympathy. I've eaten chocolate. That hasn't worked. Only one thing for it. I'm leaving work to go shopping for essential items. Jaffa cakes are on the list. Going now. Buh bye. Bye.

So, now that I have my shiny new laptop, I've decided to venture into the crazy and frankly rather adult world of contents insurance, not least because a very quick glance around my room totted up about £3000 of possessions, and that's before I added the £500 £1000 worth of DVDs sat innocently in the corner. Or there will be, when I bring the rest from home.

Clickity click on websites.

"Ooh! £120 for the year? This isn't looking so bad after all. Details? Oh yes ok. Postcode. HU..."

*ring ring*

"Y'ello?"

"HELLO LAURA! MY NAME IS [I think it was probably Mike, they usually are] AND I AM CALLING FROM SHOUTALOT INSURANCE!"

"Egads, Mike, don't shout"

"HOW IS YOUR QUOTE COMING ALONG? DO YOU LIKE THE FIGURES?!"

"Errrrrrrryyyesssssss, ummm - "

"CAN I ASK YOU A FEW QUESTIONS? IS YOUR PROPERTY WITHIN A 25 METER RADIUS OF ANY AREAS THAT HAVE FLOODED IN THE PAST YEAR?"

"What?! Umm, well, it rained a hell of a lot, the roads were spilling over where I lived, but we weren't flooded, it's a first floor flat - "

"WHERE ANY HOUSES ON YOUR STREET AFFECTED?"

"I have no idea. The downstairs flat wasn't flooded - "

"RIGHT HOLD ON A MOMENT I'LL CONFER WITH SOME COLLEAGUES"

*cue really really shit jazz"

"HELLO?! YES I'M AFRAID WE WON'T BE ABLE TO OFFER YOU ANY INSURANCE AS YOU ARE IN AN AREA OF HIGH RISK FOR FLOODING"

"That's crazy. I don't want building's insurance, I want contents insurance, for a first floor flat. It's more theft I'm worried about really. I don't need flooding insurance. If my flat floods, there will be more to worry about than my laptop, because that may actually signify the end of the world, the water will be so high"

"I UNDERSTAND THAT, I DO UNDERSTAND THAT"

"...Do you? I'm not sure you do"

"THE BLOCK AS A WHOLE IS AT RISK OF FLOODING WHICH WOULD INVALIDATE YOUR CLAIM"

"So if downstairs flooded, and I was burgled, I wouldn't be able to claim? I...what... pardon?"

"I'M AFRAID SO!"

"You sound oddly pleased about all of this, Mike. Goodbye."

"BYE!"

Heroes.

It's taken me 20 odd weeks, but it's finally dawned on me.

I haven't a goddamn clue what is going on.

I sit and watch it anyway though, of course.

The first letter of my first name is "L"

Famous Singer: Luther Vandross
Four Letter Word: Lime, or Lilo, I can't choose.
Street that you have been down: Lambert
Colour that expresses your mental state: Lilac
Gift/Present you would like to recieve: Little tiny puppy (I'm aware I'm cheating here)
Type of Vehicle: Lexus
Things In A Souvenir Shop: Lame leather thong (and again)
Boy Name: Lawrence
Girl Name: Leila
Favourite Movie Title: Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
Alchoholic Drink: Low cal tonic water
Occupation: Lezzer
Famous Celebrity: Leonardo DiCaprio
Magazine: Loaded ()
U.K. City: Leeds
U.S. City: Los Angeles
Fruit: Ooh ooh! Lime!
Reason For Being Late For Work: Lie ins and lethargy
Something You Throw Away: Lace. It itches. (Whaaaat?)
Something You Shout: LAR!

Who knows how that's worked out.

When I rang in depressed and menstrual sick this morning I said that if I felt better at lunch time I would come in in the afternoon. Waking up 3 hours later at 12pm, I felt it was unlikely that this would happen any time soon.

To assuage my guilt, I have achieved the following today. These are all things I rarely, if ever, do.

I have washed my black wool jumper. I have avoided doing this since its purchase about a month ago due to being terrfied it will shrink/become a sleeping bag/a curious combination of both. I have not, however, avoided wearing it. Bit crumby. Literally.

I have changed my bed sheets entirely, well before their 8 weekly change. Not just changed the bottom sheet. Not just taken the old ones off and slept in the bare duvet. I actually replaced them with new, CLEAN ones. I even febreezed the mattress and pillows. This is astounding for me. This process normally takes an entire weekend.

I have arranged my remaining washing into piles in the hallway, which means I can't avoid them as I go to the kitchen to look for food (and subsequently lament that I only have BBQ rice cakes). In addition to washing the black jumper, I am washing ALL my socks. They will all be clean. Amazing.

I have washed the small pile of mouldy cups that have collected in my room over the past ten days or so. Can someone please explain to me how peppermint tea can go mouldy? It's water. Hot chocolate undergoes some kind of separation process. Fascinating.

I have got dressed.

I have tied my hair back in a reasonably tidy way.

I have just glanced in the mirror, and paused between the last sentance and this one to apply foundation. That IS better, picked spot aside. *dab*

I have changed my razor head. I have thrown the old one away, not taken it apart for my bedside drawer. Woop me.

That's it. I did this all to the tune of Basement Jaxx. I am determined not to let this shadow last until tomorrow. Not even in the meeting we have in the morning. Eugh.

Left to do:

Shower.
Water my plant.
Eat a Nanna-made mince pie.

EDIT: Fuck me, I just hoovered. That wasn't even on my list!

Can't get out of bed. Feeling so low, I may as well be underneath the bed. Extremely hormonal to boot. I feel nauseus and sick. Work was definitely not an option today. It's Me or the Dog, however, definitely is.

Might print that one out.

Whiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Groan.
Ratatatatat.
Squeeeeeeal!
Snapcracklepop.
Whirbingbopcrickcrack dum dum dingdingding, hello I'm Vista.
Silence.
Expletives.
Tiptaptiptaptiptaptiptaptype.
Oooooooooo.
Aaaaaaaaah.
Ooo.
Hmm.
Rumble.
Chew.
Silence.
Hurraaaay!
Rumble.
Chewslurp.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Booo, gerroff, yer shit.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Burp.
Buuuuuuuuurp.
Pffffffffft.
Tiptiptaptaptiptaptiptaptype.
I'm going to download and listen to the rather good new Killers album.
Like the Lou Reed one. Repeat. Like new Glamourous Indie Rock and Roll. Repeat.
Zzzzzzzzz.

Do you fancy lunch 2mw instead of pub 2nite?

Yes Fish Boy, yes, I would prefer that very much because I don't want to miss X Factor, more specifically Rhydian and Sharon because it is very cold and blustery out. Alas, tomorrow, Nanna is doing a dinner. Crap. (It's quite clearly a trap to get me to see her before I leave in the evening, the wily old dear.)

I do wish my sporadic journeys over to the south bank weren't so celebrated. I'm only here to pick up the laptop, which has crashed three times and hates my mp3 player which is working brilliantly, by the way.

So who do I cancel, Fish Boy or Nanna?

If I cancel on the F Boy, I'll be annoyed with myself, because I was quite looking forward to seeing him heading to the local, it's so rare I get to go.

If I cancel on Nanna...well, I'd be cancelling on Nanna. Who cancels on their Nanna? And a Nanna dinner? Madness.

*ponder*

I could come home next weekend too. But assuming the night before had been spent in the company of influential boozehounds, that may not be pretty. Plus he may not be free.

And if but. Plus. However. Although... Maybe.

*ding*.

Oh no. He wants lunch instead of pub. He must be gay. I'm NEVER going to get married!

(Of course he's worrying about this as much as I am, don't be stupid.)

It's queer! Vista!

Get used to it!

(I'm trying!)

Two hours into ownership of new laptop and I have become the master of a very little known game called 'Solitaire'.

Now where's that wireless network code...

EDIT: We're on! We're in! Thank you 'brad52' for your wireless while Dad hunts for the password! Now I can sit on my bed ALLLLLL day. Brilliant.

Wayda ruin my evening's browsing, Wiki. You've sapped all the joy from my life with your analysisising. Moofaces.

That's better.

Might be tipsy.

So far, I have:

Donkeys
Scalextrix
Bruges
Gravy boat

Parents and siblings are sooo hard to buy for.

I think I've decided I want to be a midwife. Lovely stuff.

"Yo yo. I'm home this weekend if you'd like to go for a quick beverage?"

"A quick beverage? I'm not sure I can down a pint in 5 seconds anymore. How about a few leisurely drinks?"

"Tsk, that sounds like it could be verging on respectability. That will have to do I suppose. Saturday night?"

"That sounds jolly spiffing. What time suits? 8?"

"Splendid, I'll text you on Saturday x"

Clearly Fish Boy and I are destined to marry. He says spiffing, for goodness sake. Brilliant!

I am determined to marry this sensible, practical, well paid, good looking (can't have it all), funny guy. What more could any girl need?

Nobody say a fanny.

EDIT: Oh for fuck's sake, he's gay isn't he?

Right. Explain something.

This John bloke that has been sacked from his job of nannying grown men - can I ask why it is precisely his fault that these nannied grown men didn't go and do what they are paid a lot to do? Like, win?

If I recall, this John bloke just sits there and pulls faces, then retreats down a tunnel. Bit like a tortoise, maybe. (Maybe not.)

I hereby propose something. I'm a girl, but hear me out.

How about all the nonces that are supposed to run around and kick a ball and win the ball game for the 'sake' of 'national pride' get the sack, to be replaced by younger models (preferably actual models) to inject some new 'talent' into 'the beautiful game'.

God it's just such a load of bollocks!

So here you go. Here it is. This one. Here. With the memory upgrade.

That'll do me fine.

Desist from calling me Ray Quinn.

Last night, I decided to buy a laptop.

I've decided to do this today.

Can someone find me a laptop to buy please. Now.

I had something of a political debate in my head on the walk to work. I reached no definitive conclusions. Which is normal, I think.

I have climbed onto my mental soapbox about the fact that people who are on sickness benefits and classed as unable to work will have to take a test to prove what they can and cannot do, skills wise etc. GOOD! Good good good!

At work we assess students for hardship fund money. For most students, we put in an assumed rate of income, rather than actual earnings. The exceptions to this are those with dependents, those who are assessed as disabled, and those who can provide evidence of an ongoing medical condition that clearly prevents them from working, par example, their head could explode at any moment.

The sheer number of people who bitch and moan that they are unable to work because of illness or disability, but have no proof of this, Annoys Me Much.
"Oh, I can't work, I have bad knees!"
"Fine", I say, "Do you get Disabled Student's Allowance?"
"Er...no"
"Ok, do you have medical reports and evidence you can show us that declare you are unable to work?"
"Errrrr....no. I have my medication in my bag..." *produces prescribed Ibuprofen*

No no no no no. No. I have that in my bag too, for when my bad wrist and shoulder kicks in from clunching the mouse and twisting to answer the phone. I am able to work.

Or, my favourite:
"I can't, I'm depressed!".
*repeat spiel above until:*
"I have my anti-depressants here"
Woah. Don't need to see that you are actually depressed. I get that from your demeanor. However, you can still work. I do.

I got diagnosed with depression when I was still in sixth form. I was given anti-depressants. Yeah, they work, but it also brought out my other problem of getting reliant on things. Not addicted, but reliant. There was a difference to me. So I quickly came off them again. I've been offered them twice more since then - the last time was about a year ago when I started cutting myself again - but I simply daren't take them. I struggle sometimes. There are times I simply cannot get out of bed and have to tell work I'm sick, and then I lay in the dark all day, and cry a lot. Then it goes again, and I want to get back to work the next day so that I'm just thinking about how much I hate my job, not how much I hate everything. I'd rather not totally block out the feelings because I like to remind myself how bad I could be feeling, and then I feel better about things.

I know there are many, many people that suffer with physical and mental problems that are genuinely unable to work. Fine. The people complaining about the test system are the people who are worried they're going to be made to work. You never know, actually going out to work might make you feel better. People are getting signed off because of their acne, for Pete's sake!

In other news: we bought heaters at the weekend. No more shivering so much I'm afraid I might lose control of my essential functions at any given moment. Said heater is on a timer, thus I was warm when I woke up, and actually able to get out of bed before 8am! Which could mean only one thing...I WAS FIVE MINUTES EARLY FOR WORK! Christ. To make up for it, ninety minutes into the working day I have only managed to look at a few pictures of a puppy, moaned about being hungry, and shown someone the gloves I bought at the weekend. Oh, and ranted on here.

Joy upon joys, Poof #2 has booked a ferry trip to Amsterdam for his birthday. Cannot wait until 13th! It's all about P&O's Pride of Rotterdam, you can keep the bike-ridden whore of a city!

I've just realised it will be a whole year since I went last, and literally nothing in my life has changed.

I'm in the same job - just in a different building.
Still in Hull - albeit a different flat, which is very cold.
And I'm much fatter. Much.

Best go get trollied somewhere over the North sea then.

Plan for today:

Consume still warm chocolate croissant and bottle of Innocent. (Check)

Umm.

Oh yeah. Five appointments, one of which is currently waiting in (astoundingly) the waiting room while I write this. Ha.

Maybe a few calculations and assessments this afternoon.

Pick at plasters and steri-strips on finger from MASSIVE cut of earlier in the week which is now starting to heal and ITCH, FUCKING ITCH. Anyone who has encountered a JML bred knife will understand. Those things could cut titanium. Literal fountain of blood, it splattered all up my arm and on my face, and all over the kitchen, murderscene-esque. Fun time.

Fuck off home at 4pm.

Tidy flat a bit. A bit, it isn't all my mess, as usual.

Drink vino and watch Harry Potter, which Flatmate inadvertently managed to steal (not her fault the self-service machines don't scan properly).

Avoid Children in Need.

Ahh.

Sides...aching...tears...running...wee...not yet...but soon...

I like this, a la ladee-bird.

Put the answers to the following questions into google images & pick a picture from the first page.

1. How old will you be on your next birthday?

2. A place you'd like to travel to?

3. Your favourite place?

4. Your favourite object?

5. Your favourite food?

6. Your favourite animal?

7. Your favourite colour?

8. The town in which you were born?

9. The town in which you live?

10. The name of a past pet?

11. The name of a past love?

12. Your nickname? (at school)

13. Your first name?

14. Your middle name?

15. Your last name?

16. A bad habit of yours?

17. Your first job?

18. Your grandmothers name?

19. The main subject(s) you studied?

20. What do you think about the person you stole/got the meme off?

"You've brought me a box of gerbils! They look alright to me..."

"Mmm, yes, the problem is, are they boys or girls or pregnant or both or what?"

"Oh I can't sex gerbils, useless. I'll get the nurse."

"What kind of lameass vet are you? Okidoke."

*some time later, following much genital probing, tail grabbing, vet biting, and towel flinging from the nurse*

"Girl...girl. Two girls!"

"Oh, good! And were they pregnant when I bought them? See, one is much fatter. See?"

"Well I can't ultrasound them. I guess you'll find out in a week or two!"

". Ok. Thanks anyway!"

Bloody good job they didn't charge me.

Anyway, the good news at least is if they do pop some out, it'll be the only lot.

Thus, it is time to meet the lezzers: Amber and Twist.

They love each other very much. Now there's a happy ending picture for match.com*.

*Other ivetaken46photosandimhopingthisonewillgetmeashag.com websites are available.

It's time.

This is it.

I'm off.

TO THE VET.

The gerbils will be collected on route. May be useful.

They'll last a 5 minute drive in a tupperware cake box with no air holes, won't they? Let's find out!

As if to answer my earlier shower-ponderings of what lies beyond the universe, behold the answer:

"Why am I awake at 5am? Bastards, all of ya, whoever ye be. Best sleep again..."

"Why am I still in bed at 8am? Is it Saturday? No it is not. Why no alarm buzz? Why must I get up? Work makes me cross. Why don't we self-clean? I hate showering. I hate getting wet, especially in the morning, I hate going to work with wet hair. Not as bad as going to bed with wet hair. I wish I had a hairdryer. What time is it? 8.20, fuck."

"I hate this shower. Where the fuck is my razor? Oh I can't be arsed, fuzz keeps me warm. So, they've found a new star with a its own solar system, and it's about 40 light years away or something daft. How DO you make a telescope that powerful? It if can see any number of light years away, why can't we see further? Surely the technology already exists and some lens just needs to be made thicker or something? What the hell is at the edge? What time is it? Fuck."

"So much dry skin on my feet..."

"Better let someone know I'm going to be late..."

"I hate having curly hair. I hate going to work with wet hair. Not as bad as going to bed with wet hair. I wish I had a hairdryer. What time is it? 8.50, fuck."

"These trainers rub. They never used to. Best walk slower."

"Eugh."

"Piss off."

"Mmm, turkey."

"Mmm, Japanese biscuits."

"Toast for tea, I think, and the rest of that bottle while Heroes is on."

"I should get on with some work."

And still haven't.

Your Stripper Song Is

I Touch Myself by The Divinyls "I don't want anybody else When I think about you I touch myself" A total exhibitionist, you probably already are a stripper!