Leaving FB

It had to be done. I have very little .. er.. mojo. And for some years now most of that has been spent on FB. Leaving bullock all for doing important stuff like writing important things and saving dogs and donkeys and.. oh fuck it. no one comes here anyway. I am already feeling like I should be going to my own funeral. Hey. If it happens please make sure they play Positive Thinking as sung by Morecambe and Wise. Message ends.

What I learned this week:

1) don’t try and compere a family friendly comedy night with poems about clinical depression. 

2) don’t get your hair cut in Hampstead 

3) don’t leave it ten years to get your spotlight shots done. the results will fuck you up.

4) choose either a career, a family or both. Don’t choose neither. It makes for very long weekends.

5) friends who are pissed off with you but wont tell you why can fuck off


The Luckiest man in Showbiz

I think that Vince Vaughan (sp?) is the Luckiest Man in Showbiz. Just to see his great big smug face on a billboard is enough to make me want to smash it in. He is the laziest, unfunniest, charmless great big streak of nowt I can think of. Well, that I can think of in the movies. No. That I can think of. Just imagine the catastrophe his accidentally fathering hundreds of children would actually cause. The development of mankind (and most comedy film scripts) would be set back thousands of years. We would forget how to make fire. We would be dead on the inside….

The Big D

Five months clear of The Big D. More or less. I mean I still cry at discarded Christmas trees, but who the fuck doesn’t? Am I right?

I didn’t wear the bright dress. I looked like a fucking trifle. And being a sale item, it’s exchange or credit note. Cunts. But hey. That’s the bad news. The good news is that the Buzzty was cool. There were some people there who weren’t just nice, they were interesting and funny and everything.  One of them, an absolutely lovely chap, confided he had been wrestling with The Big C. So, alphabetically speaking, I had alighted upon  the perfect companion. Peachy. 

Giving up The Buzz

If you give up pretty much everything, you begin to get

sort of

blissful. Especially if you then meditate twice a day. You start enjoying herbal tea, and listening to other people. Ok well maybe “enjoy” is a bit much. But. You know. You do it.

Other stuff: Instead of just giving the dog’s paws a quick rub with a towel, you bath her (though this aint necessarily experienced as ‘blissful” by the dog).

 Left to your own devices, it becomes possible to navigate the world at a calmer pace. You are less worried. Because you are not caught up in some pretend buzz. Now don’t get me wrong. I love, and I do mean LOVE a pretend buzz. But when you’re as day dreamy as me (I mean that I DO it, not that I AM it)  it’s very very easy to get distracted by .. well ..  pretty much anything. Couple this with the amount of fear and anxiety coursing through my veins at any given moment, and you will begin to see how the buzz and me became very close friends. Buzzing keeps you shallow. Distracts you. Confirms what you always thought: that nothing very much is possible. I can’t possibly call my agent, I’m far too busy smoking this fag.

 So I am done with all buzz for at least six weeks. I want to see what happens. Since I stopped buzzing, some things have already started happening. Certain habits have fallen away – as if they are somehow connected with the shallows of a distracted mind. These be:

 1)    FaceBook. (I was an addict. Have barely checked in for a week… I mean I say barely. To me that’s four or five times. Maybe six. Ok look I don’t know how many times I’ve FBed. Just not as many as normal.

2)    Eating more than one pudding at any one sitting

3)    Consuming anything which in its constituent parts basically equals a butter and sugar sandwich in white bread

4)    Watching Multiple episodes of Family Guy and American Dad EVERY night (although please don’t assume this in any way lessens their worthiness in my eyes)

5)    Ok that’s enough for now

 There’s loads. Loads of good things. The problem is that tonight I am going to a party. Which may as well be called a Buzzty. How will I manage at a Buzzty without any buzz?

 I have bought a new dress to compensate, in the hope that people will be so astounded by how bright it is, they wont realize how fucking dull I am.


Just practicing now: when someone offers me a vodka for my ginger beer, or a lovely big pint, I shall say “no thanks”. I shall not say “yes please thank you please”. Watch this space

Radio Jolly

After many many years of waking up to radio four, I am experimenting with radio two. Reckoned Thought For The Day and Women’s Hour  may be having a detrimental  effect on my mood/approach to the day. But so far (and its only been five minutes) like I am being repeatedly hit with a jolly stick right in my jolly face.

North Face

I have committed myself to cleaning the flat and going for a run. Today. I am writing this because it makes it more likely to happen. I may as well be attempting the North Face of the Eiger without appropriate footwear whilst carrying an angry fat child.

I’m not sure if that’s how you spell Eiger. I’m not much of a mountaineer I guess.

The Up Side of Bulimia

So I didn’t last long at the emotional overeating group. The very nice lady had a quiet word with me after the end of the session and we decided that food may be the least of my problems…  After a bit of a binge fest over the last few days I have been thinking about how throwing up a litre of ice cream rather than leaving it to digest could, if one struggled, be seen as an act of optimism. No, hear me out. So. If you are far behind the thick and cloudy perspex which separates congenitally miserable cunts from the rest of humanity, you will not bother being sick because a) you cant be bothered putting pants on let alone sticking your head down the toilet and b) being sick implies that you have some thought for the future and for your future self. It is your preservation instinct. You are aware that tomorrow will come and you try to give yourself a helping hand/finger. Yes, I realise it may come across as a little far fetched, but it is to some extent a theory empirically spawned as the thought occurred to me after four days of non stop binging whilst feeling really rather melancholic. Why had I not said hello to any of that food a second time? Because I could not/would not conceive of a future self. Ergo: bringing it back up is a signifier of one’s faith that life will continue. It is a peg stuck into the rockface of life. It is an act against deathliness. It is also, I concede, completely fucked up. Cake, anyone?