Hi Diddly Dee, an Actor's Life for Me
"Those who agree with us may not be right, but we admire their astuteness."
Cullen Hightower
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I'm OK, all my loved ones are OK, my 20six friends all seem to be OK. Doesn't stop me being scared, and feeling sick, and crying on hearing my mum's voice, worried sick, down the phone from Australia. Doesn't stop me worrying about the fact that my mum and dad fly back from Australia on Monday and my baby brother flies back from New Zealand on Wednesday. The big questions for me at the moment are WHY and WHAT NEXT? |
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7.7.05 16:19 |
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A question...
...for the Londoners on 20six. Are there really more emergency sirens going off along the roads of London since Thursday or is it just that we're more aware of them? I've had this discussion with a couple of friends and we can't quite work it out. On a completely unrelated note, I discovered this morning that it's reasonably easy and yet surprisingly hard to lie to one's mother. It's not a big lie, but I still feel guilty about it and will be very pleased when I can confess on Wednesday night. My youngest brother is coming back 10 months early from his travels in New Zealand, as he's broke, and I'm picking him up from the airport. However, for reasons best known to himself, he doesn't want my parents to know until he actually arrives on their doorstep. The thing is that my dad has seen my brother's bank account statement (it's a joint account) and so has seen the fact that there's been a large payment to Singapore Airlines. So my mum asked me if I'd heard from Rob. After what felt like an eternity of me gaping guiltily like a fish, I said no. She seemed to believe me, and I think she has now decided that he must have paid for his girlfriend to go out and join him. Ho hum. |
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12.7.05 10:21 |
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Update
Well, my baby brother arrived back into the UK safely, if a little shattered after 60 hours with very little sleep. Turns out that there was no big drama over the cloak and dagger-ness of his arrival - he just wanted to surprise my parents. I think they were more surprised to see me, however! The fact that they'd seen him in New Zealand a few weeks before and established that he was broke, then seeing the payment to Singapore Airlines on the bank statement and finally the car insurance certificate for his British car arriving at home, had all confirmed to them that he was unlikely to be staying away. Still, I think they were very pleased to have the whole family at home for the first time in 14 1/2 months. He's put on weight but seems cheerful and happy, which he certainly wasn't before he left the UK in May 2004, and is already planning his next trip - Africa, from the sounds of it...
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15.7.05 10:33 |
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I'm a Picture of Health, Me
Don't believe what the adrenalin junkies tell you - exercise is actually bad for the health. Today, for example, I woke up in an unusually energetic mood. Rather than doing my usual turning over in bed an extra couple of times I decided to get up and retrieve my bike from under its dusty, cat-piss smelling cover and go cycling. Not only that, I decided that I would cycle to the swimming pool, thereby taking two forms of exercise in one day. Go me. It started reasonably well - I managed to get out of the house and onto my road without causing injury either to myself or anyone else. Well, apart from the poor man who was presented with my lycra-clad arse as I bent over to do up my shoelaces, but mental scarring is something completely different and doesn't count, all right? I was quite pleased to note that I could get not just to the end of my road, but the end of the next one as well without being out of breath. Feeling rather smug, I turned left - and hit the mother of all hills. Not a problem, think I - I have 21 gears on my bike. Ah, but the top cog on the front gears is bent totally out of shape due to the intense heat generated by my super-fast cycling last time I used it*, so in fact I have only 14. No matter - that's still 9 more than my dearly departed car had. This should be easy! Reader, don't believe the hype. A hill is still a bloody hill, however many gears you have. Eventually, red-faced and sweating, I reach the top of the hill. As if to add insult to injury, the usual short-cut through the subway is closed, so I now have to dismount and climb a set of steps. Legs promptly give way, causing great hilarity to the group of youths standing on the corner. Scowling, I shake some life back into my legs and pick up the bike to carry it up the steps - at which point the handlebars swing round, nearly smacking me in the face, and I manage to gouge my leg with the pedal. A lesser mortal (or someone with slightly more sense) would have given up at this point, but no! I carry on regardless... Having crossed the road without incident (on foot, pushing the bike), I start my journey again. Ah, this is easy! Downhill with a following wind, not much traffic - lovely. Until some silly cow in a black BMW decides to do a 3-point turn just in front of me, forcing me to slam on the brakes hard and nearly go arse over tip. In my usual mild-mannered way I asked her politely** to watch where she was going next time. To which she replied 'well, why shouldn't you stop?' Oh dear. Slanging match ensues, in which I educate her on the rules of the highway code and rights of way. Physically unharmed, but by now boiling with rage and probably with a dangerously high blood pressure, I carry on my way and reach the swimming pool without more incident. Oh, apart from when locking my bike up, when I manage to gouge my leg on the pedal again. Some people learn from their mistakes, but where's the fun in that? Swimming starts off well. There aren't too many people so the changing room isn't too stuffy and the lanes are reasonably clear. Lovely. Until The Guy Who Thinks He's Michael Phelps gets into the pool. You know the type - the one who gets into the medium lane just so that he can overtake everybody and make himself feel big. The one who manages to kicks you in the face as he passes, with nary an apology in sight. The one who wears speedos to show off his package. In other words - the sad git who really gets on my nerves. Sensing another showdown brewing, I decided to get out, doing my best stalk along the side of the pool to show that I was an Outraged Bather Forced Out Of The Pool By An Inconsiderate Idiot. I'm not sure he noticed, but it made me feel better. On the return bike journey I managed not to run into black BMW woman again, which was probably fortunate for her. However, I did have a repeat performance of wobbly leg syndrome when I got off the bike to do the steps, and managed to gouge my leg on the pedal yet another time. In summary, therefore, due to my 2 hours of exercise this morning, my leg now looks like it's been in a nasty threshing incident, I have a heat rash and I also have a bruise coming up from where Inconsiderate Speedo Man kicked me in the pool. Bollocks to exercise - I'm staying in to do my nails and eat ice-cream.
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18.7.05 14:47 |
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I'm officially middle-aged.
I just bought a garden shed. And I spent the morning in the garden pruning the roses. All I need now are sensible shoes and a pair of polyester slacks. |
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23.7.05 17:44 |
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Monday, Monday...
What a bugger of a morning. It started badly when I woke up too early to actually get out of bed, but not quite late enough to be able to get back to sleep. So I lazed for half an hour, thinking that I'd get into the shower before The Architect and leave myself plenty of time to pack up my bag to go swimming after I'd been to the chiropractor. However, he foiled me in this plan by waking up before his alarm went off and immediately leaping out of bed and into the bathroom. Bugger. This, of course, messed up my carefully planned (in my head, at least) routine of shower, breakfast, then bag packing and left me with only half an hour to do everything and get to the bus stop. I did manage this (hurray!) but then a bus didn't turn up for another half hour (boo!) In fact, The Architect passed me still waiting at the bus stop, and his smug expression did nothing for my by now rather sulky mood. Anyway, eventually a bus arrived and I got on it, settling myself down for a 20 min or so ride, feeling smug that I'd managed to get inside before the rain started. That was obviously a thought too soon, as we got to the junction of Finchley Road and the A41 and ground to a halt. Looking down the road, there were buses nose to tail, none of them moving an inch. So we asked the bus driver to let us off the bus. He, however, was a real jobsworth who wouldn't open the doors except at a bus stop, and as the bus stop was 100 yards down the road he would open them when he reached it. The problem being, of course, that the bus had been stationary for the last 10 mins and didn't look like it was going to move forward any time soon. Luckily there was a bluff old chap on the bus who had no qualms about pointing out to the driver what an idiot he was being, and so eventually he allowed us all to pile out into the street. At which point it started pissing it down. And I still had a 20 min walk to my destination. Bugger. Eventually I reached the chiropractor, 10 mins late for my appointment and bearing a strong resemblance to a drowned rat. Said chiropractor then proceeded to cause me pain, charge me 40 quid for the pleasure and tell me that I need to go back again in a week's time for more of the same - oh joy! Feeling rather bruised, I squelched my way along the road to catch a tube to Kentish Town so that I could go swimming. When I arrive at the pool, there's a very annoying woman faffing about at the front of the queue, seemingly oblivious of the fact that there are a lot of people waiting behind her. Grrr! Eventually, however, I get to the front of the queue, have my card swiped and head on in to the pool. It was quite nicely empty when I walked in, which pleased me. However, there was one old chap who was doing the strangest stroke ever - kind of like butterfly arms, but lying on his back and doing breastroke legs. Suffice to say, he was going nowhere fast and really getting in my way. As if this wasn't enough, there was a sudden influx of teenage boys who seemed to be doing their lifesaving class, along with a group of small screaming children, a bloke who would get in the steps at the deep end and then just hang on to them for 10 mins before getting out, walking around and getting back in again, a woman who was also doing the bizarre backwards butterfly stroke and another woman who would only swim in the shallow end, thereby cutting across all four lanes. I nearly brained her, coming down the pool doing a fast backstroke, after which she kept a bit more of a weather eye out, but by this point I'd had enough and decided to get out. It's obviously not my day - I'm going back to bed... |
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25.7.05 13:17 |
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Middle-Age
Continues to march inexorably forward. Actually, less of a march and more of a swift trot. My shed is being delivered tomorrow and I'm far more excited about this than a 28 year old woman should be... |
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26.7.05 11:55 |
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