There's a Home

I've had rather a busy week: cake-making, essay-completions, partying and sight-seeing in Brighton, and drinking cheap wine and playing drinking games to The Mighty Boosh. My friends are fucking awesome.

I'm a bit hung-over and stuffed with food so all the blood has gone to my tummy and liver and there's none left for my brain! Poor little brain! That should excuse the lack of social commentary and psychoanalysis in this post.

There's a spider living in my kitchen. His name is Boris and he wears boots (and there we were thinking it was only fairies). He scares me and we are not friends.

'All that we hope is that when we go
our skin
and our blood
and our bones
don't get in your way, making you ill the way they did when we lived.
There is a place, a place in hell
reserved for me and my friends,
and if ever I wanted to cry then I will
because I can.'

'Pour some sugar on me'

Everyone should read Ask the Dust. Everyone. What a book. What a character. Go on, you know you want to.

I'm listening to cheesey eighties music again.

Porge is coming over in a little while so I suppose I ought to get dressed! We're going to make cakes and be ridiculous all day. That's what we do best.

Ta da...

Joanna went to Wolverhampton and all I got was this lousy title

I'm in Wolverhamptonshireford and Ewan's been sick...again! I think he's allergic to us. Well, not me of course. That's a physical impossibility - nobody can be allergic to pure joy.

The people are different up here. It's strange: there seems to be a different kind of boredom in the eyes of Midlanders when compared to Southerners. It's no more or less. Just different.

I shall enlighten you on more of my observational ponderings later as duty calls and there is afternoon tea to be prepaired.

Toodleypoo!

'Just hear this and then I'll go: you gave me more to live for, more than you'll ever know'

Shall I even go into it? That is perhaps for George's ears only at the moment! Should I care what his friends think? No, they have no idea about who I am or anything regarding the matter.


Well, now we've got the inevitable cryptic angsty part of the online journal over with I shall move on to the shallow, materialistic part...

I got an A on my speech which pleases me. I bought some leopard print hooker shoes to congratulate myself...oh come on, we all know I'd have bought them anyway! Whaaaat a bargain.

And now to the plans that nobody cares about...

I shall be gracing Wolverhampton with my presence tomorrow. Lucky bastards might see sense and give me a fanfair this time. If they know what's good for them. Can't wait to see the kids, my big bro-fo and sissy-poos again. Note to self: Stop changing words into non-words Joanna. Please.

Right now is the first moment I've had to sit down and eat something, hah! So off I go to cook!

'Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room with a tea cozy, doesn't try it on.'

I did stay awake for my lesson after all, everything is fine and dandy and I'm finally beginning to get to grips with US foreign policy. *yawn* x 300

Saying that, I'm finding it less dull than I thought I would but still...where are the plagues? Where are the Monarchs and the Knights? It's all wrong!

Ireland calls to me. Again. I do not actually think I can ignore it for much longer. There is a reason for me to go there and it's strong and passionate.

No, I can't pick just one subject and write about that! *pokes tongue out*

I realised that, for the last three posts I've made on this here bloggy, I've used Morrissey/Smiths quotes as titles. I shall break the cycle. (Thanks go to Billy Connolly for today's title.)

Mum doesn't like my pink hair. The other day there was an advert on the tv - some woman with deep, Autumn-red hair showing us the unquenchable joys of moisturising hair dye and having the guts to buy herself new shoes because of said fabulous hair. Mum said "Oh, isn't that a lovely colour" in her kind, old woman voice (she has several voices - she's a robot, you see). Then she moved her head slowly towards me, looked at my hair (which at this time could only be described as 'rainbow') and then looked, slowly again, to my face with a look of uneasy disappointment.

...you had to be there.

'You have never been in love until you've seen the stars reflect in the reservoirs...'

Colin Farrell in Miami Vice. Sweet Jehova. I should NOT, at my age, fancy a man with a moustache like that.

This is not a late night for me, it is an early morning. No idea how I'll staw awake during my lesson this-evening. Before I went to sleep I tried watching Dirty Dancing in order to keep me awake but I'm afraid, as with most fillums of that genre, it had the opposite effect. I give up trying to watch films that other women think I'll like simply because I'm the same sex as them.

Stephen Fry, please be my daddy. Or at least my uncle. I'd bring you tea in the mornings and tidy your desk! I'd make you really proud!


I might write something long, sarcastic and phsycho-analytical later when my brain wakes up but until then I'll let you fester in bubbling anticipation.

'It was dark as I drove the point home'

I MUST not put anything before my work. Ever. It is the most important thing. I am not sorry for this.

Last Saturday I took Ma'anit to see Fiddler on the Roof in the West End as a birthday and christmas present. She moaned from the moment I saw her but I managed to get her to enjoy the day and cheer up in the end. Women!

FACT: I have nothing interesting to write as I haven't been awake for long. My brain? Eet ees dead.

'There's a place in hell for me and my friends'

Jo came over last night and we chatted and laughed for hours. The time also involved moderate indulgence (we were good) of take away food and beer. I cleared up both rooms just for her, because she's special. Yesterday was the first time I'd cleared/cleaned the living room in Idon'tevenknowhowlong. Even Wayne and Waynetta would cower at what I found in that festering hovel so it's best I don't tell you any more about that. In fact, forget I said anything. I'm insistent on my surroundings being immaculate and freakishly sanitary at ALL times.

Anyway, we cruised onto the subject of our old work place. A building and environment both detested and loved (in a way that you love something simply because it's been a part of you for so long) by all who are regularly present there. As always happens when we talk about Lennox Wood the conversation begins with laughs but develops into a profound psychoanalysis of the human condition and it's very own cancer - mental illness. And the worst mental illness of all is Dementia. Unforgiving, illimitable and ruthlessly cruel. The elderly people we looked after weren't just the usual young person's perception of oldies: charming, anachronistic glimpses into how the world once was. Sweet and frail. They were like that sometimes (albeit, more often than not, indecipherable at the same time, or painfully vague) but could turn at any moment into something hideous, violent and dreadful. Inhuman. My years spent there will not be forgotten.

My knees are cold.

Mum's going to Spain tomorrow. Let's pretend I'm not going to miss her. I'm looking forward to it in a way though because I feel more independent when I'm not around my mother so time spent apart is good for me. Christ knows it's good for her!

I need to try and get an early night but it's quite clear that ain't 'appening. NIGHT GUYS!

'it's an ORCHESTRA of angeellls'

I'm in love with Eighties music at the moment. Blondie, Kim Carnes, Tom Petty (he was eighties right?), Eurythmics, The Cult, Billy Idol: BRING IT ON! Bring it on? - I talk to George too much.

I've gone into myself (not in a gross, contortionist way: sickos). So you're not going to get anything out of me apart from that right now.

Tarra a bit.

P.S. I wish I had eyes like Betty Davis' so I could pretend this song had been written about me.

I am an unimaginative title

Golly gosh, haven't I been dramatic lately?

Never mind all that malarkey, I feel like it's time to organise some things. Mainly: my brainypoos. In an effort to do this I shall organise the things around me starting my with room. That's right people, the floordrobe's going! (sometimes I think that people - including me - misuse the exclamation mark. For example, I wasn't really exclaiming anything in that last sentence, was I?).

Well offski I goesie for nowsie!

...Shut up Joanna.