Anyway enough of that, you’ve heard it all already.

What you really want to know, is what I’m doing now, because even though my life isn’t exciting, it’s still more exciting than yours. OK well:

Remember that whole thing I had about not working for/with my dad? It was based on genuinely good reasons. For a start, my dad’s a big deal -people know him. I didn’t want to be ‘Pete Watson’s Daughter (own name not important)’, or for anyone to think I only got work/access to opportunities because I am his daughter (pride). I was also afraid that people wouldn’t be able to be themselves around me like I was dad’s secret snoop (whether or not I was). There’s an element of being self-made about shirking nepotism. Pride again, I guess. Also – and not least, my dad is a terribly demanding boss. Truth be told I’ve been doing work for him in one sense or another for longer than I care to remember. And I know that people automatically think that you never get in the shit if your dad is your boss, you know, you get some kind of familial leniency – I can tell you right now, it’s not like that, certainly not with my dad. I’d go as far to say that I’d actually get in more shit than a ‘regular’ employee because he expects more from me, and would be more likely to release the full force of his disappointment in me if I fucked up too.

I’ve come full circle on this though now. Pride doesn’t get you new shoes. And you’d have to be retarded to turn down an opportunity like the one I’m pursuing now because of what other people might think. The way I see it, other people get opportunities through being lucky, in the right place at the right time, or knowing the right person, or even shagging the right person – and what? If you make a success of something through genuine hard work, then that’s what really matters, ain’t it?

Also – my father isn’t the tyrant I might have made him out to be above, and I’ve plagued him since the day I was born for information and guidance – why be an ungrateful bitch and stop now? What’s best is, I don’t work for him anyway. Well technically I work for myself (teehee), but I’m answerable to the Top Boss, the guy who actually runs the company, his right hand man from BL, Neil.

So I’ve only been there a few months, and I’ve learnt so much already, it’s incredible really.

It’s a bit like when dad used to say to me ‘you don’t understand it now, but one day you will’, it’s like that day has come, now I’m getting some answers, and the best is, I’m getting all this information and I’m getting exposed to all these situations without anyone holding back. These guys know how to run businesses and they’re quite happy to let me see, explain things to me, get me involved.

And yeah it’s probably because of who I am in part, but also I don’t give a shit if people think that. I have a hard enough time getting people to take me seriously in a business environment anyway (shut up, I know I always whinge about it) but it’s bloody true though. What I’ve learnt is – if your bullshit seems credible enough, people will believe it. And there’s a lot of it about. So I’m less…. gullible. And also – you might be dead powerful or rich or successful or whatever, but you can still be a dick ( & there are women dicks too, Julian.) Business seems to be about people, and perceptions.

We’ll see how it goes, I’m loving it at the moment.

In other news, (I may have already mentioned this), I’m running a marathon. God – it sounds so impressive, even I’m impressed. OK so I’ll confess.

So far I’ve been to the gym 3 times and ran through the park once.

Mostly this is due to not getting home from work til late and having a social life at the weekends, and to be fair to me, I’ve only been at it 3 weeks. Ryan is training me – he’s such a good lad. I’ve been going to Oxygym which is a total muscle dummy gym, and I’ve only seen 1 fatty in there so far and one other female.

To put the following into context: I am unfit. Like, really. If a fiddle is fit, I’m a fucking double bass. You know? I’m the type of girl who’d rather wait 20 mins for the next bus than run for the one coming down the street.

I’m basically allergic to exercise.

However, I’ve decided to run a marathon, so I’m going to fucking do it. It’s not til April next year, so I’ve got a bit of time, and it’s looking like I’ll need it.

To begin with, to see where I’m at, Ryan had me run 1.5 miles on the treadmill, as this is apparently a good indicator of… stuff. Unfortunately, it seems I can’t run in a straight line (I’m working on it). I did it in 15 minutes and 45 seconds, which included a lot of slowing down, whingeing, and stitches which turned into what felt like my insides on fire, coupled with an intense desire to stop and lay on the floor. And honestly, I was trying pretty hard.

We also went on the crosstrainer (my favourite), the sitty down bikes (ouchy knee) and all the ‘girly’ weights (felt like a twat).

We then did a run in the park (Stanley Park), which was WAY harder. The air seemed thicker… like, harder to run through. I got a stitch in the same place which turned into insides on fire again and the same intense desire to stop. I tried less hard, and did it in 17 mins (some of this was walking). What a load of shit.

I am basically rubbish.

If that is 1.5 miles, how the FUCK am I going to run 26.2? How does anybody else?! I think I have genuinely underestimated the gravity of the task ahead. Ain’t giving up though, it’ll make doing it all the better.

However – it really, really isn’t going to come easy. Like, at all. Last week I did the 1.5 miles again in the gym, and did it in 15 mins and 25 seconds (an improvement!) I still had to slow down though, and I think I was affected too much by my immediate environment, that is, OTHER PEOPLE. Knowing that they could see the ripple of each strike on the floor go through my thighs and bum was almost more than I could handle, similarly I felt I couldn’t stop because they were watching me and they’d know I’d stopped… the pressure. I bloody hate the gym.

People go on about feeling amazing after doing loads of exercise, feeling energised. You can get out of bed easier in a morning, they tell me (pah!). I DON’T feel better after doing exercise. I DON’T feel energised. I feel fucking knackered and a bit pissed off. You know you see in films and stuff, glamorous women in lovely running outfits, bouncing along, barely out of breath. Well, that ain’t me.

Pops tells me it’ll get easier. He says I’ll become addicted to running. He says I’ll definitely get better. Ryan says so too.

I really, really, really hope so.

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So I’ve been promising to write this blog entry now for, like, ever. So here it is. Get a cup of tea and some biscuits, and make thysen comfy.

As you all know, I lost the ‘career’ job in the latter half of last year, which basically knocked all of my plans out (if you can ever call what I do planning), and I genuinely thought it would be childsplay to get a similar position, or even something better, bearing in mind my expectations weren’t (and aren’t) spectacular, I mean really I’m still sort of just starting out. But I lost out time and time again to people with more ‘experience’, and maybe I overestimated just how well my brand of charm really does go down with people… hard to believe, I know, but not everyone likes me straight off (- errrr, dicks).

So I floundered around for a while, looked for a job, built some ‘character’ through constant, albeit sugar coated, rejection; never stopped trying, although some weeks were more productive than others. I spent quite a lot of time round at Tom Brown’s (more on that later), was still sort of seeing Daniel (more on that later), and wasn’t even talking to Jonny (more on that later).

And of course, although I’d lost my job and had no money and my life was going to shit, I didn’t let that affect my social life. One finds the money somehow, and you’ve a lot of time on your hands.

In January, it was my baby cuz’s birthday, and Phil and I went to Liverpool to visit her. It’s always a good night out, and her mates are so lovely and welcoming, that it’s a pleasure to make the effort and go.

I was having real trouble sleeping though, actually it got pretty serious (for me). Normally I sleep the clock round, no worries. In fact I’m known for my sleeping abilities. I was pretty messed up, I guess. Anyway… I got some drugs from the docs and after about a month and a half, I was alright. You try to rationalise things – at first I knew why I wasn’t sleeping, my mind was whirring and wouldn’t stop and I was worrying (uncharacteristic, again). Things have always come so naturally to me, and unfailing optimism has seen me through, really. Of course, relatively speaking, I was alright – there are people with real worries, and I should shut the hell up about my little predicaments, but in my own little world things seemed to be crashing down a bit. It’s hard to admit to yourself, and then what can you do? What do you do?

I carried on, some days were better than others. I had some really exciting interviews in London, and I genuinely thought that things were going to take a really positive turn, but nothing ever came of it. I have never doubted my own ability, but convincing others of that is a real task, and to some extent – call it delusion if you like – it’s out of your hands. Some people like me, others don’t as much, there are probably boxes that I don’t even know exist, never mind tick them. So that’s that. My confidence definitely took a knock, but I still believed in myself, and that hasn’t gone away.

I think I realised that if nobody was going to give me a chance, and offer me an opportunity, I needed to create some opportunities for myself. Previously I’d been loathe to ask for help from my (very accomplished and well connected) father, or do something that was ‘below’ my abilities – but actually there are opportunities in everything that you do. You don’t know who you’ll meet, or what you’ll get into. Armed with this new attitude, I’ve begun this year doing bits of this and that, work through my dad and of course, still doing bits and bobs gratis for Cherish.

So I’m still poor as fuck, and jesus, it’s demoralising. Add to that the fact that I had to move out of my bijou Sheffield apartment, bite the bullet, and move back home to Blackpool. I couldn’t afford it any more, and nothing was happening for me in Sheffield (except for some amazing nights out in Leadmill…) the worst part is, I’m a hundred years old now. If people finish uni, and go back home for a bit, aged 21 (errrr, which I am), then that’s alright really isn’t it? But not at age 100. You’re getting into saddo territory living at home aged a hundred. But I’ve been putting myself to good use, I hope. And it’s not forever.

So lets get the love life bit over. OK so, Tom Brown. <sigh> Tom bloody Brown. I’m not really sure what to say about this, all my close friends know the score. Tom and I should always just have been friends, you know. The intimate part of our relationship was shortlived whilst we were together, but I cared for him intensely, really the same way that I care for my same-sex forever friends – you know what I mean? For all of our little personality clashes, we had a deep understanding, a tenderness, and that meant so much to me. So it hurt even more to lose him, which I feel I have done-  and not through my choice, it’s completely his. It’s like a new break up all over again, and you sort of ask yourself – am I so easy to just give up, and leave, and never see again?! Did I not mean anything to you?

When I break up with someone, there’s still feeling there,  I can’t just switch it off and be like, right, fuck off now, I never want to see you again (unless they do something fucked up and crazy like sleep with my sister – and even then). So I still have relationships with exes, because they still mean something to me. The relationship evolves, and there’s nothing sexual left anymore, really, just this care and regard – and the imprint of what we had and things we went through and experiences that shaped us in the same way. That doesn’t go away for me. So, I’m sorry that it doesn’t fit in with what you ‘should’ do post-relationship – i.e. never see each other again, pretend you don’t care. I think, unless that person has wronged you in an unforgivable way (and I’m quite forgiving as far as that goes), or changed to the point of revulsion (and I know that happens in some cases) – why turn your back on someone you loved? Exes can be friends. And as I said earlier, Tom Brown and I were much more suited to be friends than lovers. We had an understanding. He’s switched on, and I always believed in him. So anyway, he had this gap in his life for a girlfriend, so I helped him to try and fill it (online dating, the modern way – none of this chance meeting on a train stuff). He starts seeing this girl, and he was cagey about it at first, fair enough. Then it got weird, he cancelled his birthday meal we’d planned, he ‘couldn’t’ see me as often, and then couldn’t see me at all. Bear in mind we’d been spending a lot of time together. So anyway, I had a bit going on myself, and I thought, well a girlfriend is good for him and I want him to be happy, let him get on with it. But for whatever reason, he just cut me out of his life – and the only text I got from him in weeks was to say why have I tagged a picture of us together on facebook, because that’s made his new girlfriend look like a dickhead (he said it…), and how out of order I was to continue to try and be his friend, basically… well. It upset me, a lot. But I’ve gotten over it.

When it comes down to it, I’ll still be there for him if he needs me. Like I said, it doesn’t go away. Not for me anyway. But it’s still hurtful, and disappointing.

As for Jonny, again, another disappointment. Still care about him, but he got really messed up after we broke up and did some stupid stuff, betrayal stuff for me really, messing around and stuff – lying. Things were alright between us but now, well. We don’t really talk much. That’s that really.

And Daniel. Hmmmm. Hmmmmmm! We were never a good match really, were we? I don’t know what it is about him, but I’ve (still) got such a soft spot for him. I know he’s a bastard with an ego the size of a planet, I know he’d ditch me in a heartbeat. He’s basically bad for me. I still think he’s gorgeous in his own way – but he’s one of these that could never have a girlfriend, because he’s too fickle and self-centred. We were on and off for so long, since February we’ve not had much contact, although he recently added me on facebook again, and it’s like having him back in my life, I can follow his little trials and tribulations. I’d like to think that I know him better than most, and I can tell you, there’s more below the surface. I’d still like to be a friend to him, if he ever needed me. Like I said. It doesn’t just go away.

But the main news is: TK.

I met him for the first time in October, at a party at Emma M’s house for hallowe’en. I didn’t really speak to him much. Then at the end of January Em’s housemate Emily had a birthday party and we dressed as scrabble pieces to spell words (does STD count as a word..?), and I ended up taking him home. I was in the throes of my insomnia period and that night we stayed up, drank about 50 cups of tea, and I talked. And talked, and talked, and talked. And he listened intently – like, actually listened.

I remember thinking the week after that: he pretty much knows my whole life story and opinions on everything (as you can tell, dear reader, I’m a sharer) but I didn’t know hardly anything about him. I didn’t know about his family or where he lived or even what he was doing with his life. After that he went to Norway for a while. I told everyone that I liked him (I did) but that he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material and besides, I’d had enough of boyfriends thankyouverymuch. I had a fairly terrible valentine’s day – isn’t every valentine’s day terrible? I think we should ban it – but in the weeks after that, I saw a lot of him, he stayed over, we (I) talked all day, then he stayed over the next night, and so on.

He’s a photographer/graphic designer, he’s younger than me (same age as mel & rach), he has a ginger beard (spiders) and he’s fond of THC and ale. He was born in the Netherlands, but he grew up in Sheffield, he doesn’t come across very Yorkshire, if you know what I mean. He’s so thoughtful – and I mean that in a literal sense, he *thinks* a lot about things. He’s a ‘nice boy’, like, wouldn’t be a bastard to me – there’s a lot to be said for that. He’s very honest (“the dress looks OK but the pattern is a bit old-womanish”) and he loves cats. He also loves TPB, to the extent that he can (hilariously) quote appropriately in any given situation, and knows what I’m talking about (aboot) when I say ‘atoadaso’ and ‘jalapenos’. He’s quite cuddly and protective and an all-round lovely guy, and believes in my awesomeness so he must know what’s what.

He’s been busy finishing off his degree (he’s very talented and dedicated), which will all be over at the end of this month, so hopefully we’ll get to spend more time getting to know each other properly. We’ve only been together less than 3 months, so it’s early doors. People keep saying “so… are you going to get married?” firstly, no. Secondly, just because I’m not a teenager anymore, doesn’t mean every relationship I enter into is going to turn into a lifelong commitment, what’s wrong with seeing how things go and taking it one day at a time? No doubt I’ll still be doing that long into middle age – and what? You all know how I feel about marriage.

Speaking of which…

Pops and Wendy Lady got married on the 21st of May. It was a long, eventful, and wonderful day.

It marked the start of a new era for our family – there are now 9 of us kids. It was a really special event, we had a big lake and lodges and we spent the whole weekend. Lots of champagne and cake was had, and Sammy came up which of course was awesome. I had a bit of trouble with my dress in the week leading up to it, but thankfully it turned out alright in the end unfortunately I have a big slag bag smug moonface in most of the pictures (obviously, they’re just bad photos, there’s no way I’m that smug or moonfaced in real life. Right? RIGHT?) and much, much later on in the evening, the wind was at full force and I think it sent us all a bit loopy – the marquee collapsed and it was like ants whose nest had been destroyed, we were running about hither and thither, fussing and trying to salvage what was left in the marquee!

I had a brilliant day, and I’m really happy to call Wendy my step mum, and Jade, James and Lucy my step sibs. Here’s to many more years of interesting family occasions!!

Pop and Wendy went to Barbados for two weeks, they’ve only just got back. I was left in charge of the house and I can tell you, I don’t ever want that kind of responsibility again! Looking after a hamster just about stretches my parental abilities as it is. The lads are good, on the whole, but there’s just too much to think about – I’m glad to be able to go back to just worrying about myself again

In other news, I started doing a bit of work in Blackpool, working at a bar – helping out with the promotional/marketing side of it, not working behind the bar (manual labour is so last year). There are some very interesting characters, although I’m stretched for time in the working week, I’m making a go of it. Busy is good.

In the next few months, there’s so much going on – pretty much everyone is getting married.

Rachel Brierley (now Rachel Doidge) got married to Chris in February, at Main’s Lane which had changed a lot since I was last there… it was a beautiful ceremony and was ace to catch up with old friends and fuss over Shiv’s little baby (Jesus. Babies!)

In March we did our annual trip up to Glasgow for Curtis’ birthday – it was an emotional one, but a lot of fun as well. We went to the most amazing venue and drank champagne all night …in the day, Curt had arranged for us to do white water rafting (yes in March, in the freezing fucking cold) which was actually a good laugh, although I’m surprised we didn’t all catch our deaths. Something to repeat *in summer* I feel. Curt: can we do something INDOORS next year please!

I had another eye test in April – my eyesight has deteriorated again, only a bit, but still. My contacts weren’t strong enough so I had some new glasses made – I look a total dickhead in them, but I’d look like more of a dickhead walking into a wall which is what would happen if I didn’t wear them. In April I went down to cornwall for a long weekend with TK and Emma M’s housemates and that group – it was awesome! I slept for the whole car journey down (:-D) and didn’t do any driving. We had a night out in Newquay, it was the first time I’d been there in years, but it’s a sweet little place. TK looked after me (as per usual).

At the end of April I moved home. It was really sad to leave Sheffield, on a bit of a low really – things really hadn’t gone the way I planned/hoped. In May (as well as the big wedding) I carried on doing bits of this and that work wise, and started at the Bierkeller. I’ve travelled back to Sheffield a little bit to see TK and friends, but it’s so awkward when you don’t have your own place. I didn’t realise just how much my own space meant to me. It’s been difficult being at home, but I’m trying to make the best of it.

"we're here every week, where the fuck are you?" - Leadmill

So what’s The Plan?

Well. I’m going to work as much as I can over the summer, and try and improve my position and prospects. What more can a girl do?

There are also a few more weddings to attend – including Amanda and Gerry’s on July the 9th, and Nipa and Jit’s on July the 10th (now THAT’S going to be an interesting weekend).  There’s Nipa’s hen do in Edinburgh at the end of this month (excited!), and Amanda’s hen night in Durham at the beginning of July.

I’ve also promised to take my nan to the Isle of Wight for a long weekend to see some old friends of hers. Her best friend died in December quite suddenly…  I think she’s feeling her mortality a bit more these days. This is why I try to make such an effort with my family and true friends… as sombre as it is, you never know how long you’ve got left. We might not all be lucky enough to grow old together, so we’ve got to do what we can now, whilst we’re young.

In other news, last week, whilst the parentals were away, I had a really striking dream, about running – I ran a marathon. It’s something I always promised myself I would do, and now I’ve visualised myself doing it. I think it was inspired partly by Sammy, who has been doing a lot of running herself lately and (errr) enjoying it, and Daniel walked a marathon for charity earlier in the year too – it’s a good challenge to set yourself, and what an achievement, right?

The problem is, I’m a bit anti-exercise and prefer to ENJOY my life and be unhealthy and have a good time (I’m more Leadmill than treadmill). However, my willpower seriously knows no bounds – if I really, really set my mind to something. So I know I can do it. And that’s it now anyway, I’ve bloody said I’ll do it. I’ve more chance of winning the lottery than getting into the London marathon so I’m going to do the Paris one in April next year, which is much easier to enter. (And a trip to Paris, oh no.) My pop (ex runner himself in his younger days) is going to train me properly – oh yeah, I’m pretty serious about it. I’m not a natural athlete so I’ll be trying to do a good time, but the main goal is to finish it without having a cardiac arrest. It’ll be my next year’s resolution, so at least I don’t have to give anything ridiculous up as well!

So what do you think of that then?!

Some grand plans!

That’s it for now folks… I probably haven’t covered everything, but I got the weddings and the juicy love life stuff out of the way, which is what most people want to know about.

I’m doing good – and excited to see what the rest of the year has in store. Things got pretty bad… it can only get better from here on in.

Until next time…

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Anyway, in my dream I started working for a massive, awesome ad agency in London (?) and it was my first day. The office was in an old building on a corner and had loads of floors with spiral staircases in between. There were loads of young, smart looking people hurrying around, talking to each other, walking up and down the stairs. I didn’t get introduced to anybody. In my ‘team’ there were only women – around my age or a little older, they all knew what they were talking about and didn’t include me. We were having a meeting with a big client. It was a hot summer’s day and sunlight was streaming in through the windows and warming up the wooden furniture. It was bright and very dream-like (as hot summer days can often be), I felt apprehensive. They were deciding where everyone could sit. Then the meeting started, and we were discussing the ‘idea’. I still didn’t know who was who, and from the frank way everyone was discussing this idea, I assumed the big client hadn’t arrived yet. I was asked my opinion, and said something like ‘I don’t like the idea, it sounds amateurish and cheap. It wouldn’t convince me. We need something more sophisticated.’ To which everyone gasped, how could I be so insensitive and rude? Saying ‘it’s crap’ isn’t very constructive is it?

It turns out I was sitting next to the client – a slightly older woman. After the meeting, I went over into the corner and there was another older woman, but you could tell that she was ‘keeping young’, interesting haircut and chunky modern jewellery etc – you know what I mean! – she was sketching with lots of colours, which on closer inspection turned out to be make up. It was Barry M make up. There were some other people around (all women…) and I blurted out that I loved Barry M make up, and had lots of products etc. They glared at me – how could I be so insubordinate and speak to the CEO in that way? Yeah. She was the big boss. She asked me to come over. She had used the glitter pots to make long sweeping channels of colour that blended into one another. She needed a name for it. “Rainbow?” someone suggested. Hmmm. Rainbow sounds too child-like… I spoke out different elements of what she’d drawn, and saw each word as a box going along a conveyor belt, and through a machine, and on the other side, words and ideas came out (don’t even ask me where this came from) ‘light’, ‘colours’, ‘vibrant’ – came out as ‘spectrum’. “Spectrum?” I said.

“Spectrum,” she repeated. She held my gaze for a moment or two, and I could tell that she was turning the word over in her mind. Spectrum.

Then I was called downstairs, to speak to the person that had hired me. I got right down to the ground floor and was walking past the entrance, which was semi-circular and made of large slabs of limestone, with a matt tiled floor. The inner door was wedged open and the sunlight lit everything up and a warm breeze was floating through, along with the voices of people walking past on the street. I heard my dad’s voice. I shouted, “dad?!” and walked towards the entrance, out of the office. My nan appeared in the doorway. “Nan! Is dad here? I heard him.” Then my dad came round the corner – he had been on the phone. He looked young. I began to tell him that it was my first day and that nobody had introduced themselves so I didn’t know who anybody was, that I’d made some mistakes and spoken out of turn, and that I felt quite intimidated by the other women. He seemed upset that they ‘hadn’t been treating me right’ and he wanted to speak to the CEO himself about it. Then the woman who hired me came and told me I had to come back inside immediately – I left my dad on the steps, protesting. We went into a sort of ‘chillout room’ on the ground floor, there was lots of plastic, round moulded furniture and the flooring was the type you’d get in an airport or swimming baths, plastic tiles with small circles in. It was all green or white. There were lots of groups of people, sat around, sketching, talking, drinking coffee.

We sat at a table and she began. She said “at the moment we don’t have much work on… so…” but someone came and whispered something to her, she stood up, excused herself, and walked off. I knew I was going to get the sack. On my first day. I ‘wasn’t a good fit’, I ‘wasn’t experienced enough’. I didn’t know enough about the company and I didn’t know who the lady from Condé Nast was.

I started to formulate a ‘speech’ to save myself, The Apprentice style. Anything I don’t know about the company I will learn. I’ll work really hard. I’ll start as an account exec and I promise not to speak unless I am asked to.

Across the room, two of the girls from earlier were in tears, listening to some copy a guy had written for a charity TV advert. He was reading it out loud to them from what looked like a huge story book.

“One student only had 40p a week to live on. He died of meningitis.” The girls bawled in response. “That’s brilliant,” they were saying.

Then I woke up briefly. I looked at my phone, which I keep under my pillow. It was only 8.30, and although I felt like I could have gotten up, my bros are here and I knew they’d be asleep for ages yet. So I turned over and went back to sleep. I willed myself to keep dreaming the same dream. I wanted to know if my plea to keep the job would work.

But instead I began to dream of how I would market Barry M make up. Now I am genuinely a fan and avid customer, but the branding does leave a lot to be desired. With their pricing and the marketing they do at the moment, I think they’re aiming a little bit too young. I’ve loads of ideas of how I would do some things differently – I won’t bore you with them now.

So.

God, what a boring blog post. Sorry guys. Who really cares about my rambling, nonsensical dreams?

It’s just stuff that’s on my mind.

Over Christmas all I seemed to dream about is exes. I dreamed a lot of Jonny, who I’ve been doing my best to forget about and mostly succeeding. I was sharing a room with Mel, and I think that’s what set it all off. Christmas is such a sentimental time, isn’t it?

We went up to Kirkby Lonsdale for the day and had a meal at The Highwayman (which I would definitely recommend), that area, and the south lakes are so beautiful and quaint. I thought that since we were in the lakes (only just, it turns out) that I could nip up and see Curtis, maybe get him to meet me somewhere on the M6. In the end, we met up in Kendal. It was a bit stupid since neither of us know Kendal very well. Anyway, after much faffing around, we met up, got a hot drink (which the guy serving us managed to spill completely down his legs… ouch) and chatted for a while. Turns out that Curtis was on his own, and it was getting late, so I invited myself over to his house. My knowledge of british roads is fairly limited at the best of times, but Kendal to Whitehaven is actually 60 miles… took a good hour and a half… ! We had a good catch up, and talked a lot about Curtis’ mum. We talked about Christmases that had gone by. The house seemed so empty, it was surreal. No Kay. No Shandy.

I slept in the room I used to sleep in, down the hall from Curt’s room. The next day I felt so ill. We just watched TV and chatted. There was a handbag in the magazine rack behind the sofa, and we thought one of Curt’s sisters must have left it… but it was Kay’s. We looked inside. There was her purse, driving licence, all her credit cards, everything. She kept all of her receipts and bits of paper with phone numbers and addresses on. Her make up and perfume and pens and everything… just as she left them. It was so strange. We found a poem inside one of her purses, which had clearly been in there a long time. It was a poem about letting go after someone had died. Perhaps one of her friends who had passed away had given it to her, and she’d always kept it, but it was like a voice from beyond the grave, so strange, and it really upset Curtis. He thought that we were meant to find it. He thought that it was a message from Kay – and maybe it was.

So I’ve been dreaming of Curtis too.

I’ve also had lots of dreams about Daniel, which is a little less surprising. We’re still not together, and won’t ever be, I suspect. He’s like a bad habit. Gives me pleasure most of the time but ultimately I know he’s bad for me. I know I should give it all up, but it’s not quite as simple as that.

Over the holidays, I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes someone who they are, and what makes you love someone. Are you your personality, or are you your actions? Do you love someone for their personality, or what they do? What about family?

If you think of an ex, and think why you broke up, was that because you just weren’t right for each other (personality) or because of an action (had sex with someone else etc)? Can you forgive actions? If they hadn’t done that action, would you still love them?

Now that dad and Wendy are getting married, our families are being brought together. It’s not been easy, and I daresay it won’t get any easier overnight, after the wedding there will still be problems.

I’ve often asked my dad (and wendy), (and anyone with kids for that matter) – WHY would you have children, and why do you stand by them so steadfastly, even when they are in the wrong, even when they do things to hurt themselves and to hurt you and hurt other members of the family? Why do you give up your adult life to devote yourself, your money, you give up your opportunities, you bring them up in the best way you can, you try to teach them good values, what do you do when they turn around and go against all of that?

It’s a fair point, right? But everyone says the same. They’re your children. There’s no other explanation needed. They don’t always disappoint you. Sometimes they make you proud.

I’m still not convinced.

But I guess it’s the same with siblings. Sometimes they go against all the values you hold, they might steal from you and betray you, but you just can’t give up on them. So what about step-siblings? Surely the same should be true?

When two families (especially grown up ones) come together, it’s so difficult.

After a lot of thought, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that only time will help us to become one big family. Instead of ‘your’ traditions and ‘our’ traditions, we’ll just have ‘the’ tradition at Christmas. And hopefully that will follow through to everything else.

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My new year’s resolution last year was to give up chocolate. It was a bit of a silly one, but I did it. I had some truffles on NYE, bloody amazing. I fucking love chocolate. I can see why I was eating it as a ‘meal’ – hence the giving it up part. This year, I’ve decided not to have an abstinence type resolution. Not doing something is relatively easy. Actively doing something is another matter. And much harder. So, this year, I’m going to try my best to drink a pint of water a day. Those who have spent a lot of time with me will know that I don’t drink enough water at all, way below average I’d say, and average is way below what you *should* be drinking. I know I won’t be able to drink litres and litres (which is probably what they recommend you drink), but 1 pint a day, I think I can manage that.

I’m running out of steam now so I’ll leave this blog entry here. Phil and John are in Sheffield so I think we should do something interesting. It might only be as interesting as a trip to ASDA.

There’s load more I could write about, NYE, Tom Brown… but we’ll save that for next time.

Until then,

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You can submit a question to your chosen victim, anonymously if you wish.

This is great for stalkers, both well- and ill-meaning ones. If you create an account, you can also choose to identify yourself when you ask the question.

Ask me anything: http://formspring.me/littlestargem

In other news: it’s my birthday on Sunday.

I’m going to be extra selfish and self-indulgent.

I’m going to drink champagne.

I’m going to tell cute boys I’m 21.

And we’re dressing up.

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It’s been some time since I wrote anything here. Not that I haven’t wanted to, I’m just pretty lazy and most posts take a lot of time which really pushes the limits of my concentration span.

So. The last time I posted it was like September, and now we’re all fast-forwarded into November. Since then I have LOST my job. The company I was working for went into administration this month and as a result I have now joined the dole queue. “How the mighty have fallen” – thanks dad!

In the meantime I have been mostly looking for work, talking to recruitment agents (some better than others), slobbing around in my flat, and slobbing around at my dad’s house.

Seems to me that one of the main barriers for getting a good job is *direct experience*, which in some industries I can accept, but it makes me wonder a bit that if you start down a certain path there comes a point where there is NO RETURN and you are deemed unable to do any other job.

If you’re a sales bod then you must always do sales. Legal bloodsuckers must remain bloodsuckers.

Because of the work I did at GDA, I’m now finding it a lot easier to get my foot in the door with marketing jobs, which is hooray in one sense – however I am not really any different now to what I was 6 months ago, in terms of pure skillz. And it feels a little bit like I’ll now be doing marketing forever or be doomed to take a pay cut and start something else. Which is OK. ‘Cos I like marketing.

I’ve been thinking recently about the ‘big picture’, the ’10 year plan’, ‘the rest of my life’. Where do I want to be? What do I want to do?

My problem is that I want to do LOTS of things. I want to live in LOTS of places.

Sometimes I can’t get to sleep (and that’s unusual for me) because I have a million ideas buzzing around in my head. Today I had a business idea, partly inspired by the MAC makeover I had at the weekend. Think of the perfume that you would describe as ‘your scent’ – how did you come to always wear that one? Was it a gift many years ago? Did you smell it on someone else? Did a pushy saleswoman in Boots make you buy it? Like a personalised make over, why can’t you have a personalised scent profile? Imagine walking into a lovely boutique where you are asked specific questions that narrow down to a different selection of fragrances, then you smell a few, and you can take away samples of your favourites to try out before you commit to a £50 a bottle spend? That’s a lot to pay for a mistake. And we’ve all done it (or had well-meaning loved ones do it!).  You could stock a  massive selection, and keep the test ones in plain bottles so that the customer is focused on the scent and not the brand. Things like perfume and cosmetics are down to individual taste, and I think tailoring to that individuality would be very popular. Also, perfume costs bugger all to manufacture (relatively). It’s the aforementioned brand and the mammoth advertising that goes with it that you actually pay for. Which is fine, but who gives a shit if you’re wearing Chanel but you smell like a horse stable?

Anyway. Once an idea like that takes hold of me (usually once a day or so) I’m thinking about it. It gets bigger and bigger… I start to think about how I’d have my store laid out, what I’d call it (‘Narthecium’ for the perfume idea), what my staff would wear, even what my packaging would look like. I’ve thought about how I’d pitch it to the perfume manufacturers. I’ve thought about what I’d like the website to look like and how it would function, and how I would promote the concept.

Now I’ve written it down, it doesn’t seem like such an amazing idea. And probably in a month’s time, it’ll seem like a very silly idea.

I am plagued by these ideas.

There are some (mostly the silliest ones) that pop up time and again. For example, the cat feeding machine that’s on a timer, and releases a new batch of food at a specified time, that can store up to 7 days worth of food. Now that’s an idea for the dragon’s den if ever I thought of one! Hahaha! Sometimes I go through my thought process – what colour would the cat feeder be (purple) and what could you call it (meaowmeals?) – and I come up against a problem. Because cat owners feed their cats in different ways, some use tinned food, some use dried food, some give them pouches etc etc, how could you get around that? And how would you raise the money to manufacture it and put it out there? Well. You’d do a deal with Whiskas wouldn’t you. Make their food a custom fit.

ANYWAY.

I can’t believe I told you my cat feeding idea.

We’ll move on.

In personal love life news, I am still seeing Daniel a bit. We do still piss each other off, and frequently have a pop at each other. He’s quite volatile as far as mood goes. We’re not a perfect fit, and we both know it, hence why we’re not ‘together’. But something, I don’t know what it is, something works. I still see that vulnerability, that self-doubt which is sort of irresistible to me. His ‘too cool for school’ attitude both repels me and draws me in – in almost equal measure. I’ve learned that he is thoughtful, but it’s in his own strange way – such as feeding me (a lot), and offering to do things he knows I will like although he protests he will hate it (‘we can watch that film but as long as you know we’re watching it because you picked it – I don’t want to watch it’). I think we both watched a thing with Tim Minchin in it on telly once which we both enjoyed – he’s bought Tim Minchin tickets for my birthday. I think I’ve misinterpreted him in the past, for example, he would never ask my opinion about something or consult me – generally I’ve thought that this was because he thought he always knew better than me, but lately I’ve come to realise that he’s got this indestructible armour on. For him to ever say ‘I don’t know anything about this and I don’t know what to do and I need help’ would be an unacceptable admission of weakness. As he might say ‘it’s not all about you’.

It’s quite frustrating to be so emotionally entangled with someone so complicated. Most of my friends are at a bit of a loss as to why I persist with it, but then, if you know me, you’ll know there’s a reason. We’ve got this thing where we both want to look after each other, and be looked after. There’s a tenderness between us.

No doubt he’ll be rather angry that I’ve written so publicly about how I feel again – turns out he does read the blog after all but I’m afraid that’s just how it is, so.

Last weekend I went to see Kristy for her birthday (she’s like 21 or something). She’s gone all brunette and everything. It is a major change. I did like it, but, to be fair, Kristy is one of those girls, she’s pretty – so she looks good brunette, blonde, red, blue, pink – it wouldn’t matter. It’s nice for a change, but I’ve a feeling she’ll go lighter in time. This is the voice of experience.

We had an awesome time – errr, of course. I got to meet her husband properly (met him for the first time at the wedding), to begin with he was a little wary of me, or at least that’s the impression I got. I forget that I can be a bit in your face and over-familiar at first. It’s hard not to when you’re with old friends too. He drunkenly said at one point ‘when Kristy and I are multi-millionaires I will let you sponge off us and come on holiday with us and stuff’ – that’s acceptance. Right?

I’m looking forward to my birthday and Christmas, sort of worrying about getting presents for everyone but I’m sure I’ll find a way. With any luck I’ll have a job by then!! It’s late – 11pm – and I’ve got to get some stuff together and drive to Blackpool. I’ve been really tired today and not got half the stuff done that I set out to do. I suppose I can do it next week. Going to take Esme (my chinese dwarf hamster) with me as she had eaten all of her food when Tom came to check on her last week!

She’s so cute. Got her to eat out of my hand a few times yesterday – she’s getting used to me.

I’d better start getting ready to go.

Right.

I’m going.

OK.

Bye.

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The most annoying thing is: sometimes things show up, and then all of a sudden they disappear.

If I change my filters, sometimes things reappear. Only to disappear again.

I think facebook is awesome, and I love some of the new things they’re doing with it.

But WHAT in the HELL is going on with OUR WALLS?

SORT IT OUT FACEBOOK.

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I like cheddar cheese and other fatty varieties (feta and bavarian smoked cheese, gouda and mozzarella) but I can’t stand goat’s cheese (yuck), or any mouldy cheeses (basically anything french except brie). Despite being a vegetarian for so long, I am not a massive fan of veg – most notably, onions. I hate onions with a passion I can barely express. Onions are an emetic for me – honestly, if I have to eat them I get seriously nauseous. I also hate peppers (any kind), courgettes, aubergines, beetroot, celery, pumpkin and avocados. I hate leeks, asparagus and beansprouts. I won’t eat anything with ginger or fennel in it. This isn’t an exhaustive list – I’m sure there’s other stuff I hate.

The worst is, I hate spicy food. Now, spicy for you may not be spicy for me – korma is very spicy to me. Salt and black pepper CRISPS are spicy to me!

When you get to my age, you have to pass through a series of occasions where the foods listed above must be eaten. Mostly this is when other people have spent a long time cooking something for you, and you have forgotten to tell them how much you hate the food they are cooking. People’s parents for example, when you get asked over for tea.

When I was little, I remember going round to one of my best friend’s houses for tea. We had fish fingers, peas and chips. OK, chips, fine. Peas, not great, but edible. But fish fingers. Oh God. I hated fish fingers vehemently. For me, it’s not always the flavour of the food, it’s the texture – I am still this way. I like creamy textures – melted chocolate, creamy cheese sauce – things like that. At the time, I hated the flaky, dry texture of fish fingers.

But my parents raised me proper. So I didn’t make a fuss, I didn’t stamp my foot or push the plate on the floor. When Katie’s mum said “chips and fish fingers – that’s alright isn’t it girls? And if you eat all that, bread and butter pudding for afters!” I nodded and said “yum!” enthusiastically. What I was really thinking was, ‘how am I going to eat this without being sick, and there’s not even chocolate for afters. I’ll have to sit and pick the raisins out of the pudding before I can eat that’ (I still hate raisins).

Thankfully, there was a bottle of tomato sauce on the table. God bless you Heinz, how much more difficult my childhood would have been without tomato sauce!! I liberally applied the sauce to the fish fingers, and, without chewing as much as possible, swallowed them down. I had to resist the urge to gag.

I have coped in similar ways throughout my life with foods that I hate, even now, aged 25, I will sit and pick beansprouts out of noodles from the chinese (the texture, again), and I generally downright refuse to eat things with onions in.

I am much better than I used to be – I will eat most kinds of fish, and if I don’t think I like something, but I’m not sure, I’ll at least try it. On the last drama trip to London, I tried coleslaw. It’s just cabbage, carrot and mayonnaise, right? All of those things, tolerable. So I tried it. And almost vomited. Onions. It’s the onions. But I tried it, right?

Some things, borderline things,  I have forced myself to have so often, that eventually I grow to like them. Such as, mushrooms. As a child I hated mushrooms, and I love them now. Believe it or not, I actually hated melted cheese for a long time – well into my early teens, except on pizza. I couldn’t have cheese on toast or the cheese on top of a pasta bake. My mum always used to make a dish called ‘tuna hash’, which was mashed potato with tinned tuna mixed in, with a generous helping of cheese on top which went in the oven to go all brown on top. My tuna hash was always pink, because I would peel off the cheese topping and discard it, and then mix in tomato sauce to make it palatable.

Lately I have been trying to force myself to have these ‘borderline’ foods in an attempt to get myself to like them. This is a tried and tested technique – for example: I hated lager in my mid teens. Now I love the stuff. So it can be done.

I love peanuts, so I am going to try to expand this to other nuts that I might like but I have never tried.

Most people love olives. Well, I like to cook most things in olive oil, so in theory I shouldn’t mind olives. Daniel and Mel – and my dad, all like olives and order them in restaurants. I have tried one or two, and they weren’t that bad, so last night I bought myself some from ASDA. Manzanilla olives with feta cheese. Only quite small ones. I’ve eaten about half of them (I ate about 8 or so) I have to say, the taste was definitely improved when combined with feta cheese! After 8 of them though, I started to dislike the taste (texture is OK) so I put them away and I’ll try a few more today.

I want to try beetroot again – mostly because everyone raves about it and reckons it’s dead nice. It doesn’t appeal to me really, but I am prepared to try it with an open mind.

Now, I have always had a sweet tooth. I love things with nuts in – and I’m not keen on things with fruit in (generally because it includes raisins or currants – gross). But chocolate, toffee, caramel, sugar in almost any form – yes. Cakes, mousses, pies, flans and bakes. All yes.

I really, really love SWEETIES as well. I remember promising myself I would GORGE myself on sweets when I was old enough to buy them myself, every time I was told I couldn’t have any by my parents. The only day we were allowed to eat sweets and chocolate til we were sick was Christmas, and GOD, it was glorious. My favourite sweets were (and still are) cherry lips, floral gums, rainbow drops, black jacks and fruit salads, bubbly bubble gum, flying saucers, wham bars, irn bru bars and highland toffee bars, popping candy and fizzy belts (which used to erode your tongue).

On long journeys, we used to get giant gobstoppers from the service station. One gobstopper would last literally weeks, and my tongue would sometimes peel from the abuse of licking it. I always licked mine on one side only, so that after time a cross section of the various layers was visible, which always seemed celestial to me somehow. And after many weeks, when you came to the middle, it was always a strange, seed-like centre – not sweet. A bit of a disappointment, really.

Anyway.

I’ve purposefully avoided talking about things like DANIEL, or JONNY, or MY JOB in this blog entry. I just don’t want to talk about them right now. Suffice it to say, some shit is going down. You’ll probably find out before too long.

In the meantime – do you have any suggestions as to what new food I should try?

Next week I’m going to make myself a very, very, very, very weak curry. And I WILL like it. I WILL.

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I haven’t met her fiance yet, so I’m looking forward to it. Nipa and Jit are going, and Zoe – Yorkshire and Andrew are coming out of the boys. I’ve got to be there quite early so I’ve got to get up at ridiculous o’ clock, it’s a bit of a drive! I’ll be praying for clear roads.

I’m going to enjoy the day and probably get all over-emotional. The dress I’ve bought is a bit see-through (eek) and one cannot wear one’s brassiere with it, so I got some booby coverers from the haberdasherie which I’ll attempt to stick to my chest with tit-tape. Aside from this, I’ve noticed that I’ve gone for a floaty, pink number which makes me look a bit like a 5 year old. I got flat shoes to go with it, which adds to the overall prepubescent look. The ex says that I dress like a child… well. Hmmm. Maybe he’s right after all.

I’ll try not to think of the fact that I’m LOSING ANOTHER FRIEND TO MARRIAGE, and that my days of downing shots in clubs dressed as a sailor are definitely NUMBERED. <sniff sniff>

Right now I’m going to throw on some clothes and meet Charlotte and Emma M for a little drinkypoo, and possibly spy on some boys. Yes. That sounds good.

Early night though. Stay tuned to see photographs and tales from the event.

MEAOW

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