Sink or Swim

I finally have some. Hurrah!

*off to search holiday websites*

*eyelids closing"

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Some of you will know the ongoing saga with the magazine publishers from the ragingest pits of hell who owed me shedloads of money from work undertaken last year. A portion of the outstanding money was owed from work published in July. That's July 2006. And it was submitted in May.

I believe that the Oxford English Dictionary team are considering using "payment from said magazine publishers" as the new definition of the phrase "like getting blood from a stone".

However.

After numerous invoices, invoice reminders, emails, phone calls, texts, letters, promises, broken promises, prevarications, bullshit, astounding arrogance, outright lies and finally the threat of court action by the NUJ, I can finally annouce the following:

1. The said magazine publishers now hate me.
2. I couldn't give a fuck about point number one.
3. The outstanding money has been transferred and will be accessible from my account tomorrow morning.

I WIN!!

As in, I've kicked all notion of my health out of the window for the year day.

Breakfast = One Camel Light.
Ok then, two.

Mid-morning snack = A Crunchie.
I only wish I could have thanked it for it being Friday.

Lunch = Dairy Milk Bubbly bar.
I'm really starting to feel sick now.

So, what should I have for dinner?
A cleansing bowl of cabbage soup? A wicked chocolate trifle? A liver-shrivelling bottle of wine?

... someone somewhere in the world might be saying at this very moment.

But I'm not.

Because it's never good when you wake up on a Monday morning and have to go into work.

And it's worse when you wake up just ten minutes before you're meant to be in work on a Monday morning.

But it's far, far worse when you wake up just ten minutes before you're meant to be in work at the wrong end of an hour and a half journey into work on a Monday morning.

And so I've made a decision.

Is it to buy a new phone, in order to ensure that the battery-guzzling bastard that I currently own doesn't give up in the middle of the night, even when it was fully charged only the day before and barely used since then, and thus ensure that the alarm I oh-so-carefully set the night before didn't work in the morning?

Is it to change my working hours so that I can, from now on, start work at midday on a Monday? Actually, that would be a great idea - sad, therefore, that's it's also as likely to happen as a talking rabbit bouncing onto my desk in the next five seconds and offering to do all my work for me.

*waits*
Darn it. Where is that rabbit?

Is it never to spend another Sunday night away from home?

No.

It's to quit my job.

Ok, ok, I'm lying. I do have a mortgage, after all. But, I have decided to book next Monday off work. Haha!

So, who knows, next week the joyful utterance which tops this blog post might actually be mine...

A tired wee Brummie called Paddy
Has blogged 24 hours for 'charidee'
He's wired on caffeine
Can't see his PC screen
But, as blogging champs go, he's the daddy!

Congratulations to Landers!

Well done to Juzzzy, for starting this ball rolling in the first place.

And much to love to Amy and her family and friends.

And as they enter the final furlong it's Landers racing hard against Deep Fatigue, Landers and Deep Fatigue, they're neck and neck now, and Deep Fatigue is looking strong. Yes, it's Deep Fatigue taking the lead, Deep Fatigue is running hard, is he gonna make it, has he got the better of Landers? But wait, has Landers saved up something for the end? And yes, Deep Fatigue is there, but Landers is drawing up alongside him again now, and Landers is fighting back, he's fighting back, it's Landers versus Deep Fatigue and the finish line is in sight now for both of them, who's it gonna be, it's Landers versus Deep Fatigue, Landers and Deep Fatigue, it's neck and neck, and Landers is there, is he pulling away slightly, I think he is, yes he is! It's Landers in the lead, and they're fighting for it now, Landers is really going for it, the end is in sight, and they're running hard, it's Landers from Deep Fatigue and the crowd is going wild, and Landers is flying down the straight now with Deep Fatigue hard on his heels, and can he hang on in there, it's Landers in the lead right now, Landers in the lead, but Deep Fatigue hasn't given up yet, oh my God, what a race, who's it gonna be.....??

Want to know how it all ends? Go here.

I have my own.

They worry me, upset me, confuse me, scare me, whirl my head around and kick me in the teeth when I'm not looking.

But they're all relatively minor. Manageable. With solutions that are within my control, if I can just decide upon them and psych myself up to take that control.

Unlike lots of other people out there, who have problems in their lives that are far and away out of their control. And with no ready solutions.

Which is why this is going on. Take a look, stop and think, join in the fun, the sentiments and the cause.

The blogathon is on!

Go here.

I don't think I'm going to get much work done today. And the reason?

There's a randy young man in my flat. Yes, that's right. And he's not exactly in a hurry to leave.

And the truth is, I really don't want him to.

Within five minutes of his arrival he was actually nibbling on my belt, looking up at me at the same time with a highly suggestive look on his face.

Cheeky or what?

But his divinely dark brown eyes are so cute and dreamy that I can't help but let him get away with it. And the truth is that I can already feel myself falling for him.

His name is Alf. Alf is going to stay with me all day. And all night.

And he is absolutely gorgeous.

I just hope he doesn't shit on the carpet.

"My tiny skull bored out of, I am."

So in watching BBC1's 'The Truth About Food' last night, I discovered the following:

1. Detox diets do not boost your body's natural ability to detoxify itself. Ha! Take that Gillian McKeith.

2. Tomatoes protect you against sun damage and wrinkles. So pack a tube of tomato puree when you next go on holiday.

3. Spinach protects you against macular degeneration, which can otherwise lead to blindness.

4. When you eat, the pyloric valve at the base of your stomach closes in order to keep food in the stomach to be digested before being released, bit by bit, into the small intestine. If you are drinking at the same time, the liquid is kept in the stomach with the food and released slowly into the intestine along with the food. If you drink alcohol without eating, the valve does nothing, allowing the liquid to run straight through your stomach and into the small intestine. The liver is thus put under greater pressure as it has less time to deal with a larger amount of alcohol. This is why you get drunk quicker when you drink without eating, and why drinking without eating is worse for your liver. Or something like that. Anyway, it gives me an even better excuse to pig out on nights out.*

5. A healthy diet is a colourful diet. Smarties, anyone?

6. Red wine, especially that made from Cabernet Sauvignon grapes, does protect you against heart disease. I think you all know what I think about that.

7. I need no excuses to eat more, or to drink more red wine. But I welcome them all the same.

Cheers Auntie!

An early finish from work.
A bottle of Douro.
A packet of cigs.
A snuggly duvet.
A book.
A cd or two.
[EDIT - how could I forget??] - A bar of Green and Blacks Maya Gold.
An early night.

Heaven.

I need a rich man to marry and divorce right now so that I can live a life of luxury and NEVER HAVE TO GO TO WORK EVER AGAIN!

Consider yourself tagged.

Well, come on Abi, you can't tag someone and not answer the questions yourself

1. There are crumbs in your bed cos lets face it you don't live in a showhome. What kind of cookies do those crumbs come from?

Millie's Cookies, white chocolate chip. Mmmmm.

2. You are sitting on the toilet brushing your teeth cos you are hungover as normal. What got you that drunk?

A vat of red wine and gallons of fruity rum cocktails. And perhaps a whisky chaser. Mmmmmmmmmmm.

3. You have been dumped cos well, lets face it .. you are a loser. What comfort food do you grab? (after sticking pins in a voodoo doll obviously)

Chocolate. Preferably Green & Blacks Maya Gold.
Curry. Preferably aloo chili. Or my mum's spicy potatoes.
A slap-up meal at one of my favourite restaurants. Because there's no way I'm staying in and snivelling.

4. Your wife/husband has pissed you off (that means angry in the US by the way ... not watersports) so you decide to go have an expensive gourmet meal on his/her credit card. What do you order?

Everything on the menu. It's not my bill.

Ok, ok. I might pay particular attention to the mussels and the lamb.

5. Sitting in church (waiting for the lightning to strike you) and you have a book/magazine tucked inside the hymn sheet. What is it?

Book? How to Travel with a Salmon (Umberto Eco) - cos it's what I'm reading at the moment. Magazine? Viz or Private Eye.

Great. Now I'm hungry. Cheers, Abi.

No cheque on my doorstep.

No response to yesterday's email enquiring as to absence of said cheque from wanker who promised to send said cheque last week.

No sun.

No miraculous hangover cure by my bedside.

Anyway. I have duly instructed the NUJ to start court proceedings and will myself shortly be off to drive in a southerly direction, at the end of which journey my mum's deluscious home made curry and scrummy curry puffs will doubtless be waiting for me.

So there.

"Sometimes when I reflect back on all the wine I drink, I feel shame.

"Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the vineyards and all of their hopes and dreams.

"If I didn't drink this wine, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered.

"Then I say to myself, it is better that I drink this wine and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver."

Jack Handy

There are several scenarios I could envisage when I would love to receive a hearty cheer and round of applause.

At the star-studded launch event held in celebration of my first ever novel, for example.

Upon entering the evening reception of my wedding to Thierry Henry.

Winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

Downing a pint - God I'm classy.

One I could really have lived without, however, is the one where I stumble rather awkwardly off a bus onto the road rather than onto the pavement, which causes me to jump slightly; which, when combined with the facts that I am a) having a slightly "bigger than normal" day and b) wearing a rather ill-fitting bra, does tend to result in, shall we say, a rather significant boing factor.

Which the group of builders sitting next to the bus stop enjoying their daily gawp-fest lunch break seemed to find most commendable.

"Wahey! That's the best bounce I've seen all week, luv!"

Oh good.

Where are my email notifications?

*sulks*

Yep. Look at them. They're definitely dropping.

Plummeting, in fact. Shooting through the floor.

It's as if they've been tipped out of a skydiving aeroplane, which is flying along merrily at 14,000 feet altitude, after being strapped to this man:

So. There go my sugar levels, then.

I need a big spicy Mexican burrito slathered with guacamole, sour cream, grated cheese and jalepeno salsa RIGHT NOW...

*dribble*

(Then again, that picture has kinda put me off...)

Yes. I may have a slight headache.

Can anyone guess why I've had the song Scarborough Fair going round and around and around and around in my head for ages and ages and ages today?

It had me confused for a while... until I finally realised it was because I'd been on ParsleySage's blog.

Geddit?

Now, out of curiosity, do any of you get an annoying nursery rhyme regarding boats and rowing rowing rowing them gently down the stream in your head when you visit my blog? No?

Don't worry. You will now...

I'm booking myself in for lunchtime. I'm sure work won't mind; it'll only take half an hour out of my working day, after which I shall be revitalised, recharged, renewed and ready for anything.

Of course, the flights to and from New York might mean my break extends a little too long for my boss's liking. Especially as I'll obviously have to add a couple of days either side for sight-seeing, shopping and general drunkenness merriment. But hey, do I really need to mention such petty details when I make my request for a 25-minute break?

What am I talking about? Metronaps, of course!

Redleader, I'm not sure if they take year-long bookings, but it might be worth a go... (x)

Juzzzy's post has reminded me; I've an article to write on online social networking, mainly on the angle of "what the kids are doing online" other than looking for porn.

In the process of investigating this, however, I've been informed that the "next big thing" is WAP networking. Coca-Cola have just launched the Sprite Yard; "a real-time digital 'on-the-go' community that provides social connections and downloadable content via your mobile phone". A WAP community for teenagers to invite friends, swap photos, download stuff, send messages - oh, and get swamped by mobile marketing.

That said, I am a self-confessed technophobe, and I don't know how much mobile networking can already been done - apart from my own choice of mobile social networking, of course, i.e. drunken texts.

So, at the risk of sounding a) clueless, b) incredibly irritating, c) like a crap researcher and d) like I want to boost my ratings in the new Buzz list, do any of you lot know anything about this? Can you use your mobile to, say, leave messages on Facebook?

And what the hell is Twitter, anyway?

For all you ladies out there who've ever worried about catching malaria from your purse - and I know it's usually at the forefront of my mind - here's my press release of the day...

1 OUT OF 4 HANDBAGS CONTAIN BAG-TERIA!

What do we do with our handbags when we need to be hands free? Well, we put them on the floor mainly, café pavements, the floors of public toilets, the bus and tube, the list is endless.

Then, when we arrive home we sling them on the kitchen worktop, dining table, or chuck our bags on the bed! And that’s ok?

Well actually it’s not! A recent heath study conducted in the USA found that 1 in 4 handbags, after being placed on the floor collected bacteria that ranged from E COLI to Hepatitis!!!! YUK!

So, what’s the solution? Well, those clever girls from Kitten-Kit have come up with a girlie gadget that will minimise the risk of you dragging Bag-teria everywhere you go – Handbag Hangers.

Simply place your bag on a Handbag Hanger on the edge of a table and hang your bag on the hook. The hook conveniently holds your handbag within easy reach.

Kitten-Kit Handbag Hangers

Mind you, the nipple tassels look like fun...

Monday morning, 6.30am

RTB: "'Bye, darling."

J: "'Bye... Watch out for a man called Willy."

RTB: "Eh?"

J: "..."

RTB: "You're still asleep, aren't you?"

J: "No, I'm not asleep... Twelve."

RTB: "Twelve what?"

J: "Shops. Of course."

RTB: "You are still asleep."

J: "Yes. No. Are you sure you don't want another kebab?"

RTB: "Kebab? What kebab?"

J: "Zzzzzzzzzzz"

And if you think that was amusing, try these extracts:

Saturday morning, 9.30-10.15am

"I think it's the foundations. They're really deep, and it goes sooooo high. But they won't tell me the answer, either. Bastards."

"Fine, You do it, then. Go on!" *irritated sigh*

"It's crap. It's just crap. And now I'm going to have to sort it all out." *deeply irritated sigh*

"Oh no. No! They dress up in hats and brooms and cauldrons and potions. I hate all that... I like red cabbage, though."

"I'm tired now. I need to lie down."

And, my personal favourite...

*giggle*
*giggle*
"I can't believe it. She shat in his shoes. I mean, I know they're all a bunch of self-serving bastards, but shitting in their shoes!"
*giggle*
"Unless they got a dog to do it."

Yes, it's true - the man never stops talking...

I did some copywriting work today for a new client. A couple of press releases.

They were really pleased with them and said they'd like to pass some more work my way in future.

So I'm feeling nicely smug as I email off my invoice.

Then I open up the invoice again, since I need to send a hard copy in the post.

I marked it for the attention of the account manager who I've been dealing with all day. Except that in typing up her job title I missed out the "o".

The "o".

The really rather vital, if you don't want to offend someone, especially someone who is in a position to pass more copywriting work that's preferably accurate and certainly not insulting your way, "o".

"Bloody hell. I thought it was bad enough that I couldn't remember going for a curry last night. Now I find I've slept with a fella!"

My flatmate.

See below for details

It was the sound of my phone dying that woke me up. At 4am.

With a muffled groan in anticipation of the havoc that I was about to wreak on my head, courtesy of having to move it and thus wake up all the nerve endings, which would then chorus together loudly in the agony that can only be wrought by having spent three hours at a most excellent wine tasting fair, then three more hours in the pub, then another hour or so in a curry house... I moved over to the side of the bed, plugged the phone charger into the wall, and lay back again with a sigh.

Only then did I notice.

And I wondered.

Had I, in my slightly *ahem* wine-sozzled state a few hours ago, said something of such devastating nastiness that I had now been dumped, in the middle of the night, by someone whose new-found distaste of me was so strong that he had had to leave me immediately; so much so that, rather than be by my side for a second longer, he preferred to abandon his phone? And his spectacles? And his clothes?

Or, had he suddenly woke up with the desire to re-visit his youth (yes, I know that's going back quite a way now, but it is possible to cast your mind back several decades, or so I've been told) and decided to embark on a game of hide-and-seek; except he had forgotten the rules (see earlier comment about going back a long way) and neglected to actually get me to join in and be the seeker?

Had he fallen down the toilet?

Had he spontaneously disintegrated?

Or, dear readers, had he decided over the course of the booze-infused evening that he actually really rather fancied my flatmate, and so had waited until I fell asleep before sneaking out of my bed and attempting to have his wicked way with him (yes, him); but unfortunately neglected to concoct a plausible excuse in the event that I should wake up and find him gone and go looking for him and discover him in bed with my flatmate... so had, perforce, to resort to the highly suspect and really rather unimaginative excuse of:

"Arrrrrgggghhhh! How the fuck did I get here??!"