Remember when I said I couldn’t write in clutter? Well, I’ll add to it. I now believe the people who tell you not to write on a computer connected to the Internet. Because writing doesn’t happen. Facebook happens. I used to say I couldn’t write without music on, either. Now when music is on, I can’t hear myself. I get so caught up in the next song, and then the next one, I forget the next word and then they…
I went to an interview type thing today. This involved wearing something that isn’t a sweatshirt and getting on the bus. Now, regular readers will know that I am newish to this city. And not the best with directions. I travel with people so I don’t get lost. I choose not to get lost. I choose to have a PA, or Sarge, with me when I don’t know where I’m going, or even when I do. I do go places…
I have cold, and can’t really sleep lying down. I don’t make a very good sick person, and like to sleep when I know I’m not missing anything. I also remember all my dreams and feel sad if I don’t get to have any. On Sunday night, I couldn’t sleep at all. As the pillows crept further and further up the headboard, I knew this was a battle I would not win. I reached for the toilet roll I’d been…
The alarm clock is tuned to BBC Radio 4. If I hear one more feature on benefit cuts, taxes, the Government, or even cricket, I think I may actually throw the radio out the window. This is not the kind of stuff I want to wake up to in the morning. Especially considering I live it. I see the outcome of benefits and benefit cuts every time I look my bank balance. I am on benefits. They have their place. …
You know what I hate? Using my credit card over the phone. Or putting any number longer than a local or international number into a phone. Because that requires entering the number in before the automated voice says: I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, try again. Well, of course you didn’t catch that. It wasn’t a ball. Or my shoe, hurtling towards your head. You don’t even have a head. You are a machine. May I speak to a real…
