Saturday's Bitchin'

Not going to lie to you folks, it's Saturday night and I'm alone in the flat with an open tin of Roses. This isn't a cry for help - this is a conscious choice on what I wanted to do with my evening. That's just how I roll you know?

I've just got back from the Funny Women Laugh Chance Saloon at the Roundhouse in Camden. Sadly I was not quite funny enough this year to get into the final but I'm genuinely cool with that and very much looking forward to going to see the finals and cheering for Miss Hele Arney who is lovely and brilliant. Seek her. Only seek her gigs though. I don't want anyone organising a mass stalk on my orders.

I had a weird reminder tonight. The MC for the gig went round each of the competitors and asked us all what we wanted to be when we were little. My obvious answer was actress. But then I thought about it. And I remembered that I actually wanted to do something else.

I wanted to run my own Post Office. Or a bank. Or anything with my own stationery. For at least a year I had a fully blown Post Office set up in the corner of my room. Any friends of my parents that came round had to open an account with me. It's a wonder anyone remained friends with them. Who wouldn't want to go and visit their close friends who have a hyperactive runty daughter that keeps pressing them for their middle initial and showing them spreadsheets factoring in interest payments? I guess it was like hanging out with a financially obsessive twiglet.

That was genuinely all I wanted in life - to just have my locals who came in every week and I would be behind the counter with a stack of Rio cans to sell and village gossip to pass along. In my village the post office would likely be better populated than the pub. Whenever there was a thunder storm people would look around each other and then head down to the Post Office for shelter because they know I'll have baked muffins for everyone and have camp beds set up for those who needed them.

I'd know 95% of the villagers of course. And the 5% that I didn't know would come in to the Post Office more often than they needed to, because they desperately want to be 'in' with my crew. I'd sigh at them and ask for their details to fill in whichever form they needed and then eagerly spell out their complicated middle names with emphasis on the silent k's.

My dog will live out the front of the shop. She'll be pretty overweight because everyone always feeds her a little something even though I beg them not too.

I may still plough on and go for this little dream. I feel it would be satisfying and fulfilling. And I really like Rio.