Inside my Skull

I've spent a large portion of my morning watching Supernanny. I'm ok with the judgement I might feel from some of you. It's been a difficult week and I promised myself that this weekend I would only do things I actually wanted to do.

It's been a good week; I got a wonderful new position at work and was thrilled about that. Then spent the rest of the week dodging the office minefield of trying to look enthusiastic about said position without looking like I thought I was the dog's bollocks for having said new position. Wasn't easy. Especially as new position began to seem more and more like something that was going to make me cry on a regular basis until I'd fully worked out how the hell I slotted into the current system. Conclusion; chill the fuck out with Supernanny.

I had some wonderful bus encounters this week. Why is it when people try and make friends with you on the bus, their questions immediately start to sound like doing the groundwork on killing you and disposing of your body?

* So, you live round here? Local victim...

* Have you lived in London long? Are you aware that 90% of murders begin with an innocent bus conversation?

* Do you have any family round here? Is anyone going to notice you're gone?

Also had my first experience of being on a bus when the announcement rings out - "The destination of this bus has changed. Please see driver for further information."

2 things wrong with this -

1. You can't just change the destination of a bus, that makes it a different bus. That is false advertising.

2. SEE THE BUS DRIVER? Are you insane?! No one talks to the bus driver. The bus driver is usually the drunkest, most abusive person on the damned bus. And when you live on The Old Kent road, that is impressive.

So...tangents aside, I guess the important thing is that I just wanted to do nothing and be left alone this weekend. And I've so far succeeded. Yesterday was an amazing day. My tiny little sister decided to surprise me by being amazing and ordering a brand new winter coat to be delivered for me. It was one of those things that happens totally out of the blue and makes you want to be in a musical so you can sing about it.

Then I went to the supermarket and had a great moment of personal connection with one of the checkout assistants. I was using the self-checkout and had put all my stuff through but I needed the helper man to take the tag off my brand new pink electric toothbrush. As I went over to ask him, the helper man had to sort out someone else's issue. Helper man looked me in the eye as he took off the toothbrush (I've named her Jessie) tag, and said 'Some people are so dumb.'

I felt great. Not only was this guy amusing, but he also thought of me as on his level enough to confess this without thinking I was also dumb. This was a win for me. Then I got home and realised I'd left some of shopping at the checkout. I had to go back and look at the judgemental checkout man and admit that I was also one of the dumb ones. Brilliant. Massive fail.

Today I'm in my pyjamas with a laptop, the desire to sleep and the knowledge that I should be scripting several things and writing new material. Well, maybe after the next episode of Supernanny...

Sabbatical

Hello dear neglected blog...I can only offer my humblest apologies.

I was reminded this morning that it's now been over a week since my last blog - if I was an alcoholic and you were my drowsy sweet amber nectar then I would be doing well. But you are (probably) bored people, and I am a fairly insignificant feature in your day. And so I feel I have let you down.

The reminder came as a bit of a surprise if I'm honest. For two reasons -
1. It's been over a week since I last blogged. That's a long time for me to not do something I love. I think the main reason is, all the things that have happened to me in the last week are really cool but not things I'm allowed to talk about online yet...but watch this space for some really exciting changes to my life.

2. Someone noticed I wasn't blogging.


Number 2 may seem like I'm being unnecessarily down on myself in order to provoke mass commentary below going - "I love your blog, Laura. I read it everyday..." tra la la la cue 50/50 shame and pleasure from Laura.

I'm not being like that, although beign a self confessed mentalist I'm generally ok with praise and conflicted emotions concerning praise.

Writing a blog is weird, because it runs a fineline between lots of very uncool things.

* Are you basically writing a diary but really narcissistic and so you publish it?
* Are you a horrible person that likes to belittle others anonymously online?
* Are you funny and people actually want to read it or do people read it because they feel sorry that you write under the sad delusion folks are interested?

It's difficult to tell - obviously a blog takes a long time to build up a following, so how long do you blog before you admit that no one is struggling to find you, they all found you and then went back to watching Married With Children because it was better quality?

To combat this problem, in my mind I write for four people. These four people read my blog everyday and are the only interested parties in what comes out of the end of my fingers.

Person 1 - Maisy. Maisy is secretly very insecure. She is blonde and wears her hair in pigtails. She often wears wellies (red ones) because she'd very much like to be retro but doesn't really understand how to and so just selects items that small children wear more than adults and then wears those. She used to have a brace and so she never shows her teeth when she smiles now. Maisy reads the blog because it calms her down that other people worry about inane things too. This is why sometimes I neglect the funny and write her something about how I worry so much I'd given myself IBS by the age of 21. She loves me for it. Maisy also only reads my blogs in coffee shops. She does this for two reasons -
1. She hopes eligible batchelors will see over her shoulder that she reads obscure comedy blogs. This will lead to Maisy being directly involved in boosting my readership which makes her feel like a vigilante. She also hopes the eligible batchelors will then strike up a conversation and she can have children who will also wear red wellies and adore their doting mother.
2. When Maisy laughs it is a short bark which immediately embarrasses her. She secretly enjoys the quizzical looks this earns her in public when people look up from their lattes. If she laughs out loud at things she's reading at home it just causes her father to ask what she's reading and then not get why it was funny. People in coffee shops never do this.

Person 2 - Hannah. Hannah is an old friend I went to school/sunday school/Debenhams/the zoo with once that I have now sadly lost contact with. Hannah remembers me and we are now friends on Facebook which is how she knows about my blog. Hannah reads the blog because she hopes that one day I'll get famous and she can be on the E4 documentary about my life and say that although we sadly don't see enough of each other, she knows everything about me and we are great friends. Hannah doesn't really find the blogs funny but she does find them interesting. Hannah's quite interested in how people have changed since we stopped seeing each other in school/sunday school/Debenhams/the zoo and is quite freaked out that I'm an adult now just like she is. It's quite odd for Hannah that anyone would get in to stand-up, let alone the runty girl called Laura that had bad hair and flew completely under everybody's radar for the vast majority of years before she started shamelessly self-promoting.

Person 3 - Sam. Sam is my only male follower. Sam is unsure why he follows my blog. He's never met me, probably never will and doesn't really remember which link warren he followed to stumble upon the wittering of a girl he clearly has nothing in common with. He'd never tell anybody he read a blog. Let alone that he read a girl's blog. The main things that keep him hanging on are that it gives him a satisfying sense of voyeur that it's difficult to get from reading people's Facebook statuses. As a general rule, Sam dislikes social media and the constant need for people to advertise their every move. However, this blog seems to be more thought out. It's for Sam's benefit that I'm incredibly hypocritical and flighty in my opinions on things that I haven't worked out my opinion on yet. I like to make sure he understands the complexity of writing a blog that is both your public front and your honest communication with people who are gratifyingly interested in what I actually think. Sam appreciates this and continues to read. Sam doesn't read daily, he doesn't log on to the computer that often. But he does binge read when he's missed and feels this makes up for his lack of communication. In an alternate universe Sam and I know that if we met up we'd not get on well initially until the frost had thawed and then we'd probably have more in common than any of my other readers.

Person 4 - Angela. Angela is great. She's active, she loves to laugh and she is the most supportive person on the planet. She is also the hardest person to write for. Angela is my shadow. She knows my every move and will often know what I'm blogging about before I do. Mainly because she was present at the time of the event of which I will later blog about. Angela is my twin. She knows me and my life so well that sometimes it's tough to make her understand a blog. I worry she'll question why a point has been embellished or exaggerated for comic effect - she'll post below that 'I didn't happen like that...'. She may not see the line between me and my blog. It also makes it difficult to sometimes write a viewpoint I'm still playing with - in case Angela reads it and says 'You don't think that' and I'll be caught between explaining that I chose to blog it before even talking to her about it, or that she doesn't actually know that particular view of mine. It's difficult. In all honesty I don't even know if Angela reads my blog. She might do, she might not. But she's always in my mind when I work out what to publish. Can I talk about the one night stand I had last night or will this cause an eruption of reaction from Angela because I haven't told her yet?

Monday Night's Alright in Blighty

'Sup folks and folkesses,

Soooooooo - it's Monday. Monday is usually my day in the office - BUT NOT TODAY. Today I got a special treat - today I went to Hull. Oh yeah! Green with envy? You should be. I was in Hull. I didn't really do anything in Hull but I have been there. So I can now tick that little British location of my chart of places to visit.

Hull?
Yes?
Consider yourself visited.
Will do my friend.

Boomtown.

So...this weekend I also crossed the sleepy town of Uppingham off my 'To Visit' list. You could argue that it was less a case of ticking it off and more of a case of adding it so that I could then proceed to cross it out. Your argument could well be effective in finding the truth.

Laura, you added that to your fictional list so you could cross it off.
*hides pencil*


Uppingham is a miniscule village between Leicester and Peterborough and I went there for a small elf reunion. All the littlest elves were gathered into a coop and displayed proudly to passers by, for a shilling you could pet one. That last bit was not true - it was a ha'penny. NAY! Stop lying Laura. Ok. Loudy. I had a reunion with a few of the elves that I met in Lapland. We had a glorious weekend.

The highlight was definitely our trip to the smallest fun fair I've ever seen. It was incredibly tiny and we quickly located the three rides that we wanted to have a go on. The first was the waltzer - it was AMAZING. The desire to keep my head forward almost resulted in my neck breaking as the casually dressed lunatic in charge of spinning us decided to take us into hyperdrive. I struggled to stay sat whilst the waltzer went a waltzing, but somehow this Superdry clad spin operator managed to wander listlessly around our spinning vehicles, smoking, choosing a potential teen to finger, and spinning our addled brains into oblivion. Hats of to him.

We then went over to some sort of invention designed to cause severe inner thigh bruising and/or loss of dignity depending on the thickness of your tights. I was secured into my chair and eagerly awaited being flung every which and way and left. What I didn't anticipate was that, being a good 4 inches shorter than most folks, there would be a large gap between me and the over the shoulder holders. This meant I spend a large portion of the rider in thin air, and would arrive back on the seat and one end of the ride with a thump and some bruising that would be hard to explain if I ever went to bed with anyone other than David Attenborough in shiny silver disc form.

It was at this point that we realised the lack of queues between the rides was not necessarily a good thing, as the speed with which we went from one ill advised death trap to the other meant that the nausea from the previous ride had not fully abated by the time we signed up for the next.

Swallowing our misgivings, we clambered aboard the Dodgems. Ah, the dodgems. Now, the dodgems would have been brilliant fun had it not been for an evil demon child who decided to try and cause whiplash to anyone with 10 feet of his car. Which was all of us. I was very grateful to my fellow elves for deciding that is was indeed ok for 3 twentysomethings to gang up on a lone 14 yr old, all in the name of £2.50 well spent. So, we battered the crap out of him. I say we. I mean them. I, unfortunately, got a particularly hard whack from said devil child. Such a hard whack that my dodgem went mental. It got utterly stuck in reverse. Reverse was not even a function available in the dodgem. I played out the rest of my token flailing wildly and trying not to swear whilst making eye contact with the 4 and 5 yr olds who were wondering why the crazy lady was screaming.

It's a long time since I've been to the fun fair and it was definitely better than I ever thought it could be - not that I'll be rushing back any time soon. I am still vomiting candy floss and self-loathing.

Body Slam Dunk

It's been one of those days that slams into you from every direction with the good, the bad and the ugly. Less of the ugly because you can side step them as they come at you if you're wearing a properly functioning mong radar. Eugh.

I've had a work trip down to my old university in Kent. The University of Kent is a fantastic place and I had 4 very happy years here. Coming back is like putting on an old pair of boots and feeling great, and then noticing someone a lot skinnier than you is wearing the same pair and looks a lot better. I feel a bit like a tired grey version of the students who are here now. I know this is ridiculous (and a terrible analogy as I'm actually quite stunning and these people are gross). NB - I will be making up for my insecurity with false self confidence in places throughout this blog. I have always been accused of using humour as a defense mechanism - and I don't see why this is a bad thing - surely it's better to have a joke than a knife? Wit can be cutting but it rarely severs an artery. Unless you're carving a particularly strong pun into someone's neck. Which wouldn't be a bad thing...oh look - a tangent.

Um, so anyway. Yes; it's nice to be back. But I want to leave now. I am fully floored by the amount of gossip about my life that has still somehow made it back to these echoey halls - even long after I am gone. I was greeted with the line "So - I know who YOU pulled in Edinburgh." within 30 seconds of walking into the bar - glorious. Not only has my news survived a long trek of folks to get it back here - it's also crossed borders. I must be either truly interesting - or truly tashy. I'll take interesting trash I think; like when you see something really cool in a bin and have to take it home...no? No one else? Just me then. Well, fuck you. If you saw a gramaphone in a bin you'd want it to. Not that it was a gramaphone in my case - but a largely edible sandwich is better. So there.

I went to my morally reprehensible meeting and they adored the product; the compromise I have had to come to on this subject is that any commission I receive will go directly to an eating disorder charity as I refuse point blank to personally benefit from this industry. I was pleasantly surprised by the outift though - even if they did offer me some of their products after the meeting. I didn't know whether to be grateful or furious. I refused politely explaining that I'd just eaten a large portion of cheesey chips and they had worked perfectly as a hunger suppressant. Laura humour 1 - Diet pills 0.

I've caught up with a lot of old friends and it's worked as a good measure of how proud I am with where my life is headed that I'm not embarassed about answering honestly with what I've been up to lately. Gone are the days of quietly mumbling something about a house near Greenwich and a sigh before I explain that I really should work harder on booking gigs and blogging. Huzzah! Am humour whirlwind and proud of it! And fit. I am fit? Did I mention I was fit? And feeling a tad delicate today.

In the murky pool of gossip I unwittingly entered, someone also found it appropriate to tell me all about my ex's new relationship. Wonderful. No, genuinely wonderful. In all honesty it was the last thing I was waiting for that I thought could throw me back a few steps and now it's come and gone and I am ok. Unless my sadness is hiding somewhere but I don't think so - I think I just don't care? Have I matured in some way when I wasn't looking? Plus, apparently she is very tall. So in my head she is a heron. And he has to go out to dinner with a heron. What a bellend. Who would break up with me to go out with a heron? I am beautiful! And she has a beak! Dumbass. I would never go out with a heron. I am mortally afraid of birds. I have not matured clearly. But I do feel a big sense of relief.

The final bodyslam was finding out my sister has gone in to hospital. This is genuinely sad and worrying. Tis only appendicitis so I'm thinking she'll be fine. But I am a natural worrier. And a tad svelte and incredible to look at. So all in all it wasn't the best news.

But then there has been great news - I am seeing my elf friends this weekend for a chilly reunion! We are already hastily planning the wine so you will get some Loughborough themed blogs posted Saturday and you will be grateful! Because they have been typed with some spiffy fingers. Seriously hot momma over here.

Now back to London - back to London and back to my new life. I feel like it's someway fitting that this is my 100th blog and I have spent the day so wrapped up in a life that is so alien to the things

I Wanna Be a Billionaire

I caught up with X Factor last night - this is the first year I've ever watched it and I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm quite enjoying it. The judges are all reassuring self-serving enough to satisfy me that they'll put through genuine talent in places because it'll get them more money. So, I get to watch some decent karaoke. Delightful.

It does seem that each contestant on the show has to be either so stupid that you're sure the vast majority of their cerebral activity is totally dormant, or have some kind of tragedy which only singing in front of a judgemental, fickle public could possibly cure. I mean, I understand having a dream - but is the X Factor really really the solution to your trauma?

I fully understand you have two children and have struggled. I think global fame and media scrutiny are the perfect solution and will be a godsend to your, already stressful, life. Well done.

It frustrated me quite a lot in the early episodes when contestants would burst into tears and wail loudly about their 'one chance' to get to their dream. As though, if Louis Walsh says no that means they need to head home immediately and only ever sing in the shower from now on. Why is there only one chance? I mean, there's always the option of working really hard for a lot of years and getting there very slowly but surely? You could try that...? It's kind of what I'm working on right now...? No? Ok, yeah - if they say no you'd better cut your tongue out. Good plan.

Last night I caught up on the weekend's episodes and am now so saturated in drawn out cliffhangers and odd key choices that I needn't watch any more for at least a week. I am properly hooked.

I've developed an unwieldy crush on Matt - delightfully humble Essex painter and decorator who shuts his eyes a lot and this seems to be a big factor affecting how well we know him. From what I can tell, Danni Minogue is of the opinion we need to really know an act before we can enjoy the sound coming out of their mouth. I therefore suggest they harvest contestants with the most Facebook friends and stop all this singing competition nonsense.

I thoroughly enjoy Cher and her exciting new take on the competition. Is she going to cry or say something stupendously vacant mid performance this week? Is there going to be a surprise rapping bit in the middle like a few of her other pieces? There is? glorious. I do love a system.

The bands I'm not enjoying quite frankly, Cheryl seems under the impression (wrong, according to Simon and the audience - who boo and cheer EVERYONE equally - go figure?) that the newly formed bands need time to get to know each other before they'll be a fully fledged group. WHAT? What madness is this? A band can't just be perfectly manufactured for instant gratification? Are you insane Cheryl? What a bimbo. Anyone would think they'd also need a concept on what the musical influences and style of the music was going to be! Ha!

I totally and utterly loathe Katie Weasel - she is a massive ball bag. She has literally nothing authentic about her at all. She has a good voice - but her first song choice was bland and more about emulating Madonna and Lady GaGa than about her showing off any vocal skill. I think she's a fake little shrew who needs a good kick in the shins and leaving in a muddy field so she can gush to the grass about what a legend she's going to be. She's not going to be a legend. I don't think any of the great legends needed X Factor for people to notice they were legends. I also don't think they set out to be a legend. They set out to do what made them happy and this pleased other people. I'm 99% sure Bob Dylan never were a multi coloured plastic cockcroach ass on his head in order to gain attention. 99% sure. Don't follow him everywhere.

This isn't funny

This blog will not be funny in any way shape or form, I'm warning you now so you can stop reading it if you want to. It is honestly not funny - but I need to vent.

Continuing from yesterday's theme - I have spent the morning trying to find positive stories in the news about diet pills so I can turn up to my meeting and be able to help them sell more to people. Unfortunately I've hit an impasse in that I've sickened myself with the thought that I might somehow contribute to an industry of insecurity. I don't really know what to do.

The last article I read explained how there is a controversy over diet pills as they've been proven to cause tumours in rats. The manufacturers say this is irrelevant to humans. Thankfully, someone dishing out licenses says this is not irrelevant. However, it's not that these pills are then not on sale; it's that they are not allowed to be a medical subscription. Are you kidding me?

The forums for these pills are filled with people praising the diet pills for helping them lose up to a stone per week. This is a thoroughly unhealthy amount of weight to be losing through crash dieting. Diet pills just suppress your hunger. There is a reason we feel hunger - it's because we are hungry. Hunger means we need food. Good food - not burgers, saturated fats and shit - proper food.

I am not praising obesity or fat people - I think it is just as unhealthy. Eating disorders go both ways and I'm not claiming that diet pills cannot be used in an extremely carefully controlled exercise and good food regime to help people who are extremely ill through excessive eating.

But, these forums for the companies flogging diet pills are filled with forums with girls saying they are a size 12 and just desperate to get down to an 8. And they need this to be instant gratification - there isn't the time to do it sensibly and make it stay off because they genuinely believe they are so disgusting and wrong.

The most sickening thing is the girls (and it is all girls) praising the diet pills for doing the work. Tell me what's wrong with this sentence:

"This syrup really works!!! It's quite hard not to eat but it's been 5 days now and I've lost 8lbs!!! Thanks!"

You are losing weight because you are starving - you will not keep that weight off. You will give yourself brittle bones, eye problems, gum problems, stomach ulcers and dizziness. There is nothing magical about these starvation detoxes - they are just conning you into believing your eating disorder isn't a fucking problem because you paid someone to help you with it.

If you are overweight and could be healthier by losing weight, join a hockey team and have the discipline to put yourself on a good diet and plan to see the weight come off over a year.

Eating disorders can literally appear overnight. They are petrifying and leave people not really sure if it's worth being alive because everyday is so damn difficult to cope with. They affect moods, trash relationships and turn people into manipulative shadows. They don't really go away either - they hang around for years and pop back up. Watching someone get destroyed by their relationship with food is one of the most depressing things you can sit through - and it is horrendously difficult to treat. How do you treat someone who doesn't know if they can cope with being cured?

I honestly don't know whether I can stomach this meeting. I may have to take a bit of a professional hit and not go. I may have to go and spend an hour asking him how any of the advice on the website is responsible when it publishes testimonials of people who have not eaten for a week and are thrilled with his product for helping.

I think I may have a little trouble controlling my temper. There are just not enough people in the world talking sense to people who need it. Apparently it doesn't spin enough money.

Femme Fat-Al

I'm watching America's Next Top Model. I find this show hilarious and brilliant in equal measure. It makes me feel better about myself that my chosen mode of personal expression requires some form of cerebral intensity.

I blew a gasket at work today. On Thursday I am being sent to a meeting with a company who sell diet pills. There is nothing essentially wrong with this I suppose - what annoyed me was that there are only pictures of women on the website. The entire marketing of the company is aimed at the ladies and it promotes such an unhealthy desire for all of us to be sticks that we think that we need to take desperate steps like diet pills and that's fine.

I'm tempted right now to turn up with a chocolate bar in each pocket and various strawberry laces hanging out of my teeth.

I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep my temper at people who make a living selling insecurity with free delivery.

I don't think I'd have minded too much if I hadn't checked the Facebook page for the company and seen the comments from girls who were buying these products.

"Hi, just ordered some of these pills - hope they work!"

"Is there a way I can use these without the detox and still lose weight?"

"I've been on these pills for 10 days and haven't lost ANYTHING - what do I do?"

10 days? 10 days - are you kidding me? And the advice coming back is - just eat less! Take more of the pills! Take this combo! What the fuck?

Eat sensibly, eat fruit and veg and exercise and give yourself months, not days, to lose weight. Where is the voice telling us this stuff in a way that we're actually going to listen?

Watching America's Next Top Model is like the icing on the cake - reminding me that the world is barmy and that some people will manipulate the self-worth right out of others. And it very frequently seems to be a girl.

Can we please work out a world where we aren't terrified of looking like ourselves? Where we aren't reading magazines where we applaud extra weight if it's in the right places and circle it in red if it's not deemed appropriate? Where we are neither allowing obesity on the ground of not offending but not encouraging brittle bones and poor diet for the sake of wearing a pencil skirt?

It really upsets me.

My meeting on Thursday may end up with a fully inserted Snickers in a man who should take better care over the advice on his website...

I'm an evil alien

So...today I did potentially the most rock and roll thing I've ever done in my life! I flew to France for lunch. In a tiny plane with only 6 leather seats. We flew from Rochester to Le Touquet and had a delightful meal and a play on the beach and then flew back again.

The journey all started yesterday really. Yesterday I went to Bluewater and bought the pair of boots that will be integral to my winter foot health. I had to sell a kidney to afford them due to severe financial restrictions right now, but they are genuinely a necessity as without them I would be in flip flops until after Christmas which could lead to pneumonia. I think. In all honesty I'm not really sure how you get pneumonia but I assume if you get cold, wet feet it can happen.

After Bluewater which involved two krispy kreme doughnuts and a minor mall induced panic attack. I went to Whitechapel for a gig. Now, I don't like to be judgemental. That's a massive lie - I revel in it. But, I'm not usually vocal about it. Usually I keep my contempt in until I'm in a safe place and have fully assessed my opinion on the subject. Yesterday I did not.

It was a gong show and there was a huge crowd assembled and I started out enthusiastic. My enthusiasm waned as I got further and further into the gig and realised that the combined IQ of the entire audience must have been somewhat akin with a Kerry Katona book signing. And that includes the guy employed to remind her how to spell her name. And how to hold a pen. And what a fucking book is. Kerry Katona...easy target? Well, yes, probably, but there's a good chance my entire ability to be funny has been trashed by this experience of comedy.

The first act in the gong was very good, a nice intelligent guy with some delightful lines and a strong delivery...after that I felt the night deteriorated somewhat. The audience stamped their feet and whooped and cheered at the most banal material - seeming to revel in their cluelessness. I was almost disappointed to survive the gong. Being booed by a balding 20something in a checked shirt who seemed to be modelling his look on a decaying gormless lumberjack with less finesse was a highlight.

The prize for the night was £50...at the point where an 'act' got practically a standing ovation for describing the disabled children he worked with as 'top level spastics' and 'dribble covered wheelers'...I left. I gave up any desire to be Queen of this night and hightailed it out of there and back to the real world where people engage their brains before braying before a moron.

Snob? Me? Yes. Absolutely. And fucking proud of it.

SO I left that gig and disappeared up to Barnet, High Barnet. The tallest haircut in London. I stayed over night with one of my fellow elves from Lapland and we watched Stepbrothers and had a perfect sleepover. Stepbrothers is one of my favourite films. We love it so much that in Lapland we actually made our beds into bunk beds. Fact. See Facebook for pictorial evidence.

This morning we awoke and headed over to Rochester. We got mildly lost and I have seen the same roundabout at least 3 times today. But finally we were at the airfield.

The tiny plane was excellent and although I was rather nauseous taking off we were soon in the air and sailing over Canterbury. It was amazing to see a city I know so well from the air. I have a lot of incredibly happy memories in Canterbury and seeing it from a perfect blue sky was amazing.

We landed in Le Touquet and headed into town. Le Touquet is rather like Wysteria Lane in Desperate Housewives. There were more Mercs and MX5s in driveways than I've ever seen in my life. But I ate salmon (my favourite) and played on the beach (I adore beaches and the sea - see previous blogs for gushing) and all in all have had a miraculous day. A perfect day.

Have you? Sorry, just realised I've been a bit 'me, me, me'.

Standing on my Earlobes

Free!

Panic not fine friends - it turns out the guy with the funny shirt thought I was Lady GaGa (because we look so similar) and kidnapped me by accident. After 4 hours of him asking me to sing Ra ma ooh la la, and me failing miserably, he clicked that I wasn't her and he let me go.

Relief is not the word! I spent the night in the bath trying to wash the smell out of my hair and this morning I have fingers and toes like a prune. Its a nice look but I'm going to have to sit in the airing cupboard after I've written to you and try and dry out a bit.

Right now I'm sitting on the sofa fuming about the fact that I have a Saturday morning off and Saturday Kitchen has been replaced with The Commonwealth Games - gutted! I'm trying to tell myself that the fault lies with me that I don't appreciate sport over fun cooking challenges and hairy bikers...it probably shouldn't be too difficult. I think I'm a little culturally challenged.

I'm supposed to be going shopping today - and I will attend the shopping centre but unfortunately no purchasing will be done due to severe financial straits. Ah, sigh, poor me, the life of an artist and all that...meh. But, yesterday, some oppurtunist git decided to take advantage of the fact that I was a little snoozy on the train and swiped my Oyster card as I drooled.

The weird thing about this petty theft (replace petty with ridiculous if you like) is that my laptop was also on the train table and they didn't bother with that...surely that's lesson one in theft?

Q. If offered a nice laptop or unlimited access to zone 1 for the next two days - which should you take?

A. Well, I am a big fan of the District Line...

Knob.

So I have a new Oyster Card now - and this one is called Fenella (after Fenella Fudge who does the travel on Radio 2 sometimes and has possibly the best name I've ever heard ever). I wouldn't have minded losing the last oyster card so much had I not given him a name (Steve Wright - my mp3s are god themed, oyster cards are radio 2 themed). I'm a bit worried that whoever has Steve Wright now is not treating him nicely and wilfully smacking him into the little yellow circle without a care for his brain haemorrhaging or anything like that. Poor Steve Wright.

Tomorrow's blog may be late but should be incredibly intensely exciting as I am going to France - just for lunch - yeah ROCK AND ROLL! Tell you about it soon...

You Drive Me Crazy

I'm genuinely blogging from the inside of a haggis. I've had the weirdest dat today - when I woke up there was a tall man with a blue shirt on standing over my bed holding a hessian sack. I was a little alarmed to see him there and asked what was going on. He asked me why I dribble so much at night and I was a little embarassed. He took this oppurtunity to put the bag over my head and kidnap me.

Then he put me in this haggis. It's moist, not uncomfortable, and a little smelly if I'm honest. I don't think he intends to kill me - it's potentially an experiment to see if I'll eat my way out. I don't think I will - at least not for a few days as I am pretty good at coping without food and I also like to be the winner very much.

The man had a light Welsh accent which is another baffling clue to this puzzle - I'm 99% sure haggis is a Scottish delicacy which could mean he is working for some kind of alliance. Alliances freak me out really. Especially the Royal Sun Alliance. That is a freakishly big, hot, regal alliance.

So, all in all, there's not really much to say in this blog as I haven't been able to do much today due to kidnap and haggis restraint. If I am out by tomorrow I'll let you know how it goes but in the meantime if you have any ideas on how to escape do let me know.

Sing Like No one Likes Ribena

I'm quite poor this month. By quite poor I mean I got paid yesterday and now am back in my overdraft again having paid rent and other such fun expenditures. As a result of this I am living solely off bread and pot noodles. It's a curious thing how much my body hates me right now. The sort of hate usually reserved for an X Factor judge who's made an ill advised decision - you know; super serious.

Usually I'm quite springy. The addition of much crust and dried peas to my diet has made some of the springyness disappear. It's not that my body doesn't want to be springy any more - it's just that it can't be. Because it is leaden. Nightmare. Usually I approach escalators and other such rising aids with a delight that I can bounce up, up and up and reach the top like a brunette tigger with a red bull addiction. The last few days it's been more a case of flumping onto the bottom step and enjoying the feeling of the slatted surface caressing my face as the suits walk all over my back on their way past.

By the end of this month I might start to resemble the bread. This wouldn't be the end of the world as my bread of choice is a particularly tasty 90p Tiger Loaf with black pepper coating. So I'm going to be a feisty tiger by November. I'm wondering whether my skin will resemble that of a tiger, or that of a flaky white loaf. I hope the tiger. I would like to look like a tiger. And it would make me worry less about yeast infections.

I would also get to have whiskers if I were a tiger - it's no secret that I'd genuinely like to have facial hair. Not the kind of facial hair that women sadly get when they reach a certain age - but proper facial hair. A funky moustache and a massive beard that I could keep things in and stroke when I was feeling poignant.

But for now I am just a bit hungry and looking forward to my slices of bread for lunch. It's a wonderful life.

Living with Penelope

Blogosphere, hear me roar!

I'm not totally sure what I'm roaring about but I thought I'd kick things off with a big noise and we can go from there. That ok?

Well, I'm sorry you were expecting something a little more profound but I can't help but feel you're reading the wrong blog if that's what you wanted. Yes, this is Laura's blog. Lexx? Yeah, small one. No shoes? I thought that'd work. Cool.

So we're all up to speed? Why were you late? So far...not a lot. I roared, you guys argued a bit but essentially we've all settled down and are now enjoying each other's company. You more than me because, let's face it, I do the lion's share of the work in this shindig. Not that I mind. Oh, come on, don't get upset...but how often do you give input that isn't just in my mind? Exactly. Stop whining.

I went to Manchester yesterday. I REALLY like Manchester. It is full of excellent coloured buildings that look interesting and slightly archaic but still exciting and spiffy. Yes, that's right Manchester, I gave you spiffy. It's not as grey as London - not that I don't like London, it's just I think it can lack personality.

I'm a dedicated Southerner and I'd genuinely struggle to move up North but it really is appealing sometimes. The problem with London is that there is so much personality stuffed into here that we almost lack an identity as a community - we are the mongrel of the UK. The most popular stereotype of a Londoner is a moody curmudgeon on the tube that wears a suit and talks to no one.

I dislike this stereotype and feel that we only fall into the trap because it's expected of us. If people talked about London as being a super colourful vibrant place then I'm sure we'd let that soak into our bones and we'd go with it. Like Camden, Camden high street has really taken people's fantasies and run with it - why can't the rest of London go with that?

As an experiment I tested out whether Londoners are stuck in their rut by making sure I smiled at 5 people on the tube to see their reactions. They ALL smiled back! What a discovery! All London needs is someone to chivvy them into realising that we don't all have to play up to the mindless drone stereotype. We are dying to talk to each other and express some personality and turn our city into some kind of happy town where people don't judge us based on the behaviour of tired commuters on a packed public transport system.

And if we don't all join together and do it then I'm moving to Manchester. Fact. So, here you go - out and about today pick 5 people who look the least like muggers and smile at them. I bet they were just dying to find someone to smile at. Makes you feel like a hell of a person.

Denver has the lowest number of water buffalo

Going to Manchester today...I like Manchester. It's full of men and pecs. Work that one out yourselves.

yesterday was an arse-ridden day full of pox and gimpy things that made me wrinkle my nose and weep. Weeping is a much better way to say 'I cried like a small child at the age of 24'. Weeping implies I was a maiden who had been long since separated from her family and forced to work in a corn field but carried on stoically, even if I did weep a little at night. Silently of course. Weeping says nothing of the streaming nose and puffy eyes. Weeping also sounds a little like a sore. Like a big nasty red boil that oozed pus. I was not like that. But I may have wept.

I'm not weeping today. I'm going to Manchester to see tall buildings and talk to important people.

It's been a busy week and here are some major reasons for the blog hiatus, which I count as holiday time and shall not be shouted at for;

1. It was my birthday. Yes, that's right. I got a year older and am now at the shockingly dizzy heights of 24. I'm hoping 24 is going to be a really good age to be. I wasn't really a fan of being 23 - except for Lapland which was a total lifetime wonder - nothing much good occurred at the age of 23 and overall being 22 was a lot better. I'm wondering if it's an inate need for control that I can only really enjoy myself when I am an even number? Which means I'm going to be totally screwed up when I'm 30 because although I know it is an even number, I consider it an odd one and this is going to be tricky. My birthday was a day of 2 halves - 1 half being poo and in Gravesend, the other half being a delightfully laid back evening of drinks with some awesome people.

2. I moved house. Potentially more exciting than this whole nonsense birthday thing. I now live precariously close to the Monopoly board having just transferred to within spitting distance of the Old Kent Road. This move is intended to save me a lot of time in the morning and to give me somewhere fancy to live. Fancy, yes. Time? Not yesterday while the entire London transport system ground to a halt over these tube strikes. I was astonishingly late for work. This sparked a fail day of epic proportions which wound up with me losing £1200 and shouting at a bus all the way home.

That bus was a knob. Like a big, red, mechanical road based tapeworm.

3. I did some comedy for children. This was an excellent addition to my weekend - they are difficult but satisyingly interesting to perform to. Long may my foray into the world of children's entertainment continue...yessum. I found out that my long term plan to have everyone living in bouncy castles is a fail plan and that tomorrow's generation wouldn't go for it...shame. No imagination the youth of today.


And those were the highlights of my week. Except for deciding that I am truly addicted to X Factor and not ashamed of it. Saturday nights are now firmly Merlin, X Factor and sleep. Cool I am not.

Le Freak

Well, I have not blogged for an age,
Because I went out earning a wage.
I decided it sucked,
And the world can get fucked,
And I'll blog when I'm let out my cage...


*Normal Service Resumes Tomorrow*


Much like the tramping sodding bumfuckwit underground which can go soak its balls in vinegar for ruining my morning which had a knock on effect on the rest of the wanktestical day.