Man dream: Charles’ dreamed last night that he was trying to tell some mathematician that propositional logic has inference rules just like algebra.
Woman dream: A couple of nights ago I dreamed I was putting bits of silver tinsel and red berries in Charles’ hair to make him pretty, whilst singing happily “You are my twinkletoes!”
Grooh, tired! Only managed 5 hours sleep last night on top of the 3 of the night before and the 5 of the night before that. Bleurgh. Sleeping, I used to be so good at it!
I’m cooking a biiiiig meal for a couple of Charles’ friends tonight. And I’m extremely overtired, premenstrual and ill, which isn’t really a good combination when you've got guests coming! I’m glad they're coming though, it gives me something to do other than wallow in my pit. (God I’m such fun, how my scintillating laugh tinkles out across the room…)
I like to be an organised person. I like to be prepared for every eventuality. I wasn’t a boy scout (well, I wasn’t a boy!) but I should have been – my motto is definitely ‘Be Prepared’ to excess!
Tomorrow Charles and a couple of his friends are coming to dinner. This means not only that I shop and cook, but that I worry about how they will get home afterwards. (Because of course they can’t work that out for themselves.) So I logged onto the National Rail and the Transport for London websites (to double check them against each other in case one was missing a train or two!), checked out all the engineering works that will stuff up train travel and tube travel tomorrow... and I have now come up with the Ultimate Get Home Without Too Much Hassle Timetable Plan (patented). That's 'without too much hassle' for them, by the way - I spent literally hours on it and feel very hassled indeed!
If you could see the numerous sheets of paper (well, OK, piles of paper... several forests worth of mashed tree in fact!) I have on my desk detailing every combination of travel from every station within a 5 mile radius of my house… going to each person’s home area … oh my god, get a life woman!
I’ve decided I’m fed up of always having to scrape pennies together to survive. I want to be rich! With that in mind I was checking out one of those ‘How to Get Rich’ websites, reading up on the secrets of the millionaire mind (apparently!). Here are some of the points:
1. Rich people believe, "I create my life." Poor people believe, "Life happens to me."
Well I'm with him there. I can't stand people who just pathetically sit around and wait to see what happens to them. Especially those people who just shrug and say, resignedly, "Oh, well what can you do?" They deserve a slap around the chops for that!
2. Rich people play the money game to win. Poor people play the money game to not lose.
Erk! That's scary! Just the words 'money game' make my eyes goggle and my heart stop beating! I'm just not a natural gambler!
3. Rich people are committed to being rich. Poor people want to be rich.
Not sure I've got the energy to be 'committed' to it - sounds like hard work! I suppose I'm like most people, I'd really quite like to become rich overnight but I don't like to think of having to devote my life to actually doing something about it! Lazy!
4. Rich people think big. Poor people think small.
Hmm, I think big but act small - see number 2 on being a gambler for the reason why!
5. Rich people focus on opportunities. Poor people focus on obstacles.
I'm always focussing on opportunities. I'm fab at it. I can see everyone's opportunities, loads of them, and if only everybody would actually do everything I say they would all be rich and happy. Me included! Oh yes, that's why people like to find obstacles - because if they can manage to come up with a reasonable-sounding obstacle (ie, excuse!) then they won't have to do anything - ie laziness rules! Actually, these people make me mad too - there's no such thing as "I can't." Just do it, man!
6. Rich people admire other rich and successful people. Poor people resent rich and successful people.
How true! Saddos that never achieve anything are always inclined to think that richness/happiness just 'drops' into the laps of other people, and refuse to see the effort that goes into getting these things. Laziness again! They don't want to acknowledge that you have to actually work hard to get stuff!
7. Rich people associate with positive, successful people. Poor people associate with negative or unsuccessful people.
Well, I have to say that I do neither. I associate with nice people! (But for all you nerks out there who think you have to stomp on people to get rich - some of these nice people are actually very well off!) Hmm, I don't like negative people though - what's the point in being negative about stuff? It just makes everyone around you miserable, plus it shows you up for being an idiot who is incapable of seeing all sides to a situation!
8. Rich people are excellent receivers. Poor people are poor receivers.
Hey, I'm an excellent receiver! Anything you'd like to chuck my way....!
9. Rich people think "both." Poor people think "either/or."
Ha! I could teach this bloke a thing or two - I don't think "either/or." I don't even think "both." I think "ALL!"
10. Rich people have their money work hard for them. Poor people work hard for their money.
That makes sense. I work to get money - it hasn't, until now, occurred to me that my money can work to make more money for me. But of course it can! Dur!
11. Rich people manage their money well. Poor people mismanage their money well.
Yup! Just look at all those plonkers who think credit cards are 'free money' and run them up to the hilt each month.
12. Rich people act in spite of fear. Poor people let fear stop them.
See number 5 on obstacles. Fear means you can be lazy but cover your laziness up by pretending you have this big scary thing stopping you doing stuff.
13. Rich people constantly learn and grow. Poor people think they already know.
Hey, don't talk to me, I know everything! No that's sooo true! Anyone who refuses to listen to another person's opinion or viewpoint because they think they know the answer already is just an idiot. The world doesn't stand still - so even if you did know everything on one day, you wouldn't the next!
Anyway, regardless of whether the above makes sense (and I think basically it does), I’ve just realised that my financial focus is, and always has been, stupidly wrong. My goal has always been not to get into debt (ie, to keep my finances above zero). I thought this was a good goal – no debt, yay! – that makes me better than all those suckers with credit cards and loans who are giving a fistful of free money to the banks each month! However, thinking about that now, I reckon my goal is actually a bad goal that just sounds good (a goal in sheep’s clothing!). You see, because of this goal, whenever I have had a bit of spare money I’ve always spent it… ooh I have £20 left over this month, that means I can buy a new top, or a necklace! How nice! Nu-uh! SPARE money??? It’s not spare! It’s money that at the very least should be set aside for when the water bill comes in, or the service charges, or the phone bill… and at best should be put to work for me in order to make some more money. If I keep my focus on never going into debt, ie living just above zero, then of course I will always be skint! Of course I will always panic whenever a bill comes in! Dur! Because, let’s face it, there will always be a million nice things to spend any ‘spare’ money on, no matter how much I have!
So I’m changing my goal now. Staying out of debt isn’t enough. I am now working towards being mortgage free in 10 years time.
Let’s check back in the year 2016! :-)
I was emailing with Charles today and yesterday, trying to decide what money needs to go where, and offering to post a cheque through the door of the estate agents for him. Being helpful again. Helpful, pah! I want to throw my toys out of the pram and go “Waaaaah, no you can’t have any money cos I want you to move in here!” But I can’t do that, it would be mean. (God, why can’t I be mean?!)
Decided I need to try and eat less as the waistband of my trousers is getting a bit uncomfortable lately, it squeezes me in half like I’m a tube of toothpaste. So I came home from work and stuffed about 20 chocolate biscuits into my face. Cos that’ll help!
Not a good day today. Or at least it was a good day for Charles (and I am really happy for him, even though it might not sound like it here!) but it was definitely a sliding down the scale to zero day for me.
I hadn’t slept well at all – it's this flu bug sore throaty thing, I haven’t slept properly in over a week – and tiredness always makes me feel a bit low and depressed anyway, not a good start to the day! But in spite of being knackered we dragged ourselves out of bed early in order to go and view a potential flat in Richmond.
The flat was lovely. It was roomy and light, decorated all in white, which made it feel fresh. It was bigger than Charles’ current poky little room, this one even had a bathtub (woo hoo!) and a separate kitchen. And a window that opened and actually let in daylight (woo hoo again!). No more living like a trog in a darkened pit for Charlieboy! Hopefully it would be quiet, too, as it was on the top floor of the house with carpets and cupboards between it and its nearest neighbours.
After a bit of umming and ahhing, and a wander through the High Street to test how long the walk to the station would be, he decided he definitely would take the flat. The only problem was the deposit. How anyone ever manages to move to new rental accommodation I have no idea, as you hand out a big deposit to your landlord and then you can’t get it back again for the next property until you’ve already moved (and that's assuming your landlord does return it rather than keep it in lieu of replacing the crappy cheap shower that fell apart just two days after you moved in). You need several thousand pounds spare at any one moment if you’re to juggle two deposits – and who on earth has that to spare except for people who own their own houses and don’t need rental deposits anyway? So, helpful me piped up with the fact that I could use my two overdrafts to lend Charles the deposit. Sorted. And down we went to the estate agents to sign up for the flat.
But as Charles and the estate agent were talking I was suddenly hit with the realisation that, because I was being so helpful with lending him the deposit, he would not after all be coming to stay with me… even for a week, let alone my hoped for few months or more. It was all I could do not to burst into tears. I could see Charles and the estate agent looking at me sideways, obviously wondering why my face had suddenly gone all pink and sniffly! (I blame my tiredness and flu-i-ness... I like to think I would have remained a little more composed had I been well!)
But anyway, over-emotional girly reaction aside, what it comes down to is… if I was a mean person and had refused to help out I would have got exactly what I wanted, which is Charles to sleep with and chat to in bed at night, and to wake up next to in the morning, and to go food shopping for, and to cook for, and make the house look nice for, and all those saddo things which I actually enjoy because I’m a saddo… but because I was trying to be helpful I lost out and will get none of that nice stuff. Let alone a bit of rent which, being honest, would have been bloody helpful right now! Aaaargh!
Life is for sliding down rainbows, my arse! Life is for getting into a dustbin and putting the lid on! Hrmph!
I looked in the bathroom mirror this evening and this white, ill-looking little face stared back at me. Cough, cough. I wish my sore throat would go away. I want to be bouncing with health again instead of doing my best impression of a piece of limp spaghetti.
Decided I’m a bit of a sad biddy… I was pulling Christmas crackers with myself earlier, the ones out of my Christmas hamper. Bang, bang, bang, three crackers. I got a plastic rattle, yet another kind of plastic rattle and a spinning top. I then increased my sad-biddiness by having a competition with myself to see how long I could keep the top spinning – longest was 51 seconds. Make mental note… must get a life.
I was still feeling crap and tired this morning. This bug really doesn’t want to leave my poor, wrecked, shell of a body. However, there was no way I was staying home today – Christmas Hamper Day – wahaay – the most exciting day of my working year! Every December my company gives its employees a nice big box of goodies… chocolate, wine, all sorts of things. Most people are very restrained (for ‘restrained’ read ‘boring’!) and wait until they get home to unpack their box and see what they have been given. But bugger restraint, that’s for wussies, I have to open the box immediately … got to try out the chocolates! Today I was stood with my car boot open eagerly ripping open the box and pulling out the contents when, one by one, three of my work colleagues came past, guffawing at me because I couldn’t wait. Ha! Fools! Who was the one who had posh chocolates for brekky then – moi!
I did some wheeler-dealering with Pete, who had also opened his hamper, trading the things I didn’t want with the things he didn't want. We seem to have fairly opposing tastes so it worked out well… my alcohol traded for his non-alcoholic fizz, my Christmas pudding traded for his mustard and biscuits! Fab! I didn’t do too badly out of Pete today. In the afternoon I wandered downstairs to find him, sleeves rolled up to his armpits, spraying aftershaves and perfumes onto every square inch of exposed skin and sniffing them. I joined in:
Me - “Poo, that smells like disinfectant!”
Pete - “Oh, I’ll give that one to my brother for Christmas then.”
He had one really fabulous scent on his upper arm. “Wow, I like that one!” “That’s a woman’s perfume, would you like one?” he asked. Coo, would I! It smelled expensive and sexy! I nodded eagerly and he disappeared out of the door, reappearing thirty seconds later with a box of a fragrance called Sira des Indes. “That’s worth £85 in the shops,” he said matter-of-factly. Then, tapping his nose, “I have my sources!”
Charles is going to be coming to stay with me for a bit! Wheee, that will be brilliant! He’s been having problems with the noisy, thumpy-on-the-ceiling yobs upstairs from his flat and has finally given up and sent notice to his landlord. He’s only planning on staying with me for a week or two while he looks for somewhere else to live, which is a shame, I wish he would stay longer…. and I'm hoping when he gets here he will realise how nice it is to have company, and how much work he can get done with a girl to do all the girly household things for him, and decide to stay! But anyway, I’m excited! It will be so cool to have him here! Happy!
* * * * * *
I’ve been doing some bodge-it DIY. The curtain rail in the sitting room of my flat is always coming away from the wall which has made pulling the curtains in the mornings a bit of a scary exercise. A couple of weeks ago I thought I had managed to fix it up properly and, with a bit of judicial cutting and sewing of the curtains, I had reduced their weight by about half too, so I thought this should suffice to keep the curtains up. This was not to be, however. The last couple of days I have noticed one end coming away again, so tonight I grabbed a hammer and whacked it… only for the entire rail to bounce off the wall and clatter to the ground, shedding curtain rings and curtains as it went. Hmm, not the result I had quite intended! There then followed a half hour of hammer wielding, screwdriver turning, and lots of climbing around on the back of the sofa to reach the top of the wall, and now I finally have everything back up again. Sitting here looking at it now, though, I’m wondering whether it was such a good idea to put big rawlplugs in the wall, and then little rawlplugs inside the big rawlplugs…!
I creaked out of bed horribly early this morning. Well, it wasn't actually that early I suppose, being just before 9.00 am and broad daylight, but as I've had two very late nights (ie, getting to bed in the wee small hours and then bouts of rumpypumpy delaying my sleep still further) 9.00 felt like the crack of dawn. I left Charles (hairy-chested sex god and My Adored) sleeping (lucky sod) and tried to stagger quietly out of the flat so as not to disturb him. However, my blurry, half-asleep eyes didn't spot his tango shoes and umbrella which were on the floor by the front door and I promptly tripped over them and hit my head on the door with a loud thump… so much for ‘quietly’! When I got outside it was pouring with rain and by the time I had splashed my way up the road to the car I had thoroughly soaked feet. Must buy some proper Winter shoes!
I had arranged to meet Siobhan and Helen for breakfast. They are friends from way back – we went to college together – and, although Helen now lives in Yorkshire, she visits from time to time and Siobhan is still living just around the corner from me so we manage to meet up quite regularly. Siobhan rang me last night to make arrangements:
Siobhan - "Hi Jodie, it's Siobhan."
Me - "Hi Siobhan, how are you?"
Siobhan - "I'm fine. Listen, we're meeting Helen tomorrow morning at 10.30, is that OK?"
Me, heart sinking at the thought of losing my lie-in - "10.30? Oh, OK then."
Siobhan - "In Ealing."
Me, aghast - "Ealing?!! But that's miles away!"
Siobhan - "Yes I know, but that's where Helen's hotel is and she's not feeling well so she doesn't want to travel far."
Me, despairingly trying to work out what time I would have to drag myself out of bed in order to get to Ealing for 10.30 - "Oh... erm… OK then. Ealing."
Siobhan - "Listen, I'll give you a lift over to save you driving."
Me - "Thanks but it's OK, I'll drive myself. Charles is staying with me tonight and I won't stay out long so that I can get back to him."
Siobhan, ears suddenly all aperk! - "Charles is staying with you! Ooh, that's good isn't it?!"
Siobhan is obsessed with people's love-lives. The merest whiff of someone fancying someone else (even if they've never said so much as "hello" to each other) and she is already mentally buying her hat for the wedding! I find this excruciatingly embarrassing at times – and as Charles was sat just six inches in front of me on the other side of a cafe table at that precise moment, this was one of those times! Just how do you have a politely phrased conversation about how long you've been 'doing it' when the person you're 'doing it' with is seated next to you obliviously sipping his Earl Grey tea?!
Anyway, this morning Siobhan was luckily more interested in catching up with Helen's gossip than delving into the details of my love-life, so I was spared any further 'interviewing' on the subject! We had coffee and croissants in Caffe Uno on Ealing Broadway, served by a large, handsome, Latino-looking man dressed all in black with a thick pony-tail. He really didn't look like the waiter type, far too glamorous. I would rather have expected him to be a bouncer in a nightclub or a mafia bodyguard, or even a film star – but he was very professional, perfectly polite, couldn't have been a better waiter! I stayed chatting to the girls for about an hour then headed back through the traffic to home.
Ooh it was nice slipping back into the hollowed-out warmth under the duvet that was Charles' sleeping body! Pure, comforting bliss!
I don’t know how Charles ever gets any rest, he sleeps in the most uncomfortable-looking positions. At one point I opened my eyes and looked at him and he was lying on his back, yet somehow curled sideways into the shape of a letter C, with one knee raised up and resting against the wall, as was the top of his head… and emanating gentle snores! Bless!
I’m officially stupid! :-(
Just logged onto my bank and in the last week I have spent £204 without even noticing because it was all made up of small amounts. How idiotic can a person be? Why does my brain think that small amounts don’t count when in actual fact they add up to a pigging great big amount??! In fact, why do I even forget half the shopping trips I make until I see them listed on my bank statement? Selective memory – if I don’t remember it then I haven’t really spent it!
Right, I’m going to buy (oh my god that word scares me now!) myself a little notebook and log everything I spend in it so I can see that if I visit Sainsburys four times in two days it equals more than £20!
