Tuesday, 28 April 2009


I've never done this before.I've poured myself a glass of red wine to help me work. Oh my god. I don't even like wine. But right now I like it more than I like everything else. I just sat down there and thought, what else do I want to do right now, and I didn't even want to procrastinate. I wanted to cry a bit, but mostly I just wanted to scream and be able to work. So I had a sing (I can't) and then put some music on to distract my thoughts.

I did just procrastinate for an hour, but then I was at work for 8 hours so I needed to get my self back. Cooking's the thing. Muesli, prune(?!) flapjack, pancakes in two courses, a production sourdough starter and tomorrow's lunch. Not bad. But bad. Oh God look at my sentences. They are short. They reflect the synapses. Times like this are when people step back and go, no this can't be real, we can't ACTUALLY be at war, we can't ACTUALLY be in a flu pandemic from frigging pigs of all things, I can't ACTUALLY have got this haircut, CHRIST. You step back from it and it's almost like it's not even you you're watching, if it was someone else you would snigger and say to yourself, what a stupid haircut, blue, WTF, who gets that, I'm glad that's not me, but, well it is me. I am running this show. This shit is my fault. It's me stepping back the way I have for years, no thanks, I shalln't try, I'll stay wallowing here, thanks.

So the woman came in again today, and I tried to convey to her the weirdness but she was crammed on table 1 and I was overseeing her and we couldn't communicate. I had a more condensed thought of the same, why am I here, how did I remove twice from my originality, how did I get here, no wonder this is hard. No wonder I am blocked. I should be a nail technician. Or the manager of Jigsaw. But no, I will be cocky, think I'm great, I'm better, I'm here, but when the evidence is lacking, here I am again lost behind and bedraggled. Nail technician not looking so bad. Hairdresser. Manager of DKNY in the Mailbox. Christ.

It's about what you want to say. And yes this is hard after a day spent talking to strangers about the differences between nutty and dark cherry and butterscotch(y) tongue-tingle(y). Yes, really it does, honest, buy some, it's CRAZY. I can't get me back after a day of Work. I don't work well. I float well. When I float well I feel alive like Pipilotti's character with the red hot poker, LA LA LAAAA, smashing the car windows, LA LA LAAAA, glass over my feet but WHATEVER...I am FREEEEEE. When I don't float, I am working. I am operating well in a constrained system where I sweep coffee grinds into a red dustpan and snip labels so they don't trail into the beans. I change the outside bin, I file the coffee count sheet into a file with it's holes not really punched that central. I stack cups with the handles at 22.5minutes past, I keep the sink grime free. I let the plates steam dry. I talk in fabricated adjectives and do these tasks to the best they can be done and I forget me. I am a cog. But like, at least I feel grateful that it's not Coffee Union, right. But still, tempting this creative side back out, the chronic goes against the new. It jars and makes me want to throw stuff.

Ideas also go stale. You think about an outfit for 8 weeks and won't want to wear it by then. It's my own fault, I don't know what I was waiting for. Perhaps something better. The institution puts a timescale on greatness, the deadline is a pinnacle, a sample of the cumulative greatness of Me. I can't believe I fell for the institution again, why not do the idea right as it was real and exciting and new, not hang around waiting for some green light. So that's one glass of wine and nothing yet done. At that point when it's go to bed for today or have another go at it.

Another glass of wine on the desk. And some prune flapjack. Winey sourey revelationary(y)

Friday, 24 April 2009

Running, walking, skipping, and torpor

So another Good Day in the fact that brain is on and open, ideas are processing, and you can almost feel the cogs. Thoughts feel strange when you are watching yourself have them. You are a moderator to the synapses; yes, hmmm, maybe, maybe not for you thought...oblivion. I have had a good day of putting information in my path, processing how it may be important to be, giving myself a pat on the back for being interested in things again. But then that little slug of work comes creeping around, tomorrow's shift closer than the one I finished at 7.30pm last night, so, like Julia Bradbury (again?), we are moving towards something (the North Sea) rather than away from it (the Lakes).

I'm not against working, I do enjoy my job, it's just this creative momentum of mine is a very delicate bete and it needs nurturing almost more than a newborn. It doesn't seem to fend well for itself. I stop tending it, and go into work mode. Just a few groups of negative thoughts swath in and cover it up, in some sweaty, itchy, polyester blanket. Then before I know it, the momentum is gone, flattened into the ground...oblivion. And I'm left picking up some dusty scraps. Now, I'm in danger of collapsing under my own metaphor here, but this is the difficulty in trying to convey an intangible thing.

I was thinking the other day, what I do enjoy on all levels is communicating. Whether it's ideas, visual sensibilities, information. I enjoy making people see, this is how it is, this is what I think, this is how I feel. It's not about being in a vacuum. Which is also why these holed up days of 'production' don't work. I need to connect with people to make things real. But then you're also fighting with the fact that these moments of genius do come from a quite place of contemplation.

I haven't written anything today. But I am going to start now. I'm going to surprise myself. I also want to enjoy my time at work and not feel angry that I can't think. I think each feeds the other. I'm not sure how successful I would be as a freelance journalist, home working is definitely difficult. One moment you're running, then you remember you're not ready, and you slow down, and it becomes fun, and before you know it you're in self-satisfied skipping territory. I am ace! Three hours later and it's torpor. Which I found out as a word today, and I love, so perhaps I didn't do too badly.

Thursday, 23 April 2009

Thoughts on The Zone

The Zone is like a cat that jumps up and sits on your lap when you weren't expecting it, at someone else's house, you find yourself stroking it, oh look, a cat, and then it's kind of nice and you don't want it to leave. Look at how I am bonding with this creature, and it likes me and I like it, ah aren't we in harmony, see? Nice cat... And then a few minutes later it bites the fleshy bit between your thumb and forefinger and you throw it off, and it walks away like it doesn't even care.

The zone is like that. You can't predict it, it falls on you like some 90s advert for cut-price sofas, on your head and you're flattened, and you struggle with it and run with it, and you feel really really pleased. Things are rolling, you're brain is moving, all the synapses are fizzing and things are happening. Shifts, words, changes, ideas, moments, flashes, solidification. Then the brain comes to a standstill, gets tired or goes off the boil, so you move away and leave it alone, thinking, I'll pick up on this later. Only later it won't be summoned, the zone. Zone! Zo-one, where arrre youuuu? ZONE! But no it's skipping away in some field of poppies wearing a white dress and a picnic basket, FUCK OFF it shouts through the sunny haze.

GRRR. I woke up at 6.40 today, good day I thought. But no, 3 hours later and I've still not done anything but a bit of research and now I have to go to stupid work and sit upon any inklings that may have been brewing this morning. I have a block. I need a new way to move my head on, not feel scared about not doing everything at once, as long as I do something. Now I have to go and brush my teeth and sign myself off for the rest of Thursday the 23rd of April 2009. Bloody great.

Saturday, 18 April 2009

Radio 4 & Waitrose

I have just discovered Radio 4 Podcasts. This is what has been missing from my life. I ave spent this week off work basing my days around the Radio 4 schedule and tv programmes featuring Julia Bradbury. Interesting facts or countryside of Britain, yes please. I love the geeky ones like Material World and Moneybox Live. I like how much fun they have on Midweek, clever and fun, it can happen! I think my ideal programme would be some science/art feature presented by Dr Mark Lythgoe on the Caledonian Express, and it would also be a TV tie in. Imagine! Maybe Jenny Murray would board the train at some point and Nigel would make her corned beef hash, that was such an amazing programme. It's pretty hefty that they keep all those Women's Hour features from nearly 10 years back.

I wanted to see a celebrity in Waitrose. I thought I saw Ben Fogle at the newspapers but I also thought he came into the shop the other day, and this was a different person, so perhaps Ben Fogle is a common look. I keep checking people's names when they pay by credit card, really slyly using my sideways eyes, and one time one of them will be a radio personality or writer, for sure. I don't know what I'll do when I spot one, will I be able to hide my excitement, will it be appropriate to tell them 'this is you', and they'll be like 'yeah, it is me'.

Waitrose in Islington! Oh my! So many things to look at, such a different experience. It cost me 72p for one leek. Pink Ladys were £2.55/kg and I know for a fact they are £1.32/kg on Newington Green. That's extortion. But then unsulphured organic apricots were only one pence more than the orange ones, which were more than Sainsbury's but the brown ones are nicer and there's no chemicals. And Lindt 85% chocolate is only £1.16. I think it's over £1.50 in Sains. It pays to be a good consumer and have your eye on these markers. I'm happy I know how much stuff is, how much it changes, which shops have got their pricepoint slightly wrong, or more likely very wrong. Good news for eagle eyes. 400g of 75% milk-free chocolate for £2.60 is excellent value. That makes my 8" chocolate cake well worth it. I am such a bloody geek on this stuff.

Waitrose are taking over ex-Woolworth's stores, slipping in and upgrading. I accused the checkout boy that I bet there's no ex-Woolies staff in here, but was pleasantly corrected. He gave me a charity token. The company is also planning an overtake of 13 Co-op Food Stores, which rather saddened me, but then John Lewis Partnership are just a more corporate version of the Co-op. I am glad to be a member, and might join John Lewis Card scheme, just for the free Waitrose Food Illustrated. The Co-op swallowed Somerfield recently, which I'm sure swallowed Kwik Save a few years back. John Lewis and the Co-op will definitely merge. I hope it's a merge rather than a displacement. I feel a feature coming on...

Thursday, 16 April 2009

The Outnet is Open

So theOutnet.com is now live. Natalie Massenet's bargain bin has been opened. Imagine all the odd bits and bobs sitting scrambled in a grotty warehouse somewhere in Kent, waiting for someone to love them, clouds of fashion death hanging over their heads. Or heels. How many times have they been back-and-forth from the hugely successful and revolutionary NET-A-PORTER, to homes that decided they weren't quite right, how many miles have these objects done? Will they be somehow reconditioned, will the customer be able to tell it's old stock, scuffed and tried a thousand times?

Still, it's tapping into my wants. I've already started chugging through the designers, some not yet 'live', no doubt sitting under a few inches of dust in some dark corner. Is this really what we need right now, an extra reason to part with cash? Remember that shirt you nearly bought 3 seasons ago, but didn't, well here it is now, want it as a plaster for something that's missing? Want. Powerful thing. I am always wanting something. As long as there are things,I will want. Especially cut price.

If the world worked smoothly, there wouldn't be such excess. Things would sell out first time, even before it's time, the way APC tends to. Annoying, an empty bin, but a clean sweep feels satisfying for all concerned. The lucky owners feel rewarded and part of something, valuing their purchases for keeping the machine going. The missers-out (i.e. me) feel sad they gambled. The companies feel satisfied they know their market, and the books are balanced. A rather good-looking economy for all concerned.

theOutnet.com is apparently 'chic-onomics!(TM)'. Is it really? For who? As well as the standard low prices, they are employing cruel devices with 'Flash Sales'. There's a trendy 72 hour Pop-up Sale with 80% off, and Going, Going, Gone with a price countdown equivalent to a heavy tussle on the shop floor, as an assistant makes mark-downs before your eyes. You can almost here shouts of 'MINE!'coming from across London. For some reason it feels like a London gimmick, the Outnet. A remedy for over-stimulation and easy access. Too much money, not enough taste? Reward it here! The ensuing frenzy makes me feel sick, but I can't say I won't be checking in from time to time. Especially when the APC alerts start popping through my inbox.

Monday, 13 April 2009

The Car Boot Sale

So yes it's a cute dog, but is it really news? It is news when it's on the front page, and funny when some papers choose the cute shot and others not. I was news once remember, now I'm just on my nan's wall. Anyway, I've recently thought getting a dog would be ok. I don't know what it was that made the change. I used to hate the scraggy dirty heavy things, but, kept at a distance, treated like a person, maybe ok. Not like dressing it up and things, just not having it lick your face. That is a cute dog. Maybe it's just literally happened this week, having the house to myself, thinking it would be nice to have something else alive in it, albeit something that can't speak. I'm liking the peace. I would also like to be able to pick up the dog with one hand.

There is a new car boot sale at Princess May Primary School. I couldn't be more pleased. Every Sunday from this day forward, I only have to roll, not even out of my street, to find treasure. Get up for 9, or you're missing out. Great news. The most bizarre melange though. A weird mix of poor poor Dalston and yuk riche Stoke Newington, Princess May Road is most truly where the two meet. The point is illustrated perfectly in my purchses of 80p tissues and £3 Toast silver silk top I nearly bought from Selfridges last year. It's a bit of a joke and I didn't buy it full price, but at three quid I'm happy enough to stick a stick in the car boot economy and swirl it round. The girl went back to reading her book, told me to enjoy it, and I am right now, wearing it over my dress for no reason.

There are tribes at car boot sales, tribes and trends. There are the poor people with loads of shit, trying to sell some shit to buy more shit. There are people with a grotesque spread of pink and white and plastic, they've got a not-so-small daughter. There are people who look like they put their entire house through a sieve and brought along the craziest remnants they didn't know they had. There was a vintage girl and a flea guy at this one. It might've been rude but I wore headphones the whole time, as I was listening to Woman's Hour. I found it successful in blocking out potential haranguing and it also made me quicker at the supermarket the other day.

Ah I am already loving my week off. I love being peaceful, cooking lazily, reading things, being informed, writing things though it's hard. This interview is a monster. It's so difficult, I didn't even imagine. I didn't think it was just going to roll off the tongue, but it feels closer to an academic essay than I thought it would. Remember I've never done it before though, so in a way it's a milestone. I wouldn't mind working for Wired. I think it's pretty ace actually. Though I doubt there's a place for any of us now and maybe I should just go into poetry instead and keep the creative side alive, instead of sitting on it with misplaced hopes of payment as reward. But strangely, it has rather spurred me on to want to do well despite the whole situation. If someone tells me not to bother, I'm going to do in anyway, and try twice as hard.

Sunday, 12 April 2009

Edamame is the new green

I've had them before, just the once, in Leon, in a side salad with a ridiculous name that I was embarrassed to say. They are so GREEN. It is a delicious yellow-green, and they shine. A smaller, fatter kidney bean, with an edge of almond, sharp join, as though to be cracked open. They taste like the sweetest peas and soya creaminess. I won't buy the Sainsbury's Basics ('varied shape, still taste great') Peas again, they are that cheap for a reason, and that reason kept me away from peas for about 22 years. But these, edamame, soya beans, woah. Amazing little treasures. Maybe they are the taste that she was talking about, umami, which is one of the Japanese-translated words for a savoury taste we haven't really defined in the West. This kind of makes sense, a protein satisfaction. I don't get it from quinoa, I do get it from these beans. It doesn't just taste like a vegetable. They've got omega-3 and A and B vitamins. That's pretty special for a little green wonder.

Next door are playing 90s R&B classics, Brandy - Another Day In Paradise, is on now. It sounds alright through the wall. They do enjoy themselves. It's a weird house, we don't know anything about each other. They have the whole house whereas we just have the upstairs (flat). I enjoyed that article about housing trends, even if it was a bit class biased. You just use your home in relation to your class, it's not really a choice of whether you want to be a slummer or an entertainer. I feel weird about my house (flat). I read that over 50% of people in Germany rent. I think it's only slightly more expensive than a mortgage. I don't want to share again, again. I want to go back to living with people I have chosen. There's that interesting thought that the only difference between someone you 'know' and someone 'random' is time. Whether you knew them before you moved in or not. I think that often at work with customers, the only barrier between us being friends is time and place. Now, I'm behind the counter and it's not the right place.

Someoene said I was trendy to my face yesterday. It was weird. Trendy is gross, shopping in Top Shop, being a Shoreditch hottie, being LONDON, doing what people expect and falling in with a crowd. Being an amalgam of Now, or Now Just Gone, which I strive not to be. Not consciously of course, that would be sick, but I seem to have a natural buffer towards anything trend-like, similarity, and expectation. I like to float and be light of touch with things whilst at the same time being committed to and believing in solidity. My hobbies are ridiculously varied and some might say rather too wholesome and middle aged. I like to think I float around everything and land on things that matter. But sometimes I do feel that my balance above everything actually leaves me floating without anchor or direction. Like these days I spend 'working', when really all they are is 'researching me' and trying to come up with something totally new. To me, new to me, though inevitably this will be reciprocated in the world.

It freaked me out that I bought a black Camper backpack for my bike antics in January, and it has this smaller inner mucky beige nylon bag, which I've been carrying in it's own right, lazily to Sainsbury's on a Sunday, or on a work break. Then Vogue runs this piece on The New Way To Carry Your Bag (May), and I'm doing it for two months before they even thought of it. I didn't watch anyone and think I'm going to do that, just grab my bag and go, look how Kate Moss I am. I just thought, this piece of bag looks funky-shit, I'm going to carry it like I don't care if I get mugged, like my mom would tell me to be careful, because I'm free and that. So I'm doing this rather by now boring action, and Vogue is reporting on it as though it matters? Is that what this course is all about? I've been struggling placing myself, where do I fit, what can I do, when all along I don't want to fit and can make my own do, so why the fuck don't I just get on with it?

Thursday, 9 April 2009

It Makes Sense To Have A Plan

British holidays are in fashion, and I think it's honestly great. Everyone is knuckling down and realising they quite literally can't afford to Go Abroad. Or even if they never could, these days there's more important stuff to put on the credit card, like food shopping. I woke up this morning as I do every morning, in a bllur (that was a typo but I like it) of Today Programme stories and dreams, wishing I could have a life where I need to get up at 6 and do nothing for 3 hours so I could listen to it properly. Was Delia on it yesterday, or did I dream it? My whole life could just be spent Listening Again to yesterday's Today. Anyway, someone on it today was talking about Center Parcs. It was nice! It reminded me of how excited I used to get when we were going holiday, all about the getting there, stopping at Little Chefs before a piece of bacon cost a pound. It didn't matter that you didn't get a tan, because it didn't seem to be a status symbol, and you got to go on the motorway! Well anyway, if holidaying in Britain is going to become popular by way of a sort of Martin Parr Postmodernism, 'it's shit, but look, isn't ice cream so KNOWING!', well, I think that's pretty cool. Beach huts, camping, look at us all rallying together to harness the power of BLIGHTY (very interesting definition and origin that word, look it up.)

The moon was pretty good last night. I sat in the lounge as it moved through the bay window, went to bed when it disappeared. I still don't get how we/the moon moves, how it all works, I will build an orrery one day. It made me feel quite relaxed anyway, like I was allowed to watch The Apprentice and Charlie Brooker's Newswipe, beacuse I'm also watching the moon. I want to get into television. In a knowing way of course. I've paid for it, hence it's free entertainment, so instead of meeting a friend for Pizza Express two for one, maybe I'll just organise a weekly Apprentice date. There can be popcorn and we can do face masks! Look how self sufficient things can be. However much I'm joking, it makes sense to not continue making these amazing dinners just for myself, Delia is right, One Is Fun, but it's not a good economy and a bit soul shattering.

I got lost twice yesterday. I ended up in Stepney Green on the way there, and Trafalgar Square on the way back. I wondered what this meant and how it would inflict on my day. I enjoyed the tunnel, it felt a bit naughty. And I also enjoyed following a bike man with horrible skinny calves who I followed again eight hours later on the way home, it made me feel like I was in the right place. Especially as I had stopped at Moro on the way home to check out the menu. I read a thing the other day, I think in the Mind bit of the Weekend, about coincidences, saying that instances happen a million times a day, but you will only remember the most coincidental, nice ones. Like a friend ringing you out of the blue who you thought about this morning. But this following the same person, it's less a coincidence, more a feeling of locality, nice in London because it's just bigger that other places and it's nice to feel like you're not alone.

I behind with the interview, stuck with the essay, and nervous about ringing people for hats and watches. I just don't feel like I'm putting on the journalist's hat quite yet. Maybe a good excuse to go out and buy a journalist's hat. And put it on whilst on the phone. I'm not sure what I want to get from the essay, which isn't necessarily a problem-unraveller, but more of a discussion around things that interest me. Even so, it's difficult because I don't want it to become a sort of meet-the-heroes kind of thing, it needs to be focused, and be saying something. I should mention that I did just re-listen to yesterday's Today, and Delia was mentioned, but completely out of context and for about 7 seconds. So that must tell me, that even when I'm half akip I'm still pretty on it.

Tuesday, 7 April 2009

Fantastic Economy

I have just bought myself an amazing cashmere jumper from Gap, which I intend to work backwards from in an imagined way as reward for payment from an article I am writing which will never actually be published. Phew. It made sense at the time, and although daft and ludicrous I'm going to stick to it. If I start to imagine the writing not as School Work but as Livelihood (ie jumpers and rent and that), perhaps it will lift the iron on me which makes everything so goddamn big and scary. Therefore, at £7/hour, my now-going rate, the jumper is 'paid' for in seven hours of work. I define work at my own peril, but mostly indicates submittable product, and this kind of counts too.

I read a piece by a Guardian journalist who a friend of a friend used to live with at uni. She told me how this journo crazy girl would slum around in her pajamas, ringing up people at the merest sniff of a story. So she's hot stuff basically. She wrote this thing is the g2 called 'On your bike! Why we need more women on two wheels'. So basically something I could've got my teeth round if I'd wanted to. It was talking about the way the aesthetic has kept women away so long, how a Topshop concession (possible to transfer nationwide) might change this, and how it's flying in the face of the liberated women of the past who were free to get about without their husbands and their dresses. But it doesn't really get to the point, in that most women give a shit about what they look like, and if you like to look polished, you do not look like it after a four mile bike ride. So all this aesthetic malarky is ok, retro accesories, bells baskets and 'cycle fashion', but if your not a cheesy cow (I certainly am not) what are the serious options?

I think I have cracked it, almost, the old blending tech with chic thing. Clothes have to be breathable, so either cottons or tech fabrics. I love my Stella McCartney/Adidas coat. I love that I was wearing it in the Fashion v/s Sport exhibition on tour at the Walker, and a woman accosted me over it. It was pretty fucking cool. Funny that it took half a year and 200miles to get the guts to wear it. I quite like the Sustrans Bike Belles site, though it sounds and is a bit cheesy. "There's no reason at all why you can't cycle in heels. It's easy!" No it's not, and no you shouldn't, I hate seeing these women with their heels locked into the pedals, throwing their knees back as they go. I do like what the site says about putting your hair in a bun under your helmet. And waterproof mascara. It's true you get a glow that's better than makeup when you cycle, all that lymph swimming around. I have to put less make up on when I get there.

I'm really enjoying the coming home in the light thing. I'm seeing things I usually can't, literally. New shops, services and restaurant deals. It's really nice to see things. It's like promenading but so much faster, you're not actually wasting any time. I have started to think about the money it saves too, if I hadn't ridden today it would've cost me £4.40 to get to work and back. So I spent half of that on half a Little Ryding instead. These economics I've got going are dangerous. So now I'm going to go and have a look at my new jumper, and remind myself what I'm working towards, or away from, or however I want to make my own silly sense of this writing.

Monday, 6 April 2009


I love a programme that thanks the Ordnance Survey in it's credits. Followed by House of Elliot, this could be the most ideal bit of programming I have seen since I stopped watching TV the last time. Wow. I just finished a £4 goats cheese like it was a 25p goats cheese. All melting gorgeous at room temperature, on thin bits of apple, oh my god. Little Ryding. I chose it because of the name if I'm honest, but it was most rewarding. Very indulgent. Lipstick, nail varnish and goats cheese anyone? You've got to indulge in these times so they say. Can't wait for Coromandel 473, delicious.

My channel has just closed for the night! Yesterday. My ideal channel and it's only on in the day. That guy was in a hot air balloon! Perfect with my 90s haircut, a 90s special day out! Is it wrong that I still get excited when the Alton Towers advert comes on? Yes it is. Always makes me think of Jonathan Creek, those manipulative advertisers, and their classical chills...oooh. What the hell is Dermot O'Leary doing? he has hair and is pretending to be Paul O'Grady. At least he's not pretending to be Lily Savage. Or Cilla Black. QVC was something else. I nearly let it slip at the hairdressers that I saw Antoinette Beenders on QVC in the early 90s. Yes, there was nothing to do in the Midlands as a teenager living on the A4123, so when it rained you just home shopped. Silver jewellery and luxury shampoo.

The cheese isn't goat it's sheep! Well ewe. And it's from Shepton Mallet. I need to ring him about the coffee festivals but I can't seem to bring myself to do it. It's like begging. It was funny when he told me I was rude. And funny when he came in the shop and I had a conversation with my past. Maybe I'll ring him now. When will I be too old to think working at festivals is a dirty waste of time and not a good earner? About the time I'm not thinking of trading in my Tesco vouchers for a Tussauds Annual Pass. Festivals, Alton Towers, Hot Air Balloons, Beirut. Diversify those dreams. Poor Lebanon. Foodie haven waiting to happen but a little bit too dangerous for us westerners, not really used to daily risk of death. Crazy about that earthquake in Italy, death happening, locally. And then some car bombs in Baghdad. Same effect different cause.

Oh it makes getting excited about the new Vogue feel a bit naughty ridiculous. I guess it's just about making sense of things in your own way. That thing about life being futile so you may as well laugh, or do whatever you can, to fathom it. Those police ads have been plaguing me this past week. They are straight off the back of the Keep Calm poster, a mythology that's been brewing for years and is now overpriced and over out. It's called the Policing Pledge, with sayings like 'You have the right NOT to remain silent'. I quite like it. It seems a bit off kilter though, not sure why. We'd like to give YOU a good talking to. Sounds naughty.

Sunday, 5 April 2009


Not been burning to write fir ages. Been working 4 days a week instead. And getting trains on another two. Life is wooshing by in blocks on Sunday-to-Monday weeks, a blissful day off recharging, resetting, recalibrating in Sunday, then working a group of days throughout the week, fitted in around a trip out of London for a day (two very short nights, night much sleep). It's hard fitting everything in, meaning I'm not so much busy, but various parts of life are jostling for prize of highest importance. Commitments and fancies, needs and wants, doing a barn dance together throughout my week making it a nightmare to plan any time to actually be creative. Surely this bit should just happen?

We were talking yesterday about what you wanted to be when you grew up. I wanted a shop, which I've already (kind of) had twice, one for food and another for jewellery. I do quite fancy having one of those shops up the road, full of items and designers and brands you like, ready to pass on the aesthetic to the public. I also quite fancy being a dancer or a pianist, but the age/10,000 hours thing looms there. I'd quite like to go back to art college (ageless), live on a barge, work in Paris (somehow) but what we settled on was talking about being an air stewardess. Even the men are esses really. It's an act. Oh sometimes I think about being an actor too. Or a playwright, cafe owner, etc etc

Anyway, we were talking about this lifestyle, where your job is your life, everything comes as one beautiful, debauched package, not forsaking one thing for another, but a wholeness where time makes sense in relation to other time. I was saddened the other day when I realised why I'm getting frustrated and time is just going to waste. I'm spending days a work, which I enjoy, but the reality is I have NOTHING to show for it. No product, no production, no deals, no change, no history. The nature of the beast is a chronic day, each time the lights are turned off so the history is reset. Which saddened me, when I think I thrive on production and result. Maybe everyone needs a reward. Or maybe it's like he said, my reward is time. The 3 days a week of freedom, when amazing things are supposed to happen. Which has ever been my frustration something shit for something genius, but now I'm starting to feel strange that I actually also like my job. It's not a fair trade.

I am more than ever pleased to be defined by what I do 4 days a week, but know ultimately I need result for my hard work, to be satisfied. And at some point there has to be a shift in 'what I do most of the time'. These portfolio careers make that difficult. A bit of this, here and there, slot in some social/realtionship life and cinema trips, food shopping and time spent travelling. Weekends? But ultimately I should be doing what I like doing most of the time, getting paid for it, and then hopefully trying to do this school work wouldn't feel so bloody awkward...