If it was on Facebook, Nigel and me would now be Friends

I'm ridiculously excited about getting another reply from Nigel. I will be excited about going to work everyday, because he might come in, or equally anyone might come in who is cool or weird or interesting or chatty. Like the Velib man, or the man that told me about Vinoteca being a good value alternative to Moro, and made me think it'd actually be alright to eat tapas at a bar myself as a Girl. It is hard to keep so goddamn jolly ALL the time, but hopefully I will have my jolly hat on when the time comes and it really counts. I mean I served Thom Yorke the other day and I wasn't bothered, but then I just listened to Radiohead a few times over this morning and reflected on how quite cool it was really. But when Nigel comes in I will be really excited and will probably make some work-mistake and get told off about it later (and again the next day, grrr). I don't think I'm starstruck, there's a difference between celebrity and someone who you think is actually quite cool. Like having Rose and Shona and Nigel in my inbox is the MOST exciting. They are actually quite niche people, and I really admire what they do and it enforces what I do, and that's what it's all about.

This illustrates that thing I was saying last year about London being this amazing linked up place where all the lines are laid out and everything links up and you can serve a celebrity in your cafe and it doesn't matter because in London they are just people. And then I can email Nigel a thankyou and say 'I think you came into the shop', I can go climbing and my fellow spare is a really cool girl from Paris, and that reminds me of how grand the world is, and how exciting things are. And this would never have happened if I lived on Planet Liverpool. I'm not saying capitals are the only way, but if you're interested in the world and all it's wonderful spidery links, then why the hell not live in the collective place where people are and things happen. It's not being against the outposts, but saying look, this place has concentrated opportunity, and if you like people and action, you should be here. Relax when your energy has naturally lowered, and live in the country. Match the pace to your age and ambitions.

I've realised recently how my punctuation is slipping. I think it's trying to bridge a gap between spoken word and written convention. When I say punctuation, I mean commas most specifically. I don't put them in writing(,) as I want it to read like I'm speaking. I wondered if it came from text speak, which it probably does, but I think maybe commas are over used. Are they for separating two clauses? I probably use commas when I should use semi colons, but I'd never speak a semi-colon. The distinction is interesting, between speech and writing. French seems to have a lot of confusion and tradition when it comes to the written-spoken word. Stupid amounts of tenses and intentions in what you're saying. I couldn't believe how much I enjoyed speaking French in France(,) and then I got into class and was immeasurable BORED. It's so fucking boring. Which I deduced as him just being a crap teacher, really. That must be it. So then I made 2 Parisian semi-friends this month(,) and got excited by the fact that we have something in common. Nothing really, apart from the ability to communicate in a second way. Languages are a web, like maps. I think I like Guillermo Kuitca. He seems quite interesting.

I don't name people in the blog. But I seem to have name dropped Celebrities quite freely this time. Celebrated people, famous ones. If I don't name people, my stories become quite abstract and it's only me who knows what I mean. I wonder who is reading the blog, 84 watchers so far. I was rereading an old entry, and I quite like the abstractness, the stories become mini morals rather than tales. (Quite nicely leading onto the fact that I just watched Maurice eating breadcrumbs off the surface, before poking near him with the end of a bread knife. That must make Maurice a celebrity.)

I Want (for) Too Many Things

I think the downside of being surrounded by all the signs and symbols all the time, is that you become over stimulated and this creates a need, a want. I never decided the difference between the two. At the moment I want (for), in no particular order:

Muji dogtooth black & white wool blanket
Paul Smith shirt, black with coins printed over it
The Hat
Clarks black 80s-but-comfy shoes
Muji recycled cotton bedsheets
Laura Mercier foundations
Peter Jensen Hawaiian print house coat
Yellow velvet cushion from Habitat
Balaclava from B Store
Black bike jacket and various parts

This discounts things I have put out of my head because they are out of my means price-wise, such as a people-print shirt for £300. This means that the things I haven't discounted, the things listed above, are things I will potentially succumb to.

When I want for things, I'm not a consumer. I want the shapes colours ideas that have come out of someone's head, into the world, that dance around with ideas in my head of what I think is breathtaking, and skip off into the sunset together. It's not transient, disposable, shallow, money. It's an ideology of what I believe in, things that make me tick, Portable Property of the most exciting kind. Look world, these are the things that I believe in! Aren't things amazing! Good & True, Good & True, skipping off into the sunset together! A happy ever after, an ideology. But will the want ever be satiated, when will the lights of the signs go off. They won't, we are bombarded, and I enjoy it.

One Hundred Pounds For A Hat. This may sound ridiculous, depends how you place it. I spend a hundred pounds on a hat. I used to spend £40 on one night on the town, once or more a month. Nothing remaining but experience and scant alcohol-doused memories. People do this. If they do that why can't I get the hat without feeling ridiculous. £40 a month gym membership. £20 a week smoking habit. I don't do that. Nice bottle of wine or two every week. Don't do that. Vices. Don't have them. Bad habits, failings, flaws. They waste time & money and leave no trace. If objects are my only vice then that's not a bad thing. If they can live on for years, five years and counting, their value is immense. It becomes difficult to draw a line, who could store so many things they loved and collected, when would their worth expend, my tastes veer, and would that turn me back into a dirty consumer. Two objects a month is 24 in a year, 24 new things. Clothes at least wear out and come with their own lifespan. Holes, bobbles, mistaken shrinkage, they exist to expend.

"The original notion of 'lack" was early extended to 'need,' and from this developed the sense [desire]." (Oxford American Dictionaries)

Four weeks later

Ideas for things I could be Expert at by 2019. I intended to write a list but actually once you factor in that the genius would then be 36, you have to begin to rule things out. Like ballroom dancer. Anything involved with one's physical appearance perhaps. I got kind of obsessed with the 10,000 hours thing, feeling like I'd already failed. I don't fell like I've got any momentum right now, except maybe a growing language pool. I think perhaps 20s are a time for the physical body, then as you get older you have to ensure your mnd is being conditioned too. I don't know what I thought when she said 'you don't look 26'. I wondered whether she meant physically, literally, or spiritually. I didn't know. I've never felt 'old enough' to grow up till about now, when concurrently I also feel too old. I'm not in the (25 and under) bracket. I am forever to old to be a Shoreditch hottie, or friends with some teenage coolsters. I am too old to design a scene. Perhaps this should be comforting, as I never strived to be part of anything.

I had a good time last night and thought perhaps it would be worth staying at Monmouth till next christmas just to see all those candles again. They were just beautiful, I could live in a cave like that. And it made be feel like when I first started; all these people flock there to be part of the aesthetic, the money, the history, the friendliness, the beautiful people. We work there. We are part of it without having to pay. It is a strange thing. The boundary that you have to cross from customer, separated by your spending power, to employee, embodying all the greatness and imbued with warmth. Compare that to Coffee Union. Takeout pizza piss up in a 30quid dress. I would now rather live in an unlit cave.

The evening was too short. There were too many interesting people to possibly have time to chat to. I find I come alive when my brain is stimulated. My words roll out and I'm surprised by the speed and eloquence. I come to decide things out of my mouth rather than in my head. I surprise myself with my ability to like people. I really enjoyed my dress and am SO grateful that I had help to de-wine it. I was about to cry and I was saved, it was so warming. I super enjoyed wearing my outfit in an environment where it could cause conversation, reaction and recognition. There's no point in anything if you can't share it with people. No point in dressing well, reading well, seeing films, seeing sights. If it doesn't process through it's existence, the dress just sits in the John Lewis moth bag and in my head. Still non existent: non effective. Pointless. This was what was missing before. Everything was still, there were no people I connected with equally, to share views, plans and ideas.

I got grumpy again last night at my lack of photo-taking. Capturing images of things that I would like to look at again. A kind of documentary photography really, not like Facebook pictures. Good candles, good outfits, roasting chestnuts and stuff. It made me realise that I must be kind of wanting to make something more permanent? Like wearing these outfits is all good but they are transient and it's not like I can even see it! That thing that making art is just about making the things you see in your head in real life. I liked what she said about still calling yourself an artist even if you're not making anything. A doctor doesn't stop being a doctor. Except perhaps Harry Hill. I liked what it said in the Vogue interview about Shona Heath being an artist. I just thought if I'm getting upset and seeing beautiful things that wont be captured forever (for me, in my head), perhaps I do want to make permanent things, and that will make me feel good again. In a group though. Not solitary like an artist. Maybe my ideal of that is outdated. It is isn't it. Being am artist doesn't have to be a traditional solo pursuit. I used to enjoy it didn't I, now I like people too much and things don't make any sense until they are expressed and shared.

Blogging in bed

I'm doing that thing when you can finally have what you've wanted all day, but keep putting it off still. "Isn't delayed gratification the definition of maturity?", points to any reader who can pinpoint and probably correct that quote. When you've been camping for 2 weeks and haven't had a shower apart from icey mountain water out of a plastic tube, then finally get to a hotel before the airport tomorrow, and maybe you'll just wait half an hour more, dirty, because you're just testing yourself about how much you need a shower, and it becomes a sort of game. I've been waiting to got to bed for about seven hours, now here I am, in bed, but not sleeping. I think maybe I've been tired but I've mostly wanted the time to myself, to claim myself back. I am in charge. I AM in charge.

It was the last day at Helfridges today, I decided I am not the person who says yes to that kind of work anymore, I just wont buy the incurring shoes instead. I will pass on the exchange of time+hell=money/(shoes+bedding) and just say no. I will not measure my success in the thread count of my awfully unethical cotton sheeting. How can I sleep on it now I've just thought about the poor Egyptian children. Oh my god. But I still bought them. Anyway, no, I won't say yes to things just because they are (nearly)£10/hour. I should stop being so material and needing rewards for giving my time away to something shit. A lot of people don't do this. They either aren't driven by commodities or they get a credit card. They keep their time for good things. I guess when I said yes I felt I needed to be punished or such like. 'If you won't do the course, then take THAT'.

Is it ok to feel quite jealous of their photographs? They look like so much fun, but I could never have carried on with that. I would much rather prefer to find my own way in. I wonder what I will say on the phone tomorrow. I wonder if it will be another one of those times where I build it up and set a date and the time comes and I have to go back down to 1 again. I need to relax and formulate a new plan. But I also need to focus on realities, not just future lists and ifs all the time. Little fake realities just set up for sadness. I'm doing it already. I'm a bit pissed off that article came out just last week. Bandwagon. And I though I was wile-y. I'll be fucking grumpy if that's a no too. No we won't let you come work here for free to see if you fancy it, you big faker, go the proper ways like everyone else you wile-y beast. Why am I making it harder, finding it hard to go by conventions? I guess I never fit into the conventions. The conventions never chose me, the ways are not my way. I'm looking forward to seeing my way. It seemed in sight about a month ago but recently things have slid. What did make me pleased was seeing a person from the past in my present yesterday, 'remember how SAD and DRESSED IN BLACK you used to be at Coffee Union?', 'I know, not now, look at my very COFFEE coordinated outfit, AND, I'm fucking HAPPY!' It was a great bit of pointless closure.

On a final note, a wave of sadness came over today. The premium roses stall in Selfridges, selling an alright-sized bunch for like £120, made me realise a wile doesn't always work. I made this snap decision- on seeing an assistant dead-heading a bunch, I knew what was next, and I for some reason, asked if they sell 'slightly dying' flowers. We had a bit of a communication issue, or maybe she couldn't just understand my insane request, and by that time the only-slightly dead-heads were upside down in the bin. From £8 a stem to bin, like that, just from a slightly curled petal. I wanted to snatch them out of the bin, 'I'm a contractor they say, don't I have SOME weight', and just have them. They were perfect 70s dusky magenta pink. They had no worth and the till was void and they were beautiful. Almost worth £8 a go but not really and I will never own one legitimately. But it shows you can't talk your way into everything. Or you could, buy you'd be on the edge of pleading insanity. But what would that matter on your last day in Helfridges for a week of amazing short-stemmed scented roses?

Is anyone reading the blog? And lost hats.

I just wondered who was looking at this, the profile views have gone up to to 37 and I know that's nothing but I'm sure it's not just me?

I was just thinking about all the hats I've ever lost. Sad times. I expect most were on trains. Remember that red beanie, it was amazing. Like £6.99 and amazing. That's what I want I think, a pull-on hat. Not 'is my hat fashion-tilted enough' or whatever but just pull it on, done, I'm wearing a hat. With this awful weather though it kind of put paid to any sort of fashion bent on bike, just keep dry eh. I didn't come off too bad, a wet crown and thighs which needed a waterproof circle skirt. I really enjoyed the concept sportswear, amazing, where is the Sartorialist when you need him. It was amazing. This Stella McCartney for Adidas pink marshmallow with a Shimano headband and chelsea boots. Toasty. An oldish woman who gets lattes for the price of americanos asked me where my blouse came from today, I felt shameful to say it was French Connection@TK Maxx. Postmodern.

I've not written for two weeks. I had a visitor, went home, had another visitor, and then began the 22 day work marathon. Day five and I'm surprisingly sane ish. Tried to decide on the way home whether 2 degrees sleet for 5 miles was worse than or equal to invigilating an exhibition where I get asked, "what is this, I'm looking for something to BUY". It was possibly the worst ride I have ever made. I was ready to slip off at any point. It would be good to stand on London Bridge in the snow. When it snows. Does minus one mean definite snow?

I should note that I was brave enough to speak up in French today (I am shit but want to get better and can), but not at the film last night. My question was completely valid if not a bit unformulated, why do these things always come post event, like the most amazing line in an argument when they've already shot you down. It was a celebrity feast though, and, oh I don't know I should've probably just asked, 'so I LOVED the hats, just tell me about the hats', and Robbie Coltrane would've said I didn't wear a hat and Rachel Weisz would've said 'but the cape!' and then we could've talked about capes. But I didn't ask my question so we'll never know. And some CINEMA FREAK instead asked Rian Johnson why he thanks Tom Cruise in the credits. I really should give my intelligence more credit sometimes.

It's fourth week at work, and I've started to fit in more. My coffee tasting skills are lacking, but how many of them can make quiche from absolute scratch. We each have our own skills and that is why some of us are world traveling coffee tasters and some of us, well, make pastry and burnt chocolate icing. I think a lot of people blag a lot of things in this world and that is OK. I can be who I want to be there, and if I choose to be sad like Coffee Union that'd be a stupid waste of everyone's time. So I'm going to pretend that I'm having an ok time and then it kind of is true. Customer based jobs are very hard work. Shouting at work is hard. Standing all day is hard. Not having another plan is double hard. Keep up spirits, even though the cold makes them heavy and stiff. Keep changing, and just get stronger, you can. Find beauty in people, they are uplifting, especially the like minded ones. I have to go to bed now before it gets too cold to sleep.

Celebrities at Work

I'm tired. I just wanted to think about celebrities. Henry Holland and Alexa Chung came into the shop today and it was weird. Who are they to rile me up? Everyone acts like the Queen is in, like 'do you KNOW who's over there', and you do a louder impression of yourself. You want them to notice you, and bestow you some luck and greatness - Bestow Miss Langdell By Way of Working Here I Announce You Duly Noticed And Important...

I didn't look at him until I saw them leave the shop arm in arm. Celebrity boys are kind of boring, they look normal. Celebrity girls are something to aspire to. They glow with the lightness of free Chanel and national aspiration. Henry looked crap, like a parody of himself, but isn't that just what they are, 'let's go to London and DO London', 'alright, but I might change my name, Laura is a bit SHIT', 'ok, and you know what, I bet you I'll bring tartan BACK, even Lauren Lavern will say so'.

It's easy to knock fun at things you don't know from a distance, out of paltry jealousy. When I was sounding off about Laura I-don't-know-the-difference-between-nails-and-screws Sillars, Angus asked me "you don't like her then?", and I answered 'I don't know her' with true sadness, really. Like look how bored I am, I'm making fun out of some perfectly fine Boring, and it just makes me look like an arsehole. Laziness. Easy to scold these celebrities out of jealousy. All we want is (whoever we choose) to throw their power over us and extend their shroud of brilliance and be transformed.

I just wondered whether the definition of celebrity is someone we know several things about over a certain period of time, and yet they don't even know our name. Our name is our existence. Hi I'm Ceri, yes I know. We all fucking know and you KNOW we know. And even when we're taking the piss out of your clothes, we kind of want a piece of you. Russell Brand said something good on the tv the other night in some interview, which was we can worship these 'idols' (celebrities or local heros), but we aren't really worth 2p until we pick out our insides and find out who we are. I'm doing that. So I wondered today about whether celebrities are really just ambitious people who lived the truths out. They happen. They are not scary, they are reminders that we should try harder to make success.

Eating ginger nuts listening to Grasmere gingerbread article

I can't stop when I buy biscuits. I can't. I have the craving, and the mix of sugar and salt just bounce off each other, and once you put ginger in there, it can't stop. I'm kind of celebrating not growing a baby. I think most women spend a few weeks in the year thinking 'I hope I'm not growing a baby'. The ones that aren't on the pill anyway. I don't think men would know how heavy that thought is. There's no good reason why you would be growing a baby, but then, aren't they just miracles and don't miracles just happen sometimes. It'd be shit though wouldn't it. Anyway, so now I'm celebrating my empty cavern with ginger nuts. Great stuff.

I've not written for a while. I was busy in the real world, talking out loud rather than onto the keys. I thought today about making the blog art biased. Very trendy that'd be wouldn't it. But I couldn't do it posthumously, as that'd be like reviewing. So maybe I'll start now.

On the way to Matt's Gallery I went to the Paul & Joe sample sale, on the way to that I went to an exhibition at the Squid & Tabernacle in Spitalfields. I rode past and somehow clocked 'Amikan Toren' at speed and turned back, as he is one of my faves. He did this thing at Antony Reynolds (his gallery) where he got one of those old school chairs with the little side table, and piled up loads of the side tables on top of each other so the chair was almost toppling over and the 'table' nearly touched the ceiling. And also those cut out paintings, I think he was the first one to be that really. Anyway I didn't think much of the stuff today, found symbols on boxes, framed up. A few too many. There was a nice sculpture with a box and an umbrella and a pair of brogues sitting in some wood cut for them. It was kind of strangely put in the middle of the room like some sort of vehicle, so it looked like a plane. The umbrella on its side like a propeller. It was nice, but it didn't really fit with all the flat stuff. That being some black and white drawings, really heavy graphite, which looked like diagrams of agate. But they did that thing where you imagine yourself in it, in the situation with the work, as though you are its designer, and, oh no, you're a STUDENT. Eek. She'll prob do really well but I didn't think much of the drawings. They reminded me of Sam's paintings but in a 'I'd rather look at them' way.

That analogy is bizarre; I seem to get work more when I somehow imagine myself in it, it it's aura. Imagining I am it's creator, or it needs me, or a human. It has something to give to a human, or it suggests its creator, I don't know what I mean. Almost like anthropomorphising it, but as though it's a dog and it needs its man. There's some sense in this. I will have to think more about those Camilla Low sculptures. It was funny in French today, my 'artistes prefere' were Tim Walker and Camilla Low. Not really Dali are they, not really acceptable.

Anyway I'm past tired. And I don't feel at all guilty about the biscuits, they were lovely.