Kick me while I'm down why don't you?

I suspect I may be being punished for something. What, I'm not quite sure, since I haven't done anything particularly bad lately. No worse than usual anyway. However, somewhere along the line I must have done something to make the fates very, very angry with me, as over the last week or so the universe has been layering problem over pressure over crisis to create a giant trifle-like arrangement of stress. The latest development - the whipped cream if you will - was the witnessing of a severely unpleasant fight between a car and a pedestrian. The person in question got off incredibly lightly considering how horrific the accident looked, which is a relief, and today I've been considering my reaction to the whole thing. I've always thought, despite being a bit of a flake, that if it came to a crisis like that I would be fairly capable. I was wrong. I fell to pieces, shrieking until my knees gave way, whereupon I sat on the pavement and sobbed. Not the most productive response to the situation. Thank goodness there were other people there who were a) more useful and b) more sober than I was.

And now, if you'll allow me to stretch a metaphor to absolute breaking point, please cross your fingers for me that this particular trifle recipe doesn't include sprinkles. My sanity won't take it.

Cyclists are evil

I'll moderate that a little. London cyclists are evil. Having spent some time in bike-happy San Francisco, I am well aware that there are places in the world where people are not filled with a sudden murderous impulse towards pedestrians as soon as they get a saddle between their legs. It's just unfortunate that London is not one of those places. I'm frequently forced to jump back as bicycles tear through red lights, with no heed to the people trying to cross. Today was a new high though, as I got stabbed in the hip by a handlebar when a wheeled git mounted the pavement, ploughed straight into a group of pedestrians, hitting several of us and calling us all idiots before veering back into the road. I wish I carried a walking stick. At that moment in time nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to have poked it into the spokes of his wheels and watched him go flying.

Things that make me smile No.48

I was approached on the tube today by an extraordinarily camp man, who twirled his fingers in my face and declared "Well don't you look like a modern-day pre-raphaelite!". I'll take it.

Things that make me smile No.47

Today I finished my last ever essay for uni. I still have one exam left to do, but they don't worry me nearly as much as coursework. Unfortunately I have the worst time management skills known to mankind, and often find myself sitting in front of a blank computer screen, two days before the deadline, struck with the realisation that, not only have I not even started, I also don't understand the question or know anything about the topic. This occasion was no different, and I've produced ten pages of the most absurd bullshit in history. I've really turned blagging, hedging and just plain making shit up into an art form with this one. Still, NEVER AGAIN!

Things that make me smile No.46

Digging up worms and putting them on the patio table so I could watch the robin keep coming back for them. Then realising I was that robin's bitch.

The luggage invasion

London is full of suitcases. Accompanying these cases are the seeming millions of bewildered foreigners who are stranded here due to the invisible volcanic miasma that overhangs our fair city. When the news first broke that all planes were grounded, I was incredibly sympathetic. However, my sympathy has been gradually eroded by the menace that is the suitcase en masse. They fill the library as people squabble over the computers, trying to find alternative routes home. They viciously trip you when dragged through the streets by their aimlessly wandering, directionally challenged owners. And they cause my journey home to take twice as long as it ought to by lingering, seemingly abandoned, in tube stations, prompting evacuation of the immediate area so investigation can take place. This is not an 'unavoidable delay' Mister Tube Station Announcement Man. This delay could have been easily avoided had the owner of said case had just put it in a corner, sat on it and stayed there. Now some poor bomb disposal expert has to tentatively open a case, which will turn out to be full of a week's worth of dirty laundry and a small plastic model of Big Ben. Excellent use of his time. Thank you very much unpronounceable Icelandic volcano, for sharing your bounty with us.

Pet hates

I have so many of these that it defies belief. I should probably learn to be more tolerant, but where's the fun? Anyway, here's a selection of my top irritations

• Incorrect use of the word 'literally'. 'I'm literally bursting for the loo'. Really? I want to see some bladder explosion before I'll accept that as fact.
• Books that aren't in order. Yes, I know, this is really cliched in a library worker, but it's a problem I've had since I was a child. When I go to a friend's house and their books are thrown on the shelves willy nilly it makes my fingers itch to fix it.
• Waiters who fill your wine glass for you. Is it just me or, if you're sharing a bottle of wine with somebody, don't you wait until you've both finished your glass to top them up? I don't want mine re-filled when my friend is only halfway through hers. It just seems rude.
• Text speak. Once upon a time I did internet dating, and would automatically reject anyone who used it. 
• Following on from the previous one - people who say 'lol'. Just laugh for God's sake. What's wrong with you?
• People who chew with their mouths open. I understand that some kids are never sat down at the table to eat, and it's hard to learn table manners when sitting in front of the telly on your own. But when these kids grow up do they never eat out with a friend or at someone's house? Did they not eat in a canteen at school? So how have they managed to avoid ever being told that they are revolting and make everyone else want to throw up?
• Being waved through a doorway. I know this is a controversial one, since it's very polite of people to say 'after you', but I really don't want to walk into the room first. Please don't make me.
• Leggings worn as trousers. At least put a long top on. Frankly, if I wanted to know that much about your front lawn I'd be trying to get you drunk right now.

Things that make me smile No.45

Looking out of the window at work I thought it was snowing. When I went for a closer look I saw a man on an abseiling harness dangling from the office block opposite. With bucket and squeegee in hand, he laughed as he liberally showered passers by with soap suds. Extreme window-cleaning. How wonderful!

Idiocy

Last night on my way home I missed my stop on the bus. This is a journey I do almost every day, and I missed my stop. Not just a little bit either. I went so far in the wrong direction as to render it necessary to cross the road and get on another bus in order to get home. It wasn't as if I fell asleep or anything, I just wasn't paying attention. Apparently thinking through a presentation on the fantastic representation of unemployment and the benefit system in Alasdair Gray's Lanark is sufficiently enthralling to turn a simple journey home into a mission into the unknown.

Dress to impress

When I was a child I was desperate for my parents' approval. I was scared to ask for anything in case they didn't like it. I would keep silently wearing shoes that I'd long grown out of because I knew how much my mum hated taking me shopping for new ones. When I got a little older I declared my intention of becoming a doctor, thinking it would make them proud. It didn't. While, in reality, they probably would have been supportive whatever I'd chosen to do, it seemed to me that there was just no pleasing them. The less reaction I got, the harder I tried. While most teenagers refuse to communicate with their mothers, I would offer up every story I could think of to mine, dredging up little details, desperately hunting for the one which would make her laugh. It rarely worked. I was the same at school. I modelled my behaviour around what my 'friends' expected of me, crushing every instinct to behave in a way which didn't fit the norm. I still somehow managed to get it wrong though, and continually exposed myself to ridicule. Looking back, my desperation to be liked must have been all too obvious and incredibly irritating.

It wasn't until I was about twenty that I decided enough was enough. I realised that there's little value in a friend who's only your friend because they think you're something you're not, and that it really isn't the end of the world if somebody doesn't like you. These days I still make concessions to others, but only to the extent that I try to behave in a way that's appropriate to the situation. No dancing on tables at a funeral! I also make an effort to be polite to people that I don't like, because I know that I'm a terrible judge of character and may change my mind about them later. I'm not very good at working out who other people really are, but I at least know who I am. And so does everyone else. In some of the circles I move in, people probably think I'm a bit dull, while in others I'm seen as worryingly strange. I guess it's all about perspective. I'm probably actively disliked by more people than I used to be, and I've lost a few people along the way, but I've also never had such good friends. They still ridicule me, but it comes from an affectionate place rather than a spiteful one, and these days I laugh along instead of crumbling in mortification. I wouldn't swap those few friends who mock me to my face for hundreds who'd do it behind my back.

Policy-less politics

The upcoming elections are bugging me. Yep, I'm back on politics again. I know I ought to steer well clear of it, since I freely admit that it isn't my area of expertise, but the joy of a democratic society means that even those of us who are as well-informed as the average earthworm are allowed to express an opinion. The problem I have is that I don't really know what my opinion is. I always vote, since my few feminist principles insist on it, but I can't say I ever get particularly enthused about it.

I've been asked before why I don't get excited about politics, since it directly or indirectly affects every area of my life. It's not that I don't care, I just find it all incredibly depressing. Most politicians come across as grasping children fighting over treats. They want the country but they don't really seem to know what to do with it once they've got it. I also dislike the idea that if I want my vote to actually make a difference then I have to vote Labour or Conservative. I won't vote Labour because of the Iraq war, and I won't vote Conservative because my maternal family are from a coal-mining town, and the Tories put them through some of the hardest times of their lives. Plus I'd probably be disowned.

To me it makes sense to vote for the Lib Dems. So many people say they'd vote for them but they wouldn't get in so there's no point. If all those people voted for them then maybe they would get in. Who knows if they'd do any better, but they'd be hard pushed to do worse. Their slogan this year should be "Give us a go. We've never buggered it up before". And Nick Clegg may have his faults but really, look at the alternatives. I can't take Cameron seriously when his campaign posters show him airbrushed into a plastic mannekin head, and every time I look at poor old Gordon Brown I just want to sit him down in a corner with a blanket and a werthers original. The man looks broken.

Oh, and a word of advice to a certain campaigning party. Parking a vehice with a huge banner on it outside my place of work, and using a megaphone to shout racist slurs under a thin verneer of politics doesn't make me want to vote for you. It makes me want to fill water balloons with wallpaper paste and ask the college upstairs if I can borrow their window.