Tomorrow

Tomorrow is the last exam. I wonder if I'm panicking yet? I suspect I may be. In my first year of uni I got so stressed about my exams that I didn't sleep or eat. Of course, the inevitable happened, and I fainted mid-way through the exam, pulling my chair and desk over with me, and landing practically in the lap of a girl who would later become my friend. As if that wasn't undignified enough, my skirt flipped up around my waist, flashing my knickers at the row of devout, burqa-clad Muslim girls alongside me. In a shock twist, I actually got my best mark that year for that exam. I think I'll settle for a lower mark though, if that is the price I have to pay for a good one.

Hop little bunnies!

I do baby rhymetime sessions sometimes at work. I quite enjoy it really, but it does require some forward planning when getting dressed in the morning. For instance, it's obviously a lot easier to crawl around on the floor with small children, or under the bookshelves to plug the cd player in, if you remember to wear trousers. It's also, as I discovered on Friday, a good idea to wear...how shall I put this?...adequately supportive undergarments. It's quite difficult to dance around to "hop, hop, hop little bunnies" when you have to hold your arms over your chest for fear of giving yourself two black eyes.

Ode to the Chameleon

Apparently it wasn't sufficient to write a post for every other day last week. Apparently it is also unacceptable for those posts to appear at 10am. With this in mind I have scheduled this week's posts to appear at 6am, and have written one for every day of the week. We at alittlenutmeg value our customers. They are always right. Of course my time could possibly be better used today by revising for my exam on Tuesday, but that is unimportant. I would just like to take this opportunity to inform everyone that, if I fail my degree, it is entirely the fault of the Chameleon.

Things that make me smile No.50

I saw an old lady on the bus who seemed to have taken Zandra Rhodes as her role model. She had vividly dyed hair, multi-coloured make-up with diamante jewels along one cheekbone, and an extraordinarily eclectic mix of clothing. When she got off the bus people were turning to each other and laughing or sneering. I was full of admiration though. I hope I look just like her when I'm her age.

Side effects

At around the same time as I started this blog, I started dieting, and have lost a lot of weight. I haven't talked about it on here as I think I talk about it too much in real life and, frankly, it's very dull, but there are some odd side effects that I wanted to mention. One is that there are several people who I've known vaguely for a long time, and who never had much time for me before, who seem to suddenly consider me worth talking to. It seems slightly peculiar, and I wonder if there's been an accompanying change in my personality as my confidence has recovered that makes me more fun to talk to now, or if they're just that shallow. The other effect is that people have started chatting me up again. Obviously this is quite enjoyable, but there is a little, contrary part of me that regrets the loss of the 'git filter', the repellent that being overweight provided against superficial people. Now I can't help but look at people who ask me out, or flirt, and wonder whether they would they have liked me before. Not because it would upset me if they wouldn't have, but because I'd know whether they were worth the effort of getting to know.

Things that make me smile No.49

I'm constantly charmed by the little moments of friendship that strike me as strangely touching, such as being able to ask a mate to adjust your bra straps or pick that weird hair from under your skin without them batting an eyelid.

I'm trying

I currently have no internet access at home, and my weekday job has evil blocks on the computers which stop me accessing this site, so I'm only really able to blog from my Saturday job. In order not to disappoint my loyal fans (well, the chameleon, who once told me she looks at my blog every morning - lies!), I'm going to attempt to line up posts today and schedule them to go out on different days this week. I've never tried this before, so I'm not sure how it'll work, but I'll give it a go.

What is the world coming to?

Yesterday a man in the library threw a book at my head because there weren't any slots left on the computers. Minor concussion and a tory government all in one day? I despair.

Highly visible

Yesterday I spent the day working for one of London's major tourist attractions. The job involved standing around in the cold asking people whether they wanted to visit the exhibition. Most importantly, it also involved my first ever high-visibility jacket. The jacket makes you look official. Unfortunately, the employer's logo is very small, so it just makes you look generally official, which means you get asked a lot of questions that do not in any way pertain to the job you're supposed to be doing. These range from the logical to the completely inane.
'Where is the nearest tube station/toilet/McDonalds?'
'Is there a height restriction to go over the bridge?'
'Why did they build a castle right in the busiest part of London?'
And my personal favourite. 'You know the Union Jack?' I nod to acknowledge I have heard of such a beast. 'Which of the stripy bits represents which country?'

It was bitingly cold by the river. It actually hailed at one point. I was wearing afore-mentioned flourescent yellow jacket with two fleeces, a cardigan, a long-sleeved top, a short-sleeved top and a thermal vest. For the record, this little lot is not enough to keep you warm. It is also not enough to stop men attempting to stare at your tits. Seriously mister, what can you possibly hope to see through that lot? The high-vis jacket may not protect you from perves, but it does make you highly visible to cyclists. Unfortunately, they being Evil London Cyclists, this just means they have something clear to aim for.

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.