I'm still here

I haven't disappeared again, I promise. It's just that I've been signed off work for a while with this whole broken coccyx thing, so I'm stuck at home all day. Nothing happens here, so I have nothing to write about. Although, I did get a fabulous delivery today. The Chameleon sent it to cheer me up.

 Good huh?

Actually, while we're on the topic of deliveries, my grocery shop came today. I ordered six loose yoghurts because they were on offer. One of them was unavailable, so they gave me a six-pack which contained that flavour.....plus the five loose yoghurts I originally ordered. Why not just replace the unavailable flavour with another flavour? Now I have eleven yoghurts. Nobody can eat that much yoghurt!!!!!

Oh, I really need to get back out into the world. I'm clearly going stir crazy if I'm utilising multiple exclamation marks just to bemoan a yoghurt glut.

Really?

Inappropriate Pharmacist: That's a lot of painkillers. What have you done to yourself?
Me: I fractured my coccyx.
Inappropriate Pharmacist: Ouch! Well [winks], if that little lot doesn't sort it out, come back and we'll kiss it better.

To labour the point

Today I travelled into work on the tube, as usual. Less usually, I was perched bolt upright in my seat, trying to protect my fractured coccyx, and occasionally letting out an involuntary whimper or yelp as I was jolted by the movement of the train. After a couple of stops the woman opposite me leaned across the aisle, put her hand on my knee and said the only thing which could have made me more miserable at that moment in time........."Are you OK? Are you in labour?".

A Taxing Problem

If my broken tailbone and codeine intake allow, I may be making a (probably brief and definitely sober) appearance at a Guilty Pleasures themed party this weekend. Initially I struggled to come up with an outfit, standing as I do by the majority of my dodgy tastes, but then I recollected my taxidermy and fur obsession, which I certainly ought to feel moderately ashamed of, even if I don't to any great degree. In deference to my fellow guests, many of whom are veggie hippy types, and my hostess, an ex-museum curator who is far too knowledgeable regarding the little insect stowaways likely to be residing in my deceased friends to fully enjoy them, I decided to make a vegetarian taxidermy get-up involving faux fur and cuddly toys. Ironically though, it has emerged that, while I am hard-hearted enough to fill my house with dead beasties, I can't quite bring myself to take a pair of scissors to a defenceless toy moose. Poor little fella. I wonder what he'd like for his final meal.

Remember me?

Well, I'm back, hopefully. I'm making no promises of staying, but I'm poking my head around the door and waving tentatively at you. It's a start, no?

To update you, I've had a tricky few months of feeling very low, unworthy and insecure. It's a familiar experience, which in one way is rather sad, but at least means I have the advantage these days of recognising the feelings and seeing them for the illogical brain chemical lies that they are. That makes it a lot easier to cope when it feels like you're sinking.

Things were starting to look up a few weeks back, so I headed off to Nowhere with a pretty sunny outlook. It turned out that I was still more vulnerable than I had realised, and I had a few wobbly moments, but that's inevitable when you go into an environment where you take off all the masks and defences you wear in everyday life and allow people to see the real you, for better or worse.

The week was full of fun of all kinds; from the silliness of fighting off invading pirates, to the honour and pleasure of being asked to say a few words at my friend's wedding. I wouldn't have missed a second of it, wobbles and all!

Actually......I take that back. I would like to have missed the second in Barcelona when I decided it would be a good idea to slide down a giant dragon sculpture. Wheeeeeeeeee.........crunch! I am now in bed with what the doctor confirmed yesterday is a fractured coccyx. All I can do is dose myself with codeine and try to minimise the necessity for expeditions away from the bed by gathering books, food and big jugs of squash unto myself in bulk. Of course, I wouldn't have to do this if the cat would just make me a damn sandwich and bring it to me, but thus far she has steadfastly resisted all attempts to convince her to do so. Selfish little beast.

There are minor delays on the Nutmeg line...we apologise for any inconvenience.

I've been chastised a few times over the last couple of weeks for my failure to post. Sorry kids, but I can't summon up any funny for you right now. If you'd like me to tell you all about the joys of going through a dodgy depressive phase, despite knowing that your life is currently so awesome that it rocks the socks off a fox, then I will certainly do so, but I kind of assume you would rather I kept it light.

Normal service will resume shortly.

It's not just the crazies.....

.......even otherwise normal and pleasant people feel the need to insult me.

Girl: Hi, I'm ******
Me: Oh, we've met. At such-and-such a workshop.
Girl: Oh, well, there were lots of hot people there, so I didn't remember you.

Puppy love

I've been neglecting you, haven't I? Truth is, I've been feeling a little low lately, which always leaves me disinclined to write. I had a particularly draining day yesterday, followed by an anxious night with little sleep, so was in a horrendous mood when I left for work this morning. I really didn't know how I was going to force myself through the day, and wanted nothing more than to just go back to bed and nap it away.

When I took my seat on the tube, a hippyish girl got on and sat next to me. With her was a brindle staffordshire bull terrier, with a withered back leg and a leash made of two knotted together Tesco carrier bags. The girl pulled the dog onto her knee out of the way of the other passengers, and we both took out books. After a while, the staffy re-shuffled herself, yawned hugely and lay down, settling her head into the crook of my elbow. Thinking this was rather sweet, I said "Hallo puppy" and applied a tickling thumb to the back of her ear. The next thing I knew she had vaulted the armrest, and I had a lap full of large, adoring dog giving my face a tongue bath more enthusiastic than it was effective or hygenic. Her owner seemed remarkably unperturbed, but then I was laughing my head off, so it must have been pretty clear that I was neither upset nor scared by the incident. In fact, it cheered me up no end. I enjoyed doggy snuggles for another couple of stops, until we all got off the train, and continued my journey feeling more relaxed and at ease than I have in many days.

Thanks puppy. I owe you one!

How to feel ignorant

1) Take a Yank to see a typically British play and discover the absence of frame of reference.
2) Confuse yourself and her, attempting to explain Restoration Comedy and the origins of panto, despite your English Lit graduate credentials.
3) Buy her another glass of wine to stop her asking questions, and leave it to google to educate her.

Heaven is a place on Earth

I have a soft spot for independent bookshops. Particularly the kind of second-hand bookshop I found just five minutes from my new office. It's a classic. There is no discernible criteria for organising the books, and you stir up vast clouds of dust when you attempt to extract anything. I felt mildly sorry for the scowling shop owner when I took my purchases to the counter. My manic grin and chirpy comments must have grated on his nerves something rotten, but I thought I might sound like a lunatic if I attempted to explain that even his surly demeanour just added to the excitement of my discovery.

I limited myself to three books, rather than the armfuls I wanted, on the basis that I would have to carry them home, but I will be back. I have to study the set-up for my retirement plan. I'm going to have just such a shop, where I will sit behind the till all day with a g&t. Ostensibly I will be working on my own novel, but really spending the bulk of my time glaring resentfully at customers, while a fat, ugly cat sprawls on a cushion on the counter. Obviously I will need to be stinking rich already, because there is no way such a business is going to support me in my old age.

Advance warning - anyone who so much as mentions the word 'Kindle' in my shop will be conked over the head with a cheap hardback, and the body stashed behind the rack of ordnance survey maps.