All abroad...

In front of me is one of those plastic things in which you can keep pens, pencils, rulers and other things like that, so that they don't clutter up your otherwise immaculate desk, I suspect it is called a 'Desk Tidy'. Unfortunately for the maker of the plastic pen holder, there are some people who can single handedly make the name 'Desk Tidy' into one that is riddled with irony. In my 'Desk Tidy' I have safely stored the following:

• One small plastic knife
• Two spoons
• 7 pence
• One green torch
• One plastic troll with pink hair

I DO have pens and pencils, scissors and rulers and that sort of thing. I choose, however, to keep them in the Desk Untidy. In other words, scattered all over the surface of the desk and the floor.

My point is not to highlight the Scatty McScatty Cat that I am. Yes, I am scatty. I am sensible and level-headed most of the time, and am capable of hanging onto Important Things. When I went travelling for 6 months I didn't lose anything important. But I am capable in a scatty way. To the extent where for a whole year in primary school my teacher saw fit to re-name me Miss Scatty or Miss Scatterbrain. Although in retrospect she might have had a rather different motive there.

My point is not, however, that. I would like us to take a closer look at the little troll (camera pans in to where the little troll is lying down, eyes tight shut, seemingly engaged in some kind of heady trace. Or maybe just in a very deep sleep).

There is a look of satisfaction on the troll's face. Maybe he was tired, he'd had a long day of running around and doing troll things, perhaps playing naked troll tag or combing his long pink stand-y up-y hair. It was a good day, but a tiring one and he is EXHAUSTED so he is deeply, deeply asleep, dreaming of hair-dye.

This is my point now:

I am SO JEALOUS of the troll.

He's a toy, he isn't really real. He was a present to me from The Crush to say good luck for my gig the other night. I have yet to see him move and he's been in eye-shot for a good while now, so I have to conclude he is inanimate. And yet, oh and YET I am physically jealous of him. How I yearn for some sleep. Sleep that is not clouded with anxiety and pain-riddled dreams. A night in which I do not wake up FIVE TIMES for no good reason. Sleep that, on parting, does not leave me exhausted and on the verge of tears all day.

I know that I keep yammering on about this but it is driving me insane. It has been since the robbery/mugging/hostage situation of TWO WEEKS AGO. I haven't felt this bad since splitting up with That Twunt Who Treated Me Like Shit. I have a lovely boyfriend now (that was said tentatively, by the way.. [giggles like the girly girl that I clearly am]) and had a great gig the other night, and all sorts of things are FINE. But I am.. just not.

So I have had enough. I am going to Paris on Thursday morning to visit the Impish One. I will turn up at Waterloo station and book myself a ticket on the Eurostar, then I will hop on, and in two short hours I will be sipping café au lait avec ma petite soeur. It will be a chance to see Paris again, as I lived there for a while about four years back. I haven't really spoken French since I graduated in English and French Literature a year ago. I imagine that I will be rusty.

Living in London has become quite a stressful experience recently anyway, and I live pretty central at the moment. Add to that my own personal experience recently and, yeah, I need a break. I was going to go surfing with a load of guys this weekend, but I am not sure I can cope even with that, so I am going to stay with Sophie, who is wonderful and will look after me. We will shop, hang in cafés, sing, read books, walk down the Seine. It will be a break. It will be lovely.

The troll continues to nap, and I continue to feel stressed. My body temperature is playing crazy games with me, my eyes feel like I have been punched repeatedly in the face. My nails are bitten to the quick, and I don't usually bite my nails. I am nervous and nervy and this fatigue feels like it is killing me. I know it isn't, I know it'll be ok in the end, but I also know that I am having to fight back tears so much of the time, that I feel guilty for no reason. I am scared to go home.

I hope Paris saves me.

No, not Paris HILTON!

Although I could do with some cash.

Also, just to be all British about things, I think I need a nice cup of tea.

Au-revoir mes cheries. A lundi...