Busily Busy Business.

This week I will mainly be too busy to post anything.

I am trying not to seriously mess up any of the following things:

1. The concert on Saturday.
It is mainly all sorted, I think it'll be alright. There are a couple of things that are really important that haven't been sorted yet, but I am keeping them at the forefront of my brain, the bit where thoughts of Hugh Jackman and Pret Super Club sandwiches live, until I get them done.

2. My holiday to Biarritz.
I have no idea about what this holiday will entail. I have a bikini, and I need another one, because I can't wear the same one all week. People would think I'm a poor street urchin who can only afford one bikini, and I am not willing to lay myself bare to their cruel judgement. Laying myself bare is, of course, another option, but a) I think I would be arrested and b) Tom would not approve, as he has implied to me that if any other man looks at me for more than a tenth of a second I am to bash the poor chap's knees in with a ladle, and I just cannot cope with the bloodshed.
Also I have no reading material. I will have to hit the charity shops at some point for some cheap book action, because I have nothing I haven't already read seventy brazillion times. Except my copy of "Why Making Up Numbers Is Naughty And Wrong", which is still in immaculate condition.

3. Other stuff, involving some at work.
Off limits, blog-wise, and boring as shit so you can all breathe a heady sigh of relief for being spared the details.

I had a great weekend. On Saturday I went on a Marketing Yourself As A Singer course, which was fascinating. I enjoyed it, and learnt a lot from the various speakers. I have lots of ideas that I am going to put into action when I am back from holiday. There are changes to be made, and I feel like I have discovered new means of making them.

Sunday I spent with Kirsten, and it started with a hangover-induced mist surrounding the pair of us as we sat on her sofa, blankly staring at Friends episodes, wishing we were more like them with their shiny hair and suspiciously good shoes, and that we had less alcohol rushing through our brains and out of our pores.
We just about managed to pull ourselves together, went for lunch which was Naughtiness Itself in the form of pizza. It was a strange restaurant, where there were about ten waiters and waitresses who were just hanging around the back of the room, gazing at us with big, frightened eyes, like someone in a town-centre pub who, during an England game, had just uttered those fated words: "But it's only a game..."

Then we went to see United 93, for which I have no words. Except to say that I thought it was very sensitively made. I actually don't know what to say about it.

The we needed to recuperate, so we went to a pub and ate the Malteasers that we had been singularly unable to consume during the film, and then we went home to our respective beds in our respective flats.

Oh, hang on, I forgot that I am actually too busy to write anything, so I must go.

I will finish off by saying that Sophie (la petite imp) is coming to stay with me on Thursday, and I anticipate fun and frolics. She also informed me this morning that she is attempting to make me a magical pony, which I am hoping for so very much.