Despite Not Actually Being A Man

I appear to have come down with the most serious case of the man-colds. I am teary-nosed to the extreme and coughing like an over-dramatic lawnmower (in case of this simile not making sense, please consult: the fact that I am very ill) and feeling really rather sorry for myself. Nothing is working to make me feel better. Not whining, not watching Charmed, not eating cheese. Nothing, and now I am completely out of solutions.

I have taken to woefully contructing new (if somewhat beat-based) pieces of music on my Fancy Music Software, then throwing tantrums when they do not sound anything like the new Amy Winehouse album. My tantrums basically consist of me putting my head in my hands, sniffling energetically then shrugging and going to make myself a cup of tea. Because, if I'm honest, I know I'm being silly and irrational. Also because, if I'm being even more honest, there's nobody around to witness my tantrum and I'm not really sure it's worth the energy.

What I would really like to do is go running, because I feel all cabin-feverish, but I cannot. For fear of making the man-cold worse and my voice even less able to do useful things like talk on the phone, laugh out loud at my new book and sing fantastic (if somewhat beat-based) new songs. Also, unlike everyone else in the world, I actually lost five pounds (of the weight variety) over Christmas, and really want to avoid putting them back on again. Alas, I am confined to not running and eating medicinal cheese (which is like normal cheese, except there is more of it) so I might just have to.

In spite of all those things, I am enjoying working from my own little studio I have here. I am off to Eastbourne on Sunday to get back into the real studio, but I love being able to take time and construct new (if somewhat beat-based) songs at my own pace, so that I can take them to be recorded and mixed properly at a later date. I feel so much happier than I did just before Christmas. Somehow I think that going away over New Year in a big but still somehow close-knit group was exactly what I needed in order to be able to move on from certain things and gain perspective on others.

January, of course, is widely accepted as being an absolutely rubbish month, and I suspect this is largely due to the fact that pretty much the whole of it is comprised of people trying surreptitiously to wipe their noses on their sleeves because they are too broke after the whole Christmas/New Year debacle to afford tissues. However, I have decided that January shall be good. I want to have fun. I want to find one of the few men in London who still has some money (and isn't ugly/married/gay) and get him to take me out on a fancy date. I will, of course, have to get over my cold first. I don't want to drip snot into the Champagne.

I will write lots of songs, some of them beat-based, and give a big fuck you to those people who have told me I should have kept the office job. I will only think it, though, in case they say something mean back. I am not that cool.


First, though, I must stop being Dreadfully Sick, and I must also name the Pony.

The only thing I could think of by myself is Pepperoni the Pony, and that just seems a bit ominous, really. And while I so like the names suggested in the comments, I somehow felt there must be something more befitting.

So I had a think about what I love, apart from Magical Ponies, Charmed and singing songs.

Well, that would just be dirty.

Then I decided.

Welcome to my life, little Sparkle the Pony. You are indeed magical.