Back. Better.

I am less tired and emotional. I have slept for some hours, and throughout the duration have miraculously become less emotional. I was literally moments away from growing a long black fringe, squeezing into some ripped skinny jeans and beaten up trainers and hanging around on corners looking studiously glum.

I would have to start writing about how nobody understands me (which they don't) and how I just wanna be different (which I do) and start using text speak (I luv txt spk).

Crisis, I think you'll agree, narrowly averted.

In big exciting news (for me) this week:

I am moving back into London!

No, I don't have a record deal. No, I have won no lotteries. No, I have not found a sugar daddy who is willing to support my whimsical little fantasies about being a super-duper-star as long as I walk around in a rubber maid's outfit every fortnight and cook him beans on toast on a Friday. No, I have not decided to jack it all in and become an investment banker/primary school teacher/professional dog-walker.

Nothing has changed. Well, a lot has, but nothing really tangible. I am just taking an opportunity and moving back. I will be living with a few friends not so very far from where I was living before. We're moving at the end of this month.

Please join me in jumping for joy.

(Seriously. Go on. I am watching you.)

(Why are you naked?)

So I will soon be a poverty-stricken Londoner (proper) again, and will write endless posts about how broke I am and how crap the Northern Line is. Hurrah!

I want to write a little bit about Edinburgh, because all I seemed to do last time was cry a bit and stretch out my pathetic blogging arms for a virtual hug from you kindly Internet angels. I didn't tell you anything about it, and I feel I should.

I will do it in some bullet points, though, to make the whole thing less arduous for all of us.

- I didn't recover my phone. For a few days I morosely trudged the cobbled streets until I bumped into someone I knew, at which point I shamelessly borrowed their phone to call the taxi company ("Do you have it? You must have it! Please say you have it. Call again later? Fucking hell. No, sorry, not you. Yeah, alright, thanks. 'Bye. Sob.") or the venue I had been in ("Do you have it? You must have it! Please say you have it. Call again later? Fucking hell. No, sorry, not you. Yeah, alright, thanks. 'Bye. Sob.") or the police station ("Do you have it?...")
You get the idea. It wasn't fun. Eventually I dragged myself into a Carphone Warehouse and, through the tears and snot, asked for the cheapest pay-as-you-go phone they could muster and walked out a considerably happier and more contactable woman.

- I saw some fantastic shows. Some tip-top favourites were:

Fat Tongue (sketch comedy)
Reginald D Hunter (stand-up)
Luke Wright (poet and man)
Ravenhill for Breakfast (serious theatre)
Orkestra Del Sol ("brass troubadours with an unruly charm")

There were many others, it's just that I can't be bothered to hang around doing linking and things. I'm sure that you won't want to hang around clicking on all the links, either. You're naked, you'll get cold.

- I had some brilliant nights out. Rarely does a dawn pass at the Edinburgh Festival without many people standing, drink in hand, gazing incredulously at it, then each other, then their watches. I didn't quite reach the giddy heights of my little sister a few years ago who broke many records by climbing Arthur's Seat at sunrise whilst wearing a pair of stilettos, but nevertheless many ace times were had and feats accomplished.

- I did a fair bit of singing. More than that, though, I stumbled upon inspiration for more singing and more writing. I also got back to a message from a guy I've been working with to say he's been working on a reggae version of one of my songs. I can't wait to hear it. I have not (and this may come as a surprise to many of you) always considered myself to be hugely reggae as a person, but you never know where these things might lead.

Edinburgh was awesome. It seems ages ago now.

I was in Norfolk for the weekend with a whole different group of people. We had a barn party, went boating and stayed in tents. I got licked on the leg by a bull.

All good times, as I'm sure you'll agree, but now is the time for dealing with the serious matter of moving.

I am now going to hang around on estate agency websites and give myself heart attacks by looking at how much rent I'll have to pay. Hurrah!