Will Blog For Coffee Tables

I have started to write several posts recently. Most of them have opened with words along the inspirational lines of oh God! I am so ill. Sometimes it has even been oh, God! I am so very cocking ill. In all of them I have demanded sympathy, and more often than not there has been some pitiful call for cake.

Now, though, I am better. I no longer need you to stroke my hair and tell me I’m pretty even despite the snot and whinges. I could still do with some cake, if I am perfectly honest, but no longer for health reasons.

(Re: Cake: I prefer carrot cake or coffee cake, but chocolate cake would suffice very nicely, as long as the slice is about forty-five percent icing. If you could rustle up a small cafetiere of strong coffee as well it would round things off very nicely.)

Things have been strange around here. Transitions have been happening. We have been looking for places to live, which has been such a debacle I that I have now taken to calling it The Fiasco (2007). What happened was this:

1. We found a house! In Brixton! It was lovely.
2. We put an offer in.
3. They accepted!
4. We went to the estate agents to sign bits of paper.
5. The landlord called to say he no longer wished to furnish the property!
6. Oh no.
7. One us may have cried in an elegant and delicate manner.
8. We began looking for other houses.
9. Ad cocking nauseum.
10. There was much traipsing around the shadier parts of south London.
11. One of us may have cried again.
12. We decided to take the previous property, unfurnished.

(This was all over the space of three rather anguished and sickness-ridden weeks.)

No, before you ask. We don’t have any furniture. I plan to become extremely proficient in carpentry in the next few days, with a brisk sideline in sewing.

(Does anybody have a sofa I could borrow? Or a bed? Or a lamp in the shape of a kitten?)

(I have always wanted a lamp in the shape of a kitten.)

In other news:

I am going to New York! To see my good friend and fan of my jokes, Chris. Another friend and I are flying out on Boxing Day and flying back on New Year’s Day. It will be ace! My parents bought me my ticket as a Christmas present. I am a lucky girl. My method of saving up for spending money is to not spend every five pound note I get between now and then. It is rather rudimentary and juvenile as a system, but I am rather rudimentary and juvenile as a person so I think it might just work. I plan to keep all the notes in a big cardboard box with the words NEW YORK FUND written in purple crayon on the side, which I will place under my bed with the crocodiles and ghosts.

(Re: New York Fund: Dear thieves who trawl the Internet looking for people who announce where they live and then where their money stashes are,
Please don’t rob me.
Many thanks.)

I am lucky indeed. Still all transitional and tired, but things are looking up. Now all I need is just a spot of cake and life would be well on the way to being rather rosy.