“I’ll try and post while I’m away - I’ll probably post more than while I’m actually here!” She said, idiotically.

still. I am still away, and here I am posting. I have, however, been mainly ignoring the internet in favour of …. well, I was going to say ‘real life’, but if I’m honest it would probably be mainly ‘eating’, as that is what every day has seemed to rvolve around. I’ll probably try and remember a food diary and you, my friends, will boggle.

Yes, ‘boggle’.

Not play a crappy wordgame involving a cube with lots of smaller cubes inside: no, you will LITERALLY boggle.

Anyway. I have been on a holiday, which I am still on. I have learnt about architecture and segregation in the midwest (of America), founding fathers and high ideals (of America)(a long time ago) and native peoples and mixing pots (in America)(and other countries in the continent)(that was a pointless thing to say, really, ‘America’ or ‘Americas’ would have been vague enough)(I’m a bit tired right now).

So. While I get my notes together and my holiday finished and my pictures uploaded and my ignoring of the internet (and I have been ignoring you, my darling internets, because it was a healthy and good thing to do) is starting to draw to a close … I just wanted to say hello.

Hello!
How have you been?
I have mainly been ‘full’

Because I do like quite a lot of things American, I admit, becuse I am that way inclined - the way inclined that I like most things ‘AnywhereFrom’, so ‘AmericaFrom’ falls into that wider category.

HOWEVER. I do not hold with the practice of telling passengers that they are abotu to ‘enter their final descent’ - that’s fine, everyone says that - but then using the terminology ‘We’ll be on the ground shortly’.

What the hell’s wrong with ‘LANDING’, what’s so wrong with just saying ‘We’ll be LANDING shortly?’

Because ‘we’ll be on the ground’ well, it sounds a bit sudden, that’s all. And a bit messy.

That is all.
I am in a depature lounge at New York JFK, waiting for my connecting flight.
I seem to be having some kind of quite amusing groundbound vertigo, where the whole place is spinning and whizzing in andz out of my peripheral vision. It is like being drunk, but far cheaper. I do like New York, but I do wish it would stop spinning so.

I may be on the ground, shortly.

This has been my reaction to almost every day this week (though that specific one was my reaction to Wednesday, because it would have been a ridiculous reaction to have to any other day that wasn’t Wednesday, wouldn’t it?) because, like so much pre-masticated banana might, time is slipping through my fingers. In a really unpleasant way.

I have been meaning to update - I know that’s a common cry, I’ve already seen four blog posts on my RSS feeder in the last couple of days that say ‘I’m really busy, but!’; are we all getting too busy for this? I hope not. I’d simply DIE, darlings - but I have been spending most of my time concentrating on developing my to-do list, and my sense of panic, which are two large and fruitful things without which I cannot imagine life.

Well, I can: it would be much calmer, but less organised.

However, in the days before I was self-employed it was somehow less fraught. There were things to do, of course, but there was always a point at which I had to go: “Right, that’s it, I’m leaving and going on holiday and some people will do this stuff while I am gone” - but now when I’m going away it just all builds up to this huge lump of stuff - this cloud of ‘things to do that MUST GET DONE or they won’t get done at all!’ and I can see the end date when they must get done BY, but I can’t actually see beyond it.

And so, so often recently, I have managed to do the jobs on my list and then reached the happy event they were supposed to be clearing the way for and just sat there in some air of shock and confusion, thinking “Um. what now?” Happened with my last

That’s how I know that this time tomorrow I’ll be sitting on a plane finally reading about some of the lovely places we’ll be going on our first proper long holiday in Quite A Long Time (18 months? Well, it feels long).

I’ll try and update while I am there, for I will take little-mini-Marvin with me (medium-marvin is too heavy, and sadly the big, original-Marvin pooter died a horrible, horrible death. Seriously, he blew up) but I won’t do LOTS of writing, as that would be a bit like work, and because I have important and joyful events to go to and lots and lots of city-walking to do. YAY.

But I will update, I promise. Possibly more than I do when I’m here, to be fair…

It is meem time. Apparently. As the luminous Katy Newton has tagged me with a thing which is, apparently ‘doing the rounds’, as these things will. All you had to do was go to google, type in ‘[your name] likes to’, and then copy and paste the results. Of course, I tried to be as simple as that, but failed, and it took me hours.

Still. Apparently, [My Name] likes to…

Anna likes to watch balls Number one hit. Hm. I don’t. Unless they are those nice coloured bouncy ones from that pretty advert. Not the human bouncing kind with bits of hair. That’s just WEIRD.

Anna likes to think that her visual impairment has given her the opportunity to create visual art from a unique perspective. I would find it difficult to say the same about my writing, but I do squint a little when I’m thinking? So it is kind of similar?

Anna likes to rock. This, even though it was in a headline, isn’t actually true. I do not like to rock.
I hate to rock. Unless it is rocking gently backward and forward, which, as a classified miseriblist (seriously, I know because someone classified me with a questionnaire. A real questionnaire that wasn’t on the internet so it must be true) rocking backward and forward would be something I clearly do like.

Anna likes to give her snakes a bath once or twice a week. Is that a euphemism? It is. It is, it must be.
It is, right? That’s DISGUSTING.

Anna likes to play dumb, and is obsessed with Ikea. Both of these things are true. So much so that I’m resisting going to look at the link this points to in case it IS about me.

Anna likes to work. This is undeniably true. Anna also likes having money from doing work, although she hopes this does not make her a capitalist swine.

Anna likes to be needed, as well as to cherish and protect her loved ones, of whom she is somewhat possessive. Um. Yes. Though, speaking for the person this is an actual profile of, then yeah, Duh…. it would be weird otherwise, surely. “Anna would prefer people not to want her around, and despises and actively hunts down with guns her loved ones, whom she openly wants rid of”

Anna likes to figure out her own way of doing things. True. But then she likes to inform everyone that this is the correct way, and they should probably all think about doing it that way because it works really well. Possibly better, in fact. Because she is stubborn like that.

Anna likes to take her daughter to film sets with her. Totally untrue.

Anna likes to tell that at this point her mother ordered her out of the apartment and she began life on her own at the age of fifteen. This is currently untrue, though I’m seriously thinking of taking it up.

Anna likes to climb on the refrigerator and her dresser and go “up, up, up”. Hey! I do this!!!
No, I don’t.
I did climb up on a dresser once and fall off it, orchestrating my only ever trip to A&E. I was just showing off to some friends, being dreadfully, as my mother would say, exandshoff (no, no idea) and then I fell off. And I got knocked out, and then I cried a lot until my mummy picked me up and carried me to the hospital.
I was 26 at the time.

Only kidding.

I was 22.

No, not really, I was 8.

Anyway, so, I don’t know how many of those you’re supposed to list - I assume just ‘until you get bored or your audience do’. but then, when I tried to do this meem, I was actually bamboozled by this challenge first when I mistyped it and put it in as ‘Anna like to’. But I really liked the jaunty wrongness of many of the results, so here they are anyway.

Anna like to play backgammon and have sex from time to time: Totally not true. I like to play Shithead. That’s not a euphemism. It’s a cardgame. Either that or Gin Rummy. Or Scrabble. But I’m earbleedingly bad at scrabble. I’ll play it, yes. but I hate hate hate it.

Anna like to take a break under the tree, in cool shadows with the bubble pipe. Yaaaaaaaaaay! Anna would likes that, pls.

On warm summer days, Anna like to be wheeled out to the steps facing Lake St. Clair. And then pushed down them, in a scene halfway between the opening credits of Heidi and some terrible public information film.

Anna like to use different perfume and all the time she taste another kind of it when old vial is empty.. Bleurgh. Interestingly, this appears to be from a Russian bride site. Men: finding yourself thinking that British women are too feisty and independent for your taste? Thinking that a nice foreign bride might be more pliant and ladylike? Well here you are. This one drinks perfume! Good luck!

And then, of course, you’re supposed to tag someone else to go and do it. But I always fail. And right now, I’m having trouble thinking of someone who uses their real name and would agree to do it. So if you want to - CONGRATULATIONS! I have tagged you! Go and do it, and tell me, and I will link you here.

Baton picked up from me by: Nicole, ‘Lionel’, Amy, and, interestingly, ‘France’ (in the comment box), and Katy , and Emily and Rowan, and Janita and Heidi and Kelly and Eloise and Laura and Amanda so far…
(and some other people have already done it)

But thank you for all your birthday wishes, you are all very lovely.

Especially very lovely are Asta and Emrys and Heidi and Pippa and someone else whose name didn’t appear on the piece of Amazon paper (but wanted to send me a laser pointer and couldn’t and said ’smooches’? who are you?) but is ALSO lovely - Elayne! It was Elayne! She is also lovely. So thank you lot ’specially, because sending presents to people you don’t actually know but know from the internet is a special kind of wonderful.

Anyway, I had a very nice birthday, and now I should really go to the gym to atone for it.

And then have a haircut. A haircut with a hairdresser who already knows I’m going to be one of those really clueless clients by the following exchange.

“Oh, no, hang on, I think I was told I should get some lowlights, too. Or highlights. So you might need longer for that.”
“Ok, that’ll be fine, will you be wanting halfhead or a fullhead?”
“…” [Anna pauses to consider why she would only want half her head dying, but thinks it must be a thing]
“Hello? Miss Pickard? Halfhead or fullhead?”
“Um. What do people normally say when you ask them that question?”
“Full head”
“Ok. I would like a fullhead please Dave.”
“Riiiiiiight.”

If anyone from work is wondering why I am not answering my phone, it is because I am lying in the garden being fed strawberries by kittens.

YAY. 31!

30 was distinctly odd. I hope to say the same about 31.

Happy birthday me!
(now you)

I have been using the ‘30′ for a year now. While I was quite nervous about upgrading from the ‘29′, as I’d heard it was quite a leap from that to the ‘30′, I can reassure anyone thinking of making the upgrade that there is a barely perceptible difference in day-to-day usability of the product, and that, in fact, I am in the process of upgrading to the ‘31′ model (which hopefully should be arriving tomorrow!) and am hoping to get as much productivity and joy out of the ‘31′ as I did out of the ‘30′.

Some things that people considering investing in the ‘30′ should consider:
- the model seems to bring with it some kind of bug that multiplies instance of white hair discovery experienced by the user.
- There is considerably less alcohol capacity in the ‘30′ than there were in much earlier models, such as the ‘19′ and the ‘24′, but other software improvements make up for this.
- the possibility of suddenly leaving your job and ding some kind of crazy freelance shit for apparently no reason and on very little warning at all is, apparently, something that might happen, and users might want to budget in advance for the therapy bills that might result from this kind of complete soft and hardware revamp this requires.
- There may be kittens.

Overall though, if current users of the ‘29′ are unsure and slightly unwilling about the need to upgrade from their ‘29′ to the much maligned ‘30′, I would recommend that they take the plunge, because it is alright. It is. Alright.

Now, as I say, tomorrow I am waiting on the delivery of my ‘31′ so I will let you know how that goes.

This isn’t a real post - just to say, we’ve had to update the version of wordpress I was using in order to get rid of some nasty spam things hiding in my site (ooooh that makes me mad. I’m not bloody getting paid for this site, why should some evil drug and porn purveyors be able to hitchhike on my site secretly so that, through google-juice and things, THEY make money out of it? Bastardos.) so anyway.

If you happen to be clicking around and anything is rendering weirdly, or things are appearing that you aren’t expecting, can you tell me in the comments? Nothing SHOULD look different, or read differently (it’s still me)(hello) but if anything does, then, you know, do say.

I need to write some kind of summary of being 30. Hang on, I’ll go away and get on to that.

(I’m not still in Boston, btw. As discussed here)

[We are sitting on a bench eating healthy burritos out of their silver wrappers and talking about the need to having a good burrito shop in Brighton and whether we should open one. We notice there is some kind of organised crowd heading toward us, and study them munchily.]

Bad person 1: They’re not going to give us any leaflets, are they? I don’t want any leaflets.

Bad person 2: We’ll just scowl at their leaflets. We’ll just say no thank you to any leaflets.

Bad person 1: What are they doing, anyway?

BP 2: It says [squints at large sign being carried by people...] they are doing a 6k stroll.

BP 1: Oh. Nice.

BP 2: Wait … ‘A 6k stroll … For The Prevention of Shaken Babies’

BP 1: Oh. [munch munch munch]

BP 2: [munch munch munch]

BP 1: How does that work? The prevention, I mean.

BP 2: Well, I assume that while they are out here strolling, they cannot be somewhere else shaking a baby. Maybe.

BP 1: Yes. That is logical. Also I suppose it had to be a stroll rather than a run because some of them have brought their babies.

BP 2: Oh yes.

BP 1: So if they were to move any faster I think they would probably end up shaking the babies. By mistake.

BP 2: Well that would be very counter productive, yes.

BP 1: Yes. [Munch munch munch]

BP 2: [munch munch munch] Yes.

BP 1: Oh no. There is a leaflet woman coming over. Shall we run away?

BP 2: No that is not necessary. We will just tell her we are already supporters of the cause.

BP 1: We are?

BP 2: Yes. We will tell her that we, like they, also vastly prefer them stirred.

[The bad people giggle into the very end of their burritos before walking, hand-in-hand, into the bad-person-sunset]

(more…)

This is a picture I took outside the Massachusetts State House, which is one of those big official government buildings.
It is in Boston.

As you can see, they are helpfully pointing out the official entrance for General Hookers, which is useful, because we all know how much politicians of all nations do like their prostitutes - both the ‘high class’ and ‘other’ kinds.
I think it is clearly the sign of a civilised country that they take these very well-publicised dalliances seriously, and treat them in a grown-up, transparent manner.

You will note, however, that this sign is only pointing out where one might find the entrance for general hookers.
It is not specified where the entrance for ‘Specialised Hookers’ might be. I think we can safely assume it to be round the back.

[The other suggestion is that this named after a military man with a vaguely suggestive name. I think we can agree that this is clearly ridiculous.]

I have always, on here, been very overt about my love of birthdays and of presents

(yay!)

This year, by a weird combination of depression, busyness and other factors, I have cared little about my birthday at all. I don’t care about having one, about marking it, about anyone else taking any notice.

But still. It would be a shame to break with tradition. And previously, I have always loved birthdays, and always suggested this as a time in which you could, if you wanted, tip me for this blog - for which I have never sought publication, advertising or payment, because it is my baby, my labour of love. But people asked, so I have put my wishlist over there on my sidebar. Just in case.

I don’t care if you don’t. That’s what labour of love means. And also, I’m really not feeling the birthday thing this year. I’d like to postpone it, just a month or two. But apparently you can’t. So there you have it. Tradition; both my having birthdays, and people maybe giving me stuff on them. Tradition.

I know there are SOME of you out there, hello, how are you, thank you so much for your assiduous attentionings.

BUT it has been been brought to my attention several time over the last few days that due to some complex ‘RSS’ reasons, some people have been completely unaware that this site is still going. I don’t know what an RSS feed IS exactly, or how it works, but in this case it doesn’t, so it’s a bit of an academic question.

They keep saying things like ‘Oh! I hadn’t realised you were still writing this site, I have two months of archives to catch up on!’ Well, be aware: unless I say I am going to stop, I am not going to stop. Unless I have been unfathomingly busy or unbearably glum, I haven’t, I think, gone more than a week or ten days without updating this site ever. Nor will I.

So just because you haven’t spotted me on your RSS feed lately - and everyone seems to do their reading of blogs by RSS these day (myself included, which is why I am so bad at commenting) - I have not stopped, I am still here, plugging away like always.

Of course, the only people I actually want to read this particular post can’t, because they haven’t got me on their rss feed, and haven’t thought to look at the site because why would you if someone stopped blogging?

I’m not asking those of you who do know I’m here to post yourself and remind people that I am - I know I have not been community minded of late, getting in a tizzy about blogrolls and taking a bloody long time to update and reinstate my own because I am too busy just reading them from Google Reader thing … But just, you know, if anyone ever says to you “I wonder what happened to that Anna girl who used to write little red boat?” in a wistful or mocking or irritated way, could you possibly point out to them that I’m still bloody writing it?

In the meantime I’ll try and get back to figuring out what happened to my RSS feed and reinstating it. Well I say “I”. I clearly mean “I … will get someone else to …”

Thanks.

I may write an opera called The Imperfect Housefrau.
I don’t like opera very much, but I will try not to let that get in my way, because it is a good name.
It will include arias with names like

‘Oh Right Because I Assumed If You Wanted Your Socks Paired Correctly You’d Do It Your Damned Self’,

‘I Think You’ll Find I’d Only Be Obliged To Entertain Your Extended Family If We Were Married, Darling’,

‘I Have Learnt To Like Burnt Food, I Hope You Do Too’

‘Really? We Have An Iron?’

And other such perennial favourites.

That is all.

[I'm not still in Boston, btw. As discussed here]

I have mentioned on this site before that I didn’t really used to believe in rats. Although I did believe in rabbits. And it was something that I used to say for several reasons.
a) Because I had seen rabbits but never a rat so couldn’t be sure. And
b) Because it’s the kind of thing that really annoys people. Because they say ‘But don’t be ridiculous, rats exist’
and you say ‘Yes, well, you say that, but in order to believe you, I would have to take a leap of faith that I consider ridiculous. I have never seen a rat’.
And they say ‘But rats exist’
and you say ‘Yeah, whatever; what that? That’s a picture of a rat? Brilliant. Here is a picture of a unicorn. Do you happen to have a picture of a Wazzakkadunk, by any chance?’
And they say ‘What is one of those?’
And I say ‘It is something I just made up, look, here, I have just drawn a picture of it, so it must exist. It is a kind of nose with four eyes and some legs and a willy’.

Anyway, after I wrote that post - not that long after, as it happens - I saw something that was probably a rat while on a work trip in India.

It equally might not have been a rat, but was the same vague shape as a lot of the photos I had seen, and moved very fast and in a determined and bad-tempered manner, which I understood to be quite like them, so assumed it to be a rat. No one else could corroborate the sighting or identify it, though, so it wasn’t an official verification. Still, mostly like it it was one of them mythical rats.

As my old grandma used to say ‘If it looks like a television and smells like a television, don’t be surprised when, if you try and feed it bacon, you just end up with a really baconny television ….’ - actually she didn’t used to say that. That I know of. But if she had, she would have had a very good point, and her point still stands. It was probably a rat.

The one in Boston, however, was definitely a rat.

I know because, as we were walking along a really beautiful and sunny street in the Back Bay area of Boston, tall houses made of large brown stone, expensive looking, dignified, old, plush, we were walking along feeling happy and pleased with ourselves on our happyhappyjoyjoy-holiday section of our tine in town (possibly more accurately classified as our happyhappyjoyjoy-five-hours between filing work and going to the airport for the plane home)(yes, yes. Stop with the sarcastic sympathy and put the invisible violin down or you won’t be able to hear the rest of the story). Where was I?

Ah yes. As we were walking along in a happy-go-lucky manner along the - ahem - sidewalk of this well-to-do street, feeling reasonably happy and skippy, and I noticed that there was some kind of happy-go-lucky little critter running through the gardens next to us; so I looked over at the garden, and there it was. Quite the least malevolent looking animal I had ever seen, this brown thing, tripping merrily through the well-tended petunias.

“I say, My Beloved.” I said, because we are English and that is how we talk. “I say? Is that some friendly woodland turned urban North American creature, somewhat akin to a squirrel, or chipmonk?”

“Yeah” he said - for though he is English he is also uncouth. ‘Kind of like that. Not quite, but kind of like that: in that it is a rat.”

Well, I’m quite phobic of things-like-rats-but-smaller, as anyone who has read those particularly high-pitched parts of the archive might know. And believe me, if this feller had been having a scuttle underneath my fridge - and no, that’s not a euphemism in any way, shape or form, before you think it - I would have been pretty phobic of him too.

But it was harder to be phobic about something that was just skipping along so very happily.

He kept up with us for a good five or six or ten houses, and then disappeared underneath some steps. Merrily.

And that was it. I saw I rat. A real live one.
Interestingly, or not, it’s one of the stories I’ve told the most since I got back.
Mainly because My Beloved keeps introducing it with the words “HEY! Tell them about that rat you saw!!!”

So, you know, it’s not just me who’s easily pleased.