1. Despise humanity.
2. Buy a suit.

I’m not sure what else one would need. I think that might be it.

Oh, the inability to know where to put an apostrophe in a written description coupled with the simultaneous ability to describe a tupperware tub of lumpy snake-vomit in a cupboard in an abbatoir as ‘spacious, unique furnished property in ideal location with period features great view’s viewing essential!‘ is also a boon.

But mainly being twat in a suit will get you by, I think.

There’s a problem with working the whole working very hard full-time and trying to maintain other careers in spare time and all the while looking for a house 90 miles away, and keeping the flat you live in spotless because you like your landlady and don’t want to cause her headaches, while feeling a bit under the weather and suddenly discovering you have blood pressure so high you should be making a kettle noise out of your ears.

The problem is that… No, no, hang on, that’s the problem. Just that. That right there. That whole long sentence thing up there. That/those are/is the problem-singular/-plural.

The problem with only being able to go and see a few houses a week is this: My imagination is too good. See, I go and see a place, and I’m not bowled over by it, I don’t fall in love with it, I think it’s nice, but not, you know, IT. And then I go away, and I’m so desperate to find a nice flat that in my head, it suddenly sprouts a white picket fence and a five more windows and I see myself sitting in it stroking a cat and tapping little posts out on the laptop for my ‘boat and so I tell my beloved he should go and see it too - and then as soon as I hear the tone of his voice I remember what it looked like in the first place.

I can’t imagine what it must be like looking for a house to buy - well, no, I can, because frankly I’ve watched a lot of television programmes on the subject. But looking for a property to let is different - because you’re not looking for ‘possibilities’ so much, or a ‘fixer-upper’, because once you’re in the damn place, anything you want done is at the mercy of your landlord. So you’re looking for somewhere that you don’t have to whine about too much once you’re in it.

And the standard of expectation for that, it seems, is currently quite low. Or maybe my standards are just too high - but I walk around places in despair, grubby marks on walls, peeling paint, bathrooms without windows, and and and … but there we are. Handed in our notice already, people coming around to see the flat every couple of days, so standards start to drop, I suppose. Eventually we’re going to have to find somewhere before we move out of here. Or at least, I’d *prefer* to do it that way around.

There is one. One house. A tiny cottage right in the middle … no, I’m not going to … but right in the middle, and with room for friends and family to visit All The Time, and with parking too, even though we can’t drive, so they have no excuse not to come. It is a brilliant plan. If I’m going to move to Brighton, I’m going to make everyone come with me, at least for a few days at a time. But but but - I want it. And now I want it too much. And they might say we can’t have it or that someone else can move in sooner and and and…

… and I don’t know why I’m making you listen to all this - I’m sorry. Hang on, let me check my diary. I’m sure there were some little boaty ideas I’ve snaffled away in there…

But look! I’m elsewhere answering questions! Every week Norm of Normblog does his Friday profile, and this week the Friday profile is me. You can find all the other friday profiles here. (No I don’t know either, I think they might be politcal bloggers. I imagine they said exactly the same thing when they happened upon mine, this morning. Gosh there are a lot of bloggers, aren’t there?)

I am sorry about quiet. I will be writing lots over the weekend. Mainly about househunting and blood pressure (not related) (I don’t think).

See, I was always a big fan of the Innovations catalogue. Well, that and anything like it, really - either the thin, glossy catalogue itself, falling straight out of the Sunday paper and, usually, straight into the bin, or, if that’s already gone, the ridiculous adverts you can find in the supplements themselves.

The worse the paper, the better the adverts, in the latter case; Pope clocks, ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ themed tankards, musical faberge-style egg/jewellery boxes that play Take That songs, ornamental plates with scenes from the Coca-Cola cup final 1995 handpainted on - all those things you never knew you wanted. But there must be a market for them, right? Because otherwise they wouldn’t sell them.

So yeah - you may not personally want a humane spider catcher or inhumane spider gas-chamber, or an attachment that means you can clip a pen onto the side of your glasses for when you want to write a note in the margin but need both hands to hold the book - but you know what? Someone else does.

Which was why I was so glad to see a crapalogue that had dropped out of one of the Sunday papers at work. It was just lying around. No one wanted it. Philistines.

Bright ideas, it was called - and was full of them. ‘The Slipper that you can wear outside!’ proclaimed one item. Um - that’s called a shoe, isn’t it? And a whole page devoted to incontinence products. Big red jolly letters, proclaiming ‘For when the bathroom’s just that little bit too far away!’ next to a portable she-wee. Or he-wee. Or free-wee. Or we-wee. I don’t know, it was one of the genders in one of the tenses. For those of any gender who find tensing things a problem. Or something. There’s also the ‘Ooh-poo!’, of course. Which, fittingly I think, sounds that little bit more panicky. Yes, I know, it’s not funny.

But it kind of is.

Anyway. My favourite thing by far? Why, it’s the only thing I cannot see any reason for anyone wanting, EVER.

That’s right, it’s a polyresin (?) (plastic?) FACE, that you can stick onto a TREE of your choice.

Now tell me - if you were walking in the park, or the woods, or your garden, happily tramping through the undergrowth and you suddenly came across that, then frankly, is there not a chance that you may well soil yourself (pun entirely intended, thangyooverymuch)?

Is there not a chance, ladies and gentlemen, that you might perhaps, lose control? Perhaps, you know, unclench?

Because if you would, don’t worry - that’s right; just in case you happen to be just that little bit too far from the bathroom and happen upon a treeface, let me present you with your stunning complimentary gift; a two ended, dual-purpose container, heat-preserving flask at one end, medically sealed funnel-jar at the other. Yes. It’s the Tea-Wee.

Or rather, the thin black line that lives between the the other, thicker red lines

I don’t remember the day, but it was one woman that kicked off my current obsession. Idly, I was staring, and I realised that, between the perfect application of lipstick, there was a perfect sad face. A very clear line between the lips that had an expression all of its own.

It’s funny, because everyone wears this neutral face on the bus, and yet, on the line between their lips, there’s often a very clear other expression - one that they can’t help having there. And it’s like the faces that you draw on stickmen, a perfect pencil grin or pout of frown.

And ever since that moment, I’ve been absolutely obsessed. I have to tell myself not to stare, or to at least stare obviously - but it’s addictive. Almost everyone’s natural mouthitat is a straight line or a sad little rainbow; and every now and again you’ll happpen upon someone who carries with them the magic black-line-smile.

Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. Now you’ll want to stare yourselves. I apologise if my wistful curiousity leads to any of you getting smacked in the pencil-line kisser. But do look. Believe me; the line between the lips is the most beautiful part of any commuter. Or the most beautiful part of them you can see on the bus, anyway.

Can I just tell you, lads - when you wear you baseball cap with its tip level to the nub of your nose, you may *think* you look exactly like Mr Fifty Cent, but actually, you look silly. I say if you have to tip your head back more than ninety degrees in order to see where you’re going or what bus stop you’re at, you’re probably negating any air of cool that was attained by wearing the cap as a giant blinker in the first place.

Thank you.

Sorry - I still love you, I promise, but busyness of looking for houses, and work and life and, no, no, mainly looking for houses but… Um .

Hello.

Did you have nice weekend? How’s your mum?

If you are remotely of the mind to, or if you happen to be very bored and have access to a pair of headphones, you can find my audio guide to Marseille here.

You can listen to it on your pooter, or download it onto your iPod/whatever and listen to it on that forever, or until someone nicks the bloody thing. Also you can download a version with pictures, or something.

Um. I hope you like it.

So there you are. You don’t have to listen to it, of course, if you don’t want to, and if you do want to, you don’t haven to listen to it all. Because it’s very long. But there. I told you I would do a podcast. And I have and I hope it’s ok.

My beloved says I sound like that bloke off Grand Designs, but female and being realistic but over-excited about travel rather than houses. I think he meant it in a nice way.

Anyway. Um. So that’s one of the things I’ve been doing recently. So there you are.

It is like this:

nho;vjio;s zsiomjiopsvrmjipvfm, zsdfjklzgm,vb -

that is me banging my head against the keys.

It is also like this:

Arg.

- They are/is busy.

- I thought/think I was/am going to have some time, but then I didn’t/don’t (I’m giving/given this up now). This isn’t really a point of it’s own, it’s kind of related quite strongly to the last point. I was just amplifying it.

- My eye is as noisy as yesterday, but in a different way. It now goes ‘click click click click’ when you rub it. Don’t worry, it always does this. I can blow air through my tear ducts too, which is a good party trick, but only if you go to really, REALLY quiet parties and not loud rambunctious ones. Luckily I’m almost thirty and this isn’t a problem.

- Shocking News! Blogs might not as widely read as no one thinks they are, especially bloggers! Incredible.

- I have become physically incapable of typing <a href
I always type < ahref instead, which is just no fucking good whatsoever.
I just read that sentence over and now want myself locked up for being a dullard.

- I was going to post something earlier, in which case I would have mentioned that the fragrant Mike of Troubled Diva has arranged to meet various people of the web at a pub, and it will be fun, and that people should think hard about it, if they are in the area. But it is far too late now. Sorry. We will have a pint for you.

Or rather, it’s two days before payday, so we will have a half pint for you. Or maybe a lime and soda. [Checks purse]
Or a peanut. Damn, I should have mentioned this earlier, maybe there would have been someone to buy me a drink.

- Anyway. That is what Wednesday is like. I promise to stop being extremely dull extremely soon. Please God.

A few things:

1) My eye is particularly squeaky this morning. My left eye.

2) I am now convinced that everyone on the bus is out to rob me. This may or may not be true.

3) I have decided which sofa and armchair I want to buy. Now all I need is a) enough money for a sofa and armchair and b) a new flat to put it in.

4) If people are going to nick your content, then why not 4a) Do it logically and nick a well crafted classic piece of writing rather than a bored musing and 4b) At least include the code to the Paypal donate button that I mentioned in the first version of the post, so I could have made some money out of it. Oh, I don’t know - maybe she thought it was a meme.

Does it still count as a meme if you’re just posting the answers verbetim and changing your name, mostly?

[Update: Oh it's gone. How weird. Maybe she didn't think it was a meme after all.

Good thing I saved that screen-grab then. Someone should do an article about blog-plagiarism. PARTICULARLY plagiarism of posts that weren't that good in the first place. That's just really fucking odd.]

1: Sleep.

Tick. Like the dead - and not like the proverbial dead, either, like the actual dead. You know, heavily, unthinkingly, slowly decomposing etc. Or possibly. I don’t know, I was asleep at the time.

2: Watch movies.

Oh tick tick tick tick. Yes, very much tick. Mainly today it was Singin’ in the Rain, which lovely Richard sent me from my wishlist. Seriously. You guys; too, TOO lovely. Thank you. And I watched Rear Window, which was ace. And now I’m watching some cock-awful con-comedy (conedy?) which is making me want to defenestrate the television. Front OR rear window - I don’t care, as long as it goes.

3: Seaside things.

If this involves looking for flats to let in seaside towns on the internet, then tick. We have decided to move. You may have gathered this. This is very exciting, if a little scary (commutywise) and worrysome (nothavingaflatyettywise).

4: Do things to your blog

Yes, I realise that isn’t a traditional thing, but it is around here.

I have been tweaking things and editing the ’some small collection of posts that might be ok’ post (here, please please feel free to make suggestions, suggestions veh welcome…) and yes, yes I know, start shouting at me now, adding a donate-via-paypal button.

Sorry.

But the toothfairy doesn’t pop around so often when you’re bumping up against thirty, apparently. And yes, I’m sorry, I know it’s awful. But just imagine the last four and three quarter years of writingness as, like, a book maybe, and you know, a book that you might enjoy you might pay a little money for to, no, no, I can’t do it, bugger. Look. It’s over there if you ever feel like it’s something that you might feel like doing, don’t feel like you have to say anything but you could just oh shut up anna.

5: Catch up with friends.

Tick. I have caught up with a lot of friends, although admittedly I mainly caught up with them while asleep, which is rubbish. So I haven’t made up with friends. Oh bother.

[Good god, have you ever seen heartBREAKeRS? It's a film, with Sigorney Weaver, and it's just, it's just unspeakably bad. Unutterably terrible. Believe me, I've been watching it for two hours, and it's too, too bad. I'm never going to get this time back - do they realise that?]

6:Make cakes.

Tick! I made cakes! I didn’t make cakes out of ticks, of course. That would be wrong, and bad. And also wrong.

7: Go to church.

No tick. Bad Anna. I didn’t eat any Easter eggs either. This is awful, as it apparently makes the baby Jesus cry if you don’t eat his eggs. I don’t know why he liked eggs particularly. But he really, really did.

8: Water the garden.

I didn’t do this at all because, as we all know, hosepipes are Banned. Also, we don’t have a garden. I could have watered next door’s garden I suppose, but I would have had to do that by throwing cups of water at it. And it’s three floors down. And they can water their own damn garden, I’m busy looking for flats by the sea.

And there’s still a whole other day to go.

I’m a bit bored, to be honest with you.
I may start doing memes.
Or work.

Good things about the fact that I was pickpocketed on the bus on the way home from work this evening.

1. It wasn’t my camera. He didn’t take my camera.
2. I noticed as soon as it happened - well, as soon as the twunt got off the bus and I looked down at my bag, so it’s not as if it was a nasty shock later on, which would have been awful.
3. I managed the first 27 years of my life without an iPod, this is surely a return to that ‘we made our own fun’ era. Also, I remember when all this were fields.
4. He didn’t take my phone, which is the only place I store all my phone numbers.
5. If I was going to be robbed at some point anyway, which I probably always was, living where I live, then I should be grateful it was like this, and that I wasn’t hurt, or scared, or whatever. It could have been worse.
6. He didn’t take my purse, which has all my means of gaining access to money, or my diary, which has a really stupid amount of personal information in.
7. Someone fell on the ipod while drunk a few weeks ago, so the damn thing was dented anyway.
8. He didn’t take my passport. I would have been very depressed at the idea of going through all that passport shit again.
9. I was being lambasted today for not giving up anything for lent. Well oh look, I gave up my iPod. Aren’t I good.
10. This has taught me a lesson. I was stupid. My bag was open, I wasn’t paying attention, I should have been a lot more careful.
11. iPods are representative of the shallow, capitalistic sham of our cashsodden routine of dank wageslavery, the filthy mask of our hateful society, the white plastic badge of the bourgeoisie and the white plastic earphone lead that binds the masses to their ugly, immovable, itune-dependent fate. Also I don’t like the way you can’t move from shuffle to playlist or albumplay mode mid-song.
12. It’s only a thing. Life carries on.
13. It takes the rosy sheen off London, which will make it easier to leave.
15. To be honest, I was finding it difficult to think of anything to write about tonight before it happened.

Bad things about the fact that I was pickpocketed on the bus on the way home from work this evening

1. I’m really aware that there’s someone out there right now, looking through my playlists, and remarking on the fact that I’ve got really bad taste in music.

   I hate that.

Place The bus. Rosebery Avenue

Date 13/04/06

Time 20:30

Please type your message here:

Hi.

I got pickpocketed on the number 38 bus this evening. My iPod got nicked.

I know this isn’t your fault, but I’m just really annoyed and wanted to tell someone.

It was probably my fault, I should have been more careful, kept a closer hold on my bag, been more aware or something, but, you know, it’s really easy to get pickpocketed on those bendy buses. It’s easy not to notice, and it’s easy for them to get off the bus really quickly and run away before you even realise what’s happened.

I know there’s nothing you can do about it now, and I’m not expecting you to do anything, really.

But this is the third pickpocketing on a bendy bus that I’ve heard about in the last couple of weeks, although the first that actually happened to me. I was angry enough when it happened to my friend and then my colleague, so you can imagine I’m really quite upset now.

I don’t know what you can do - clearly there’s no way we’re ever going to get conductors back, and you’re not going to put extra staff on buses just to protect your passengers well-being and property, are you? And other preventative methods, more cameras or whatever, would only mean you’d put the fares up again, and I really can’t afford for you to do that.

So I suppose I’ll just have to learn to be more careful, and tell my friends to do the same, because if pickpockets want to work in London, then thanks to the bendy buses, they now have a perfect place to do it, repeatedly, and to get away with it.

Thanks.