Nothing I like better than a formal invite.

Work-Buddy-James is getting married in a couple of months. I got my invite today. I was annoyed because I didn't have an RSVP form attached. How was he to know if I could make it?

I told him this. He then informed me that he sees me every day and so it is very easy for me to say the words 'I shall be attending' to him then. He then added that the whole thing was sorted anyway as he already knew I was coming because I had told him last week that I had booked the time off work.

I reminded him that he was not taking into consideration the possibility that he might forget I had said yes. He said that wouldn't be a problem. I wasn't so sure. He said he had a spreadsheet and he would update it now with my RSVP so that he wouldn't forget. I pointed out that a spreadsheet is rubbish without any proof to back up the data on it.

He eventually gave in and made me an RSVP.



I wasn't happy with this and pointed out his flaw.





I pushed the matter further until he again caved and made a new invite.



I pointed out some further flaws which led to this



He gave up then and left the room saying I didn't have a choice and I had to come.

...

Some people are so touchy.

Phewee! Anyone else surprised we survived that one?

Dear Sun,

You caused some mayhem here yesterday, didn't you? I don't think I've ever seen the country in such a state of confusion as it was yesterday. 

I do find it rather amusing that after all the years this world has existed you haven't caught on yet. You see, England is a country that functions best on mediocre weather, this is how we thrive. 

Yes we like the occasional heat but only if it's not too hot. If you make the heat unbearable then this country simply shuts down. 

People will only be comfortable in the bare minimum clothes. The workplace suddenly becomes a danger to work in because of the severe lack of air conditioners. You know we don't own air conditioners, what would be the point?

Not to mention we are a fairly pessimistic country, and as such we like a good moan. Yesterday however you'd have thought we were on our deathbed with the way we carried on. 

And as for last night? Well that had to be the main topic of conversation today. All day people were discussing how uncomfortable, hot and sweaty they were...

Come to think of it, you did unite the country nicely with that one. Everyone was very keen to bond over the topic. 

That being said, at the next committee meeting you hold with the rest of the weather, can you just remind them of the 'mild weather only' rule we have please? Especially the snowcloud. His excessive downpour earlier in the year convinced half the country they'd never be able to leave the house again. 

Other than that, thanks for all the good stuff you've been doing in giving us light and growing plants and junk, it's been really useful. 

Yours lovingly

Lisa xx

The curious case of buttons I shall call Benjamin.

Yesterday I was thrown into a world of perplexion. Something happened that stumped even my fairly "imaginative-to-the-point-of-disturbed" brain.

England has been hit with the sun again and this time with such a force I think we're all a little lost with how to cope with it.

We do know that we need to be outside for every precious moment of it so I had plans to meet Claire-The-Bully and Rachael-The-Bully at the park for a picnic yesterday afternoon.

As I was leaving the house however, I came across what would inevitably stump my brain for the rest of the day.

On the floor, by my front door, was something that had been posted through my letterbox. This alone was a little odd as it was Sunday and there was no post on Sundays.

Curious, I picked up the little packet. It was a small clear plastic bag... With four buttons inside... Like the ones you get on a shirt, only these were on a little cardboard strip.



There was nothing else with it, no note, no directions for it's use, just four clear buttons.

My immediate reaction was to go through all my clothes in my head and try and work out whether any of them needed buttons in case they had been sent to me by some higher power as a hint (naturally). But as far as I knew I was good on the button front.

Then I thought, maybe someone had come up with a possible solution to my acidic armpit issue... Alas I then reminded myself there was no needle and thread attached and I fear the buttons wouldn't have the same effect stuck on with blue tac.

This, ladies and gents, was where I became stuck. I could not for the life of me work out why someone would post four buttons in a plastic bag through my letterbox.

It didn't arrive in an envelope either so this was something some had taken the time to hand deliver.

If this does turn out to have been one massive prank, I can't decide whether I think it's really poor or highly impressive. I think I'm leaning towards being impressed, it has well and truly stumped me for two days now.

If you have any suggestions then they are truly welcome because I'm at a loss.

Peace out my lovelies.

Beware, I've discovered how this world will end... and it's not pretty.

There is a TV show that I try not to watch called the Cube.



The programme is completely excruciating to sit through, the tension that is built up in this show is immense. I'm not a fan of shows like that, I find myself completely knackered out by the end of watching them. However if I end up staying on the channel it's on for longer than a minute then I am suddenly drawn into it's little web.

This afternoon this happened. I have just finished watching an episode and I am ready for a nap. The whole premise (for those who don't know it) is that this big glass cube has a really tough challenge inside and if you complete it you win lots of money but if you lose any of the challenges, you go home with none of the money you had initially won.

Like I said... excruciating.

The thing is I can't just watch programmes like this, I have to get involved. I have to sit and watch and behave like somehow I am the one on the show and not sitting on my sofa at home. I go through all of the tension of being a contestant and some other guy walks away with the money! I mean why would I put myself through that? WHY????

It's things like this that make me wonder why these shows are so popular. It must mean there are a lot of people out there who are just dying to give themselves a heart attack or chronic anxiety issues.

If this continues we will be living in a world where everyone is afraid to leave their house for fear of any possible tension. No one will be able to eat because even the food delivery men will be too scared to work which will mean in ten years time we will all just be decaying skeletons shacked up in our beds like that creepy malnourished guy from the film 'Seven.'

There 'The Cube' I hope you're happy.

...

Either that or there's a possibility I'm the only one who gets like that when shows like 'The Cube' are on...

Sometimes it's best to go along with the lie to keep things moderately not uncomfortable.

I always assumed my inclination towards being 'Britishly' polite was something I had developed in my recent years. My childhood and teenage years were spent shouting... Not in an angry way but in a 'my voice only has one volume' way. 

I think this led me to be a person you either loved or hated, depending on your tolerance levels. As a result of this I do remember myself being pretty fearless, especially during secondary school. 

There wasn't a musical or concert that I wouldn't insist on being in. The performances would then leak into my real life bringing in the melodrama with it. 

So with all of this floating around in my memory, my perception of my early teens are pretty in-your-face. 



Then three days ago, a memory entered my brain out of absolutely nowhere. This memory proved  that, for all my bravado, I was still Britishly awkward even at that age. 

I was 14 and the memory was of a phone call I had made to a friend, Helen. 

I had dialled Helen's number and her dad picked up. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, is Helen there?"

"No sorry Susie, Helen's out at the mo."

I was silent for a few seconds. Susie wasn't my name... Should I tell him? I considered correcting him but then thought I'd be off the phone soon and it would be far less awkward to just ignore it. 

"Okay. Well thanks, I'll try later."

"We haven't seen you around here for a while, how are you?" Helen's dad continued. 

Crap. Susie was obviously a close friend. It was probably best to just come clean now. Even if it would be awkward, at least he would recognise his mistake and we could get off the phone that little bit quicker. 

With my mind made up, I opened my mouth to respond. 

"I'm fine thanks." I replied, and then, not wanting Susie to appear rude, I added, "how about you?"

"Oh I'm fine," he replied. "Are you and your parents still coming to our outing this weekend?"

Cold sweat coated my face as I plunged into another awkward pause. He knew Susie and her parents? This was just getting ridiculous now. I mean if he knew her that well then surely he would have been able to pick out her voice from a complete strangers!

But I was too invested in the whole charade now. I couldn't back out without having to explain why I had lied previously. So instead of coming clean, I said:

"Of course we'll be there, looking forward to it."

Internally I was thinking 'Crap, I hope I'm right.'

"Okay," he replied, "Well I'll see you then. Say hi to your parents for me."

"Will do." I replied and practically slammed the phone down.

I remember spending the next couple of days hoping and praying that he never spoke to the mysterious Susie on Saturday about that conversation.

I love that after years of never telling a soul about that phone call and suppressing it into the depths of my memories, it popped out of nowhere, completely unannounced and entirely unprovoked. It was like my brain was saying... 'Yes I know, money's tight and life seems a little overwhelming at the moment, so here... have a memory that will make you laugh.'

Cheers brain, you're awesome.

Peace out my lovelies.

Oh it just plain sucks.

I'm going to break the mould of my usual way of doing these posts and use this particular post as an outlet for my rant. Please don't pay too much notice of me, I just need to get this one out.

Six months ago I moved house and got myself my own little place in the outer parts of London. It's only a rented place but it's beautiful and, until this December, all mine.

With this move I also got me a new job also in London, although not exactly nearby. This job I also love, it's interesting and there is never a dull moment.

Three months into living in this house I decided to start this blog. It has been the best decision I have ever made. I have loved every moment and have been so grateful for all the love that I have received for it.

Everything in this past 6 months has been awesome. I have loved it and I wouldn't change it for the world... all except one thing.

Money. Money is ruining my awesome experience. Money is causing me to cry every time I look at my bank account. Money is officially killing my buzz.

So here's where I rant. I HATE that we live in a world where everything is governed by money and the necessity that if we are to be truly happy we need to have a lot of it. I HATE that in order for me to live in this capital I will be constantly worrying about this. I HATE that I have no money and I HATE that people are asking for so much of it when all I want is buy some groceries.

Most of all I HATE walking through life with this constant stress on my back. My day is freaking tainted all the time because I constantly have this worry. I HATE this recession. I HATE that due to other people's financial mistakes I am now finding myself struggling. I'm annoyed. I'm stressed and I really HATE being either of these things.

That is all. Sorry I'm not more entertaining, I will be on the next post.

A weekend of chilling with the future bosses, part deux.

Okay so the reality of this weekend's Writer's Conference wasn't quite like I had imagined it.

One assumption I had had was that being in a room full of aspiring writers, all with the same dream and in the same desperate boat, would mean that all of us would be glaring at each other and trying to secretly damage the other. 

This was not the case however... That I knew of anyway. Upon arriving, I met two fellow writers with completed books, Steph and Paddy. 

There wasn't really a point where conversation seemed awkward upon meeting these two, as was the case with everyone I met this day. In every person's eyes I saw that same desperation I saw every time I looked in the mirror. 

There was no doubt about it, every person at this conference held in their heads the next big book that, in their opinion, would be the best thing that happened to planet Earth. Every single person there looked as hopeful as I was that the agents and publishers in this room would unlock their dreams by the end of the day. 

All of this I recognised within 2 minutes of entering the room and my observations were confirmed when 10 minutes in I heard someone say:

"I'm meeting friends after... That is unless I haven't been whisked away on a helicopter by people wanting to publish my book."

It was then that I thought to myself, 'I'm home.'

The sessions in the conference were amazing and very useful. At the end of each session there was a chance to ask questions to the publishers, authors and agents speaking. 

All through the day I worked up a sweat trying to think of a question I could ask one of them because obviously the moment I was in their line if sight they were going to realise that I was the answer to all their dreams. 

However, when it came down to it, no questions would come to my head. It was as if I was suddenly a genius in the publishing world and had everything sussed out... If this was the case, I was doing a very good job at hiding the information. 

During an afternoon session however, I suddenly found myself with a question. So shocked was I on this that I had barely noticed my hand go up. 

When the speaker (who was an agent btw) pointed at me and said "Yes, you in the grey top," I froze. Did she mean me? Am I wearing a grey top? Pants, I can't remember. 

Somewhere I heard someone whisper "she means you," which shocked my brain into remembering I could look down to check if I was wearing the colour the woman had called out. I did and saw the grey material... Or was it grey? It seemed more brown to me... Realising this wasn't the time for this internal debate, I pushed the thought away and finally found my words. 

Needless to say, she didn't ask me for my book, but then she did say she didn't represent fantasy novels so I'm putting it down to that reason. 

I'm going to leave you with my favourite question asked of the whole day. It was in a session teaching us how to submit our manuscript with a cover letter and synopsis. I don't know this man's name but he looked like a 'Tim' to me. 

Speaker: I can take one more question. 
Tim: You've talked about all the right ways of writing a cover letter and synopsis but I've been doing it that way for ages and I'm not getting anywhere. Where am I going wrong?
Speaker: I couldn't tell you without looking at your synopsis to see what you're doing.
Tim: I thought you might say that so I've put a copy of it with my cover letter on the table in front of you. Can you read them and let me know?
Speaker: (Picks up letter and gapes in disbelief) Sure, I'll look at this for you.

The room falls silent, one person starts to clap, the whole audience joins in.

Me: That was the most genius thing I've ever seen.
Paddy: Everyone here is thinking the same thing right now.
Me: What's that?
Paddy: I wish I had thought of that.

So no, I'm not published like I'd hoped. And no one ended up thrusting 2 million pounds in my face either. But one thing they couldn't recommend enough however was for us to have a blog. Huzzah! BOX TICKED!!

So people, I turn to you in my hour of need. If you enjoy my blog and can think of anyone else who also might then by all means tell them about me! If you know a publisher or agent then I promise to snog you if you can introduce them to me.

Also, if you are curious about how my fiction writing goes then go and check out my Creative Writing page. It has a few ad hoc short stories I've written over the years. Let me know what you think!

I'll keep you updated on how my book goes but until then...

Peace out my lovelies.

A weekend of chilling with the future bosses.

Guys, I want you to brace yourselves because today I actually have something worthwhile to say. 

I'm not going to lie, due to the mundane '9-5' of my life, I do occasionally have to strain my brain  muscles to come up with something of importance for this thing. 

But every so often, a gem of a day occurs that is actually worth blogging about. A day that proves I do, on certain mysterious occasions, go out and not live a life that will keep me stuck doing the exact same thing in ten years. 

This weekend's little gem was a Writer's conference in London. This conference was designed for first time writers who were desperately trying to get their book published. 



I have been preparing for this conference for about 3-4 months. During these months of nothing else going on, my imagination for how this day would pan out has been going wild. 

You see, the people putting together this little shindig were A&C Black/Bloomsbury publishers. A&C Black are responsible for the Writer's and Artist's handbook, otherwise known as the writer's bible. Bloomsbury published this little book... You may have heard of it... I think it was called something like Sally Trotter? - no - wait Harry Potter, that's it. 

As a result of laying snuggled in this beautiful little nugget of information I had imagined my day panning out a bit like this:

Me: And that, in a nutshell, is my book. 
Publisher: I have just one word for you - AMAZING!
Me: Really?
Publisher: Sweetie, if we don't publish your book right this very minute, I honestly don't think my life will be worth living any more. 
Me: Aw, you're sweet. 
Publisher: In fact, whilst you were telling me this storyline, I had one of my best designers put together a book cover for you. 
Me: Really? How does he know what to draw?
Publisher: He's been sitting under the table. I always like to have him nearby in case I were ever to run into a story like yours. 

Designer comes out from under the table with massive cardboard poster of the design for my book. 

Designer: Now this is only the first draft, give me an hour and I'll have it just the way you want it. 
Me: Wow, this is great! When do you think we could get published?

Publisher's assistant pops her head around the door with a mobile phone to her ear. 

Publisher's assistant: Unfortunately I can't get it on the stands today but we're booking shipments for overnight so they'll be there first thing in the morning. Obviously you'll be compensated for the wait. 
Me: Compensated?
Publisher: (Puts a silver case on the table) I only have a couple of million in cash with me now but we can wire the rest of the money straight to your account. 
Me: The rest??!!
Publisher: I'm sorry, we should have been more prepared. Please don't go to someone else. 

Pause

Me: (Voice cracking) No, the two million will be just fine. 

It might surprise you to know that this wasn't how it really panned out... Sort of... And by sort of, I mean completely. 

But as I don't usually have interesting stuff happen to me, I'm going to milk it for all it's worth and wait until tomorrow before I tell you what really happened. 

Peace out my lovelies. 

Good news: The boiler didn't attack me again. Bad News: I'm pretty sure my brain's leaking out of my ears from the time it did.

Younger-Brother-Daniel has been shortened to YBD

YBD: You know those boxes that come up on the computer screen when you're trying to leave a comment and ask you to enter in the letters it shows?
Me: Yes.
YBD: There is a button on it with a wheelchair symbol. What do you reckon that's for?
Me: Probably for blind people to click on.
YBD: ...
Me: What?
YBD: That might be the stupidest thing you've ever said.


...


In other news, The-Awesome-Alice came round yesterday.



Since our fateful night we have only seen each other twice.

The last time, when I asked if she wanted to come round or to go to the pub, she was very keen on keeping away from my house. Apparently one sleepless night stuck in A&E with an unconscious friend with a head injury sprawled all over her is enough to give her issues about my home.

Yesterday though, she ended up back at mine out of lack of places nearby to crash for the night.

She near off had a panic attack when I said to her that I was going to have a shower. I did reassure her that since December I have had a few showers without cracking my head open. I don't think she believed me though. I'm pretty sure she had pre-dialed 999 into her phone, "just in case."

When I made it out of the shower alive and injury free, The-Awesome-Alice and I had a little dance and gave each other a celebratory high five. I don't think anyone had been so happy that I was capable of showering all by myself.

I think both of us were convinced that we couldn't both exist in that flat at the same time without an ambulance being somehow involved.

But we did and we slept and we got up and we went on with out lives with only fond memories.

I don't know about anyone else but I'm pretty impressed I managed to do a whole post about the fact that nothing happened once when I was in the shower. Yeay me. I shall congratulate myself with a glass of wine and an ice lolly.

Peace out my lovelies.

Two posts in one day? My my, you have been spoiled/monstrously punished - depending on your feelings for this blog.

My world has balanced itself out nicely. This morning every train I got was late/delayed/slow etc. On my way home however, it's been like the buses and trains have been waiting for me to arrive, I've not had to wait once. Huzzah for balance!

Yesterday I didn't post as I had a day off from work to prepare for a writer's conference I shall be attending on Saturday.

I have been looking forward to this and mentally psyching myself up for months now.

Something arrived in the post yesterday. They were some more products of my brother's creativity.

Off the back of his successful make over of my blog, I asked if he would design me some business cards following the same style. He did, and this is what he created.

My every day business card (for Lisa out on the town).



My "want to read my blog?" business card with my beloved plum.



And finally... My "so you want to publish my book 'Serenity!' Well here, have my card" business card.



Once again my brother has surpassed himself. This certainly beats my previous "let me write my details backwards on your forehead so you have something to read later in the mirror" technique.

If you are impressed with his work then go and check out his other stuff here.

Please do because he reckons I owe him now when I've told him that I've advertised his work to everyone so obviously that makes us even. He only grumbled at this, saying that he hasn't updated it in a while but I figured that wasn't exactly my problem. I've done my deed, if he's going to be lazy and not update his blog then that's his deal.

Having said that, there is loads on there so go check it out.

Wish me luck for Sat!

Peace out my lovelies.

Sometimes I really love my brain

There's something very Theme Park-esque about the London Underground service.

This morning I was on the longest commute to work I've had so far. There were delays, diverted trains and bad weather added in for good measure.

But an hour and a half in, as I stood waiting for a tube I should have gotten on an hour earlier, I couldn't help but smile to myself.

As each tube came in, it would get announced through the overhead speaker in incoherent words that made you wonder the point of the announcement in the first place.

The only bit you can hear is the "stand clear of the doors please, stand clear of the doors." The doors then shut and the tube gives a wooshing sound as it prepares to take off.

It's at this point I like to imagine that the moment that tube hits the tunnel, it won't just be going to the next station. No, instead the tunnel will lead it through a series of dips and spins whilst all the business men and women inside whoop and cheer and throw up. Then when the tube reaches it's destination, everyone gets off with their hair our of place, shirts untucked, stiletto heels broken, and a smile on their faces because they knew it was totally worth it.

I've yet to be on one of these trains, but just the mere knowledge they exist is enough for me.

Speak soon my lovelies.

It really annoys me when you insist on ruining my day.

Dear Pollen,

Why have you got to be so mean? I don't recall ever doing anything to you to warrant this level of bullying. In fact if you only stopped all this 'making me sneeze' business, I think we'd get along. 

But you won't. No, instead you hound me every time I leave the house. You leave that itchy and oh so irritable feeling in my nostrils that causes me to sniff constantly, even when I've only just been through an extensive nose blowing exercise. 

What's more, that little tickle stays there and threatens to make me sneeze... Only sometimes the sneeze won't come and instead I'm left burning my eyes as I stare at the sun and hold my mouth open whilst sporting one of my less attractive looks in a desperate attempt to bring the sneeze out. 

Pollen, this look is all fine and dandy in the safety of my own home, but when I'm on a bus with 50 other people I just look ridiculous. 

Usually I grin and bare the whole ordeal as I know I am powerless to stop you but I'm not enjoying my current experience and I fear now you have crossed the line. 

You see, ten minutes ago I fell into a sneezing frenzy of 7 in a row (I was quite impressed although my record is 18 - that was a weird experience). 

These 7 sneezes weren't even the satisfying kind as I was getting on a train and so had to keep my mouth shut in order to prevent from spraying everywhere. 

All of this, although inconvenient, didn't compare to the horror of what you subjected me to next. 

I reached into my bag to retrieve a tissue and regain control of the whole situation but realised, at that moment, I had run out of tissues. NO TISSUES!!

I'm stuck on public transport for the next hour and if I sniff one more time I swear someone is going to punch me in the face for being so gross. 

Pollen, you are completely out of order. Why are you so toxic to the world? We are all creations of this earth, can't we just get along?

I'm giving you this one chance Pollen. Either you clear up my nose  or I'm going to kick you in the nuts. The only other option open to me is to wipe my nose on the business man's shirt next to me and I REFUSE to do that again. It did not end well the last time. 

Yours lovingly

Lisa xx

I think my new camera maybe harbouring an evil spirit.

In my last post I mentioned that I had a new camera. It's really nice and looks highly professional and shizzle. 

For the first two days I was incredibly impressed with it and displayed it for all to see. 

Day 3 however, I began to worry. 

I went to an awesome and very funny barbeque of Friday night with some old friends. I took plenty a picture that night. 

Every time I'm photographing in a group like this one, myself and my friend Rich-Whom-I-Love have two poses we like to make people do and then watch the hilarity that inevitably follows. 

My one is the "What's that coming over the hill? Is it a monster?" pose. 



Rich-Whom-I-Love's one is the "I've just come on my period and I don't have a tampon" pose. 



On this night however, something seemed off with the pictures. 





Can you see it? The dark shadow creeping it's way into the bottom left hand corner?

Every picture I took this night carried the same shadow. 

Now I know what your thinking... "come on Lisa, that's obviously not so much an evil spirit but rather a really bad finger placement." And yes, I completely agreed initially. So I took another picture, being really careful of finger placement. 



I assure you, all fingers were tucked away in the making of that photo. FYI, trying to take a picture with hands only and no fingers is actually pretty tough... In case you ever wondered. There was a deep sense of accomplishment involved in succeeding however. 

So with the finger theory out, it leaves only one option. There is an evil spirit living in my camera who's soul purpose is to creep into the lives of those who's picture is being taken and suck all that is good and pure out of them... Gives a whole new meaning to cameras stealing a part of your soul. 

Oh and to those in the photos... Eeshk, what can I say? Totally didn't see this one coming. Trust me when I say that I feel just terrible for dooming your lives to evil possession. I shall endeavour to be a lot more careful in the future. 

To everyone else, if I suddenly disappear from the blogging world, or if my posts start to become inherently evil you'll know my theory was correct. 

It'll be too late for me but if you can make it your mission to destroy all Fuji cameras that look like this...



...then maybe we can stop this from becoming an epidemic. 

I'm off to research how to destroy me should I try to take over the world. Hopefully I'll discover it while I still want to tell you... wish me luck!!

The day I became a murderer and clairvoyant in just 16 hours.

Last night I took a picture of some awesome pasta I made from scratch. 



Five seconds later, like a complete pigeon, I dropped my camera on the floor. It now no longer works. I'd take a picture except... Well, you know. 

It landed on the lens and bent it out of place. 

I went into denial at first. I repeatedly pressed the on/off button, convinced that even though it said "lens error" the first 50 times, the next time it would be different.

It wasn't. 

After I repeated the pointless exercise another 126 times, I collapsed into a heap as the realisation hit me. I had killed my camera. 

I tried to distract myself with an episode of Lost and by uploading yesterday's post. This was successful until, an hour later, my eyes fell on the camera again. 

Convinced that I had made the whole "murder of my camera" fiasco up, I tried to turn the camera back on and blinked back the tears as the same "lens error" message appeared on my screen. 

Of course this just triggered off my denial phase all over again and I reverted back to my "on/off and repeat" method. Perhaps if I did it enough times, it would jiggle something and make the lens move. 

It didn't. 

It was at this point that I went on my Facebook page and faced the issue head on by admitting to what I had done by way of an updated status. 

It was only then, as I wrote the words down, that I allowed myself to cry. I allowed myself to mourn the departing of my beloved camera. 

Then the panic hit... How was I going to illustrate my points to people on my blog now? How was I going to make random videos of my day? HOW WAS I GOING TO LIVE?

Adrenaline pumping, I ran to where I kept the box for the camera and searched for the receipt. This was when I discovered that not only had I (in a moment of generosity to myself) put out an instant replacement warranty on the camera, but i had also not lost the paper that proved it. That has NEVER happened to me before. 

I dragged Work-Buddy-James to Canary Wharf during our lunch break today as I had been assured there was a Dixons store there. 

We spent the majority of the time in the lift because Work-Buddy-James got confused by the buttons. Once we did get out the lift though we went searching for Dixons. 

"You know what?" I said. "Knowing my luck it won't even be a Dixons anymore. Instead they'll have replaced it with a Currys or something."

"You're so negative," Work-Buddy-James said. "It's going to be fine."

"Well I don't see it anywhere, do you?"

"Let's ask this guy." Work-Buddy-James suggested and tapped a security man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, can you direct me to Dixons please?"

"I'm sorry," the man responded. "It hasn't been a Dixons for a while, it got turned into a Currys last year."

I stared at him in disbelief whilst Work-Buddy-James bit his bottom lip to stop from laughing. 

Once we were out of earshot I turned my gaping face to Work-Buddy-James. 

"Dude, I think I'm clairvoyant."

"Yeah, but you see things that have already happened... Probably not as impressive."

"Jealous much?"

Good and bad news followed. Currys agreed to replace the camera as it was linked somehow with Dixons but I didn't have everything I needed to give the camera back (cables, charger, etc) so he wouldn't take it. 

So I went later when I got home from work and alas, for all my tears and denial I have actually walked away with a much better model and for some reason I don't feel the pain like I did last night...

Old camera I will always miss you, you gave me 10 wonderful months of my life and I will definitely miss how small you were. But my new camera is HD and does really cool things like this.



(That's my living room by the way)

I think I've grieved as much as I can, it is now time for me to move on. New vid with new camera should be around by the end of the weekend.

Yes I'm fickle, but I'm okay with it.

It's funny how all of my most pensive moments in life seem to be about birds... Maybe one day I'll get pensive about that.

Work-Buddy-James has been shortened to WBJ. 

Me: So yesterday I did a blog about how I'm instinctively a chicken and that's got me thinking. 
WBJ: What about?
Me: Why is it when you're scared of something, people call you a chicken?
WBJ: (Thinks a moment) Because chickens are scared of everything. You go anywhere near them and they fly away. 
Me: Chickens can't fly. 
WBJ: You know what I mean. 
Me: (Considers this) I'm not convinced. Most birds fly away when you go anywhere near them. 
WBJ: Not ostriches. 
Me: Ostriches aren't birds, they're monsters. 
WBJ: Geese have been known to put up a fight as well. 
Me: Geese don't count, they can read minds.

Pause

Me: Pigeons fly away when you go near them but no one calls scared people pigeons... Perhaps I should-
WBJ: It wouldn't work. Pigeons are relentless, they will stay put in the middle of the road no matter how close you come at it with your car. 
Me: That's because they're stupid, not brave... I think I'm going to start calling people pigeons when they do or say something dumb. 
WBJ: Sounds like a plan. 

Pause

Me: Sheep run away from you when you come near them, how come we don't call scared people sheep?
WBJ: Sometimes we do. 
Me: Touché. 
WBJ: Besides I've seen YouTube videos of sheep, geese and ostriches attacking people. I've never seen a chicken attack a person. 
Me: Something tells me YouTube weren't the first ones to call people chickens. I pretty sure people were being called that before it was invented. 
WBJ: You know what I mean. There's no proof of chickens fighting back. 
Me: Have you not seen Chicken Run? 
WBJ: There's no factual proof of chickens fighting back. 
Me: I don't believe that, there has to be a video of someone being attacked by a chicken. I'm going to find it. 
WBJ: You'll be wasting your time. 
Me: I'm going to find it and then start the revolution of no longer using a chickens name in vain... also I'm going to see if I can get the pigeon insult to catch on. 
WBJ: That's never going to happen. 
Me: ...... Pigeon. 



Take THAT Work-Buddy-James. Phase one of my plan complete.

Well those are two of my least favourite personalities. Note to self: ignore them and focus on the others - they're nicer.

A series of events have occurred at work over the past couple of weeks. These events have (through no fault of my own... kind of) caused a few things to go wrong. 

As these little mistakes unfurled I have discovered two new things about my personality, neither of which I'm particularly proud of. 

1. It's funny how fast I can run when I have enough incentive. 

The moment that I have discovered that something has started to go wrong, each time, without fail, my first reaction has been "run, for the love of all that is precious, run."

In fact, so strong is my urge that it has taken me actually gripping hold of my chair to stop me from moving.

Guys, I had no idea I was such a wuss but there you have it. 

I have fought every impulse in my body during this time however and managed to stay put. Sometimes this has involved me staying in my chair instead of running around and fixing the issue but I have eventually kicked my butt into gear and moved... So far. 

2. I've created many a list in my life, but the ones that save my skin are written with extra gusto. 

When confronted with the issue and asked how it had happened, my default reaction, apparently, is justification. 

This includes giving a step by step account of exactly what had made me come to make the decisions I did. I have been known to quote full conversations I had had many days prior to the event that seemingly have no relevance but actually later unveils a series of events that led to this particular issue. 

I would like to point out that this amount of detail is not usually asked for and quite often results in people edging out of the room as I try to prevent my voice from hitting hysteria... Before you start diagnosing, yes I suffer from the occasional anxiety attack. 

I have been quite proud of how I have managed to thwart most of my chicken impulses over these past couple of weeks and actually (eventually) deal with the situations. Having said this, I do ask God one thing. If it is possible that I have made any other mistakes, is there any way you could just let them slide and amount to nothing for at least a couple of years until I get what's left of my nerves back? Thanks a bunch. 

To everyone else, yes you are allowed to call me Lisa-The-Coward for a while... Except you Claire-And-Rachael-The-Bullies, you've said enough. 

People who are mischievous at my expense should be ashamed of themselves.

Yesterday upset me. It rained all day. This wasn't what upset me, but it is related. 

I was on my way home around half ten last night however and the rain was coming down strong. I hadn't been able to find my umbrella but my hair was already wet from a recent shower anyway so, again, I was able to stay positive about it. 

I'm very much of the opinion that if you live in England, complaining about the rain is pointless. It's like living in the Antarctic and wishing it would stop snowing. 

However there is such a thing as common decency and general niceness. Both these qualities did not belong to the driver of the car that saw the puddle on the side of the road and thought it would be fine to drive through it as I walked past. 

The result of this action looked something like this. 



Bad driver. BAD BAD DRIVER! 

I didn't get a chance to see the person behind the wheel but I imagine there was chuckling involved... It did seem like the car had swerved into the puddle. 

People have a real mean streak sometimes... I'm not saying that if I drove I would necessarily resist the temptation, but as I don't drive and I was the victim in this scenario, I'm taking the moral high ground and tutting/shaking my head whenever I think of them. 

Bad driver! You should be punished and in a way that involves me watching with popcorn and laughing heartily. 

Hey, I can totally stop if I wanted to... I just don't want to.

I've developed a new obsession.

Like all of my obsessions I do not deal with it half heartedly. This obsession is a brief obsession. I don't expect it to last for longer than another week but while it's here, it will take over my life for the entire duration.

This obsession is a game on my iphone called Bookworm.



If you are aware of the classic online games then no doubt you have come across this game.

For all of my brief obsessions, especially with games, I have a very predictable 7 step process. This happens, guaranteed, every time. The steps are:

1. Discover the game and cautiously decide to play it, even though I'm sure I won't actually enjoy it.

2. Play it a few more times, although only for the reason that I have nothing better to play.

3. Get wrapped up in the game and realise I like it.

4. Think about the game every time my brain is idle and feel the urge to play it immediately.

5. Realise I can see the images of the game every time I close my eyes.

6. Convince myself I'm going to be the best person ever at this game.

7. Suddenly become bored to the point of repulsion and not play it again for another 4 months until I rediscover it and start the whole process all over again.

Perhaps you relate?

I'm currently on the cusp of steps 5 and 6, but I know step 7 is coming.

At the peak of the obsession (step 5/6) I tend to let other necessary things in my life slip. You know, little things like eating and sleeping.

Last night I was up until 2am going through the same process over and over: I'd lose a game and then decide it was best to start a new game so that when I continue it the next day on the train I can start it when it's challenging rather than spend ages on the lower levels.

After I find each bonus word, I start to stop playing but then spot three letters of the next bonus word and think.. 'just one more.'

Then a red danger letter tile gets away from me and blows up all the other tiles. I lose once more and go to stop playing but then think 'Well, I don't want to be stuck on easy levels on the train...'

I'm going to go and play me some Bookworm now...

... If I ever mention to you that I'm considering taking Crack 'just the once,' pin me down and drag me away.

Scraping the bottom of the proverbial topic barrel or being verbally spontaneous? And the mystery continues.

Wow, it has not been easy coming up with something to talk about today. I've sat for at least 3 minutes with my pen to paper and my face in 'upturned ponder' mode. 

It was bound to happen eventually I suppose. I mean I've been somehow topic blessed for 3 months now, the random thoughts would have to run out at some point, my life isn't that interesting enough. 

To be honest, I'm amazed I've lasted this long. Granted, some of the posts may not qualify as newsworthy by everyone but they served their purpose. 

...

I'm a little concerned about the girl sitting opposite me on the train. I may have caught her eye earlier in my 'upturned ponder' moment and somehow she interpreted my 'try to be creative' look as 'I'm thinking offensive things about you and your family.' She is now looking like she wants to kill me... Seriously, she's terrifying. I never knew I could be this scared of a 10 year old.

...

Phew, she's gone now. She hasn't chosen to follow me home and murder me in my sleep. Score. 

This experience has encouraged me to observe the rest of the train. Let me summarise:

Some people are sitting, others are standing. To my left there is a rather yummy looking man. There are a lot of blue carrier bags for some reason. It's hot (I mean the temperature, not that I find blue carrier bags attractive... That would be weird). Yummy man is now blocked by chubby kid. Story of my life. No ginger men here today alas, two couples are groping each other though. I should write them a letter. Chubby kid has facial hair and an adult girlfriend, there is a possibility I may have got his age wrong. The train doors won't shut properly. Now they have. We're moving. It's still hot. 

I bet you're jealous you're not on this train. 

This is an official apology to my brain... Sorry brain, I didn't know it would be like that.

I've just come out of a meeting. This meeting was about something... I want to say finance of some sort, any further details on this meeting however were lost on me.

I named this meeting. I called it "2 1/2 hours of feeling stupid."

I would go as far to say that it's entirely likely my brain decided to go for a walk for the duration I was in the room. 

I have never been involved in a discussion where I have been that clueless of the content included. There were words said and I'm 99% sure they were formed in coherent sentences because everyone else around the table appeared to be nodding emphatically. But this was my only clue. 

I realised about 2 minutes in, that this meeting would be lost on me. It was at this point I discovered I had 3 choices:

A: Constantly interrupt each sentence and ask for it to be repeated again and again until I started to understand it. 

B: Wait until they were distracted with a PowerPoint slide and stomach crawl out the door, ideally unnoticed. 

C: Nod a lot and pretend that what they were talking about made sense. 

After reluctantly accepting the impracticalities of option B due to high heels, coat and bag obstacles, I chose the latter. 

Drawing on my extensive drama education, I dug deep into my soul and pulled out my most interested looking face. It looked a bit like this:







After 20 minutes however, I noticed another member of staff throwing me a sympathetic look and realised my look had transformed to this:






This continued to happen at 20 minute intervals, forming a closer 10 minute pattern as we approached the last hour. 

There was one point where things changed (about an hour and 20 minutes in). Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I understood. Instead I recognised a process mentioned that I had recently been asked to follow but didn't know how to. 

Clasping my opportunity to input somehow into this meeting with both hands, I spoke out for the first time since I had entered the room. 

I had intended to remark on how I had been entrusted with this very important task, only I wanted to ensure I knew the hospital's official procedure before I began to perform to the best of my ability. What actually came out was closer to "I've been freaking out about this for ages, please help me."

This, people, is as far as I got to understanding the meeting. Alas, his response to my broken plea was about as clear to me as the rest of the meeting had been.

Needless to say, now that I am out and not straining my brain to understand something, forcing it to send a dull ache to the rest of my head, I am definitely happier.

Now all I have to do is report back my findings to the rest of the team tomorrow... I get a feeling that may be brief.