I don't normally beg for assistance, I rely on my own eyes to see, but right now they make no sense to me...

I am in a state of confusion. A strange feeling of helplessness has descended, leaving me flailing and flapping around, a bit like a tortoise who has foolishly rolled onto its back. Shit analogies aside, I really feel at a loose end at the moment. I think money is a factor. The fact that I don't have any is hardly a revelation, but it is still a shit feeling. I think I mentioned yesterday that whilst I was extracting a splinter from Rick's foot I daydreamed about a possible change in career? Last night as I was back at the helm of the foot, digging around with some blunt tweezers and a sterilised needle I though perhaps I could have been a surgeon, had I just tried a bit harder. I have a firm hand and a good eye for detail. Or maybe a professional splinter remover? I'm sure there is such a thing, or if not, I could be a pioneer. Maybe I'll get awards.

I also rather wish I'd trained as a hairdresser. The fact that I cut my own birds nest of hair is really all the training I have had, and so far my technique consists of me squinting into a mirror with the kitchen scissors and cutting into the great bush of tangles that I have somehow ended up with on my head. Qualification enough I think you'll agree! I am also good a bowl-cut fringes, and I have been know to add subtle layers to Ricks hair when I cut it, though I don't tell him that. Of all the jobs I could be doing, I am not sure how it ended up here. I think its because I can am paid to do something I care little about, that an untrained monkey could also do if offered some sort of delicious banana incentive. And it gives me the means to write all of the things I wish I could get paid for, but ultimately no one reads.

What an up-beat thought for the day! In other news, I have been trying to lure P+T to the neighbourhood. I have lined up two places for them to look at...I am excited. I have also written to both Clair and Chas, who are both off half-way around the world next week for a few months. I will miss them keenly.

Tomorrow is the day I go to Madrid... I am scared. I don't like flying, and I have a terrible fear that I won't fit into the aeroplane seats. This has not happened before, thank god, but I still entertain the possibility. I also fear that one of the stewards will offer me some sort of extender belt (not needed just yet) like they do for the obese on American airlines. I am now not sure if my dislike for air travel is to do with being in the air or my fat arse. A combination of both maybe? Either way, I hate to fly, I hate airports and I'm a miserable, worrying bastard.

We are only allowed hand luggage and I have observed the rules on what to bring religiously. I have collected tiny 50ml bottles for my toiletries and have put everything into clear plastic bags. This includes my socks, pants, tees and dresses. Obviously you don't have to do that, but I like to. More to do with the my obsessive compulsive disorder than anything else, but I like to think that the airport security staff are quietly impressed.

Apart from folding and bagging my possessions, I still need to give myself the regulation haircut that will make me look either more mental or less mental (it's a gamble) and check-in online. This will be hilarious, as because of the OCD, I need to check each detail, in turn, something like 600 times. Rather time consuming, and actually makes me feel less reassured than I was, but if I don't do it it will be my fault if the plane drops from the sky. Nice.

I guess writing the blog will be difficult in Spain, but I will try. Now off to eat more arctic roll, attack the birds nest and plunge the clogged up sink.

I will just leave you with one thought; if you could do any profession, what would it be?

So long my doves, my dears,

C x

As I was levering a splinter that had burrowed its way into Ricky's foot this morn, my mind began to wander a bit. Could I, maybe, have become a doctor? Yes, I have no maths or science qualifications at all and blood makes me squeamish, but it does seem rather rewarding. And well paid. At the moment I am not well paid. This, unfortunately, affects many aspects of life. I can't be equal with friends or my boyfriend, I can't afford to help my sister out much when she needs it, and I can only pledge to a handful of charities rather than the 10 or 12 that really feel strongly about.

This doesn't mean that I don't know how fortunate I am just to have a job (albeit a very shit one) and to be earning at all. I know that I'm lucky. Who else gets to moderate chat rooms and forums full of comments posted by the mentally ill and sexually depraved? Ah, lucky, lucky me. Quite apart from all of the amazing stuff that I get to learn each day, like, new swearwords, a novel story about vomiting perhaps, and someones conspiracy theory that Jordan is secretly the head of MI5, I also get to spend a lot of time reading and writing. Things that I do genuinely enjoy. This is how come I can blog to you each day...Nice.

Conspiracy theories aside, the websites that I work on do deal with some very important issues. For example, is Kerry Katona the UK's worst mum? Shoulder pads - yes or no? Should read headed people and the obese be sterilised? Also current affairs; why does Gordon Brown have that funny eye? Is David Cameron hot, or does his face look like melted cheese? Peter Andre for PM? These are just a handful of the issues buzzing around my head each day. Food for thought, I think you'll agree.

Speaking of professions, I had a rather uncomfortable night, wracked with dreams that I was taking part in a beauty pageant. This, as most of you will agree, is a most unlikely scenario. In the dream I was the only one would had no makeup on, and very disturbingly, when I looked down at my legs I saw that they were carpeted with coarse black hair. Not what my legs look like in reality, by the way, but not too far off either... in the dream, I had to sing as my special talent, but each time I opened my mouth nothing would come out, save a tiny croak. I persevered for a while, croaking away, until I was booed off stage. This sums up my life quite well I recon. What a nice subconscious I've got. Still, it could have been worse. I might have woken up in a pool of wee!

One last thing before I get back to my job in the virtual world, Dalai Lama: Hot or Not? A life of abstinence means he's taken really good care of himself. I would.

Have a lovely day xxx

Fear of the Scare ball and birthday tales a-plenty!

Am I faltering already? I am only in the second week and already I have become slack. Soggy and slack like foul old toast. Oh well, I am resolved now - the blog is my source of great pleasure for me and I will be writing it everyday. Even if no one reads it! The last few days have been lovely, exciting and stressful in equal measure. Being in Cambridge has lots of good points; parents, Helen, Pippa, evenings with the lovelies in the pub. The Avon lady calling round with my mum's assorted goodies which means that I get my delivery of shower gels and deodorants to see me through. It also has its bad points, including but not limited to; the Grand Arcade, the C1 bus, the tossers milling in and out of Elizabeth Arden and Ted Baker, all of the secrets I have that echo and bounce off of the streets. Especially the area directly surrounding the Kings St Run... but the less said about that the better.

I have also been on nights - which is a weird scenario indeed. I become strange and dark-eyed and start to really enjoy watching BBC Parliament channel at 4.30am. I also become highly sensitive to the 'Scare ball' (the sun) and going outside in general, unless it is to check for intruders (it is easy to get a little paranoid on nights) or to stare out of my window to spy on urban foxes. By the time the scare ball rose on my last shift it was Friday, 6.30am and I handed in my last piece of work for the week. I prompt slept til 3pm and awoke to find my pillow sodden with dribble and my hair standing on end, creating the effect of someone who has undergone a severe electric shock. I wasn't too disturbed however, as this is a normal look for me.

On Friday pm I headed to Mill Road's Geldart pub for the gorgeous Rosie O'D's birthday celebrations. I had one pint and was totally pissed so I bribed the delicious Andrea for a lift home in her wagon. What a lovely girlie she is. On Saturday I finally headed back to the FP and to my glorious flat, which I had been missing terribly. P and T came round and we headed to Marylebone for Chish 'n Fips with Clair Eskandary to celebrate her 29th year. God, I am so greedy for the fips. Tom and I went for the classic holy trilogy: Haddock, chips and mushies. YUM. Whilst Pippa and Rick (who sat on a slightly annexed table - a kiddies table if you will) and feasted upon foul scampy nuggets. It was a rather delightful picture though, I must say.

This morning we had eggs and watched the best programme on TV (Pippa was already a big fan) 'Take me out'. Tom, most understandably, was rather skeptical about it. Which is fair enough. We headed to Mare Street for Chas' birthday and parted ways with P and T, who had a hot date with a £900 chair. How times have changed. Chas look amazing and IS amazing. I was very happy to be able to give her the present that she gave me 10 years ago on my 18th when she was travelling in Oz - the famous 'Nobody knows I'm a lesbian' t-shirt. Tis a goodun indeed.
Twas a lovely avo, and on the way home Ricky and I went Mo'sons and bought a deliciously old school dinner of giant Yorkshire puds and arctic roll.

The cardboard Bavaria has been holding up well - though Rick's legs hang quite far over the end. Still - no dead mouse underfoot seems to be a Price worth paying.

Now, it has gone midnight, I have just finished work, and I am thinking of the week ahead. Ruth for dinner with Glee goodness, Madrid on Thursday! Hurrah indeed.

Things I have learned this week:

• finding tiny bottles for self-miniaturising one's toiletries is no mean feat.


• feet get very cold when they hang over the bed


• I am greedy for cuisine of the 1970's.

Goodnight all!