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!

They call me the Wild Rose...

Today has been a long, long day. I managed to miss lovely Ruthie this morn as I had fitful mouse-trauma dreams all night long. I was also terribly afeared about our cardboard bed collapsing. Luckily, it did not, though that may be because I rigid and motionless - paralysed with the night-terrors!

So I slept in, and at 9.30am I made a mad dash for the train back to Cambs. The best part of the day was listening to Nick Cave's Murder Ballads album on the train. I stepped off of the train to find the whole of the town centre plunged into power-cut chaos. Shopkeepers stood languidly leaning against their door jambs, smoking and deciding whether or not to lock up for the day at 11am. It was a charming olde worlde picture of a Cambridge working day.

I paraded around for a bit then found my way home on the number 2 for many exciting family treats (pasta, green tea, milky way and US Apprentice) then we all watched Charlie Brooker's Newswipe and learned a bit about the world of 'infotainment'! Excellently good in every sense.

Now I am doing a night shift and monitoring the fatties in the US and reading their tales of bum-gravy woe. Oh the humanity!

I may also do some online shopping and unnecessary bagel eating. Scrumdiddlyumptious as my daddy dearest would say!

Goodnight me precious'!

I am a sick, sick individual.

I have to conclude, after getting up at 7.30 to watch Celebrity Big Brother on Channel4, that I am some sort of pervert. Pippa and I have discussed this problem, and that is, namely, that we both think 'Basshunter' is a bit of alright. Yes, we have issues, but at least we don't fancy Alex Reid. Or Vinnie Jones.

After splashing hot coffee on my face and drinking some icy water I was most rudely disturbed by Argos; the Bavaria had arrived!! Oh yes, no me sleeping on the floor for Ricky and I! We are going up in the world. After Rick had gone to work I ripped all the component parts out of the box and spread everything out on the floor. After studying the instructions for some minutes, I realised that I was clearly not going to be able to put up this bed. Nothing made any sense and the handy diagrams look like they were drawn by a hyperactive child. In fact, I would describe them as marginally less good than any effort that I could make (actually translated from some sort of Bavarian dialect perhaps?) which is really a shit effort.

So, I left it all on the floor in a heap of chaos and will ask Ricky to do it when he gets in. After all, this time last year, Anna, Jess, Ricky and I all went to Belfast just to help put up a tricky flat packed wardrobe from Ikea and Rick ended up doing it by himself whilst us girls were on some soft of painting and tea-drinking duty. He's quite a guy! Also, without even needing to get the tape measure out, I can see that the dimensions of the bed are approximately 3ft by 4ft. Surely not the right size for two rather big people. Ricky is 6ft 4 for goodness sake! I am just fat. I wonder if Bavarians are small in general as a people? I hadn't thought so, as they all run around in the lush country side, working on farms and eating delicious sausages. Although I'm not sure how factually accurate a bed from Argos can be. I knew we should have gone for the Stalin. That's a sturdy workers bed.

Anyway. I am very excited to have Ruth back to stay every Monday for the rest of the uni term as she will be teaching at my old stomping ground of Royal Holloway in Egham, Surrey. Officially the least diverse or interesting place in the UK, filled with privately educated gits. It is typical that I didn't have the lovely Ruthie with me last year when I was actually studying there. Oh well. Tonight we have had delicious bangers and mash! It has been wonderful and we have watched 'Glee' for the singing and dancing and also eaten delicious Ferrero Rocher. Rocher!

Now we are watching QI and giggling. Rick is home now and constructing the bed upstairs. Unfortunately he announced - much to my horror - that there was a squashed mouse under our old bed! GAH. He picked it up and waved it by the tail. Now that the bed is taking form we can see it is clearly too small. Rick looks annoyed so I won't say anything. He also informs me it is chipboard, so I am not sure how stable it will actually be...

Oh god. Wish us luck!

Goodnight my doves my dears xxx

Saturday, the day of rest. And the rest!

I woke up all bent and broken on the sofa, after giving rose the double bed to spread out in. The good news is that I don't feel as sick as I did yesterday, and indeed, the night was unbroken by vomming. Bonus!

However, the night was punctuated by some very strange dreams... I owned a house in Camden, and insisted that everyone walked around in the nude (?!) I had placed items from the kitchen all over the house, including cups, cutlery and glasses on the stairs, which I systematically trod on over and over again every time I moved. I had invited Clair, Pippa and Tom round for the evening and insisted that they wear nothing but togas...I think I am a bit of a sicko for dreaming this, and I really don't know which creepy nook of my mind these sorts of weird thoughts come from. But obviously dream Clair, Pipp and Tom agreed and banished me from my own house, dropping me off nude outside of Kentish Town station to fend for myself. The dream descends into chaos at this point when I find myself navigating the route of the 29 night bus, still in the nude, at the back of the bus trying to hide. The 29 is definitely bad enough when you are fully clothed. When I did make it back to my house in the dream, none of my three friends would let me in and I had a drinking glass impaled in my foot from my travels which I was too much of a woofter to remove. What a saddo! Rose on the other half, dreamed that I was going out with an elderly Chinese man... I think we were involved in baby smuggling or something similarly sinister.

Something strange that I now realise was reality and not a dream was the yesterday's lunchtime visit to Ely hospital's very own top class eaterie, 'The Docky Box'. My dad and I visited the DB whilst Rose was under the knife at about 1.45 yesterday lunchtime. The DB does a wide variety of hot Fenland lunch for the staff and inmates at Ely hospital. Of all the relatives of the poor and sickly that may have dined in this fine establishment before, they can never have experienced any custom before like that of my dad... On the noticeboard outside there are photos of the four members of staff, lovely old ladies that they are - Joyce was my favourite, she was the only one smiling in the photos. In fact, the other kindly old dears all looked as though they were being tortured in their picces - the contrast of dear old Joyce smiling made me almost think that she was taking some perverse pleasure in their collective pain.

My father's insatiable desire for a lot plate of food with a hot pud to boot would try even the patience of saintly Joyce. Not realising that the DB opens for lunch service in line with local GMT Ely hours at 11am, and by 1.45pm...all hot food was gone. Not for dad though, who took Joyce to one side and begged for some delicious hot dinner. Bribery of some sort took place and within minutes omlette, chips and salad arrived in front of him followed by treacle tart and hot custard. The lovely Joyce beamed at him, I think there may have been a wink too. I had a yogurt and a carton of 'beena and watched in wonderment as he ate. Good times.

Tonight I recommend: Total Wipeout, So you think you can Dance? and ITV's Take Me Out. I won't say any more. Just watch them. Dear God, I know I will be.

What I learned today:

Simon will stop at nothing to get his lunch.

Saturday night TV is ridiculous and AMAZING.

Never put Ian Beale's face on your blog again.

Have a fabbo Saturday!

In sickness and...sickness

The horror began at about 1.30am, when I stuck my head out of the bed and vomited. It was the sort of terrible vomit that is totally relentless, whenever one bout ended I was barely able to get my breath back before I was forced to bendover the loo again and start heaving once more. Sorry for being so graphic, but there you are, it was a rough night.

We all rose early as today was the day of Rose's denervation procedure at the hospital. She always both dreads and looks forward to the continued operations on her lower back/lumbar area. Looks forward to them, as they may eventiually bring her relief from the chronic pain that she suffers, and dread, because of the excruciating pain that the op causes her. It's always weird seeing her come to in the ward, she looks really young and tiny and vulnerable. Today two of the nurses askes me if I was nervous about my 'daughter's operation'. I cannot really blame them though, I look madly rough and knackered today - especially as I have burst all of the blood vessels around my eyes and mouth from puking all night. I think I look a bit like that Charlize Theron when she plays the murderer in the film Monster. But, obviously a much less attractive version of her.

The op went well, but she's really in pain now. We have watched a terrible programme called 'Popstar to Opera star' on ITV, wich had an inexplicable judging team that included Lawrence Lewellyn-Bowen - opera qualifications? None, but he does like to wear those flamboyant shirts with frilly sleeves, so that's just as good. Meatloaf is also a judge and everythime someone sings, so gushing and forward is he in his praise that he has begun to announce that he wants to 'do' the contestants: "Give it to me baby! OH YEAH! I wantcha!" Hmmm. Nice! Unfortunately I missed it last week when Alex James (the love of my life between the ages of 13-15) who has begun to whore himself out on any reality tv show going, sang the famous aria from Rigoletto, whilst jutting and strutting around like a prize tit. He was the first voted off. Ah well, he's still a very foxy man and probably Meatloaf offered to console him by performing some soft of sexy sex act upon him.

Now I think I will try to make myself look slightly less freakish - but if you do see me in the coming few days, you will know why I seem to be wearing all of my capilleries on the outside of my face.

Bonne nuit! xxx