Sunday 29 April 2018

30 Flirty and Thriving...

It has been a couple of years since I have given this blog any real attention. So much has happened I wouldn't even know where to start, there is always that period in the moment when it feels like nothing else will ever matter more than it, but then it passes.

I gave up writing because I was busy in other areas of my life, I hid the posts which painted me not in the best light and gave away  the game that I wasn't a successful up and comer, career focused and productive. Work had literally become my life.

I won't bore anyone with a recap of what the last two years have brought in detail but I will summarise them as best I can.

I turned 30

I moved in with a Significant other.

I turned 31

I broke up with my not so significant other

I did all this working 50-60 hour weeks.

Yep, I have been busy.

After the break up I turned what was our home into my little nest, I added furniture and decoration to my taste and I made the place feel exactly how I always wanted my home to feel. Eclectic, abstract but neat. None of the furniture matches, the appliances are old but its is clean and comfortable and I just enjoy being there. I spend a lot of time since turning 30 just hanging out there alone.

But this weekend I found myself at a loss, I had no plans, no one to see and nothing to do. Sure, I could have taken some time to relax but it wasn't what I was yearning for. What did I normally do on a Saturday afternoon?

If I ever felt lonely what happened before I turned 30, where did I go and who did I see?

Then it hit me, in living alone and working so much I had let myself get isolated. I had let myself get lazy. I had my fortress and I would get home on a Friday night and hide myself away for an entire weekend, I didn't read or write, I didn't create, I just hid. The odd night out being the only thing to puncture that routine.

The time was not even being spent productively, in the past I could read 2-4 books in a week easily.  I spent very little time in front of the television. Every now and then I would have to have a clear out of books to make room for the number of them I was bringing home every week from second hand shops and thrift stores.

I would sit and listen to music for hours in the dark, I would seek out new artists and immerse myself in back catalogues before moving onto the next.

Writing.  I have stopped writing, where as I used to just be constantly writing, either here in this forum or in journals or throw away pages.  Almost like a form of self help or therapy, I would write about how my life was and how it felt and it would make all my problems seem better.

I would fit in socialising around all this, never going weeks without seeing friends like how it is now.

But I am not blaming anyone else.  I accept that it is me that has stopped making the effort. I have stepped away from normal life and isolated myself so much that all I am right now is a full time job and not much else.

Wednesday 9 September 2015

Cohabiting Codependents

A year ago, if someone said that I would not only be in a relationship but I would also be living with that person. I would have scoffed at the nonsense and walked away because whoever was telling this enchanting tale, didn't know me at all, so this intrusive and presumptuous opinion on my life would probably have been most unwelcome. But a year later, I would be back tail between my legs and marvelling at their exemplary clairvoyant skills. 

They say you learn a lot about yourself when you move in with a significant other. I don't know who 'They' are but it all sounds very wise and in the just the few weeks since we crossed the threshold into our own apartment, I already feel that I have discovered lots of things about myself; I didn't already know and it seems I still wish I didn't.  I have compiled a list because lists are useful and organized. These appear in no particular order and may or not have a running theme building up to some astute and intelligent observation at the end, but rather appear in the order of how my brain processes or panics about the decision I made. 

No More Housemate Horror Stories (Hopefully...)

I have lived in many different places, with many different people over the years. An eclectic and eccentric bunch of people from all spectrums of society, from the the weird to the sublime. Particular favourites being the bipolar hypochondriac who used to rent out our sofa to 'Couch Surfers' and try and casually enter into conversation that their cousin, aunt, friend would be staying over at the weekend and would be using the living room like a hotel room. 

Not all my roommates have been dregs on society, although the following descriptions on paper sound suspect at best, they have been thrilling housemates slash friends.  The rent boy with a ketamine problem was ideal to have around for when you just NEEDED an epic night spent in Club toilets on a Monday, after a hard weekend.  I have had them all, the Fashionista, the Arguing Couple, The Zombie, The Alcoholic, The Pet Keeper, all of them marvellous in their own unique special way. 

But living with your boyfriend, is different. Sex whenever I want it, doubling my wardrobe, sharing bills. All the obvious perks you would expect. But something which I have found a happy bonus, is the getting to share the irrational moments at 3AM, because I am allowed to wake him up and tell him about the strange dream I had or showing him the strange rash that I swear wasn't there yesterday and thus allowing me to come off the 'I have Ebola' ledge All without finding the passive aggressive note on the fridge the next morning. 

We can make plans about what we will do with the apartment decoratively and have blazing rows which call into question our entire relationship because he wants a purple statement wall or wants a shower curtain with a duck motive. We can make these plans with the reassurance that neither of us will wake up one morning to find the other has moved out in the clandestine dark of night, skipping on their share of rent and bills and half of your DVD collection. 

21 Things A Guy Quickly Learns After Moving In With His Girlfriend For The First Time


I like to think I am pretty easy going when it comes to my living space.  You would never find yourself eating of one side of the dinner plate, whilst I cleaned the other. All the while tutting loudly about you not pulling your weight.  With my last roommate, we shared the same mentality about cleaning and general tidiness.  

Which is really a match made in heaven when housemates are on the same page of the 'This can wait till tomorrow, the weekend, I will just throw it away' page.  I will look back on our time together fondly.  But having said that,  now that I am in a place with my name on it, to which I am responsible I have found myself being somewhat obsessive about cleaning.  There is now about a 6 minute window from when a meal is prepared and served for the kitchen to be scrubbed clean and disinfected.  I have spent an uncomfortable amount a money on bleach. 

21 Things A Guy Quickly Learns After Moving In With His Girlfriend For The First Time

Utility Bills

Usually the bulk of my salary went on clothes, clubs and coffee but lately, I am seeing end tables, lamps and kitchenware in my future. But there is one aspect of setting up a home, that I have found to be an impossible labyrinth. I have never in my life had to decide which energy supplier is better or if the free laptop I got with my TV package was just a ruse to distract me whilst they raped and pillaged my bank account with fees and hidden costs. 

Bills, Bills, Bills, are never a fun topic and they are really starting to build up. Don't even get me started on the dreaded food shop.  Our most recent Tesco outing was a fun filled day of bargain hunting and adventurous meal ideas, until it was checkout time.  Then it was cold sweats and nervous shaking.  We were so relieved that when the shop came in at a reasonable amount that we celebrated loudly. 

My boyfriend has not been of much use during this harrowing obstacle course.  Having moved out from his parents home.  He was actually surprised that we had to pay for luxuries such as electricity and gas.  Oh to be young and wonderfully oblivious again. 

My electric company wants to give me a £100.00 if I sign up, but for £100.00 am I selling my soul.  Common sense of course would be to go with the who is giving the lowest rate, but I challenge anyone to go to a providers' website and easily determine which is the best. Not that it would matter now because like a sucker, I am eagerly awaiting delivery of my new laptop and we have already spent the £100.00.  Maybe I will get it right next year. 

21 Things A Guy Quickly Learns After Moving In With His Girlfriend For The First Time


When you move in with someone, there is no hiding the fact that you are both a lot more odd than you realised. I will quite contentedly not shower for a couple of days if I have nowhere to be. Don't judge me or pretend you haven't done it. He will sometimes get incredibly silly and goofy which infuriates me to no end whilst at the same time finding it incredibly adorable.  When you first start dating someone, you really are seeing them at their best effort. When you’re living with someone, you are going to see that person leaving the bathroom in a dirty pair of sweatpants with dried food stuck to their T-Shirt. Sometimes you have to remind that person to shower. Sometimes that person will point out that you have gum disease. In spite of all this, you will somehow still want to have sex with each other.

21 Things A Guy Quickly Learns After Moving In With His Girlfriend For The First Time

It is of course very early days but I am excited about the future, blazing rows, extortionate bills, make up sex and generally being strange with my boyfriend. 

So much has changed in just one year, I am now more a creature of the boardroom than the night, my priorities have completely changed but i still cling to the parts of me that are fun and exciting and reckless.  

None animated GIF

Wednesday 25 March 2015

PDA PD Don't.

Sometimes it doesn't even register with you, you reach for a kiss or hand. You snuggle your head on his shoulder at the movies, your knees touch on the tram or your hand drapes over his shoulder.

But then you snap out of it and realise that you are in public, you recoil like a spring, sit up right and push your significant other way and hiss 'You trying to get us killed!' into his ear. You look around suspiciously and the only person who saw was that delightful OAP who seems to be smiling...wait! What is she reaching for? a cross? a gun? She presses the bell and she departs with a smile.

When I was single, I would throw my proverbial eyes up into the back of my head when seeing a couple smooch or hold hands in public. To me it seemed an unnecessary view into the world of happy couples, white weddings and picket fences. However, for gay couples this action seemed to scream more of 'We're here, we're queer, get used to it' rather than the innocent actions of a couple in love. A pair of queers rubbing their smugness in the face of adversity.

But I have to stand up and admit that I am one half of one of those couples and having insider knowledge gives me the power to declare that PDA's are completely normal reactions to being in love.

No smugness, no white wedding show offs, no picket fences. Just an instinctual and gut reaction to touch the one you love.

Does it make the action any less abhorrent or disgusting? Lord no. No one wants to see a couple kiss on the street or holding hands on elevators but I can't help myself, I don't even know when I am doing it.  There is no decision there, just reaction.

I was always on of those types that would declare with 100 Percent certainty that I would never be in one of those couples. I have since been revealed as a liar. I am one of those couples - within reason. a quick hello kiss or genuine and small amounts of tactile hand holding in discreet locations.

Practically fucking on a busy high street on a Saturday afternoon....

Thursday 4 September 2014

In Case Of Emergency

'Can I just get your date of birth' the nurse asks in that common over concerned but inherently insincere soothing voice. I tell her and she makes a tick with a red pen on the chart which holds my personal details.

'Any heart defects or diabetes'


'Any other medications'


'...And who is your emergency contact'


It is not an unusual question really. You are asked this on job applications, doctors appointments, insurance documents. But it was a question asked at an unexpectedly vulnerable moment. Earlier that evening doubled over in pain and debating how I would get dressed and to the hospital I had a weak moment where I thought to myself 'All of this would be easier if I had a boyfriend'. In fact that had come up several times since I had gotten ill. 

Statements like 'you need to be supervised for 24 hours' or 'is there anyone at home who can look after you?', would floor me like bullets. I would think to myself that I was pathetic because at 27 I wasn't enough of a well rounded adult to have someone at home who loves me and could take care of me. It made me feel bad. 

A few weeks ago, I put to my group of friends amongst jokes about being 'Forever Alone' if anyone actually wanted a boyfriend and some said yes, others said no. I said no but agreed that sometimes it would be nice to have someone to cuddle in bed with, when hungover, and just watch Netflix all day. It turns out, it would also be nice to have someone 'look after me for the next 24 - 48 hours' or to be there when I come round from an anesthetic. 


'Who is your emergency contact?' 

I wondered to myself who would be the most practical person. I thought maybe Andrew as he lived and worked near by and I thought I could rely on him for stuff like this. I thought of one of my work colleagues who I knew could leave work to come and get me if the need arose. There was no point in putting a member of family as they all lived in a different country. 

As she held the form out in front of me urging me to make a decision, she might as well have been holding up a placard that screamed SINGLE AND ALONE. 

It felt like I needed to make a statement here. That the person I put down shouldn't be just practical. They should not be chosen by the convenience of their schedule or their proximity to the hospital. I felt like I need to prove to this demanding wench. My perception of her in this moment no doubt, in actual fact she was lovely if not a little over playing the concerned nurse bit.  As I took the pen from her, I thought that there was only one person I could really rely on to make sure everything would be ok. Great in a crisis and someone who actually cared about me. My best friend.

I don't need a boyfriend as long I have someone that will drop everything and run to me if I needed them to. 

I smugly handed the clipboard back to her and she ticked the box with her red pen. Without looking up at me she said.

'Any allergies'


Friday 16 May 2014

Come Fly With Me

We've checked in!! the email screamed with an abundance of exclamation points. My best friend Paul and fellow holiday goer and if I am being honest my travel agent had checked us all in for our flights. When I say us, I mean a group of my closest friends. We are all going to Gran Canaria for 10 days of alcohol, camaraderie and havoc.  My group of friends have done this trip for the past 2 years.

Gran Canaria is the second most populated island of the coast of Spain and every year in May 3 Million queers descend on the island for a two week celebration of faggery.  Pool parties, drag queens with VIP areas packed out with their friends and plenty of Z List Celebrities on the main stage.

I am told that it is a wonderful festival of debauchery and promiscuity. I wouldn't know for sure because for the last 2 years my closest friends have gone on this trip without me.

I can make up a hundred excuses, too busy, prior commitments, an acute allergy to sunlight. But really, I never had the money. Which is really just half the story, I could have had the money but I spent it on other less important things like cigarettes and coffee and other undesirable things a person should not consume.
But this year, this year would be different, I would be going if it meant saving every spare penny I had. I really meant this but then life does that thing where every time it came to put some money away – something disastrous would happen. I would be evicted, I would have to change jobs, I would have to buy important things. But yet, I still somehow managed to do it. I paid the holiday off and now here we are checked in and set to go.

There is a suitcase on my bedroom floor with 15 or more kilos of barely there holiday attire. Flimsy fabrics made for warmer climes. There really isn't anything else to worry about. Not quite though, as I made my way to work this morning this morning. Coffee in hand (£1.75) with the sun shining on my face (Free) I thought about all the magical memories I would be making in just a few days. I recalled with whimsy the last holiday I went with some of the same chaps I would be travelling with this year and then I thought about those who I have not….Especially those I would be sharing a room with.

There is my friend Daniel, who when he would stay over would spread himself over every free bit of space in my room, a Ted Baker T-shirt there, a can of 7UP here. I would find empty ASDA bags days after his stay. Then there was Danny, who if I recall slept a lot and complained when woken up to early.  I would be sharing a room with these two and I am an early riser and clumsy – Would this mean tip toeing my way around the room, quiet as mouse whilst at the same time trying to get through an obstacle course of Daniel’s belongings.

We have all done countless weekend’s away together and they always start the same way, on the coach on the train, scrambling around in each other’s seats, excitedly sharing stories, playing around but then on the way back, all sitting separately, quiet and subdued. Spending a lot time with the same people can be testing.  I don't think this unusual and I believe many groups of friends to be this way.  I think and no matter how well you know someone, that they never truly see the real you, the slob, filthy or slightly weird aspects of your personality and you can subdue those for small periods whilst you pretend to be a normal functioning adult.

Being an Adult means you get to have sex, being in Gran Canaria surrounded by other men means you really should have lots of sex.

If you don’t come home frail and ill with AIDS’ you might as well not go because every story of trips past seems to start off innocently enough before descending into a flurry of condoms, lubrication and bodily fluids. Do I want to come home riddled with STI’s, no not particularly, having said that. I don’t want to feel left out either. But if I want to keep up with my skinnier and better looking friends, where is the line between too much and not enough. It’s a lot of pressure.

In the weeks leading up to the trip it made sense in order to have 10 days of nothing but sexual perversion it might be a good idea to make myself more attractive to the same sex. This really meant dropping about 11 stone. A task easier said than done but I am pleased with the results because nothing fits me anymore and to put on a shirt that I couldn't even close just 3 months ago.Well, that feels fantastic.

There are a lot of small things, costly things that need to go into a holiday booking, travel insurance, fines and penalties for incorrect spelling of names. You need a credit agreement to buy sun tan lotion these days. I bought travel insurance for the first time in my life yesterday because the chances of me being killed in some freak drunken accident are very high. We joke about this and when we laugh, it tends to trail off in a nervous fluster as the realization that it’s definitely going to happen dawns.  What better way to go than drowning in a crisp blue sea or falling from a 6th floor balcony with beautiful Tuscan tile. There are worse ways to go.  I don’t really believe this will happen of course. No, I think I will die from something less rock and roll – Carbon Monoxide poisoning from a dodgy boiler or falling down an exposed manhole.  But it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Or so the saying goes.

Will the ten days be worth it? Most likely, because even if I don’t have sex or if I do wake Danny up or trip over one of Daniels cans of 7UP and fall six floors down and splattering my skull off the terracotta Tuscan tile. I will be doing it with a group of beautifully dysfunctional people and that is just guaranteed fun.

Thursday 15 May 2014

Jay Z vs Solange - A Family Tides.

When I read this week that Solange Knowles had been videoed attacking her Brother in Law who just happens to be Jay Z. I chuckled to myself and then carried on with the rest of my day. The video had gone viral but I didn't need to see it because it seemed all day, I was getting a play by play, from friends and co-workers.  You really don’t need to see it because if you have siblings and/or in laws then there is a probable chance that you have lived it.

In-Laws are tricky, you haven’t exactly invited them into your life but yet here they are, thrusting there new baby under your nose so you can make all the baby appreciation noises an uncle or aunt is supposed to make, or they slapping your sister about and no one is supposed to say anything. Mine aren't so bad and in the grand scheme of things, I think I have got quite lucky.  But having said that, there has been many a time I have wanted to attack them in a fiery frenzy of kicks and punches for the smallest indiscretion.
That is why I take all the speculation about the supposed reasons the Littlest Knowles Sister for getting a flawless victory on Jay Z with a pinch of salt.

Did he hit BeyoncĂ© and she was defending her sister’s honor?

Much talk also surrounded B’s complete lack of reaction and frankly I am not surprised. There is nothing worse than being in the middle of an irrational argument where no one is right and all you want to do is kill both parties. But who do you kill first? Is it your sister or your husband? It’s an impossible choice and the best thing she could have done is stand there and pretend none of it was happening. To which she did, exceptionally well.

So well in fact I am almost certain that she has done it before.  Family are at the best of times just ticking time bombs, years of resentment, insecurities, favoritism and disappointments just bubbling under the surface.  Add people that shouldn't even be there, in laws, and this is what you get. Random bursts of violence in public.

It’s always in public I should add – The most memorable family bust ups from the Brook’s family photo album have always happened in public – Weddings, christenings and funerals.

So when it comes to the Knowles/Carter bust up, the papers and gossip columnists will be quick to jump on spousal abuse, unfaithfulness and gerbils in the anal cavity. But I expect it’s something much more mundane. Something like BeyoncĂ© and the kids would be going to his parents for Christmas. Believe me; this kind of conversation can rip a family apart quicker than a Jeremy Kyle DNA result.

But with B being B – I expect we will never find out. But that is fine because in a weeks’ time we won’t care because I am sure the Kardashians are not going to sit idly by and let Team Knowles steal their column inches.

I can see it now.

Khloe Kardashian Murders Kanye West....

Wednesday 14 May 2014

An Unmitigated Crisis

It's one of those things that life tells you, that you should be prepared for. Like death.

At least with death, you are coached early in life with the loss of hamsters, goldfish and the childhood spirit kicked to death during those hormonally enraged high school years. These helping you grasp the fact that something or someone you love will eventually pass on, leaving you standing there wondering what the hell is going on and you feel like a big part of you is now gone.

It was this feeling of grief, helplessness and emptiness that I looked at the light on my laptop poof away in a blaze of smoke and sparks. When I say blaze, rather I mean the tiniest little flutter of a spark and just a hint of burning metal. The significance of it all meant that it might as well have exploded leaving a gaping hole in the place where my house once stood.

The latter would have been less inconvenient.

My laptop was broken - No power, no life, and no hope.

I know you might be reading this and saying to yourself 'It is probably easily fixed' but I know my laptop like a mother knows her own child. Although physically, it was still there I knew deep down that its essence, the thing that made it special, its soul was gone. I have been wearing a black veil ever since. When you find a loved one dead, you call an ambulance and make sure the body is in the vicinity of a doctor at some point in the preceding couple of hours - even if it is just to confirm the worst, so you can try and deal with the aftermath, as quickly and painlessly as possible.

So it was with this need to have someone slap me in the face and confirm the worst. My laptop was dead - it was so dead that in the computer repair shop a little squeaky dwarf sang a little song and unrolled an eloquently written 'Death Certificate' All melodramatically overdone and I was 35 pound down for the pleasure of this bad news.

As I made way home, head down in the rain, a chorus of the Celine Dion mega smash hit 'All by Myself' played in my head. I felt cold, naked and alone. I was half way home when I realized that 'Home' was slowly rotting away in my bag and the only thing of interest waiting for me when I got in, was a fridge full diet and bland foods. My current weight loss regime meant nothing without being able to brag about it to my online friends. The option of going home and stuffing my face seemed a boring prospect – there is no joy found in plain chicken and brown rice let me tell you.

I thought back to times when I never had a laptop and if I am honest those memories were filled with me frolicking in the hills; book in hand ready to take on the world.

Simple fact is, during times when I was sans laptop and if memory serves me correctly, I was skinnier, more productive, more reliable (No, I can't come today...I uh..have work to do) and better read. Although I had no idea what was going on in the world, instead of my weekly helping of EastEnders courtesy of BBC IPlayer - Every time I got near internet access I trawled through the World Wide Web for compilation videos of Kat Slater’s best bits and I could relax knowing I had seen everything I needed to see.

I also missed major events in the lives of my nearest and dearest acquaintances - break ups, the odd get together, falling out - all wonderfully unremarkable but a staple of my day - without Facebook telling me everyone around me was having a worst time than I was - what could I use to boost own self esteem?

When I was given the diagnosis of death, immediate thoughts of who could help came to mind, calling home, putting on my saddest 'help me Mummy' voice would have a there would be a laptop and care package filled with healthy foods and statements of disappointment would be at my front door before I could get the key in but something held me back from doing so. I would like to say pride but it could also have been a simple case of picking my battles - I have a holiday coming up and the chance that I may need a sudden injection of cash for missed flights, bail and court costs - far outweighed the need for a computer device. My Mother gets it, she also has a laptop which she uses on daily basis but after several years has still not grasped the most basic of functions but she soldiers on like a trouper - pounding the keyboard with her fists and the odd swear word and still managing to send me semi-coherent message telling me she has discovered Skype - Or even better call me on her mobile, at extortionate rates to tell me of the benefits of Skype.

So she gets it, In fact I would even surmise that she thinks it keeps me off the streets and out of trouble little does she know, instead of ordering take away at 3 in the morning in the comfort of my own bed from Just-Eat, I will now need to wander around the city in my pajamas underneath my good coat (One balances out the other) to find an open take away. Without the assistance of the internet - I could be put in the throes of more danger than I could have ever imagined.

I have never been a conventional television viewer and I liked to be one those pricks that bragged about never watching television, implying I didn't agree with the hold it had over society whilst at the same time, loosing days to Netflix – Sometimes even weeks.  But I never kept to the schedule laid out in TV Guides but watched shows in my own time at my own leisure –  I don’t even own a TV I would claim proudly – I can still stay that now. But now I say through tears, whilst friends comfort me with reassuring pats on the back.

But now I was facing the prospect of having neither. But I still had a library card – which always seemed like one of the perks of being a living breathing tax paying citizen – I haven’t paid any tax this year from what I can only gather is some kind of clerical error in the tax office and I haven’t yet gotten around to telling them because they might be a bit busy and alerting them to this error seems akin with telling your waiter he didn't charge for the portion of chicken wings you had as a starter.  You just don’t do it.  But now it seems like an absolute necessity and should be a basic human right.So in the preceding days I have spent even more time in the library and sometimes, I don’t even check in on Facebook to let people know I am there. I am not saying this is something I always did in the past – before making my way to the nearest Starbucks to read heat magazine.  I had an empty desk, which had less dust on the surface where my laptop used to sit, not unlike the white chalk outline that episodes of Law and Order have thought me is common at the scene of a murder. I could only fill this empty space with books – There is a little metaphor wrapped up in real life there somewhere. In case you didn't notice.

I am not a book snob, so I am pleased to tell you I have read some not so great literary classics about wrestling, about being a drug dealer, about Amazon and Tesco’s history and I am currently reading a collection of stories from bouncers and bodyguards. I am feeding my mind – but not necessarily my body.

As I alluded to earlier I am currently on a weight loss regime. I want to be healthier and more active and I used to do this by standing by water fountains and watching people, skinnier people, run on treadmills – I am quite good on a treadmill I must admit but I find it so ball achingly boring that its hard to put any gusto behind it. I just hoped that the walk to and from the gym is enough work to give me Adonis like credibility. But now I go to a less up market gym where the equipment is sticky and worn, and standing around doesn't look so conspicuous because there is a queue to use everything – I mean everything.  But I also feel less self-conscious around people who have opted to use this gym; there is something that says you are not too serious about losing weight when you pay so little. But this gym also has a pool and I am good in a pool, I can swim well and its working out but not really, because it is actually fun and it doesn't feel like you are doing anything to strenuous. But without Netflix or a boyfriend to go home to, I have absolutely no reason to be at home and I can’t expect the friends I have managed to keep over the years – to walk the streets with me without even the prospect of a hot drink because I can’t afford hot drinks. Well I can, but only during a small 12 hour window after pay day. But that is a whole other issue which I will get back to later.

So I find myself going to the gym and not counting down the seconds, so I jump on the treadmill fighting off others who have skipped the subtle queue system. This mostly entails standing near the machine you want to use, looking at your watch and tutting loudly. I find myself being on there longer than I have ever been – this could possibly be down to the fact I can watch Coronation Street. But I won’t argue over semantics, all that matters is the end result.

Once I have worked out/caught up on the latest Tina and Peter scandal, I reward myself with a swim.  If it’s not filled with kids or Asians swimming like bullets up and down the slow lane, ruining it for everyone.  But I do like swimming and I get to shower at the gym which means I am not spending additional and scarce funds on electricity. So far this week, I have spent most of my spare time at the gym this past week that I spend very little time at home or in stores or coffee shops spending beyond my means.

I have a job, which might shock some and I earn about the average wage for my age group and socio economic status (I have no Idea what this means but it makes me sound like I do so I will carry on) and I lack any desire to have responsibilities – I can just about tear myself out of bed in the morning. So I have very few bills or debts.  But I never have any money and I never have anything to show for it – Now you might be wondering how this relates to my broken laptop. Relax, I will get there. But  get this, I don’t have the money to buy a new one which is fine because not many people can bang out £400 pounds worth of electrical goods at the drop of a hat.  The absence of Facebook, Twitter, Fitlads, Gaydar, Pornhub, Blogger, Bebo, Myspace, MSN Chat, Buzzfeed, Huffington Post, Tickld, Lamebook, Failblog, BBC News, BBC IPlayer, Rockettube,  and so on got me thinking about other ways that my subconscious would scream out for entertainment – I was foreseeing spending splurges which would kill not only my crippling bank balance (Which now sits at 17 pence. YES! 17 whole pence) But also my waistline. But it didn't go like that, quite the opposite in fact. I still have that 17 pence and my waistline has not expanded but has in fact shrunk. This has presented plethora of other problems such as my belt and trousers now being too big. But let’s not dwell on the negative.

I leave the house at 7 in the morning and I don’t back till 10 in the evening and I shouldn't really brag because it has only been a week but I predict big things in the coming days – But I have my first big hurdle to get over first. I am terrified of what I might do to tackle the two most daunting things I have ever had to face, unarmed and unprepared.

The Weekend......