volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- rock'n'roll lifestle. as if The bad mood's abated somewhat. I'm not quite sure how that happened, or where the bad mood went to, but it's gone which, frankly, feels like a blessing. Actually, I remember now. I've got ten days off work. Now you know that I love my job dearly, and that working with mentally disordered offenders fills me with untold amounts of joy. The politics, legislation and staff dynamics test my patience in large doses, but the job itself remains excellent. But- despite all that smug and saintly crap- I still need a break sometimes. The plan was- and indeed still is- that I use this week constructively. I specifically need time right now to start actualising a few things. I've been planning and pontificating and fantasising for a little too long, and it's time to swing into action, I feel. Splitting up with one's potential lover-for-life is all very well when nature needs you to do some reflection and naval-gazing, but to do it any longer would be nothing short of sheer self-indulgence. So yes, action time. I'm still not 100% sure what exactly I'm going to do. I've got a few opportunities to do some proper writing, so they need attention. I've also got a cracking idea for a TV show, and I need to work out how I'm going to shunt that one a long a little. Closer to home, the garden needs more attention. I know gardening isn't at all rock'n'roll, despite the fact that Kim Wilde does it on the telly. As you may remember, I've got a bizarre inner need to maintain the illusion that despite being a 31-year old nurse and single parent to an autistic child, I do in fact continue to live a rock'n'roll lifestyle. Hell, I didn't wear knitwear for years because i couldn't imagine Iggy Pop or Joey Ramone in a sweater. In fact, I still don't do knitted unless it's an itsy bitsy cardigan with sequins and beads and a velvet ribbon trim. I am an argyle, aran and fair-isle -free zone. But, yes, I hear that Iggy Pop and Alice Cooper play golf nowadays, so I figure that gardening isn't such a crime. Yesterday was blissful- I cleared all the borders, unearthed a clump of burgeoning Lily of the Valley, and weeded the vegetable patch. I think I'm going to be planting beetroot, pumpkins and runner beans. My sweetpeas are growing nicely, and today I noticed that the avocado I've been trying to sprout from a stone (an avocado stone, you dunces, not a pebble) is doing the sprouting and growing thing. I was ably assisted by my ungodly-daughter in the afternoon, who happily unswept all my sweepings for me, and washed the path with a purple facecloth from the bathroom. And when her daddy arrived to pick her up, we went to the pub for a pint, which was incredibly civilised. It was warm enough to sit outside by the river, and laugh at the toffs out rowing and being shouted at by stuffy masters on bicycles. Today's been pretty joyful, too. Fatboy and I went out for a long walk/ bike ride, and went for miles and miles up the river, until we got to the swimming baths cafe that serves huge bowls of curly chips at a stupidly low price. Clever thing that I am, I borrowed Fatboy's trendy Sony headphones, and listened to Jonathan Ross all the way there on my walkman. Got home, and I was so knackered I collapsed in a heap and read Cosmopolitan cover-to-cover. Luckily for useless old me, it's chock-full of dating do's and don'ts, which will doubtless come in really handy if I ever manage to speak to another member of the opposite sex who's neither spoken for or gay. I shan't hold my breath... anyway. Anyway, there was also a peel-and-reveal free sample of Maybelline diamond-encrusted lipstick in it, so I scuttled off to the bathroom to see if it was a good opportunity to add insult to injury. It didn't look too bad on my mouth, although the colour was that milkshake-y fake pale pink which makes you look like jailbait (but only if you're twenty years younger than I am). Handily, the cosmetics editorial was advising that in order to achieve this season's no-nonsense glow, you should use the same product on your eyes, cheeks and lips. (Guess where this is going? ) Needless to say, I looked like I'd cross-bred with a sugared almond. Anyway, my life being the wild and crazy rock'n'roll cavalcade that it is, I completely forgot about all this maquillage guff until I was eating tea. Somehow whilst munching my way through my avocado salad (you can see where all the avocado stones come from now, can't you?) I bit the inside of my lower lip with the kind of force I'd been reserving for the walnuts. Ouch. I raced to the bathroom to examine the damage. Damage is a bit of an understatement, really. Not only had my lip swollen to collagen-implant proportions, but the pink diamond-encrusted free Maybelline lipstick had migrated over most of my face, leaving me looking like a sparkly burns victim. Heheh. And I wonder why I can't find men to talk to? 9:37 a.m. - 23.03.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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