volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- daughter of Joan All this moving business is becoming a little disconcerting. I've packed most of my books, and consequently I don't seem to have anything left to read. And the house looks bare and a bit unloved, and there are black marks on the walls where the pictures used to be. I have four weeks and three days left here. We'll be moving nine years to the day that we moved in. Somewhere, there has to be some significance in all these numbers. This is me at my most desperate, hunting for clues and omens and just meaning, I guess, in what's going on. We're moving to a No1, which feels good for me- it's the number of new beginnings and all that gubbins. Bah- I was going to launch into a numerological discourse then, but common sense has got the better of me with a reminder that it'll probably bore the pants off you all. Still, we went to the seaside to view our mobile home last week, and it looks fine. I think we're going to be happy there. The space issue worries me a little- I can't quite work out where the PC's going to go, or the TV, or the stereo, and there's an alarming lack of drawers in there. I'm sure it'll work out though. I went shopping for some bits for it yesterday, and got some throws for the nasty suite that's in there, and a bath mat set. That's thrilling, isn't it? I put all my coursebooks on my wishlist and e-mailed it to my family. I also bought a USB port which I'm dreading installing. Yeuchh. I'd rather not be fiddling around with expensive things that I have a tendency to break. Heheh- I was just getting a bit depressed re-reading this and thinking what a bloody boring sod I am right now, and then I remembered that me and my mum also bought one of those head-wrap towel things each yesterday. I've wanted one for ages, and when I spied it on sale for £1.50 I decided to risk it. I'm afraid to say that with the amount of hair I've got, it wasn't a huge success. My mum, on the other hand, is in love with hers. I came offline yesterday afternoon to find a message from her on my answering machine, saying "Ooh! I look like Joan Collins! I feel like Joan Collins! I've put a big floppy hat on top of mine, and I look like Joan Collins!" See! There are people out there whose need to get out more is even greater than mine... 10:08 a.m. - 31.07.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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