THAT ONE THERE (THE GINGER)

Part-time writer, full-time nerd with shopping addiction. My hairdresser tells me my hair is 'Copper Blond'. This is a lie. Because it's Ginger. All content is Copywrited.

The One Hundred and Sixty-first Blog.

June has not started well.  I say this because I have lost my bank card, driving license and NUS card.  Then I got home and I realised I had no food and no money to get some.  It was great.  And because it’s the Jubilee weekend (which I feel less inclined to celebrate at the moment) I can’t get a new card sent out to me for AGES.

Hopefully with all the stress that’s all the bad stuff out the way for the rest of the month.  I really hope so, anyway.

Happy Jubilee weekend everyone.

The One Hundred and Sixtieth Blog.

Did you know that in Marks and Spencers you can buy a four pack of wine in little plastic wine glasses?  And that you can split a pack between two at lunch between classes?

I’m not saying it’s a good idea, but you can.

The One Hundred and Fifty-ninth Blog.

My flat has been invaded.

A few weeks ago, my class were asked to volunteer a space to use for filming our monologues.  Because I am a) a nice person and b) didn’t think anyone would accept my offer, I said that everyone could use my flat.  To my grave mistake, the offer was accepted.  

Now my flat is full of actors doing vocal warm-ups, filming equipment, crew, acting coaches, writers and all my furniture has been turned upside down.  I have no where to live for the next three days.

I am never doing anything nice again.

The One Hundred and Fifty-eighth Blog.

Time has never moved so slowly.

Apart from having a damn awful day (complete with another migraine and more besides) I have done nothing.  At all.  Nada.  Zilch.  Zero.  I tried to write my short film but had no ideas, I ran a bubble bath but couldn’t relax, I tried to have a nap but couldn’t sleep…  Instead I’ve spent the whole day being stressed and staring around my living room and the most productive thing I’ve done was taking the bins out.

Sometimes I really, really wish I lived with someone else just to kick my brain in to gear.  ’Doing nothing’ sounds great and relaxing but with no one around that you can even acknowledge it gets stale very quickly.  

Fuck this.  I need a hobby.  Or a pet.  Something.

Anything.

Please.

The One Hundred and Fifty-seventh Blog.

It’s the weekend.  My brother’s here.

After the usual catch-up routine (‘How are you?’, ‘What have you been doing?’, ‘Get a haircut.’) we got on to discussing changes at home, primarily the new armchairs in the living room.  I haven’t seen these chairs in real life, I’ve only seen Facebook photos of them but I’ve already got a good opinion on how I feel about them: I think they’re horrible.  My brother thinks otherwise…

‘They were free!’

‘That doesn’t make them good.’

‘All free stuff is good.’

Lies. ‘No, it just makes it free.  When something’s free there’s normally a reason.’

‘My belt was free.’ He showed me. ‘It’s a shoe-lace.’

I think I won.

The One Hundred and Fifty-sixth Blog.

My brother is not the most organised person in the world.

This afternoon morning, I woke up and was doing my usual email checking/tv catch up routine when my phone rang.  It was my brother.  Now, he doesn’t call me very often, in fact I’m pretty sure it’s the first time he’s called me since my 22nd birthday which was a while ago, so I was a little confused.  

‘Hey.  So I’m still ok to come down, right?’

‘What - now?’

‘Yeah.  It’s the 16th.’

Me and my brother had arranged for him to come and stay with me about 3 weeks ago and since he’s said nothing since I assumed he’d forgotten.  And then I forgot too.  We’d also arranged the 15th, but that wasn’t really the issue.

‘But - now!?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re leaving now!?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Um…’ dammitdammitdammitdammitwhydidiforget ‘How about Friday instead?’

‘That’s Dad’s birthday.’

‘Yes, it is…’ dammitdammitdammitdammitwhydidiforget ‘Saturday?’

So now my brother is coming to stay this weekend.

I’m going to write it down on my calendar.  Incase anyone forgets.