Went to the shop, and not only did I get chocolate, but I got jammy marshmallow biscuits too.
It's good to blog.
People read it, and occasionally, might even think you have a life as a result.
Which might go some way to explaining why, in what I can only imagine is a fit of desperation, I an email from a BBC researcher last night, inviting me on the Victoria Derbyshire show on BBC Radio 5 Live this morning.
They're doing a piece about work, and how we spend more and more of our time there. Apparently someone has done a survey which suggests that more and more of our friends are from work and since most of the people I spend my spare time with aren't people I work with, that's the angle I'm going to be talking from.
So if you want to hear me making a fool of myself, sounding like a sad anorak and entirely forgetting all of the voice training I did on Saturday (which I haven't blogged about yet), then either tune your radio to 693 or 909 MW, or listen online here. I think I'm going to be on between 10.30 and 11.
Update:
Well, that was fun.
For those of you who missed it, you can listen again here when they make this morning's show live. It starts at 1:47:00 if you want to fast forward through the show.
Alternatively, you can download wait until later, when I'll be able to post the 6mb mp3 of the segment that Adrian thoughtfully recorded for me.
I went to the corner shop to buy chocolate.
I came back with a huge punnet of grapes.
How the hell did that happen?
See also: He's Dead, Jim - Did We Stock Up In Time?
Note to self: When you start to have trouble saying your name in a way that people can understand it's probably time to cut back on the caffeine.
An uneventful return flight with Air ScotiaScot Airways brought me back to London City airport last night.
As we were coming in to land at London City airport, we flew through thick grey rain clouds and I watched the water trails running across the window, bracing myself for a rainy journey home...
... but just as we made our final descent, we burst through the clouds and into the most beautiful golden light.
Standing on the tarmac, the sun hung low in the sky - a shimmering disc painting the majestic towers of Canary Wharf with gold.
I couldn't help thinking once more that this place - London - this is where I'm supposed to be right now.
I just can't imagine being anywhere else.
Part of doing what I do for a living now means travelling, which is a fairly new thing for me.
Today I'm in Edinburgh, to spend a day working with a client, and so I didn't need to get up at the crack of birdsqueak, I flew up last night from London City Airport with the almost comically tartan Scot Airways.
It was a bit of a comedy of travel disasters, but at long last, I fell through the door of my hotel room (which is accidentally more posh than we would usually stay in due to the huge numbers of tourists in Edinburgh at this time of year having taken all the cheap rooms).
I'm about to run out of time on my hugely expensive broadband connection (£4 per hour!), but some photos of the hotel room and my latest knitting project can be found on my flickr photostream.
I just have to show you my breakfast tray though.
I'm not usually a breakfast person, but I was tempted. I didn't know it was going to be this huge though.
Sunday: Oooh. I'll tidy up the Wisteria. Oooh, I have big red welts on my arms where the wisteria touched them. Oooh, my hands are swelling up, I feel faint and I'm feeling a bit wheezy. Oooh, this is probably not good.
Monday: Work. Being back in London is weird. Try not to think about Piccadilly Line tunnel between Kings Cross and Russell Square running under building.
Tuesday: Unidentified bastard insect bit me. Itch. Holy cow, I have a big red angry lump on my arm. That's not usual. I know, I'll go to a chemist, get some calamine lotion and some anti-histamine tablets and I'll be fine.
Wednesday: Feel a bit weird. Feeling a bit weird leads to aforementioned crankiness, which leads to feeling a bit weirder at work, which leads to going home because I feel faint and like I'm going to throw up. Go home. Sleep like the dead. Babble nonsense when Adrian phones. Feel ill. Compose letter in head to neighbour with distressingly sweaty arse crack and stitches who feels the need to tell his entire house (and me, next door) all his troubles by shouting them through the locked bathroom door at midnight.
Thurdsay: Go to register at the doctor. Nearly pass out in the surgery. Sweat like a [insert colourful analogy here]. Nearly pass out on way to train station (3 min walk). Almost throw up on station platform. Realise I'm probably not going to get to the office without fainting/puking. Phone work. Go home. Lie on bed feeling ill. Hear buzzing in room. Feel something land on me. Brush it off. Hear more buzzing. Feel something land on me. Brush it off again, swearing. Leap up and put light on. Track buzzing bastard. Buzzing bastard looks similar to bastard insect that bit me earlier this week. Whap buzzing bastard out of air with fuzzy cat ears hat. Think buzzing bastard is dead and pick it up to identify it. Buzzing bastard not dead. Trap buzzing bastard under glass. Use hayseed dixie ticket stub to transfer it to dresser where it can stay under glass until it dies and I can it to doctor to say "that's wot bit me". Peer at buzzing bastard. Identify buzzing bastard. Buzzing bastard is a mosquito. Not a midge. A buzzing bastarding mosquito. Sweaty arse-crack neighbour is at it again. Mentally compose a slightly less polite note to stick through their door.
Friday: Leg itches. Bugger. Overnight a midge has feasted on my flesh. Work. Accidentally fall into a puddle of ebay and surface with some random stuff attached. Almost Weekend.
So, how was your week?
This is mostly a bad-tempered grumpy whingefest. Feel free to stop reading now.
Sign outside the florist: "Don't forget to buy your teacher a present - Sunflowers £4". Wonder how many teachers are going to wind up with enough sunflowers to open a health food shop come autumn.
The benches are gone. The open backed, can see all the way around and through the slats in the metal benches are gone.
At my local overland station, the benches are gone. There yesterday, gone today.
The waiting room is locked too.
The train is late.
It's really hot, and the train is late.
There's a security alert at Finsbury Park. The train isn't going to stop at Finsbury Park. Until it does. The same Finsbury Park station that's currently full of people. Sitting on benches. The same benches that are gone from further up the line.
We're not allowed to get off the train. People can get on, but we can't get off. Not even to change to the other side of the platform to get the train to Kings Cross, which all the other people left on the platform will be getting on. Not allowed to get off the train because there's no exit from the station. The fact that I don't want to exit and the Kings Cross train is in two minutes time is immaterial.
On we trundle. To Highbury and Islington and the Victoria Line, where I've landed smack in the middle of tourist-time, with people barging in front to get on the train first then faffing and dithering and stopping at the entrance to the seated area with their huge luggage rather than getting out of the way and letting all the people without the huge luggage past first.
We stop at Kings Cross, but the doors don't open. I'm particularly struck by the footprints in the as yet uncleaned dust.
At Euston I get off the train and as soon as I turn the corner to exit the platform my ears are assaulted by an old bloke playing O Sole Mio (badly) on an accordion. I almost run up the escalator to get away from him the sound. What muppet gave this guy a busking pass?
Buy some chilli rice crackers. Achieve the impossible and tip exactly 100g into my paper bag. Feel smug.
Euston bus station - walk or bus, walk or bus. Two buses, both still in the bus station, neither open their doors.
Third bus. Great. Air conditioning. Get on. Get a seat. 20-odd tourists with more luggage that my entire wardrobe get on behind me and proceed to stand in the door exit area circling their luggage. Thank you for staying with your luggage, but would it be too much trouble for you to MOVE IT an inch or two so I don't have to climb over it to get off the bus. Thanks.
Kings Cross at last. Can't get across Euston Road. Traffic is manic. Bloke in Jeep with "Hieronymous the Mad" on the side makes me smile.
Still can't get across the road.
Get across the road. Walk to work past huge queue of cars and accompanied by the sound of crankily pressed car horns. Obviously hooting your horn always makes the cars in front levitate to let you through. Obviously your journey is more important than anyone else's. Shut up, damn it, shut up.
Office.
Desk.
Work.
... and I'm 7 years old again.
It's vile, vile stuff, but it works.
What smells bring back memories of childhood for you?
From the resigned "oh, the tube is off... never mind, I'll just get the overground" to the "wait a minute, the whole tube is off...?".
From the phone call telling me about an explosion at Aldgate, to the realisation that something had gone very wrong.
From the immediate worry for the safety of a blind colleague to the upsetting realisation that there was little I could do.
From the frustration at my lack of ability to communicate that I was well to friends, colleagues and loved ones to the worry at the lack of communication in return.
From the sick feeling as I stood outside a clothes shop under the bridge at Finsbury Park where I heard about the bus explosion, to the surreal feeling as I boarded a bus to make my way north, and home again, and the small comfort as I watched people going about their daily lives seemingly unaffected by the chaos striking central London.
From the relief I felt as word started to arrive that those friends, colleagues and loved ones were safe, to feeling overwhelmed by the outpouring of concern shown for my safety by so many people - friends old and new, acquaintances, even strangers.
London is not the city of my birth. It may yet be the city of my death - whenever that may be, and however it will happen.
What it is, and will remain, until I choose otherwise, is the city of my life.
I moved here in late September 2001 - in the very recent aftermath of the attacks on New York - to make a new life for myself. To take hold of the opportunities afforded by living here and try and realise my full potential - whatever that is... and I love it here.
So many people told me that they thought I was crazy to move here. That London is a dirty, smelly place, full of muck and pollution. A hard city, with crimes committed on every corner, and populated by unpleasant, rude people.
That London is not my London.
My London is a place where I've grown, and changed. Where I've been welcomed with open arms. Where I've seen and experienced great community spirit. Where I'm continually amazed at the sheer diversity of the people around me. Where I really, truly, believe that I can be whoever I want to be.
I'm not at work today because my office is closed, but on Monday I'll be back at work, travelling through Kings Cross every day, as best as I am able. I will still have lunch in Russell Square Gardens. I will still wander the streets of London, and use whatever means of transport I feel like using... and nobody... nobody will change that.
Maybe it's because I've become a Londoner.
I've never been more glad to have been feeling rubbish and decided not to rush into work in my life.
It's taken me two hours to get back home from 15 minutes away.
One of my colleagues was on the affected train at Kings Cross, but she's fine. Another missed the explosion at Liverpool Street by 5 minutes.
A third I'm waiting to hear about.
I feel a bit sick, but I'm very, very glad to be safe.
Update at 13:50: 3rd colleague safe and well and in the office. As far as I'm able to find out, nobody from my office has been injured.
London got the Olympics in 2012.
Might be a good time to do that tour of the US I always promised myself I'd do...
I went, I saw, I got very sweaty and did the bourbon-fuelled dancing thing (for which I apologise profusely to anyone who might have witnessed it).
And lordy, did it rock.
For those who like that sort of thing, here's the set list, as best as I can remember it.
I know they played all those songs, I'm just not sure I've got the order right, but it matters not, because I was too busy enjoying myself.
Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
You Shook Me All Night Long
Hell's Bells
Ace of Spades
Whole Lotta Love
Holiday
War Pigs
Kirby Hill
Fat Bottomed Girls
Roses
Keeping your Poop in a Jar
Moonshiner's Daughter
Blind Beggar Breakdown
Corn Liquor
Highway to Hell
Encore:
Duelling Banjos
Let the Circle Be Unbroken
This is the third time I've seen them live.
The first time was last November at the Islington Academy, where they were fabulous even though the audience was perhaps a little too full of self-consciously trendy Islingtonites to fully start bouncing.
The second time was in February at the Empire in Shepherd's Bush, which was totally sold out and an absolutely incredible night (and boy did I suffer for it the next day...).
Last night though, was something special.
It was at the Borderline, which, for those not familiar with it, is a tiny underground venue, which has a capacity of maybe 250. It was the first venue they played in London, and so they've got a bit of a fondness for both the venue and the bloke who runs it, so when they were persuaded that they needed to do an industry night/album launch, they went for a night at the Borderline, and released 100 tickets to the public.
Happily, I managed to be in the right place at the right time, courtesy of a conversation with Sir Stuart of Hg, where I tried to explain why I thought they were so great, and went to their site so I could send him the URL. While I was there I thought I'd have a look at their tour dates. On seeing their date at the Borderline, I immediately went and bought tickets for myself and Adrian (Oh c'mon... hillbillies on the 4th of July? How could I not?), and before long, Stuart decided he felt brave, and bought himself a ticket too.
As usual, the crowd was incredibly diverse - even more so because of the high number of meedja folk in attendance - with about every age group and every stereotype represented. From sweaty biker to middle aged Radio 2 listener and everything in between.
I really don't have the words to describe how good it was. The atmosphere was incredible, and these two fairly rubbishy cameraphone pictures don't even come close to capturing it.
All I can say is that I feel like I've been run over by a truck, I've only just got my hearing fully back, my voice sounds like I've been gargling with razor blades and you should all go buy their albums.
Oh, and their version of Ace of Spades may indeed rock, but their version of War Pigs blows it out of the water.
WeNiS here I come*.
*once I have appropriate safety gear and have sorted my wonky joints out a bit, of course.
21 years ago, I celebrated Independence Day for the first time.
My dad's cousin came back to Scotland for the first time since he'd left as a young boy to go to the US with his brother.
He brought his wife and some of their family, and we (me, my sister, mum, dad, gran and granny) had a barbecue in our garden, complete with burgers and tiny little US flags.
Unfortunately, the photos of that day seem to have disappeared, so you'll have to take my word for it, but I was a bit more of a girlie girl back then, and if memory serves, I was wearing a pink (!) dress and the highlight of my day, quite apart from the food and the attention from all these relatives I'd never met before was being given a Velveteen Rabbit colouring book and a box of 48 crayola crayons - complete with gold and silver crayons!
Such luxury.
This year, I'm celebrating again, but in a slightly different way.
I'm going to go and see a bunch of rednecks playing a rock and heavy metal songs. There will be banjos, mandolins and fiddles. There will be a lot of yee-hawwww'ing. There might even be bourbon-fuelled dancing.
It's going to be great.
An appropriately timely meme, via Lyle
10 years ago...
I was 18, working as a secretary/receptionist/office monkey. Still at home, lacking confidence and just discovering this weird thing called Compuserve.
5 years ago...
23, in a wheelchair, still at home and struggling to figure out how to deal with it.
Fighting against potential demotion at work and considering a tribunal case.
Dreaming of being healthy and having a future.
This time last year...
27 and living in London, working as an administrator.
At one of the lowest points in my life, and with the rubble from an eight year relationship crashing down all around me, falling in love, even though it did and still does scare me a bit.
Yesterday...
28 and working as a web accessibility consultant, having managed to jump off the admin train for the second time in my career.
Today...
Dislocated kneecap a timely reminder of how lucky I am and how far I've come.
I'm almost 29, living independently in London and doing my dream job. I've got enough money to live reasonably on and am lucky enough to be surrounded and supported by fabulous and inspirational people. I'm mostly healthy, and even though my knee hurts, it could be so much worse.
I need to remember this more often.
Tomorrow...
Living my life, as best I can, with a bit of snuggling and maybe some knitting thrown in for good measure.
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
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