Highly Strung

Crazy neighbour lady is back! I can tell because in the early evening last night she moved what must have been the entire contents of either Asda or Lidl or some such up her stairs. This involved much stomping and shouting between her and whoever she had enlisted to help her.

Later (around 11.30pm) she rearranged her kitchen, or at least that’s what it sounded like from the room directly below her. It seemed to involve much crashing of plates…. Oh how I missed her for the last month and a half . Why I’ve been getting far too much quality sleep lately – my dark circles have almost faded, it just won’t do.

Something is up with my keyboard, possibly a battery issue. When I first typed this it came out as:

sotgi sup wth mykeyboadp ossly a batry sue

Which makes fuck all sense. However am somewhat tempted to continue bashing out emails and sending them as is.

The bag is packed, the kit is laid out ready to be climbed into on my way out of bed. Yes, the time has come to return to the world of spin class. Looking forward to arriving at my 9am meeting as red as a beetroot and sweating profusely – how lovely for my colleagues. But for now – oooh look; CSI double bill….

My world is seriously disordered this morning and I’m finding it diffcult to deal with.

The office move has left my bay in chaos; a couple of people were not in yesterday and are currently unpacking their crates while attempting to work in between. This has resulted in a gap of about a half a foot at the entrance to our bay.

Now I know I’m not known for my patience but I do think that this combined with a complete lack of printing ability would try the patience of a saint. Additionally my keyboard is mistyping due to both wireless connection foolery and my own typing dyslexia… what time’s lunch?

I’m afraid I did go to a bike shop today and I did purchase a new bike (note to self; sell mountain bike). I’m having a few small things done (replacing the handlebar stem, adjusting it to freewheel so i don’t fall off it on the way home), so i can’t pick it up till the end of this week or so. Problem is – i want it now…and i didn’t even think to take a pic while i was there.

Our office is having yet another rather dramatic move around, my 5th since moving to this building 2 years ago. I think it’s because management like to amuse themselves watching people walking into the wrong bay in the weeks following the move, I know I enjoy that.

Personally I like moving desk, it’s a great chance to declutter, make new friends and get an entirely new perspective. For example I’ll now be sitting next to a new guy and as for perspective I’ll now be looking at the back of my boyfriend’s head, as opposed to him looking at the back of my head…

I think we’d both prefer to be on opposite sides of the room, but what can you do? The good news is that although we work in the same department we don’t really work together.

Imagine how awkward (not to mention inappropriate) it would be if one of us were the boss of the other:

Me: Could you just run those financials for me before my 3pm meeting?

Him: Make me…

Or alternatively:

Him: Could you just fetch those printouts from the printer for me.

Me: What are your hands – painted on?

It just wouldn’t work would it.

I’ve given it a try, but I reckon East London is not for me. There are a couple of factors influencing my decision to move.

The first is the cycle ride from Leyton to work. It’s around 7-8 miles, which in itself is not a problem, but combine that with the hideous dual carriage way I have to traverse on the way to Hackney and the ride back through Hackney on the way home and it’s just not working for me.
There are no nice pubs closer than a tube ride away.

Given that the pub is my spiritual home it’s a bit difficult to get enthused about an area in which the local pub has lace curtains hiding the drug dealers who are no doubt secreted inside.

The local supermarket, although super close, is also super shit. It’s always busy and msot of the cutomers appear to be doing severla months worth of shopping at a time – man do they love those 2 for the price of 3 offers. It is not my supermarket of choice and for god’s sake, even Holloway Road has a Waitrose now.

I strongly dislike the central line, not as much as I hate the district line, but still; it’s a serious concern.

I’d like to live closer to my boyfriends house. It’s great having my own space, but it’s bloody miles from his (an hour on the tube), and it’s a pain carrying spare knickers and the like around. Seems I’m never without my kiwi handbag stuffed full of not only gym kit, but also spare tops, trews and underwear. If I lived closer I could just nick home to get changed the next day, rather than having to overly plan my life. Ideally I’d like to live half way between his place and work.

I am not keen on the crazy neighbour lady. Sure, you get crazy neighbours everywhere but they don’t usually bother trying to talk to you and they don’t normally get up at 6am and start moving furniture about, nor do they lie in wait to accost you and demand to know where you have been lately and ask why you have not been home to look after the property.

So although I will be moving from a flat to a studio, I think this is the best course of action as things stand. Now I just need to bide my time and make sure I get the right place rather than rushing into the first place available at the right time.

I no longer have to pretend I have read Perfume, for now I can simply say ‘no I haven’t, but I have seen the film’. I think I enjoyed it more than I thought. After discussing it with a friend who has read the book this morning I realised there had been a number of really clever and interesting things done thematically which I hadn’t really thought about last night.

One thing I would say is that it would really have enhanced the whole experience if there had been a way to catch a whiff of some of the things the Grenouille was smelling during the film. You really did get a very realistic sense of the heightened sense of smell he possessed, but that just made me more keen to actually smell what he was smelling. It was like a morbid curiosity.

On the whole I’d recommend it.

The time has come to admit it, I am rubbish at Spanish. In my second year of learning the language I spend much of the time in class with an utterly blank look on my face. When asked by the teacher I am forced to admit (in english), that I have no idea what she is talking about. I feel frustrated, embarassed and irritated but it all.

The upshot is; I’m wasting money continuing to attend. I don’t like the idea of quitting something, but by the same token I don’t like the idea of becoming completely crap at something either. I need to swallow my foolish pride and quit.

Alternatively, a colleague suggested that instead of quitting I should try to get myself expelled. Possible scenario:

Teacher: Krises, donde estan los platanos?

Me: Am I bothered?

Teacher: Perdone?

Me: Am…I….bothered??!!??

Teacher: Salga perra

It’s a plan then… or maybe I’ll just discuss with my Administrator…