The tiny fridge demon

It wasn't by the way...that is, a tiny fridge demon. That was my first thought when I heard the screaming. Turns out it was a mouse getting caught in a trap behind the fridge.

A very disconcerting soundtrack when you're in a towel eating your Crunchy Nut cornflakes.

I immediately told Ginger, assuming that he would do a man thing.

He did not have any man things at his disposal. I have definitely married the wrong Geordie. Perhaps my mistake was to draw a husband from the Geordie pool full stop.

Google says, put it in a sandwich bag, seal it, and hit the mouse on the head with a hammer.

I AM STRUGGLING WITH THIS PRE 9AM.

Does anyone want to come round and sort this out? I ordered a frankly bizarre quantity of a rice in the week shop, and I'd be happy to give you a bag in exchange for a quick death (for the mouse, not me, though, if I think about it I am definitely at a point in London where if I can't escape soon I will request to be euthanised).

ALSO

I am getting very close indeed to my free Pret coffee. By which I mean that after I'd paid for a coffee and was waiting for it to be made, a different man asked me if I needed anything, and there was free coffee in his eyes.

SERIOUSLY. I could see it in them, all tantalizing and easy. I bet the next bitch in the line really got some.

SORRY. But I have a headache because the fridge demon thing really shit me up.

In other news, I ventured out into the world on Saturday night, by choice. This had a lot to do with the fact that on my last outing, I met two Irish brothers called Steven and Semen (pronounced Se-men, not See-men). Maybe it was a joke. I don't care, I had a STUPENDOUS time.

However on Saturday, this is the time I had:

After spilling his drink on me, man says: I'm not going to apologise.

Me: Why not?

Man: Because I'm a c**t.

I've left the asterix in for my mum.

I wasn't sure if it should be asterixis, but then I googled it - Asterixis (also called the flapping tremor, or liver flap) is a tremor of the hand when the wrist is extended, sometimes said to resemble a bird flapping its wings.

Me and Google are really not getting along today. BAD GOOGLE.

I can't read the words 'liver flap', I'm trying to drink a cappuccino here, ffs.

ALSO, I finished my novel, and early as well, which is probably a reflection of the low quality of my life throughout November. Bravo.

About three words were good. And I'm going to take those three words, and make a new novel out of them. Because I went to an editing masterclass last week and they basically said, re-write the shit, and re-write the shit, and re-write the shit, until you can see a slight glimmer of gold in it. Then you have a novel, and this takes approx four years.

The problem is that I need to have a published one before I'm thirty, because I really need to achieve something. I already have a failed marriage on my hands guys. That gives me two years to sort myself out.

Wish me luck.

Dear London

It just might help if I compose
A list of my main London woes
It's worth a try I guess, here goes:

What is this black stuff in my nose?

Fine yes, the city never sleeps
But roars awake with glass and beeps

Dawn chorus you are mighty shrill
Through my single glazed and sill

And lest we not forget the trains
Bright hearses for our spent remains

Grab me, grope me, push me hard
I'll pay you with my Oyster card

We have sunk in your dark belly
Sleepless nights and box set telly

On we march, persistent herd
'Privacy' a term absurd

Competition rough and rife
Dreaming of the country life

Thought it would be wondrous - Psych!
Drink your way through
And poor as you like

Pay up

I'm determined to get a free coffee from Pret - because nothing tastes better than free.

I'm trying out different personas to see if I can crack them.

This morning I was a nice person, like a seriously lovely person. I gave them my best smile (that's right my BEST one - I don't even whack this bad boy out for close family), and I was impeccably mannered. My eyes said, 'I see your value, you delightful coffee bringing person.' And behind my brief words, like 'Yes, please,' and 'Thank you,' I was saying, 'I do charity work, and am kind to children, the perfect candidate for one of your free coffees.'

BUT I DIDN'T GET ONE.

Last week I tried down and out. But there's a thin line between that, and grumpy. Luckily I once played Emmeline Pankhurst in a school play, and so acting is kind of my thing.

I tried to express that I was riddled with undeserved bad luck, in need of a caffeine fuelled break. I was like, 'look guys, life's shitting on me right now, and I'm not sure why. I'll probably kill myself. That is unless someone showed me a small gesture of kindness. Then I think I'd be just swell again.'


BUT I DIDN'T GET ONE.

I'm running out of personas, and fast.

There's nothing left do to but Google.

'Clive Schlee, chief executive of the coffee giant, revealed he has given his staff the power to hand out a coffee on the house to people they like or fancy.'


Shit the bed. That's where I've been going wrong - getting served by women, who are statistically unlikely to be both:

-Gay

AND

-Attracted to sour faced administrators.

GOD DAMN IT.

Conflicting advice:

''Don't try to flirt a freebie off a barista or try to make them feel sorry for you - it's all about radiating happiness, a wide smile, and spreading the joy.

Any advice for people who can't feel joy? Nope, not one bit,

I can do a lot of things - nice, sure, put upon, sure, BUT HAPPY? FUCKING HAPPY?

It's an absolute joke, and only one thing is clear to me; I will never get a free coffee from Pret.

The big yawn

Guys, I am stooopid.

I'm 5 days in to another NaNoWriMo - another November trying to have a life (oh alright, not much of one) and shove out 50,000 words of novelly goodness at the same time.

It hurts already. I think I'm sick.

What's that? You want to help? Well you can, by taking a look at the teeny business Ginger and I have just launched!

https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/OtherWonders

I definitely think that will aid me in my journey. ALSO I previously asked all of you directly for money, and now I'm giving you a product in return, which is a little thing I like to call, progress.

Today, I watched a smartly dresses business man step into the only puddle for MILES. And the water came up above his sock. And it gave me a spring in my step.

Probably the same tosser who loudly announced, 'Oh alright, whack another half mil on, to sweeten the deal,' as he passed me last night.

Luckily, the BBC have come up with a very discreet way of culling morons. Granted, a niche breed of morons - they type that need putting out of their misery - but morons all the same.

I think it's called Weather Watch - and the idea is that you send in notes on the weather, exactly where you are.

If you're interested, sign up here - http://www.bbc.co.uk/weatherwatchers

I'm going to hack into the database, and find where they live, and publish the addresses, and let the non-moronic public hunt them down. Think about it - the roads will be quieter. Lovely.

I'm not even shitting you, this is on the homepage -

How's the weather where you are?

Join the nation's favourite conversation.

God help us all. 

Frequent, maybe. I'll give them that - the nation's most frequent conversation. But FAVOURITE? FAVOURITE?

Who are these people?

Nevertheless, I'm intrigued. I read on.

There's a picture of a twister in the background. I guess it's important to know about a twister.ONE POINT TO YOU WEATHER FUCKERS.

I'm so angry. I think it's because I'm tired. I'M SO TIRED.

Love you all.

you are?