From the cliff edge of death

So....

The woman whose cats I've been stealing, caught me doing it.

I opened the door of my flat to let them out, and she was going into hers. I didn't make it weird. I just said, 'Morning!' and fled. It was 6pm.

I didn't see either cat for five days.

Then I saw Salem (I named him), and he ran away petrified. I can only assume she's been showing him pictures of my face, and then slapping him, in some fucked up 'Pavlov's Dogs' approach.

If your thinking this blog is about cats, it's really not. I hardly ever write about cats.

ALSO

I decided on Friday night, to go for a run in the snow at 8am the next day. The reason being, that after two weeks of Resolution keeping, I am now indestructible. My good friend (let's call him Thomas, for that is his name), told me that I was an idiot, who would fall over and hurt myself.

I really showed him, when I fell over and hurt myself.

It was alright in the end. But just not the first bit, when I lay screaming, demanding an ambulance.

I knew that I'd broken my ankle.

So you can imagine my surprise, when five minutes later I was walking fine! What a miracle!

THANKS FOR CURSING ME THOMAS, YOU INCREDIBLY TALENTED WITCH.

Then right, and you're not going to beeellliiieevve this one, last night, three teenagers tried to kill me.

There's a steep alley way leading up to my flat from the main road, which I've affectionately named 'Death Alley' (because it's a perfectly logical place to get stabbed. So much so, that as soon as the knife was in, you'd have to admit you'd been asking for it).

So I was carefully making my way up, when I heard a whooshing noise from above, shortly followed by a chorus of 'Hit her!'. I looked up. A sledge was coming for me, loaded with morons,  like a black panther after a giselle (I'm just trying to bring the story to life for you). I pressed my back against the wall. They turned the lip of the sledge to the wall. That's right fellow reader! They were trying to mow me down!

With Olympian-esque speed, I ran in front of it to the other side, as all three of the scumbags zoomed past, scraping themselves against the brick.

Well I was a mess.

I got home, and made myself a fruit tea, reminiscing about the Great Snowball Fight of 2010, which for those of you who don't remember, is where I took on, and defeated a group of children (Please see blog entitled, 'The Rutter - 1 The Little Shits - 0')

I live to see another day, and what a snow covered, pants day it is.

New Year, Same old you.

I don't believe I've ever achieved a New Year's Resolution.

Which is why I've adopted a new approach, which I'm titling, 'The Roll Over'. In essence, if you don't achieve it one year, you have to bash it back on the list for the next.

I shit you not, for the first two weeks of January, I have been loyally following the below:

*Watch less television *Learn to play the guitar *Drink more water *Stop biting your nails *Bring your own lunch into work *Sign up to a charity run *Go for a run four times a week *Floss *Don't drink alcohol for a month *Give up Starbucks *Cook all dinner's from scratch

BOOM

I feel like complete shit.

Mostly it's because I've been to the gym seven times in ten days. Luckily there's a man at the gym, who uses the rower and vocally performs his own porno - which is lovely when you've forgotten your Ipod.

ALSO

I have cats!

By which I've mean I keep stealing someone else's cats!

It started off quite nicely - they'd make a cheeky dash inside the flat, I'd track them down and shoo them out. Until Saturday. On Saturday I let one stay for a day. I think that makes me a cat burglar. I mean, I like me, but I just like me better when I have cats.

On Sunday, a few friends came round, and we got talking about aforementioned animals. And they were all like, 'There's no way they just sit outside your door waiting to come in.' So I opened the front door, and voilà a different cat! How exciting! I only kept that one for three hours - which I think is progress.

Don't look at me like that - like you've never 'borrowed' someone else's stuff. Like you're better than me. We all do things we're not proud of, but the important thing is that we learn from those mistakes.

Every night when I get home, I leave the front door open for a while, hoping to get a cat.

ALSO

My umbrella exploded recently, and hit my mum's car.And the company were all 'Our umbrella's don't usually explode, can you please send a photo?'

A photo?

Like I marked the area out in white chalk and took swabs.

I mean JEEZ. So I gave them a detailed blow-by-blow instead. And as I'm like a PROPER writer, it was rather nice.And then they sent me a new umbrella.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is the one thing that's gone right in my life so far in 2013.

LET'S CELEBRATE!!!

Twee-dle Dee

Now, if I'm honest with myself, I could see it coming.

And you know what the worst thing is?

I let it.

The true realisation smacked me this morning, as I carried my lunch to the fridge:

Grapes (nothing wrong there)

Bread (still no qualms)

But here's where it gets ugly:

Banana Bread. I MADE IT, FROM SCRATCH.

Carrot and Coriander soup. I MADE IT FROM SCRATCH. And not only that, but I made enough to fill four containers, which I then froze. I'd purchased the containers purposely for this reason.

ARE YOU BEING SICK?

I AM

I'M BEING SICK EVERYWHERE.

Ask me what I did at the weekend. Go on, ask me. I trained for the Leeds 10k. I went to Ikea. I hung a picture. I sewed my hood back on my coat. Yes, I made the bread. Yes, I made the frigging soup. I sat around with people singing, I plaited my hair. I researched reasonably priced sheets.

I'd ask for help, but I honestly think it's too late.

It would take something terribly drastic to reverse what I've become. And I don't really fancy downing a bottle of vodka and snorting cocaine at work.

Oh God, what if I start knitting? What if I genuinely get the compulsion to knit?

WHAT IF I MAKE MY OWN JAM? And become a cyclist, recycle my glass bottles, and volunteer?

*Throws up again*

Rebel with a cause

It's day 28 of Narnowrimo. Expected word count - 46676. My word count - 0

Calm down, I'll do it when I get home tonight.

I'll tell you what it's not - IT'S NOT PHYSICAL PROOF THAT I'M NOT A REAL WRITER.

And to prove it, I'm going to my writers' group on Sunday. YEAH, with proper paper and everything.
So screw you voice in my head - you patronising wanker (sounds a lot like Stewie questioning Brian over his first book. And if this reference is lost on you, march your uneducated ass down to Play.com, and spend your wage on a Family Guy boxset instead of food. There, that's the spirit.)

Or, just listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9rv1oJ4Res.

ALSO

I've been wondering if you're a sad act square for frequently going to the Library, but then suddenly a badass if you get a fine? I asked one person, and he agreed, so that's that. £3, and I've got street cred. And you know how much they were overdue? By a WHOLE day.

God, I really take things too far. I should calm down. Like sometimes there's a queue for the bus, and I sit down on a seat in the middle of the bench, and when the bus comes, I pretend I was in the middle of the queue the ENTIRE time! And sometimes Ginger Beard let's me do the weekly shop, and he's all like 'How are we supposed to survive on 8 ripe pears and tiny tins of coconut milk?' And I'm like 'Shut up and eat the fruit bitch!'

So, I'm glad we sorted that out.

I definitely feel better.

ALSO, this girl, who used to be my friend, told me it was okay to lean backwards when you're on a gym ball. It's not okay. You fall into one of those bikes nailed to the floor. And you get this big bruise on your back.. I hate that girl. Security were watching through the camera, and when I left the building they said 'Did you have a nice time in the gym?'

OBVIOUSLY NOT.

Hey, so mulled wine is like the best thing ever! Why do we only drink it near Christmas? I find, that if you pop lots of fruit in, it's practically a soup, which is a meal.

In case you were wondering, I've not had that much coffee today, only six cups.

I hope you've had a really nice time.

Pinnochio strikes back

Please try not to panic. I know the temptation here, is to run from whatever room you're currently in, screaming, and shave your head.

But I promise, it's going to be okay.

If I flex my surprisingly capable mathematical skills, I can work out that the average Nanowrimo-er should have written 31,666 words by the end of today. I'm not far off - I've written 0.

I can still totes do it.

As per the infinite words of George Micheal - You gotta have faith. Yeah, you gotta have faith.

So have some fucking faith.

Thanks.

ALSO

On my bus, there's a mystery farter.

Seriously, at least two mornings a week, the farter lets a big one go on the top deck, and clears it. I'm not kidding. About thirty of us flee our seats and wait on the stairs, sometimes 2 or 3 stops before our own stop. It's horrendous. It's a slap to the face.

I'm going to start making a note of the people around me every morning. By process of elimination I can source the guilty party. Then I will slap them with a rotten egg and declare, 'There, now we're even.'.

ALSO

I've been doing a lot of house hunting of late.

Did you know that what looks like a considerable about of damp, is just the wallpaper paste innocently coming through, which is perfectly normal? No, neither did I.

Or, that if you invite someone to view a flat, but don't have a key, they won't be able to view it?

Or even, that you can wait thirty minutes before finding out the estate agent's been in a 'car accident'.

I feel pretty shitty about this last one, because she actually was.

Or at least, they went into a lot of detail to secure the story, and I'd hate to believe that 'The airbag broke her jaw.' was a concoction between three of the lying bastards over coffee.

See, I'm trying to be a better person. It's just that I find everyone suspiciously fraudulent. Maybe it's because I make stuff up all the time. Yes, that could indeed be it.

I mean, isn't it just a teensy big convenient, that on the way to get us, a car smacked her bitch up?

SORRY

What I'm trying to say is, Get Well Soon.

People in this renting game want to charge you tons of money for doing sweet FA. If you ask them how the signing fees break down they're like:

'Sure, okay, so £50 for me to talk to you in this oh so patronising tone, £10 for me to grab a 'Bucks' (that's obvs Starbucks to the lamen), and muffin on the way back, £100 to loan you my pen, and I don't know, let's say another £30 because I'm a wanker.'

THANKS

So, basically, we've put an offer in that's like, half the rent, a point blank refusal to pay the fees, and the request for a free bed.

I'll let you know how that pans out.

Did you know Arthritis, is not pronounced Arthur-itus? I didn't.

Je ne parle pas anglais

Hello fellow chumps, how goes it?

I was watching the news the other day, and there was this story about a man who found a pigeon leg. Like, he was inspecting the chimney or something, and it fell down, this foot and leg, with a little red capsule round it. They interviewed the couple, and the wife said, 'It's like Christmas!'

IS IT?

You know what it is like? It's like it's Halloween, and some fucked up mental patient is feeding bird body parts into your house from the roof.

It would be great to be part of that family, because of their horrendously low expectations around gifts.

ALSO

This drunk girl dropped her scarf and didn't notice. Because I'm working very hard on being nicer (I've recently been accused of lacking empathy for the common man), I picked it up and gave it back to her.

She said, 'Oh my God, thank you, you've saved my life!'

Why are people taking the English language and abusing it?

I am a bit perturbed at the extent of dramatics, but also overjoyed at achieving hero status after investing such a small amount of effort. Sweet.

Then she fell on me at the pedestrian crossing.

Advice of the week: Have you seen a film with Joseph Gordon-Levitt, called 'Uncertainty'? No?
Don't watch it.

ALSO

It's day seven of Nanowrimo, and I've only just realised. How incredibly exciting. I have to write approximately 1666 words a day, so that on the 30th of November I have 50,000 shiny new words before me.I mean, it's not like I'm doing it as an act of desperation, to prove to everyone that I'm not, as some may perceive, languidly clawing at the pathetic wispy tail of my escaping dream. NO, THAT'S NOT IT AT ALL.

By my estimations I'm nearly 11662 words behind already.

Luckily I'm being thoroughly motivated by my favourite exercise bike, the screen of which is frozen on, 'You are doing a great training.' Even when you don't pedal! I've never felt so full of optimism and motivation.I do do a great training.

Please pass me the vodka.

To write or not to write

Hello chums........so, I joined a writer's group! Hurrah!

But I've not had much success with these.

I tried one at a book shop full of 40 somethings, completely terrified of their own writing, and voices - jabbering wrecks. Which isn't a very nice thing to say, but when there's twenty of you, and you're the only one who reads, and the only comment is 'Nice', it's not working.

At the next attempt, they were all too weird. Now, potentially, these are my people. Potentially I'm one of them, an oddball, a misfit. Maybe my internal rejection of the group, is the knowledge that deep down I too, have hygiene issues, intrinsically know how to speak Elvish, and think it's appropriate to bring two babies with me. This is a truly terrifying prospect.

This is my last go at it. I'm totes serious. HILARIOUSLY, and you too, would find this hilarious, I was overjoyed to find that the venue was next to my flat, and then utterly devastated to note that one of the emails on the mailing list belongs to a man who once fired me. Now, my plan is, to make him so uncomfortable, that he leaves.

What do you think?

I mean, I have searched high and low for this. I've been out of University for over four years, without a writing support group to prop up my pitiful sense of being 'a writer', and this could be the one. The one that reinforces my ambition. The one that sparks me off. And we would all become simply the best of friends, and meet up to critique each other's work outside of the group. And from this, a novel would bloom. And then money, lots of money, and - I CAN SMELL IT.

So if all I have to do is turn up crying, address the group, and say that, as a result of being fired some years ago (looking pointedly at man in question), I lost my home (it wasn't a paid job), my integrity, my relationship, and - I don't know - other important, tragic things, like my ability to experience joy - then that's what I'm prepared to do.

Every time he reads something out, I'm going to say it's shit. Even when it's not. Even if could eat Pride and Prejudice or The Great Gatsby for breakfast. And I'll cough through it, and roll my eyes, and feign wrist slitting.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking - will this be enough? I'll let you know.

ALSO,

The prep for the class is to write something silly, fun, and playful.

I'm not being dramatic here, but I currently feel like my soul has been crushed by a falling piano, acid has attacked all of my happy memories, and that one more, tiny bit of stress would see me launching my sobbing body in front of the next Waitrose truck (because if I'm going to die, I'm going to die posh).

I'll email the tutor and say, 'Sorry, couldn't manage that. Instead, here's a rather fetching poem about loss, and suffering, sprinkled with loathing.'

Wish me luck.