brilliant.

Catching the train feels like sailing into darkness but it is not dark here; no, there is some light from the window and the clatter of keys hits my ears and the girl at the next desk peels labels from a strip and slaps them on envelopes before thumping them down with a fat fist. The clatter of filing cabinet drawers punctuates the hum of twenty computers and five printers in one enclosed space, but mostly it is fingers clicking away making unseen words on our private computer screens that one notices, the fact that we work away from each other, facing into our own individual electronic voids. Doors open and shut, slamming and beeping in the distance, and the kitchen is full of milk and coffee as people creak along, with their cheery morning greetings and showing off today’s colourful visit to the wardrobe door; an ethnic brooch here, a bright red shirt there, and yes, those jeans are too tight for you but how proud you were to get them on after six weeks at Weightwatchers.

Next up

Insides feel all tight and twitchy and my hands and arms feel restless. It’s like there aren’t enough minutes in any given hour, and although there’s not an unmanageable task ahead, it feels like there is. Even making social plans is making me feel nervous, keep fit, see everyone, try and not worry about what’s happening with parents, try and focus on positive thoughts and what might be around the corner. But god only knows where I’ll be living, working or anything. It’s all so up in the air and it’s terrifying, but exciting, one day when life is settled and dull and routine I’ll look back to these times and wish that I had embraced them and not allowed them to make me jittery.

Deadened by caffeine… Directionless yet somewhat frantic. I’ve just posed in multicoloured fluorescent flares, frilled pink polyester shirt and silver platform shoes for a friend who has lots to do today. I have lots to do too but don’t relish any of it. So I will do lots, but nothing that will help me do any of the following things… get work / earn money in any other way / maintain or re-establish old friendships… others are making lunch.. should I? Am I hungry? What’s on TV? Will an interesting Documentary about World War 2 be starting just about the time I have cooked my soup and toasted my bread roll so that I can conceivably use a whole hour up for lunch to coincide with said documentary?... Ermmm… maybe.. should email Ali now

Here we go.

The first of I hope, many 'free-writes'

"two minutes thinking about having a fever; it's been a while since i've had one - previous cases of illness have been hyperbolic and exaggerated to elicit sympathy - now I am the boy who cried wolf, sitting spaced or lying down churning about on my sweat soaked bedsheets. i have half dreams which are a little like hallucinations or waking dreams, things I can't shake, things that feel real and pressing 'til I wake and realise that four hours of hot-browed worry that my hands are too big or that I will have to compensate for moments experienced by re-living them more concisely are moments wasted and moments of temporary madness"

hair-um scarum

Forgive me for this more-than-usually-self-involved blog.

This weekend I treated myself to a hair cut. I say 'treated' because as a girl, it's not an in-and-out job, it consists of 4 hours of consultation, wine, hair treatment, head massage, leisurely reading of magazines, hair colouring, wine, more consultations and then hair cut, blow dry, straighten and then......ta dah! The big (slightly squiffy) unveil, extreme makeover style, but without the appreciative audience in my case.

The only problem with this weekends treat, was that I booked late, and the Witches Hut only had a 'stylist'. The men amongst you will be thinking...and? But there are some key words missing here. [ ] stylist. The gap should be filled with a word such as 'senior', 'principle, ' even 'director'. AKA I'm not letting some newly qualified rookey edward scissorhands anywhere near my barnet. Why? Because it's not a normal barnet, it's unruly, it's wild and thick and well, it mostly looks horrendous.

So there I sat, with 'Michael' and his wild bleached blonde crop, feeling tense and sweaty palmed. Not even the 2nd glass of chardonnay (yeuch)calmed my nerves and this was before the hi-lites had even begun.

Girls, we all know, having hi-lites can be hit and miss. And when your hair was practically black last year and has a tonne of left over dye in it, this makes for even greater potential for disaster. So I sat, and I smiled politely and I died inside.

The worst bit was when Michael took out the foils to examine the hi-lites. I looked deep in his Eastern European eyes for signs of a reaction. ANYTHING. At this point a more qualified stylist (with a better 'bedside manner') would utter some words of reassurance, 'oh, yes this has taken very well' or 'this is exactly what I'd have hoped' but....nothing. And his eyes were devoid of life or emotion. I took this to be very very bad news and freaked out.

Turned out I had nothing to worry about, he'd nailed my hair colour, and he cut my hair into a funky little graduated bob with a fringe- for only £95. Can you believe it?

Ok it's very blonde, ash blonde and I know this will not be met by approval by any of my friends in Brighton (results of a drunk straw poll in Compton conclusively preferred brunette ali), but I know it's a winner. So never again will I live in fear of having my hair cut by a junior, but only this once. Lets face it, they need to get practice somewhere, I'd just rather it wasn't on me. I'm sticking to directors.

I finally emerged like a freakishly overgrown and hairy butterfly from her salon cocoon and floated dreamily into the pub, tossing my new mane. Steve met me with a big hug and a smile and said I looked gorgeous. Then I realised he was p*ssed. Really p*ssed.

Right then, onwards and upwards. Bloggers, please submit your e-free-writes to me to my hotmail throughout the course of the day, and I'll sort them and get them posted.

e-free-writing

It's been a hellova day so far (training, eating Belgium chocs, doing lunch) so apologies for the late blog, to anyone who normally expects a mid-morning ali update.

Main and most exciting news of the day...Steve's home! He arrived at 8am this morning, and headed straight into work, poor little bunny. He's been featured in lots of dull insurance trade publications for his recent promotion and has spent the day e-mailing me telling me 'I'm famous'.

Last night after popping in to some work drinks in a terrible, awful meatmarket of a bar called 'prohibition' on Bishopsgate, I headed home to my spiritual home, Brighton and to the 7dials bar de jour, Zuma.

It was there me, Dan, Jonathan, Anne Sophie, Natalia and Vic masterminded the next BIG thing to hit the blogging world, 'e-free-writing'.

Everyone knows that writing stuff down is a sure fire way of getting it out of your mind, and often out of your system. It's good therapy and unlike most, it's free. So if you take it to the next level, beyond well thought through letters, poems, diary entries, blogs even, you get 'free writing'.

So you find yourself a nice quiet time and place, and you put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard take a deep breath and then essentually vomit the entire inner workings of your mind onto a piece of paper or screen for a set period of time. No punctuation, no stopping, no time to think about what someone might think. Just get it all out there. Liberating stuff!

So come and join us for our first group e-free-write. It's short and snappy, just 2 minutes, so there are no excuses for 'not having time'. As if we need any excuses for work avoidance anyway!

We're going to be doing it on Monday 5th February, and then I'll be posting the results to my blog on the Tuesday, anonymously, to protect us all incase we write things we'd rather not be responsible for. If you want to join in, you can simply post your e-free-write into a comment on the blog.

We're all hoping it will be a thought provoking exercise which will generate lots of interesting conversations.

Hopefully it won't be used as evidence in a future police investigation.

The more the merrier, lets e-free-and-be-merry!

A couple of pics

Growing old disgracefully

There's a poem by Jenny Joseph which makes me laugh, and I think we can all learn something from it.

I for one, already hoard stuff in boxes, but then I have crazy genes.

So here it is:

*****

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

******

I think the reason this poem really makes me smile is that it really reminds me of my mum, who is increasingly behaving in this way. It's the sign of the beginning of the role reversal of parenting. When it's my time, I fully intend to do the most bonkers of things, and I'm putting in some decent practise already.

I'm feeling a little bit tired and sentimental today, I think I'm missing Steve more than I'd care to admit. I know this as I had a big blobby tear trickling down my cheek when my train went through Penge West, his childhood stomping ground.

I'm such a loser!