Some things I will miss...

I leave my current workplace tomorrow. I am glad to leave the entertainment news. But I will miss many things.

I will miss my laptop I will miss flirting with the cute guy in the nearby coffee shop I will miss possibly the best manager I've ever had I will miss being friends with systems support and getting 'server error' messages that say 'can I bum a smoke?' I will my miss my co-workers and their odd form of humour.

But most of all I will miss being Weekly Whispers. Whispers was my creation, and frankly a bit of a nutter. She was part Shimura-Curves-well-down-the-pink-wine, part Guardian fashion writer Hadley Freeman and, probably, part me. Whispers got to go to the Grammys. Whispers got to shout her mouth off and take the warped moral high ground about trivial subjects. She's excitable, scathing and, if she came to your party, would probably would drink your flat dry whilst talking 19-to-the-dozen about the similarities between Charlotte Church and Cleopatra. It's the campest, daftest, most utterly silly thing I've ever written and I wrote it every week (I did it last thing on a Friday, some of them are far more erratic than the one above). I think someone else will now take the Whispers mantle. I'll miss her, my little pink Frankestein's monster.

Space rock childe

A member of a popular sapce rock band lives upstairs from my current office. He has two blonde children, both under the age of about four. I was outside just now and the small boy, bored by the conversation of adults around him, was hitting the pavement with his foot in the manner of one pressing a pedal and going "waaaaawhooooaaaawoooooommmmmaaaaaaa."

It's in the genes, clearly.

Spider monkey robot! Go!

Fly my simple-game-addiction pretty, fly!

Swinging robot

Drone work will turn your brain to cottage cheese

Search, copy, paste.



Search, copy, paste.



I am adding links to pages. I am being forced to care about the positioning of ampersands. I am adding links to pages.



I am so deathly bored that, in the course of all my routine searching, I ran a search to see if Tupac had any upcoming live dates. Then I swore very loudly at the CMS for being crap and not having an entry for a major artist. Then it crept into my addled under-used brain... yeah, right, Tupac's going to be playing live. Live. Clue there.



I am adding links to pages.

Headache

For no reason. Unfair. Not responding to water or painkillers. Or yoghurt. Have 1000 pixel stare from sitting in front of computer.

Patsy Kensit has my jeans on

I discovered Ms Kensit and I share taste in stretch demin whilst browsing Grazia magazine.

I think leaving my current job will actually do me some good. I want to live in a world where I will not be able to name every single member past and present of the Sugabaes, where I will not be reduced to spitting bile by the Sun's showbiz column, because I won't have to read it. (Special heads up to Victoria Newton here, outstanding achievement in the fields of self-obsession and pointless petty bitching.)

Obviously the money panic is not good, but at least I will be free from the swamp mindless tittle tatle.

Swimming

For the first time in forever I decided excersize may not be evil and only for hearty, join-in types and went swimming. I'd forgotten how evocative the smell of chlorine is; as soon as I walked through the door I could feel one of those spongy floats between my fingers and the mouth scalding sweetmilk of vending machine hot chocolate.

Anyway - I really enjoyed it. Who knew? I usually view my body as a series of parts, sections to be celebrated or hated and hidden. It was strange to use my whole physical self and to be aware of my body as a mechanism. And I felt amazing afterwards, it sorted out my hangover very nicely.

Oh dear, I may be in danger of buying a fleece and some tasteful gold sleeper stud earrings and becoming a Lesuire Centre Person.

It's blogging month

Odd really that I only ever get the urge to blog in May. Possibly it's something to do with the onset of summer that creates a need to hide away indoors with the windows open and curtains drawn. Still, this year I intend to keep it up. Really, truly. I am also wondering, if I do keep it up, how long it will be before anyone I know cottons on? I have internet rounds of blogs and message boards and MySpaces and Flickrs, but I'm not really in on those of anyone else.

And the pink has gone. What was I thinking? Actually I know what I was thinking, it's because I was going through a phase of drinking stupidly over-priced Barbie pink cocktails in late night gay bars with my friends S and V. So I ended up with a pink blog and a really embarrassing log-in name which shall never be revealed to the world. Ever. Ever ever.

(Ever ever explained: Someone's playing Kanye West in my office.)