Go on, join in, let's get it all out, a problem shared is a problem... well, I don't know. It's still a problem but I always like reading yours.
1. January has gone on for seven months already and is not over.
2. I am really sick of watching "Mythbusters", which is our compromise household default programme, but which is basically just two overgrown ginger manchildren, one of whom has a walrus moustache, exploding stuff in a highly repetitive fashion for entirely spurious reasons. Tonight: breast implants, CDs, petrol stations. Yesterday: lavatories. Tomorrow: who knows. Racoons. Cereal. Soft furnishings. No one cares as long as there is FIRE. This is not science, people and I have my doubts as to whether it qualifies as entertainment either.
3. I have a spot on my chin and tomorrow I am going to get my picture taken for my book flap-slash-publicity (my choice, in a fit of a kind of reverse vanity. I could have just reused some old one from a million years ago, when I was young and fresh faced, but the contrast with real Hag Me would have been too hideous and I would rather the truth were out there, unpalatable as it is).
4. I keep overeating, but not the jolly, indulgent kind of overeating. I am doing the worst kind of overeating where you start with an orange, virtuously. Then a plain yoghurt. Then you add a semi-virtuous square of dark chocolate. Then another. And another. Then you are still hungry so you have a couple of nuts and so on and so on until you have ingested twelve billion calories and could have far more satisfactorily eaten a whole coffee and walnut cake.
5. I am using a ridiculous ancient phone as a replacement for mine which is still with the applenerds, who are apparently committed to sustainable, artisanal, Slow Repair, probably with wooden whittling sticks. Things you cannot do on the ancient phone:
- answer calls
- pick up voicemail
- listen to podcasts with less than an hour's preparation
- count your steps
- take pictures
- obsessively refresh Instagram even though it is only pictures of the Chanel show and some sky and all those chicken feeds my younger son has forced me to follow. God, why do I love Instagram so much? It's just pictures of chickens and food.
Actually that doesn't sound too bad when you put it like that and it is certainly teaching me patience, but I wonder whether there is any point in it at all. I might as well adopt a crow and carry that around with me, it would be far nicer and just as useful. The only thing I can actually do is contact my eldest son's friends of three years ago (I can choose from eg. "les emerdeurs" (sic), "huglandlefayot" (sic) or myself, for some reason listed as "Future Goat") using an app called "Vibr" (sp?) and look at PewDiePie. I have not done any of these things BUT I MIGHT. Also, the ringtone, when the phone that I cannot answer rings, is some soft rock number on histrionic crescendo, which at least matches my mood/expression as I bash furiously at the 'accept call' button to no avail.
6. Having tanned fractionally from blue to off-white in Thailand (yes, here comes a true tiny violin complaint), my legs are now so amazingly dessicated that flakes of skin drift off them in an attractive fashion every time I dress or undress (not that I do this much in winter, I just occasionally swap one layer for another as hygiene demands).
7. My eldest son has just announced to me that he has Thursday and Friday off this week for teacher training, wotthehell, how can I sit in restoratively morose silence eating my meagre lunches of punishment soup followed by orange/chocolate/yoghurt/nuts/guilt whilst watching First Dates when I have to police his Playstation killing and prevent him from eating every biscuit in the house? Mehitabel and her kittens comes to mind ("the life of a female artist is continually hampered what in hell have I done to deserve all these kittens", for "kittens" read "teacher training days").
8. I got cornered by a fireman who came to the door and made me give him €10 and I have no idea what I paid for and also I got cold called about changing my electricity supplier and the woman was so skilful that I think I have agreed to a man coming round at some point to try and sell me electricity and clearly the only way ahead is to neither answer the phone nor come to the door ever again.
9. As evidenced by the above my life is very boring at the moment and I have nothing whatsoever to write about.
Please proceed with your complaints, the bureau des réclamations is now open.