Jenny the Wimp

Things that have made me cry this week include:

* The "reveal" in 10 Years Younger
*The ending of Torchwood (til they ruined it with religious allusion - floating up into the sky surrounded by golden light, eh? Tut tut, Russell T.)
* The end of Bad Santa

No, I'm not pre-menstrual. I don't even get 'pre-menstrual'. Something's the matter. Maybe I'm just a total wuss, all of a sudden.

This post does not have an interesting or imaginative title, for a change.

Oh Lord, my brain isn't functioning properly. I just read the title of the TV programme "Waking the Dead" as "Wanking the Dead". Now, there's an image that's burned into my cerebrum. Trevor "Shoestring" Eve is 'Wanking the Dead'. I preferred it the time I misread it as "Walking the Dog". Now there's gentle Sunday evening viewing.

This reminds me of my last temping job, which was mainly non-stop data entry of forms the public had filled in. Apart from getting angry at people who didn't know their own postcode, I was guilty of a modicum of Freudian data entry. The field 'sex', obviously, was designed to contain either F or M. The computer repeatedly, embarrassingly bleeped when I entered N. My subconscious attempting to tell me something.

Anyways, this was going to be a catch up posting, as I've been quite neglectful of my beloved readers (all 6 of you - you know who you are. And so do I.) during an eventful period. Let's see if my patience lasts all the way through the list of subheadings I jotted down in the dark the other night.

London

It's expensive. I spent £28 on a t-shirt. Not a top, a t-shirt. Not even any sequins or glitter on it. And it's virtually see though. Bah. Also, I was charged £4 per cider last night. We're doomed. I weep bitter tears. That said, nowhere else has Banksy's guerrilla gallery Santa's Ghetto. Fan-flaming-tabulous, if anybody likes edgy British art. Just me then.

It's still not as cold as London people think it is. Wimps. I don't even have a winter coat yet. But, if somebody would like to take me shopping for one, I wouldn't object.....It may have to be a size down, as I keep forgetting to eat, and only eating semi-nutritious things when I do eat, so I appear to have mislaid a few inches so far. This is to the good. So far, equal pros and cons columns for That London.

Quiz
Currently one of the main occupations of my life (after work) but this is because:

(a) the main part of my social life - grabbing any invite with both hands at the moment to reduce impact of my newly shrunken social circle - is going to quizzes of an evening, or going to karaoke with quizzers. This even extended to the precious Sunday afternoon, to whit that we were going to watch a Presidents Cup match (my party of quiz-goers having an ulterior motive for attendance, mentioning no names) and I ended up playing. The questions didn't seem to go my way; a couple on Anglicanism (wrong kind of God-bothering for me, not that I'm solid on Catholicism) and one on Rugby Union (definitely the wrong kind of peanut-cuddling). This at a time when by rights I should have been lounging on the sofa getting angry about the Arctic Monkeys. Anyway;

(b) I spent four days (I'm including travelling) at the European Quiz Championships en France the other weekend, which was a big chunk o'time to devote to almost non-stop questioning. If you don't want to know the result then Don't Follow This Link. Told you not to.

Not too shabby, for once. I'm actually still feeling rather smug and self-satisfied with my placing in the individuals. Let's not go into it, or I'll start to boast, like the great Boaster himself, Uncle. No bicycle stealing, though, but I would like a purple dressing gown.

As a downside to the shocking result in Paris, I'm actually going to have to put the work in and Learn Things. Bah. I rode my luck and that worked to a point, but now I have a reputation to uphold. Must make space in corners of brain to insert lists of Booker Prize winners and chemical element discoverers.

(By the way, I was stalked...I mean, interviewed by a documentary crew during the EQC, for a programme to be screened in Spring, possibly. How much of me makes it to the final cut I cannot guarantee *crosses fingers and hopes that the 2nd unit footage is immediately dumped in the bin by the director* but it could be an intriguing insight into the world of quizzing. Could be.)

That's about it

Yeah, not much more I can be bothered to report a ce moment la. Except the mysterious disappearance of my precioussssss can of coke and Curlywurly from the fridge some time between Friday midnight and Saturday 1300. Some people have no respect for my breakfast plans.

Where did you go (to, my lovely)?

I'll tell you where I went.

I moved. In a terribly exciting rush, I got interviewed for, was offered, and moved several hundred miles to start a new job - all in the space of approximately a fortnight. I'm now resident in our nation's capital - described to me last night as "the greatest city in the world", which it may well be, but only until Bolton's city status comes through.

Months ago, when I first entertained the idea of moving here, I looked at a map, pointed at a square and said aloud "I'm going to live there". Well, now I do (or thereabouts - it's about 2 minutes walk away). It's something of a culture shock; mainly because I'd only ever been to a Waitrose once or twice before (they don't do the north west) whereas now it's my local supermarket. The 'precinct' - I have to keep calling it that, because the layout reminds me of Eccles precinct - has a Space NK and a Carluccio's, not a Personal Care Plus and a Greggs. This will take some getting used to.

Occasionally I will mutter to myself whilst passing a landmark, "f'k'n'ell, I live in London now? When....? How.....?" (and similar expletives as I wander around my overwhelmingly exciting new place of employment, which garner glares and odd looks). But this is only under my breath, and my calm soon finds me again. Not like the full volume swear I let rip when I found out Mr Waitrose wanted to charge me 99p for a loaf of Warburtons. Medium sliced, not even seeded batch!

(I'm even getting parentheses into my post titles, now. Must. Cut. Down. On. Bracketed. Asides.)