Huh?

So I just had a meeting with my tutor and he told me my work is first class and almost of publishable quality! Okay, so I know there is an 'almost' in there, but I'm pretty psyched none the less, especially since I've totally been dragging my ass over it. Maybe this is what I should be doing?

Lovin' it, lovin' it, lovin' it.

"I like honesty. It's sexier than hipbones."

I've been in touch with Mybug a lot recently after he added me to his Facebook. He really comes out with some surprisingly insightful stuff sometimes and it's hard to believe he's only nineteen. I discovered that he wants to be a writer, but struggles to get his ideas on paper because of his ADHD. He told me about some of the stuff he likes to write about though and the dude has seriously genius ideas.

Then there's the other side to him. I'll let this exchange illustrate the other side of Mr. M.

Chica: My deadline is May 1st! I'm cacking it.
Mybug: Don't worry, pass or fail, I'll still go down on you.

As for his more sagacious incarnation, he summed up my crush on Alfie in the following terms (an edited version of preamble included for the sake of context):

Mybug: What do you want to be?
Chica: When I grow up??
Mybug: I know practically nothing about you apart from the fact you have a nice arse. So what do you think about when you wake up?
Chica: Sorry to say I currently think about someone I shouldn't
Mybug: Who is this Zorro of your dreams?
Chica: Some dickhead I should know better than to like
Mybug: What's this guy like? Do you even know why you like him?
Chica: I find him exciting, but he's a nob. He's a player, he loves himself
Mybug: Maybe that's why you like him
Chica: I don't normally go for bastards
Mybug: A mixed combination of wanting to stand out in the crowd in front of him and subconsciously prove to yourself that you're special and trying to maybe be a bit more daring yourself. You did say before you always used to want to take the hardest route

Isn't that quite wise coming from a nineteen year old boy?*

Apparently we are going to sit and drink rum all night and exchange stories. This may not happen though; we're also going to get a flat in Mississippi and keep chickens.

*Oh my God. I've just realised that when this all began, he hadn't even turned nineteen yet. Wrong.

'

As my dear friend 'Muffin, confidante to the stars, Lord of the book stamp, apostle of the apostrophe (read on, all will become clear), has been too busy to update his blog lately, I thought I should do my bit to spread some of his pearls of wisdom, a sort of blogging PA if you will. Although it is obviously no substitute for the lessons and insights the wise one offers from betwixt his own fair lips, here are the highlights of our latest MSN conversation.

On the 'What I'm Listening To' function and appropriate music

Rewind - Paolo Nutini - Chica

'Muffin says: Stop listening to Paolo Nutini!!!!!!
Chica says: hahaha
'M: You (Alfie) lover!!
C: It's the CD (he made me), I found it!!!
'M: OK well what do u think of this one......

Do Ya Think I'm Sexy - Rod Stewart - 'Muffin

On driving etiquette

Chica says: It's a nice day isn't it?
Chica says: Was it nice being out in ur car on a day like this?
'Muffin says: Yeah it was actually
'M: Had my shades on! lol
C: hehehe
C: Cruising for chicks
'M: Not in a Rover love!
C: lol
C: Why not, nobby does it in a fucking Megane

On discovering we have the same phone and the importance of grammar

'Muffin says: Have u got the Houses of Parliament as your screen saver on it?
Chica says: I found the apostrophe!!!
C: No, cherries
'M: WHERE????
'M: TELL ME!!!
C: When ur writing a text, hold down the hash key and it brings up all the shortcuts, u have to move the arrow to the right one, and then I think you press 5
'M: Aaahh hold on I'll just get my phone
C: I nearly put in my msg 'notice the apostrophe ('Muffin)' but I sent it to everyone so thought they'd all think we were weird
'M: I HAVENT GOT ONE!!!
C: Are you sure??
'M: Found it!
C: See - I complete you!! lol
'M: Have u got the msg?
C: No my battery's dying and it wont let me view my msgs
'M: I've sent u an apostrophe

On pet ownership

Chica says: I cant wait to take him to the park, I'm going to put him in the basket on the front of my bike and then when we get there he won't be too tired
'Muffin says: Bloody hell it's Dorothy and Toto

On how to get over a broken heart

'Muffin says: Snap out of it
'Muffn says: Look at the lovely day
Chica says: I'm not down about it, I've just accepted that I'm stuck on him but nothing's gonna happen
'M: U should be out playing with little Bertie and giving Boyf a BJ in the garden or something
C: LOL
C: Boyf's in work, and I've got a cold so I can't breathe through my nose!
'M: HAHAHAHAHAHA
C: I'm so blogging that

Alloway Grove

It's a beautiful day outside and I had plans to meet up with Dedalus that I've had to cancel. We were going to do lunch at Tabac. I'm full of cold, again, and feel like my head is in a vice (yet I'm still blasting music from my laptop speakers.) I blame my erratic sleeping schedule since Bertie came to live with us. He's really very good, but he's just exhausting! At the moment, I'm allowing him to eat a pair of Boyf's pyjama bottoms because it's keeping him quiet.

Yesterday, my swanky new phone arrived. It's a Samsung D900 and I've just about got to grips with it. It's not even pink ya'll - I went for performance over girlieness! I guess I really am growing up. I purged my contacts list and it's quite shocking how many people I've fallen out of touch with. I have to say there are only about twelve people on there that I actually bother texting. And that's including Alfie who I never text anymore for obvious reasons but to whom I forwarded my new number in a big group message that began with a casual "Hi all." (I think I can record video on it and put it on here, but that's a bit advanced for someone who just figured out how to store her sent messages.) But looking at my meagre contacts makes me wonder just how I'm going to use up all this credit I've paid for. In the old days, I used to blow about fifty quid on my phone over the weekend.

Yes, I'm still mourning the old days for the foreseeable future. Girl can't help it. But at least I'm not carrying those 200 messages from him around with me anymore, you'll be glad to know MJ! They're safely stored on my old phone and will be put away to gather dust.

Anyhoo, the studying is not going very well. I need to write something a bit more meaty on alternative readings of Dorcas in Toni Morrison's Jazz, and then I need to bell hooks a bit of my chapter on the burden of representation. My chapter on The Edible Woman and Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" is looking a bit like a wasteland. Did I mention my deadline is May first? Meh, at least I have an idea of what actually needs to be done. That's progress for me, right?

Mummy's Little Hero

A quick post while Bertie is playing out in the garden. (Who knew I'd turn into a Mummy Blogger so quickly?) He had his second round of injections on Wednesday (squealed like a pig, than ran to me for a cuddle), and the vet gave him a check up. Her findings were quite amusing.

Lovely vet lady: Ah, he appears to have an undescended testicle, but we'll forgive him for that because he's only little and it might still happen.

Boyf: Is that why he hasn't barked yet?

*chortle*

The other is in the Albert Hall.

9 to 5

There's something terribly wrong. After a week playing mum to Bertie during which I left the house once, to buy him food and toys, I am actually happy to be back in work. Not that I suddenly love the place or anything, but to be out in the world, completing tasks (albeit menial ones) and interacting with society at large - why, it's a miracle!

This will last all of five minutes, or until I get some chump at the counter with a chip on their shoulder, whichever comes first.

Maybe it's because the day kicked off to such a good start when I bumped into 'Muffin on his way to lectures outside our workplace - quote: "I'd recognise those hips anywhere." (I have only had two hours sleep, so it could also be delirium.)

RND Rocks

Click on the big red nose and make a difference.

Go on, it'll make you feel all warm inside!

Want a Man? Get a Dog

Quick update on some of the other, non-Alfie men in my life:

Boyf believes Bertie loves me more than him and is jealous. This is because Bertie cries for me any time I go upstairs, take a shower, or am otherwise engaged, and the only way Boyf could get him to stop was by wrapping him up in a pair of my pyjamas. That's devotion for you.

Bertie has not barked yet, except for in his sleep, when he let out a series of baby yaps followed by an unconvincing growl and twitching paws. He also still makes a sucking noise as if he is feeding from his mum in his sleep. Too adorable.

'Muffin and I have had conflicting schedules over the past couple of weeks and have not had a decent gossip in ages! Is gloating over his swanky new mobile phone and counselling me on the wisdom (like what I did there?) of forwarding my soon-to-be new number on to Alfie.

MJ turned 25 and rather than shagging everything, went home early with his darling boyfriend, Spanky, and admitted he was happy to do so. I'm so proud.

Dedalus and I have not seen each other since the night we went out, despite many invitations and protestations on his part. Accused me of being cold and gets cross if I don't text him back quickly enough. We are in very weird territory indeed.

Have been texting Mybug on and off. Told him he looked good in his uniform, he replied: You'd look good in many uniforms. He called me up for a chat on Monday 'because there was nothing on the telly.' Mentioned seeing me and Dedalus out that Friday, said Dedalus was 'giving him daggers' and 'staring him out'. Also said I looked really drunk. Cheers, love.

Guillermo (sort of in my life?) is now a fully fledged grown up and is buying a flat! What what!

My lovely Dad is 52 today! Ordered him a special edition DVD of The Producers but it has not yet arrived. I predict that he will celebrate tonight by watching the Comic Relief does Fame Academy final. He loves him some reality shows.

Latest text from Yank: Good looks catch the eyes but good personality catches hearts. You're blessed with both! FLATTERED? Don't be, it was sent to me, I just wanted you to read it!

Blame It on the Boogie

Apologies for the regression. It's my indulgence in sad songs what does it. With a dose of Lily Allen to temper things on my more kick ass days.

In heavy rotation on the mp3 player:

Paolo Nutini - Last Request. Can't actually get through the whole thing.
Amy Winehouse - Back to Black. The song, and the album!
Aretha Franklin - Walk On By. The most beautifully sung lyrics ever?
Etta James -I'd Rather Go Blind. This is particularly to blame I think.
Lily Allen - Shame For You. This is on a good day.
George Michael - I Can't Make You Love Me. This is not.

It'd be okay if it was just sad songs; I'd avoid them. But so many songs we danced to remind me of him, that even a bloody soulless dance track can get to me. Anyone else cried over the lyrics I found a place / Where we can boogie?

*allows pause for tumbleweed*

No? For me it conjures up sneaking off with him at the Christmas party, being led away by the hand, the blue of his eyes, and his truly awful singing voice in my ear.

Beyonce moves me. Beyonce.

Did I mention it's been three months?

Get Over It

It's been almost three months. It was a blip on the radar, a drop in the ocean, an abortive, clumsy, hopeless, going-nowhere, hardly happened, flirtation. Rhetorical question: when will I stop thinking about him?

Seriously. When I saw him last month, it was like he wasn't even the same guy I fell for. I didn't even want him around. That's probably because of the giant slap in the face that was the I-don't-want-a-girlfriend-except-for-the-girl-I-met-about-five-minutes-after-our-first-date-which-you-will-find-out-about-from-'Muffin-in-about-a-month-and-a-half's-time debacle. And yet he's still here, in my head, in my dreams, the subject of every song I hear, the body I long for every time I see a couple in love. Why, why, why, when he makes me feel like I could never be good enough, that it was preposterous for me to even think I could possibly have him?

Why do I still want him so much?

All the cool kids are doing it...

Ooh, this was cute. Lovingly and respectfully ripped from Brandy and Wondy:

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

New Kid on the Block

I know I've been quiet on both blogging and commenting fronts for the past few days. But I can explain. You see, there's a new man in my life. And, to be frank, I can not stop looking at him. I could sit and watch him play for hours. And when he snuggles up to me and tucks in his little nose, well, I could just die.


He has a much, much cooler name, selected by Boyf, but as with all the important people in my life, he'll be given a *BNI alias. That alias shall be: Bertie. He's eight weeks old and so tiny!

Also, I didn't buy the I HEART DAD t-shirt like I said I would, because, as I think you'll agree, Mister is cute enough without it.

I haven't slept for two days. He's totally worth it.

She's Gotta Have It

News item: I think I may be developing an addictive personality. In that, I'm seemingly becoming addicted to stuff, not that people just can't get enough of my anecdotes. A plethora of evidence is mounting up to support this hypothesis. Shrugging off the obvious temptations of alcohol and powdery substances (unless blusher), I have a different devil at my back entirely. I make my case forthwith:

Exhibit A) Alfie. Enough said.

Exhibit B) I cannot stop shopping. Shopping makes everything better. It is the joy in my life, the marrow in my bones, the giant gaping weakness in my budget. It's starting to get repugnant. I'm throwing money away that could go towards much more valuable ends. I talk of moving out, buying cars, earning enough to support both myself and a poor defenceless animal, and then blow hundreds of pounds on tops. Hundreds of pounds. It starts off innocently enough, with a couple of t shirts for maybe a tenner each or so, which I tell myself I need for work, and then, before I know it, I'm lusting after a dress on Asos for £54 that Peaches Geldof has. But I don't just want the dress, I throw things in my basket until it's over two hundred pounds worth, then I guiltily delete things I can live without so it's around a more respectable looking £100. Then I don't buy it, until encouraged to do so by my very irresponsible friends, sister, niece, boyfriend, and mum. Then I can blame it on peer pressure. Not satisfied with frittering away cash on clothes for myself, I have now firmly resolved that the minute - the very minute - I get a dog, I am buying it this.

Today, I theoretically spent £33.00 at Pucci (I didn't click on check out.) Before the guilt made me remove items from my basket, it was £103.50.

My name is Chica, and I'm an Alfashopaholic.

Zero

I started writing this post in my head last night as I was drifting off to sleep, so it may seem a little disjointed. Last night, it seems Wondy and I had the same telly night! I too watched Louise Redknapp on The Truth About Size Zero. It was really interesting and exposed the quest for such ridiculously tiny proportions as the opposite of glamorous. She was unable to take any pleasure from anything in her life, became moody and lethargic, and was physically sick. By the end of the show, she fit into a size zero dress they had sent over from LA. It was the goal she had been working towards throughout the programme, working out in the gym with the dress hung where she could see it as motivation. The moment she put it on was totally anti climactic. She looked emaciated and depressed. You could see the bones in her back like a tiny little sardine spine. Then she changed out of the dress and threw it in the bin before heading out for dinner with her girl friends, and looked happy for the first time since the beginning of the show.

What made me angry was that there were a couple of photographers and personal trainers that were spurring her on and telling her that she looked great, when she looked really unhealthy and miserable. One photographer applauded her new sleeker lines, comparing her to a Porsche. She was a UK size 4! That's skin and bone. It's so dangerous. I've done a lot of reading on anorexia nervosa for the work I'm doing on my dissertation, and some psychoanalysts suggest that eating disorders represent a desire for oblivion, nothingness, a loss of autonomy. Who would ever encourage somebody to starve themselves into oblivion?

It also made me think about my relationship with my own body. I'm happy with my body shape. Sure, my tummy could be flatter, my boobs could be bigger, my legs could be longer, and so on, but overall I'm not too worried, even though my weight can fluctuate. My insecurities lie elsewhere - it's fair to say, I hate the way I look. During the height of the Alfie debacle, I lost a bit of weight, because I was in a constant state of anxiety and found it impossible to finish a meal. I've put it all back on since, but there was a point when my skinny jeans hung off me, and would have fallen down if I didn't wear a belt. They're still a little baggy. What's crazy, and I hate to admit it even, is that sometimes I look back and think, it would be great if I could drop that weight so fast again. Let me just repeat something: I was in a constant state of anxiety and found it impossible to finish a meal. I enjoy food; I think it's one of life's greatest pleasures, and the one thing me and Boyf do have in common is that we both love eating out in restaurants and filling our faces. So if even someone who feels generally happy with their figure can feel the pressure to be thinner, I can't imagine the pressure on someone who is naturally a bigger shape and made to feel bad about it.

And with that, I am off to dunk a Dairy Milk into a cup of tea!

Chronic Academy

For charity in this great country, we have developed a tradition of watching celebrities make tits of themselves on the telly in order to wring money out of us, the viewing public, usually in the form of telephone voting. For Comic Relief does Fame Academy, this involves murderous renditions of some of our most beloved musical masterpieces.

And I love it. Sometimes, it's so bad, that I have to turn the channel over and watch a couple of adverts because I'm afraid I'll cringe so hard I'll turn myself inside out. It must take some courage to get up there when you know you've got a voice that sounds like Cyndi Lauper got stuck in a blender. With a litter of kittens. It's all for an amazing cause, so good on them! I'm hoping I never actually turn inside out though...

This year, I'm backing: for the boys, Tim Vine.

09011 32 30 12

Brilliant. And also, looks a bit like my dad.

For the girls, Mel Giedroyc.

09011 32 30 11

Equally hilarious, and I've always had a soft spot for Mel & Sue. I even managed to spell her name right without googling it.

But the real talking point of the night for me has to be: what eejit let Angellica Bell go braless in that dress for that performance? This is a family show, yes?

P.S. See what I did with the title? I could so be a tabloid hack, yo.

Or, as it came out in my head when I proof read this post (yeah, you bet your ass I proof read!) 'tabloid yack, ho.' Now there's a new one for the old passport.

Ghetto Princess

Happy Birthday MJ!!

You rock my world.

*kiss it, kiss it, spank it*

WARNING: Contains Extremely Cute Puppies

Okay. I always knew that I would buy another dog, because the house just feels empty without Puppy and I really think a house is not a home without a small furry creature running around in minority rule. But I didn't want to jump straight into it, so I decided to wait until my birthday was close. It's just over a month away now, so I thought I'd better start looking if I wanted to buy a puppy before then. However, I have encountered a small problem, which I will detail for you thusly.

How in the name of Xenu am I meant to decide which is cuter between these little puppies? Is a question I often hear my boyfriend wondering aloud, and yet I never thought I would find myself in the same dilemma:

Repeat after me: Awwwwwww!

&c. Can I have them all??

I think I want the ruby boy. But I would have to make two 160 mile round trips. Or I could take a half hour drive and pick up the dog in the first photo. Sounds like the decision should be obvious, but my brain kind of goes all gooey when I see such cuteness.

Ideas?

Cheerleader

This morning on my way to work, I had a lovely surprise in that I bumped into my friend, 'Muffin, who was on his way to sort some uni stuff, and kitted out in his sportswear. As if I needed another reason to love this man, here is an email he sent me shortly afterwards, reprinted here with kind permission from the author:

From: 'Muffin
To: Chica
Sent: Mon 05/03/2007 09:04
Subject: Lovin' the outfit

Hi hun,

Just wanted to say I’m loving the leggings and boots!

What do you think of the tracksuit then? Do I

a) Look like a muscle bound sports freak, with rippling biceps and a body to die for?

Or

b) A forty-five year old failed football manager of a struggling Sunday league team?


In fact, don’t answer that lol

Hope you have a great day

Xx

You need things like that of a Monday morning!

Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Yeah

I mentioned before the New Year that I wanted to look into getting a car and swot up on my driving skills (which are currently lying dormant and abandoned underneath my Scrabble playing skills and above my knitting skills, which lapsed about three weeks after my Nanna taught me when I was about eight.) It's something I toy with every now and then but I know would be a little impractical and a huge drain on my shoe shopping budget (such sacrifices are possibly worth it if I could have one of these cute baby pink bugs!) It makes more sense - and is better for the environment - to use public transport for my commute to work, so it would sit pretty much unused in my driveway for three days of the week. And really, I see buying a car as quite a big commitment, having to invest in all such things as insurance and road tax and services and have you seen the price of petrol these days?

Today is one of those days I sit and fantasise about having a car though, since I currently have no handy friends-with-transport at my disposal who would allow me to boss them around Ikea while I buy bed linen. Yes, that is what I would have done with my day today had I in my possession a sweet ride, a trip to Ikea, and, if he was available, a visit with the 'Muffin, who I haven't seen properly for days and miss terribly! He is a proper friend, and good example for all silly Dedalus types out there. 'Muffin and I share things in common, as well as our points of difference to make it interesting, and we get on without trying, and yet he doesn't try and turn every meeting into a scene from a really dysfunctional romcom. I've struck "platonomy" with him, more valuable than oil and not such an enemy to ducks and/or other aquatic lifeforms. All he asks is the occasional flash of my cleavage, and he's happy... Ahem.

Anyway, back to the car thing. I'm not looking into it seriously yet, but I do think it would give me that bit more independence. And it would be handy for driving to uni. So I might get a couple of friends together who know cars and go looking over the next few weeks, just to see what's out there.

Then of course, I just have to remember how to drive again...

Before the Law

Had a couple of busy days re: Dedalus. We met up to see a movie on Thursday (Hot Fuzz) and had milkshakes and fries at the diner. It was nice. The movie was funny, but criminally underutilised Bill Bailey. Both of him.

Incidentally, on the way home from town, my bus was pulled over by a siren-flashing police vehicle, and a male officer got on the bus. He started walking slowly to the back; everyone just sort of fell out of conversation and stared, waiting for someone to make a run for it or some scuffle to occur. He looked at the guy sitting adjacent to me and said, "Can we have a chat with you, mate?" The guy said, "Yeah, okay," accompanied him ever so amenably off the bus, and was promptly arrested. I have to admit that there was a moment where I wondered if he was actually going to turn out to be a male stripper, and make someones birthday. But we all know how my mind works by now.

"Tickets, please."

Talking of movies, you remember the whole number 23 debacle? Well, Dedalus has since worked out that both his long term relationships lasted 23 months. And he split up with girl #1 on the 20th of March. And girl #2 on the 13th of October. Spooky shit!

So, yesterday - the second day, of the third month might I add - we got our glad rags on and hit the town for drinks, to celebrate Dedalus' new job, which he starts on Monday. The night started off well, I wore my new shoes (which hurt like I can't even think what might hurt as much, some medieval torture device perhaps, or improperly operated eyelash curlers), and he was on top form, in a comedic sense. However, by the time we left Modo's, the night had taken a different turn. (There was a weird moment on the way to Modo's actually where he slowed down and sort of leaned in, but I was like, "Keep walking, dude, keep walking.") We went to Mybug's bar - he's really cute in his uniform - for a quick one and then stepped outside to deliberate where to go next. It was raining really heavily so I took off my coat and used it to shelter my hair and he ducked under it too and started trying to kiss me.

I was not having it. Anyway, eventually, I untangled myself from the situation and we went to Tea Factory, at which point I realised that I'd lost one of my beloved hoop earrings and had been walking around with only one in like a scurvy buccaneer (my eye makeup was probably looking a bit Jack Sparrow by this point too.) I am so upset. Switched to drinking water and stumbled through a chat about how much we have in common and how we don't even have to try we both just get on so well. I suggested that was a good foundation for a friendship and didn't necessarily mean anything more should happen. He said he wanted more and he'd been really nervous about meeting me that night. I said he was feeling like this because of girl #2. He said no, it had always been me.

Bars were closing and this seemed like a good time to make a sharp exit in any case. Before we parted ways, he asked if he could see me again over the weekend and I said we'd sort something out, but I do think a spot of space is called for.

I'm shocked he is doing this when not only does he know about Boyf, he knows (a little) about Alfie. Or maybe that is why he's doing this... maybe he thinks I am looking for something else... Aw, crap.

They say it's your birthday...

Happy Birthday to Heather!!!

I unwittingly celebrated for you last night, girl! I couldn't resist re-posting this pic as Wondy did a few days ago, because it's so utterly fabulous. It's a small way of marking the occasion on my little old blog, but there's big love behind it!


Have fun!

Take Heart

I may not be going to the splendorous event that is the Take That Beautiful World Tour, and have lost out on the best tickets in the whole god damned world, but I do have a rather magnificent chocolate leather holdall winging it's way to me:

It's for my birthday, off my parents. I ordered it myself last night. My birthday isn't for another month. Tee. Hee.

This bag says to me: Yes, I'm 25, I know exactly where I'm going, and I'm fabulous!

No pressure now, bag.

Just realised it looks like it has a grumpy face... and is now reminding me a little bit of this guy.

Fastest Fingers First

I set my alarm clock this morning so that I could get up and buy myself some beautiful, enchanted, mesmerising Take That tickets. I loaded up the ticket website, tried to log in before the tickets went On Sale at 9, to no avail. Bitch kept crashing. I'd completely forgotten my password, so I wanted to sign in early so that I could change it. No such luck. Should've done it last night like any reasonable person with half a functioning brain would have done. But no. Tried to buy tickets from 9 o'clock onwards. At 25 past, it finally let me through to the booking page, and I had there on the screen in front of me, two reserved tickets, for Block B.

Block B! I could have smelled Jason Orange's sweat from there. So, I gets to the log in page and ask them to reset my password, typing frantically. By the time I'd entered in the new 30 digit long (exaggerating) mess of numbers and letters they'd assigned me, my 60 second allowance period was up and the tickets were released. Released, from my sweaty little clutches!

Motherfucker.

I tried for a further two hours and it just kept crashing. The closest I got was the search page, which I sat and watched for about half an hour, before it crashed at a mocking 5 minutes to go. Then I gave up, because I had to go and meet my friend and give her some interview advice, because she's applying for a university library job.

I consoled myself with the idea that maybe they'd add more dates and I could be more armed and ready for the next ticket sale. This was not to be. In the time it took for me to walk up to the top of the street and back, have a quick chat with my friend, which took less than an hour, more dates were announced, tickets went on sale, and virtually sold out. I'm trying alternative ticket sites now for the few that seem to be left (the other ticket site have stopped selling them.) They're still crashing.

Woe is me. I'm never going to get such a good chance to smell Jason Orange's sweat again.