All moved into my new room am I. Mmmmm!

That was a Yoda voice, in case you couldn't tell. Sound a lot like Grover from 'Sesame Street' it did. I slept quite late this morning, in this weird state of inertia where I wasn't enjoying my dreams and really needed to pee but just - wanted - to - remain - asleep. I dreamed I was living among the characters of a movie a bit like 'The Royal Tenenbaums,' except that these people had no redeeming features or good lines or situations that made you feel sympathy for them and interest in how it all turned out. They were just rich and idle and dysfunctional and extremely whiny. I hated them all except Haley Joel Osment, who was playing the little boy of the family. I felt sorry for him because although he was quite nice as a kid (his chief objective seemed to be to stay out of everyone else's way and play with his pull-along locomotive) he was sure to grow up as maddening as the rest of them. I especially hated the late-teens daughter, played by - what's the name of the brunette chick from 'Starship Troopers'? Denise Richards? I hated her so much I wanted to beat her around the face and head with a brick. I was scared by the intensity of my hate. It was one of those icky dreams where I'm psychotically angry all the time, including with people who were not really bothering me or even trying to be nice.

I'm not particularly inclined to rage in real life, so I don't really know where these dreams come from. Frustration with some difficulty to the point of having a real door-slamming foul-mouthed hissy fit and bursting into tears, yes, that's come up a time or two, but seldom major anger, particularly not with people. And I can generally be coaxed back into tranquillity quite quickly with a gin and tonic and some Quiet Time. When I dislike a person, even if I dislike them quite strongly, I don't fantasise about doing them physical violence. (Although I have contemplated squirting expired yoghurt under their door.) So I find the rage dreams a bit unsettling.

Once I finally got up (elevenish) I found that my mother had sent me a lovely care package with Peanut Slab bars (very good New Zealand chocolate)and clippings from our favourite magazine the Listener. Thank you Wend! You are good!

So I had a Peanut Slab for breakfast (shut up) and got washed and dressed, then finished off my move by clearing the rubble from my old room, sifting out the things that I actually wished to keep, finding new homes for them and putting the rest in the trash or deep in the belly of Henry the vacuum cleaner. The old room is now stripped bare, clean, and ready for the next person - oh, except I've just remembered that I haven't taken the Legolas poster off the back of the door yet, should probably do that when I get home.

My new room is bright and airy and well ordered, and I may actually be able to keep it that way. A small space can really be harder to keep tidy because it doesn't contain proper storage for a lot of things. To help with this goal I bought a shoe rack and some more drawer divider doodahs at Lakeland today, also a birthday present to give Anne tomorrow. It is nice but I shan't say what it is here on the off chance that she reads my blog. I also went in to the Hockey's office and settled everything with Marilla Gorilla, signing forms and so forth. I will tell the bank to change my monthly direct debit amount tomorrow. Hurrah.

Not sure what else to write just now. I'm planning to take up bookcrossing (see the above link), which strikes me as a fun thing to do in a We Await Silent Tristero's Empire kind of way. I'll be sure to draw the posthorn inside the cover of each book I release, along with its registry details. Most people won't get it but some may and for them it'll be worth it. (If you would like to know what in the world I'm referring to, read 'The Crying of Lot 49' by Thomas Pynchon. Pyncheon? Well anyway, that is the correct title. It's a strange book and requires some patience but its central idea is fascinating.)

Spring is coming in bit by bit and it's lovely to see. I enjoyed my first English winter, don't mistake me - it's just that the change is nice too. England does spring rather well, I think. Yes, it's a rainy country, yes, it never has really hot weather, but when it's nice, it is awfully nice. Check out the crocuses and daffodils, folks.

I'm reading the book about Henry VIII's heirs now and find it most interesting. At the moment Mary has just married Philip of Spain, on whom she has a ginormous crush, and Elizabeth is not having much fun in captivity. Poor Edward and Jane are long gone, Edward appearing to have begun to decompose some time before he actually died.

Ummmm... yeah, that's about all for now.

Good news for my sister: she just landed her first post-university job, at a place called Artmount, where they mount art. She phoned me first thing this morning to tell me all about it. I'm very proud of her.

Good news for me: when I got home last night, a bit early, I found that Hugh had come to clear out the last of his stuff and left his room empty and unlocked, so I cleaned a bit in there (he'd done a half-assed job and left the vacuum cleaner in there instead of putting it back in its cupboard, a final, typical Hugh touch) and then started moving stuff in. Yaaay! There is much more space in there, I have two chests of drawers for my clothes and stuff and two shelves for my books plus the mantel above the little stuffed-up fireplace, and it looks really nice now! I slept there last night, very well, and woke up early. Then, I know not how, I got ready and out of the house early and had time to buy a really nice lunch on my way to the bus station, where I was in time for the earlier bus that I prefer to take. Isn't that good omeny!

There is still rubble and crap in my old room, but I will finish clearing that out on Thursday and give it a proper clean before the next person lives in it. (Heaven knows it needs vacuuming - there are yarn snips from Sock Gaddes' first haircut all over the rug.) I thought of a nifty dodge, to save myself unpacking and repacking all my drawers and having socks all over everywhere - since the chests in both rooms are identical, I just took the full drawers from my old room to my new room, slid them in and took the empty drawers back in their place. Presto change-o.

Tomorrow I'll get the proper key from the agent's office, and I also need to find a nice birthday present for Anne. I'm going to see her on Friday and she's going to help me embroider Sock Gaddes' mouth. I should also be able to use her digital camera so I'll finally be able to show the online world my tattoo!

Happy happy, joy joy.

Colour me sincerely surprised. I guess my somewhat offbeat version of common sense finally pays off in some respect.

Of course, the results could have been skewed for my fondness for pink sparkly hair ribbons and Doritos.

On Saturday afternoon, I'm going to Ipswich to spend the night and I guess part of Saturday with my pseudo-relatives. I say pseudo because they're related by affection although not by blood - Jenny is the sister of my mother's best friend, so I consider her an auntie-analogue. She lives in Ipswich with her nice curly-headed husband Andrew and their children William, Florence and Beatrice, who I've mentioned before, and Amy, the aforementioned best friend's daughter, will be there too and it'll be all nice and huggy and hot-mealy.

I'm happy to say that my pal for Sock Ally, Sock Gaddes, is practically complete! He lacks a mouth, due to me lacking embroidery skills, but my friend Anne is going to help me with that next Friday. At the moment he's dressed in some unisex 18" doll's clothes from an Alabama Toys "R" Us - his proper TV series outfit has been commissioned from the very nice Setsuna Kou, whose Sailor Moon Specialty Shoppe deserves your business if you're in the market for an anime-style costume or doll. He gonna be so fiiiiine. Expect to see pictures, one of these days. When I'm a little more prosperous, I'm going to get him some casual wardrobe items from the shop linked up top. Their selection is awesome, far more unisex outfits that boy dolls can wear than most online doll-fashion stores. Of course there are more girl dolls in need of dressing than boy dolls, but not all girl dolls want to dress super-femme. Some of them like jeans!

I am still not moved in to Hugh's room because Marilla Gorilla keeps not getting in touch with me about it. This is frustrating. It's not as if he is using it any more.

Mark has heard from his bosses that they can at least afford to pay him this month, which is nice, and he bought the Angel Season Three DVD box set yesterday to celebrate. I'm allowed to watch it after him which is super duper because I missed the third season in my move to the Northern Hemisphere.

Ummm... that's about it for me at the moment. I've returned my library books and paid my fines (only three-fifty, thank goodness, and no more overdues outstanding) so that's one less bad karma point to my name if I die tomorrow. I am happy to report that my sister Kate has a nice boyfriend called Marty and thinks he's a keeper. Should I meet him one day I'll have to restrain myself from calling him McFly.

I had fish and chips for dinner last night, and vodka in orange Tango, and Sock Gaddes watched Angel with me (he was napping during Buffy) and was a very agreeable companion.

Nothing much to say, really... last night I phoned my mother and we had an unusually short talk for us. Neither of us really had any news, and my sister and father were both out. It was just a touch-base call.

Like this is just a touch-base entry!

I saw Grease on telly last night and finished Sock Gaddes' head of hair. I also gave him something I wish I could have, leg extensions. As I originally sewed him, his legs were a little short, so that trousers for his size of doll had to be rolled up at the bottoms. I've stitched on two extra little leg-bits to remedy this.

I still don't know how the America's Cup went yesterday because when I phoned my mother last night the race hadn't started yet their time.

And poor Mark isn't able to move out of his room as he'd planned. His company has run out of money (!) so they can't give him his relocation pay. I'm going to see if I can take over Hugh's room instead, as the boring little git is finally moving out. I'd actually rather be upstairs, and Hugh's room has a nice view. Also, although I'm sorry for Mark's inconvenience, I'm glad he's still around!

Sigh. I'm bored and I really have screwed myself financially this month. Oh well. Such is life. I'm not paid anything like as much as a person with my abilities and qualifications should be, so I blame Society. But really, I should be okay if I'm careful. I just grow weary of my limitations.

Maybe in *April* I can finally get some new sneakers to replace my cruddy undead-looking old Skechers.

I need some toiletries so I guess I'll pootle to Boots on my way home. I wish my friends did not all live so far from me. Probably New Zealand lost the America's Cup today. I am scared to go to a New Zealand news site and look. I'll phone my mother tonight and ask her. 'Twill come easier from a loved one.

I've finished my Six Wives book. Poor Katherine Parr, succumbing to puerperal fever just when she was getting her life sorted on her own terms. Anne of Cleves did pretty darn well, though, and I say good for her. On to the heirs!

Last night, by dint of staying up very late, I filled in one side of Sock Gaddes' head so he only has one bald patch left, and maybe I'll nail that tonight. I don't know how to do the stitching that will give him a parting, unfortunately.

Astonishingly, I've actually resumed sewing the hair onto my Sock Gaddes doll. I've been doing it by section and he only has two bald ones left, so it's not that much left to do, but GOD I find sewing hair onto a ragdoll tiresome. I'll do some more while I watch TV tonight, I guess.

Last night at about twenty to midnight I decided I wanted a bacon sandwich with mayonnaise (Dreamcatcher moment) so I went downstairs, found the kitchen in darkness and flipped the light switch. There was that very brief moment of brightness followed by guilty darkness that you get when the bulb blows. I found a new bulb and replaced it, but now it wouldn't switch on and nor would the light in the hall, which is on the same circuit. (The switch on the fuse needed to be flipped, but I didn't know that, not being Handy Smurf. Mark did it in the morning since I left a note on the fridge explaining.) Nothing daunted, I made my sandwich by candlelight, which felt very wartime or something. I was somewhat hampered in my enjoyment of the bitchin' new Tefal frying pan with the spot in the middle that turns solid red when it's reached perfect cooking temperature because it was hard to make out by the flickery flame. But the eventual sandwich was deeply yummy.

Not doing anything much today... took my stale bread down to the river and fed the ducks. I hope they're not allergic to penicillin.

This morning I slept in till about 10:50 AM, which was a pleasure except for the freakish Star Trek dreams and the cold sweat. A side effect of my antidepressants is that I often wake up with cold damp pyjamas, because for some reason I sweat heavily all over when I dream. Any morning I wake up still feeling warm and fluffy is an extra good morning. I ate two bananas for breakfast in bed, read a letter from my mum and some more in my Six Wives book (I'm up to Anne of Cleves), then had my shower and got dressed and decided to wash sheets and towels today. This is always a rather serious decision as they are the most inconvenient items to dry in this house - no tumble-dryer and the weather is not yet stable enough for me to risk them on the outdoor line. I'm going to have to untie the pink Mylar Valentine balloons Ilka got from work and put along the banisters, since this is the only place I can effectively dry my top sheet. This is a shame as I much admired the Staircase of Lurve.

Then I walked into town, buying this week's Big Issue outside the round Norman church from the young vendor who I want to like except that I find the way he calls me 'ma'am' crawly. I actually admire his effort to use old-world courtesy in his dealings with the public but I wish he understood the distinction between a 'ma'am' and a 'miss.' It is not very complimentary to call a woman my age ma'am - any more than it would be in Japanese to call me oba-san instead of onee-san. We exchanged pleasantries about how mild the weather was today; it really is starting to look springy, which is pleasant.

And so here I am in the internet caff, and before long I guess I'll mosey home. There is nothing much to do today but I look forward to tonight's Buffy/Angel lineup on telly, and I think I'll have Sainsbury's spiral pasta with garlic mushrooms for dinner. Am I not dull?

If you go and look at Lizzard's blog she's got some cute new pictures of her sock dolly's adventures up, and Kevin's latest anime review is of the OAV that kind of cemented our friendship, All Purpose Cultural Cat Girl Nuku Nuku.

Another working week done and dusted. Do you know why we say 'done and dusted'? Because in the olden days, like bubonic plague olden days, after a document was written out dust would be scattered over it and the excess shaken off. The dust would stick in the ink and fix it, also help it dry. So there.

I'm wearing my new teeshirt that BGF Lizzard gave me - I can't get the exact link right now, because the forum server is being funny, but if you go to the Nekomusume.net Forums and click into the one called Tsubasa no Kami you may still be able to find a thread headed up 'Cheap Easy Van Cosplay' that will explain the significance of this shirt - it's uncannily like one worn by the animecharacter Van Fanel in The Vision of Escaflowne, but it's from Mossimo and she bought it at Target in Alabama. The colour is called Racer Red. I feel so... racy.

One of my jobs today was to upload the Jobfinder listings to our internet site. The National Whaling Commission is looking for a keyboard operator to cover someone's maternity leave. I always like it when I can spot something a bit outlandish like that. An old faithful is the University of Cambridge science department's almost perpetual ad for someone to look after their transgenic mice. Either no-one wants to tend transgenic mice at all, or there is a very high turnover of people who take the job and resign in disgust shortly afterwards. I wonder if they're the dead 'orrible looking ones with ears on their backs?

I'm not sure what I will do this weekend, mostly keep my head down I should think. I'm going to have to economise this coming month, as I've mentioned, to compensate for the excessive outlays of this past month. Hopefully I will end March in the black. As it is I have to spend another £8 or so on a taxi home tonight, since supervisor Maggie is at home with a bad throat and I can't get a lift with her. I am most vexed.

But mostly I'm just pleased that my working week is over and I can look forward to my four days of relaxation. I don't know what I will do when I rejoin the sector of the population that has a five-day working week. Moan a lot I expect.

How evil are you?

I'm somehow disappointed.

Presumably Barney is there as an exemplar of evil.

A tense situation with the BGF (best girl friend) has improved since she filled me in on what was actually going on in her hell week (see Lizzard's blog). Before that I was feeling like Nala in that scene of The Lion King where Simba brushes her off saying 'You can't possibly understand what I've been through' and she exclaims in frustration 'I could if you'd just tell me!' Anyway, I'm very glad that the plans for her trip stagger on, and that Katie the piglet/cocker spaniel cross is not going belly-up, except to be tickled. I haven't actually met Katie yet but I feel a godmother's interest in her prospects and wouldn't like her to die.

I am dweadfully overdwawn and looking forward to getting paid this week. March will be my month of Lenten parsimony. I will pretend I'm Henry VII instead of VIII, which is less fun but more economical. No new books or clothes or shoes; no buying myself kitchenware that I just can't resist; no online shopping. I want to end a month in the black for once. I bought a frying pan today. smacks self Bad! Naughty! No more frying pans! But the non-stick on our existing one is giving up the ghost, and it was on special at the supermarket, and anyone who eats as many pancakes as I do needs a reliable frying pan. When I'm making myself pancakes as a girl out on her own for the first time I feel like Kiki from Kiki's Delivery Service. This is apparently my week for identifying with animated characters. I wish I had Jiji! A cute black cat with the voice of Phil Hartman would really brighten my existence.

Speaking of which, people whose arses I would like to kick but there's no point as they're dead: Phil Hartman's wife/murderess. Goddamnit, woman, there are thousands of people whose job it is to help you deal with your substance abuse problems and marital issues, nowhere more so than in Los Angeles. You had to shoot yourself and one of my favourite actors and orphan your children whose whole lives may well be blighted by what happened to their parents? I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead and I'm genuinely sorry for the mentally ill but quite frankly: Stupid bitch.

For me the number one argument against suicide is that it's not fair to the people left behind. Here I mean not poor me who still has Phil Hartman in reruns and on video/DVD, but the Hartman children who can't get either of their parents back. When I feel suicidal, and sometimes I do, being a depressive, what stops me is the fact that it would be absolutely horrible for my family and close friends, who are lovely people and would feel guilty for not being able to prevent it as well as mourning me for the rest of their lives. Some people commit suicide because they want their families to feel sad and guilty - 'Someday I'll die and then you'll be sorry!' These people, however bad their personal problems, are being selfish dickheads. There are some things you don't have a right to do to people, and committing suicide is not just doing something to yourself. For no man is an island entire unto himself, testify MC Johnny Donne!

The number two consideration, of course, is that nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain, and I wouldn't want to kill myself the day before I would have found my ideal job or met my wonderful husband, now would I?

This makes it sound like I'm feeling depressed and suicidal today, which is the opposite of true. It was just one of those trains of association, pancakes>Kiki>Jiji>Hartman>suicide. I don't always think about suicide when I think about pancakes, either. Sometimes I just think about maple syrup, or bananas. Hmm. Banana pancakes with maple syrup. I think I just made a plan for tonight's dinner.