All the things I do instead of writing…
I'm quite disconcertingly comfortable with my own company. When I'm not at work (which is most of the time), I have all the head space I need - I can read the papers, construct bizarre diet plans I won't stick to, shout at the morons on breakfast TV, indulge in antisocial personal habits like picking... Continue Reading →
I've been reading through yet another random set of "tips" about leaving comments, and I'm increasingly unsure why anyone would take it that seriously - one person commented: "Ok, so we’re all scared to comment I will admit I have been guilty to leaving random comments and now can really work on leaving pertinent information... Continue Reading →
Maybe I'm taking a silly movie too seriously, but about halfway through Black Swan I thought I must've somehow not only travelled back in time to 1962, but into some sort of parallel universe in which all a fragile woman really needs is a good rogering by some aggressive svengali twice her age. Add the... Continue Reading →
The other day, I went to see the best play I've seen in many years at The Royal Court, called Clybourne Park. The reviewers kept saying it was a very funny satire about race and property, and I certainly couldn't help laughing at the accurate portrayal of the ugly sides of human nature, although I... Continue Reading →
I am watching The Red Shoes. I am quite drunk, because today I got my bonus numbers, my sister is starting a new job on Monday, and Tesco's was selling Lanson Rose at half price. Originally I was planning to open the second bottle in about half an hour, but then my sister went off... Continue Reading →
On the tube this morning, a lady got on at Bond Street wearing that ever more familiar red-soled shoe. I thought the shoe looked rather cheap, another of those black patent leather stilettos with a concealed platform and slightly too thin a heel for such a chunky front. Of course, being so evidently made by... Continue Reading →
Every city probably has this divide on public transport. If you board at 8am, it's full of people rustling their papers, cumbersomely trying to sip a Starbucks at the same time, and looking amusingly bright eyed as they contemplate another day of spreadsheets. Get on at 6.45, and the carriage is filled with men in... Continue Reading →
I am watching a documentary about a very old lady in a red jumper. “What is it like when you believe you will die in the next second?”, the interviewer asks. She is asked this a lot, she replies; and the answer is that you do not perceive any emotion – just blackness descending on... Continue Reading →
I've still not got around to removing this blog from my Twitter feed, and consequently have stopped updating it; it seems incredibly vain to even vaguely assume that anyone I know would want to read my bored ramblings, so I started writing them somewhere completely anonymous instead. But I suppose now I'm just more bored... Continue Reading →
I seem to have spent most of the last year taking every possible opportunity to be away from London. It seemed like the only way to enjoy living here, in small doses, with regular breaks from the long, long tube journeys, the crowds and the terrible air quality. In fact it just made me mildly... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 