So, I should very definitely be tidying away all the junk I've brought down from the familial home and washing out all the new pans/crockery/etc. that I coerced my much beloved mother into buying so that I didn't have to continue cooking lasagne in a mixing bowl, particularly seeing as the landlords are coming round early doors to give me sofas tomorrow (Huzzah!). Instead, I've decided it's blog time. My priorities are fine and dandy, thank you very much.
But I blather. This week in reverse order. I have, evidently, been back up to the Midlands this week. Back to sunny Melton Mowbray and the piles and piles of stuff lying throughout the house that were dumped there when I decamped from Nottingham. See, I wasn't sure that I would be staying in this flat past the end of this month when I 'moved', as it were; I thought it might be a temporary solution to allow me to do the work experience. Thus, I packed light (considering how much stuff I suddenly appear to own), and left most of it in Melton. So, when my car needed MOT-ing, I was summoned north (using remarkably little blood and cheap, pink chalk) to tidy up. Great. That was Saturday evening to Wednesday morning. Of course, if you know me you can guess how much I actually cleared up and how much time I spent with mum in tow being bought random household goods and getting my dry-cleaning done. I am a terrible daughter sometimes. Still, it was nice to see the family and get food cooked for me again for a few days. I'm still reeling from the fact that the car somehow passed it's MOT, with only a light-bulb needing replacing (yes, the 'rave indicator' is no more. I miss it already.); I was certain I'd have to get the train back.
But, a functioning car meant that I got to drop in on some Leicester friends on both Tuesday evening (KDF was too problematic, alas) and on the way to the M1 on Wednesday. We ate chips and played obscure, if fun, board games. What a wild life I lead! Ah, but it is pleasant.
Laura accompanied me on the drive north on Saturday, flying back from Toyko and her Big Japanese Adventure on Thursday night to Heathrow and needing somewhere to stay. Of course, she's moving in at the end of next week (Yay people! I remember people.), but currently I think she counts as guest/squatter, seeing as I'm the only rent-payer. Friday saw us slumming round Soho and Covent garden (I spend far too much time there, I have decided). Saturday lunch was held in the lovely Waterlow Park just down the road, with sandwiches at Lauderdale House. The park is really nice, I must confess. I shall have to become a writer, thus allowing sit about amongst the wildflowers looking pensive. Sounds like a good career plan?
Speaking of careers, my trips (I went there three times, in the end, to apply for various jobs as they appeared) to Soho have proved semi-successful in that I have a job interview tomorrow morning! Huzzah! I shall knock back the Sudafed and coffee before I go and be the happiest, most enthusiastic damned runner they have ever had the misfortune to meet. My personal tutor always said I was going to have to get good at faking enthusiasm (I'm not sure what profession she thought I was going for – I'm sure she wasn't aware of 'Plan B'), but why bother when there's caffeine to be had? But seriously, I shall be giving it my all. If it fails, I shall cave and go get a real job for a bit. Inspired by Tina, I'm eyeing up shops selling outdoor stuff (like Blacks or suchlike). I do like outdoor pursuits, even if I rarely do them these days (I imagine a few of you have noticed me planning a hiking trip to Scandinavia next year. It will be awesome, I have decided, especially if a few people decide to join me).
In conclusion: tomorrow should bring happiness somehow, either through the medium of sofas or employment. Maybe both (Double Happiness!). I shall keep you posted, of course. I will go wash up and hoover and make beds now. Then I shall bake a cake and evolve into DomestoRny! Shazzam!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Tues 11/08/09 – 19.04
I return cured! Huzzah!
Alright, so it wasn't that serious, but it was unpleasant. Apparently I had a bout of the marvellously-named 'Labyrinthitis' (my Bowie-related jokes were sadly lost on the doctor), though my case wasn't long-term. Thank god. So, after being made to spin round until I fell over in the GP's office, I was shipped off with some tablets that were, for all intents and purposes, travel sickness tablets. As if I didn't feel and sound pathetic enough already. The theory is to treat the symptoms whilst the virus clears itself up, seeing as they don't know quite what causes it. Still, it did the job and it only took a week to completely cure so I'm dead chuffed.
Last week was a week that largely consisted of doing naff all, unfortunately, and sitting about the lounge (still sofa-less) frantically patching together my re-enactment kit into a wearable state for the weekend. In this venture I was largely successful, but I shall return to the weekend momentarily.
The tedium was broken on Tuesday evening by the appearance of former-house-mate Leeanne who came over to drop some stuff off that I'd left in Nottingham and to have dinner. She didn't get food poisoning, so this went well. She stayed the night and Wednesday lunchtime saw us heading over to Marylebone to rendezvous with Tall Peter for a jaunt to the Wallace Collection. The collection was pretty groovy, comprising of rooms full of charmingly gaudy décor, large paintings and shiny furniture. More importantly, though, the back half seems to be filled with a pretty large collection of arms and armour. This is why we went, I'll be honest. There is some rather sexy (if you're into that sort of thing) stuff in there, and I do recommend it to any of my more stabby friends. I enjoyed it thoroughly, even if I was still feeling decidedly out of it at that point. We then sauntered up in the general direction of Leeanne's train (detouring via Baker Street, to placate the Holmes geeks in the party) to lounge about in Regent's Park for a while before she had to go. I have determined that next time I go to said park, I shall take bread for the ducks and go for a jaunt on one of the pedalos and it will be awesome. On the tube back I fell asleep, and whilst I woke up in time for Archway I felt so fatigued that I got the bus home (instead of walking for 15 minutes) and promptly fell asleep on my bed fully clothed for two hours the moment I got in. Still, fun times.
Not much happened until again until Friday, where I had some minor trials involving the job centre being useless and then embarked upon my epic journey to Sutton Hoo. Said journey was prefixed, I feel obliged to note, by a very surreal trip to the Total petrol station in Highgate. On the outside, it has a 4-pump, 1980s style forecourt. Inside the terraced house that seemed to house the till was a rack of chocolate, some bottles of oil, a couple of A-Zs and cake. Lots of cake. Racks of cakes. It was like an organic farm shop in there. No Ginsters here, Highgate only does organic, it seems. I commented to the man that it was a pretty weird filling station. His response: “Weird how?” I left. Without cake. Sad times.
So, it took me two hours and fifteen minutes to get to Peter's in Surrey when it should have taken about an hour less. But I did opt to travel round London at 16:30 rush hour on a Friday, so I suppose it's my own silly fault. The first hour I averaged 20mph, the next half an hour 10mph. Finding a parking space on the M25 is easy. :) Nonetheless, I got there, took a sneak-preview of their flat (vair nice) ate all offered provisions and we headed off. We got there at 22:30 (after some debate around the Dartford Crossing about turning round to go pick up forgotten stuff), happily missing the erecting of tents and I was in the correct position for sleeping by midnight. I barely slept, of course, but that's just how the first night of camping goes in my experience (though it might have helped if I'd taken a sleeping bag so I wasn't constantly shivering. Ah well).
Saturday and Sunday were, by and large, fun. I got sunburned (my face now clashes with my henna-d hair, dammit) and was entirely too warm in the period layers of linen and wool in the blazing sunshine, but I figured I was better off than the guys who were fighting. They effectively have to wear a duvet under their chain-mail whilst swinging lumps of steel around and carrying a lump of wood on one arm. Nobody passed out, despite this, which was really rather impressive. I got to play water-carrier, learnt how to spin wool, helped cook, finished my cloak, pretended to know stuff at the public and acquired the fabric to make a cooler linen overdress. Considering I had naff all to do, the days passed quickly. Even so, I was exhausted on Saturday night and so crashed out not long after 11 whilst everyone else went to sing songs with some Vikings, which sounded like fun as I promptly fell asleep.
The drive back was much like the drive there, again full of queues (“A12, southbound. There are nine miles of stationary traffic in the place you're driving into.”) and ensuing scenic detours. After dropping off Peter back in surrey I ran out of sugar and crashed out, however, very nearly driving off the road twice about ten minutes from home on the way back. Falling asleep at the wheel is not sexy, kids. I managed to get back, though, somehow and didn't wake up until 13:30 yesterday afternoon, which was great.
So, that's us up to speed, tedious as it was. Tomorrow morning I am donning waistcoat to go heckle some post-production companies in person about jobs. Yes, tomorrow I am going to Soho to beg for work. My, how classy this industry is.
Alright, so it wasn't that serious, but it was unpleasant. Apparently I had a bout of the marvellously-named 'Labyrinthitis' (my Bowie-related jokes were sadly lost on the doctor), though my case wasn't long-term. Thank god. So, after being made to spin round until I fell over in the GP's office, I was shipped off with some tablets that were, for all intents and purposes, travel sickness tablets. As if I didn't feel and sound pathetic enough already. The theory is to treat the symptoms whilst the virus clears itself up, seeing as they don't know quite what causes it. Still, it did the job and it only took a week to completely cure so I'm dead chuffed.
Last week was a week that largely consisted of doing naff all, unfortunately, and sitting about the lounge (still sofa-less) frantically patching together my re-enactment kit into a wearable state for the weekend. In this venture I was largely successful, but I shall return to the weekend momentarily.
The tedium was broken on Tuesday evening by the appearance of former-house-mate Leeanne who came over to drop some stuff off that I'd left in Nottingham and to have dinner. She didn't get food poisoning, so this went well. She stayed the night and Wednesday lunchtime saw us heading over to Marylebone to rendezvous with Tall Peter for a jaunt to the Wallace Collection. The collection was pretty groovy, comprising of rooms full of charmingly gaudy décor, large paintings and shiny furniture. More importantly, though, the back half seems to be filled with a pretty large collection of arms and armour. This is why we went, I'll be honest. There is some rather sexy (if you're into that sort of thing) stuff in there, and I do recommend it to any of my more stabby friends. I enjoyed it thoroughly, even if I was still feeling decidedly out of it at that point. We then sauntered up in the general direction of Leeanne's train (detouring via Baker Street, to placate the Holmes geeks in the party) to lounge about in Regent's Park for a while before she had to go. I have determined that next time I go to said park, I shall take bread for the ducks and go for a jaunt on one of the pedalos and it will be awesome. On the tube back I fell asleep, and whilst I woke up in time for Archway I felt so fatigued that I got the bus home (instead of walking for 15 minutes) and promptly fell asleep on my bed fully clothed for two hours the moment I got in. Still, fun times.
Not much happened until again until Friday, where I had some minor trials involving the job centre being useless and then embarked upon my epic journey to Sutton Hoo. Said journey was prefixed, I feel obliged to note, by a very surreal trip to the Total petrol station in Highgate. On the outside, it has a 4-pump, 1980s style forecourt. Inside the terraced house that seemed to house the till was a rack of chocolate, some bottles of oil, a couple of A-Zs and cake. Lots of cake. Racks of cakes. It was like an organic farm shop in there. No Ginsters here, Highgate only does organic, it seems. I commented to the man that it was a pretty weird filling station. His response: “Weird how?” I left. Without cake. Sad times.
So, it took me two hours and fifteen minutes to get to Peter's in Surrey when it should have taken about an hour less. But I did opt to travel round London at 16:30 rush hour on a Friday, so I suppose it's my own silly fault. The first hour I averaged 20mph, the next half an hour 10mph. Finding a parking space on the M25 is easy. :) Nonetheless, I got there, took a sneak-preview of their flat (vair nice) ate all offered provisions and we headed off. We got there at 22:30 (after some debate around the Dartford Crossing about turning round to go pick up forgotten stuff), happily missing the erecting of tents and I was in the correct position for sleeping by midnight. I barely slept, of course, but that's just how the first night of camping goes in my experience (though it might have helped if I'd taken a sleeping bag so I wasn't constantly shivering. Ah well).
Saturday and Sunday were, by and large, fun. I got sunburned (my face now clashes with my henna-d hair, dammit) and was entirely too warm in the period layers of linen and wool in the blazing sunshine, but I figured I was better off than the guys who were fighting. They effectively have to wear a duvet under their chain-mail whilst swinging lumps of steel around and carrying a lump of wood on one arm. Nobody passed out, despite this, which was really rather impressive. I got to play water-carrier, learnt how to spin wool, helped cook, finished my cloak, pretended to know stuff at the public and acquired the fabric to make a cooler linen overdress. Considering I had naff all to do, the days passed quickly. Even so, I was exhausted on Saturday night and so crashed out not long after 11 whilst everyone else went to sing songs with some Vikings, which sounded like fun as I promptly fell asleep.
The drive back was much like the drive there, again full of queues (“A12, southbound. There are nine miles of stationary traffic in the place you're driving into.”) and ensuing scenic detours. After dropping off Peter back in surrey I ran out of sugar and crashed out, however, very nearly driving off the road twice about ten minutes from home on the way back. Falling asleep at the wheel is not sexy, kids. I managed to get back, though, somehow and didn't wake up until 13:30 yesterday afternoon, which was great.
So, that's us up to speed, tedious as it was. Tomorrow morning I am donning waistcoat to go heckle some post-production companies in person about jobs. Yes, tomorrow I am going to Soho to beg for work. My, how classy this industry is.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Mon 31/07/09 – 18.14
So I suppose I should stop being so desperately lazy and update this. I never was very good at blogs or suchlike. Still, I'll try and cram it all into one nice long post otherwise I'll never catch up. Sorry for the approaching waffle.
Starting from where I left off, the weekend before the one just gone was spent in Nottingham. It was pleasant, if a little odd. The driving took a bit longer than usual due to queues and so on, but the edge was taken off the boredom by Mr Smallridge's company both ways and his growly musical tastes. A quick detour to pick stuff up from Melton on the way there resulted in a gift of too much food and steak for the BBQ from mum. I am particularly enjoying the white stilton with cranberries. Boo yeah.
The BBQ itself was good fun. I broke my no-drunkenness bend that I've been on of late and of course was entirely too open and friendly with friends who I wish to keep. Oops. Oh well, I think they'll forgive me. That said, I really shouldn't play 'Never have I ever-' with wine. Happily, my abysmal memory doesn't facilitate my remembering what I or others admitted to. This is most likely a good thing.
The next day was spent clearing out and cleaning my room. The clearing out went remarkably quickly by my standards, possibly as I was keenly aware that I had to get back down to London early enough for Peter to get home before midnight. It was sad to see the house looking so barren, and I still feel pretty guilty about skipping town instead of helping the others clear up the communal spaces. I shall have to make it up to them with wine/whiskey/Xbox stuff or something in the future. But 339 is now very much free of our presence, and it's weird to think that it's no longer home (or even an option for sleeping arrangements), as it were; what with my patchy memory, the great majority of my university memories are based from there.
Still, onwards and upwards. The last week (last in both senses) of work experience got a little silly, with the company introducing a large whiteboard on the office wall documenting what we'd each achieved on it. I was decidedly nonplussed, but it didn't turn into a competition, thankfully. I think this proves what pleasant and laid-back people the other three loggers were. They also asked us to take home DVDs to log if we had to leave early. I did this once then slyly avoided it. Logging at 11pm whilst trying to eat your dinner is pretty shit. But, after going to sign on at the job centre (god, I hate that place already), I got to go sit in on some editing on Wednesday. This involved me sitting and watching the director and a lady who looked like worryingly like Future!Rny stick together and chop videos up on the screen to make the program proper. I found just watching to be quite fun, loser that I am. I guess this is a good thing, seeing as that's the path I'm currently puttering down. I then got shown round the editing facilities by a nice girl who has the kind of job I'm looking for. She was very helpful, and potentially gave me a heads up on a job, which proves that yes, this business is all about who you know.
I followed said job hint up on Saturday (I am so keen) by going round to the company in person and handing them my CV. This achieved (I am far too good at just walking through security measures), I tried to find a Lush to buy some henna. This took me two hours because Google does, apparently, lie about some things. Like shop locations (and bank locations, fuckers. But I'll come back to that). These two hours involved navigating Oxford Street, Regent Street and Bond Street on a Saturday lunchtime. I've got a tactic for dealing with crowds around there now, though; don't go there. I got stuck in a sea of children outside Hamley's toy shop because they were all too enraptured by the wizards duelling to the Pirates Of The Caribbean soundtrack to move their tiny, breakable, underfoot feet down the street. It turns out that Rny when irate and in a hurry does not play well with other children. Nonetheless, I got to a Lush eventually, and looked so utterly dishevelled that they gave me some free samples as a reward for my marathon. I was placated. I am becoming so material. I'll fit right in here in another month or so.
The rest of the weekend was spent lounging about sewing and churning through lots of film & TV, much like the second half of today. However it's been marred somewhat by a lack of cash (no ice-cream for me) and the return of what I shall dub 'Boat-disease'. It basically has been showing up sporadically for a couple of months now and its main symptom sees me stumbling round like I'm on a boat in a storm. Friday was the worst day so far, and saw me fall, entirely unprompted, from my chair in the office sideways into a stack of cardboard boxes. This knocked aforementioned whiteboard off the top of them. I caught it once it bounced off my head, but when I tried to stand up to replace it I dragged the computer halfway across the desk and nearly garrotted myself by still being attached to the PC via headphones round my neck. Marvellous. The others actually wept in hysteria as I tried not to pass out. Then the lovely Glynis untangled me from my mess and gave me celebratory 'You're leaving!' (in a nice way) cake and champagne. Yes, because champagne was going to help. It took a lot of concentration to stay upright until I got home.
For this reason, and because nobody's going to employ someone who can't walk in a straight line, I've spent nearly four hours of today trying to get an appointment with a doctor. Bloody useless all round. Despite there being two practices within half a mile of my flat, I have to go to the one half an hour's walk away because of post codes. I also needed to register, which involved proving my address. I can't, as it turns out, as I've received no mail here and have no tenancy agreement yet. So I figured I'd walk to the bank and get them to print off something like a statement to prove where I live. Cunning, I thought. Hah. After being misdirected to HSBCs that closed a year ago around Archway for nearly an hour I stormed down the Tube to Camden. Apparently they're not allowed to give me a copy of my own address. So I then spent half an hour in an O2 shop changing my address and getting something off them. Back up the Tube, hop on a bus up the hill to the GP's (I was feeling pretty ill by now) and I get there at 12:35. They apparently shut from 12:30 to 13:30. For god's sake, what kind of surgery shuts for an hour in the middle of every day?! And then, after slowly drinking coffee in a pub for 55 minutes and filling out a lengthy registration form, they tell me there's no appointments unless I ring up really early until the 20th. The 20th?! That's over a fortnight away! If you weren't wasting six hours a week eating sandwiches and twiddling your stethoscopes and smiling blithely at people like me swaying outside your locked doors then maybe you'd have a reasonable waiting time! I am pretty pissed off, as you can tell; perhaps I have been spoiled by Cripps' usual 'We've got a slot in 30 minutes'. Still, if I ring them up early tomorrow I may get one within the week. If I don't I may go throw up in their waiting room and shout about swine flu until they see me.
If I'm not sorted soon I anticipate this coming week to be a struggle; Going round to companies I've targeted with a suit and CVs, puttering down to the Wallace Collection, messing about down at the Job Centre, etc. Also, I'm supposed to be going re-enacting at Sutton Hoo come the weekend, which will happily involve over seven hours of driving and an entire lap of the M25 from north London to go north-east because I'm a retard. Unfortunately, I'm not comfortable driving when it feels like the world is rolling from side to side, so fingers crossed they get it sorted.
So, now that the white text on black has given you irritating venetian-blind retina-burn, I'm going to find some more Paracetamol and stagger off to make dinner. Love love.
Starting from where I left off, the weekend before the one just gone was spent in Nottingham. It was pleasant, if a little odd. The driving took a bit longer than usual due to queues and so on, but the edge was taken off the boredom by Mr Smallridge's company both ways and his growly musical tastes. A quick detour to pick stuff up from Melton on the way there resulted in a gift of too much food and steak for the BBQ from mum. I am particularly enjoying the white stilton with cranberries. Boo yeah.
The BBQ itself was good fun. I broke my no-drunkenness bend that I've been on of late and of course was entirely too open and friendly with friends who I wish to keep. Oops. Oh well, I think they'll forgive me. That said, I really shouldn't play 'Never have I ever-' with wine. Happily, my abysmal memory doesn't facilitate my remembering what I or others admitted to. This is most likely a good thing.
The next day was spent clearing out and cleaning my room. The clearing out went remarkably quickly by my standards, possibly as I was keenly aware that I had to get back down to London early enough for Peter to get home before midnight. It was sad to see the house looking so barren, and I still feel pretty guilty about skipping town instead of helping the others clear up the communal spaces. I shall have to make it up to them with wine/whiskey/Xbox stuff or something in the future. But 339 is now very much free of our presence, and it's weird to think that it's no longer home (or even an option for sleeping arrangements), as it were; what with my patchy memory, the great majority of my university memories are based from there.
Still, onwards and upwards. The last week (last in both senses) of work experience got a little silly, with the company introducing a large whiteboard on the office wall documenting what we'd each achieved on it. I was decidedly nonplussed, but it didn't turn into a competition, thankfully. I think this proves what pleasant and laid-back people the other three loggers were. They also asked us to take home DVDs to log if we had to leave early. I did this once then slyly avoided it. Logging at 11pm whilst trying to eat your dinner is pretty shit. But, after going to sign on at the job centre (god, I hate that place already), I got to go sit in on some editing on Wednesday. This involved me sitting and watching the director and a lady who looked like worryingly like Future!Rny stick together and chop videos up on the screen to make the program proper. I found just watching to be quite fun, loser that I am. I guess this is a good thing, seeing as that's the path I'm currently puttering down. I then got shown round the editing facilities by a nice girl who has the kind of job I'm looking for. She was very helpful, and potentially gave me a heads up on a job, which proves that yes, this business is all about who you know.
I followed said job hint up on Saturday (I am so keen) by going round to the company in person and handing them my CV. This achieved (I am far too good at just walking through security measures), I tried to find a Lush to buy some henna. This took me two hours because Google does, apparently, lie about some things. Like shop locations (and bank locations, fuckers. But I'll come back to that). These two hours involved navigating Oxford Street, Regent Street and Bond Street on a Saturday lunchtime. I've got a tactic for dealing with crowds around there now, though; don't go there. I got stuck in a sea of children outside Hamley's toy shop because they were all too enraptured by the wizards duelling to the Pirates Of The Caribbean soundtrack to move their tiny, breakable, underfoot feet down the street. It turns out that Rny when irate and in a hurry does not play well with other children. Nonetheless, I got to a Lush eventually, and looked so utterly dishevelled that they gave me some free samples as a reward for my marathon. I was placated. I am becoming so material. I'll fit right in here in another month or so.
The rest of the weekend was spent lounging about sewing and churning through lots of film & TV, much like the second half of today. However it's been marred somewhat by a lack of cash (no ice-cream for me) and the return of what I shall dub 'Boat-disease'. It basically has been showing up sporadically for a couple of months now and its main symptom sees me stumbling round like I'm on a boat in a storm. Friday was the worst day so far, and saw me fall, entirely unprompted, from my chair in the office sideways into a stack of cardboard boxes. This knocked aforementioned whiteboard off the top of them. I caught it once it bounced off my head, but when I tried to stand up to replace it I dragged the computer halfway across the desk and nearly garrotted myself by still being attached to the PC via headphones round my neck. Marvellous. The others actually wept in hysteria as I tried not to pass out. Then the lovely Glynis untangled me from my mess and gave me celebratory 'You're leaving!' (in a nice way) cake and champagne. Yes, because champagne was going to help. It took a lot of concentration to stay upright until I got home.
For this reason, and because nobody's going to employ someone who can't walk in a straight line, I've spent nearly four hours of today trying to get an appointment with a doctor. Bloody useless all round. Despite there being two practices within half a mile of my flat, I have to go to the one half an hour's walk away because of post codes. I also needed to register, which involved proving my address. I can't, as it turns out, as I've received no mail here and have no tenancy agreement yet. So I figured I'd walk to the bank and get them to print off something like a statement to prove where I live. Cunning, I thought. Hah. After being misdirected to HSBCs that closed a year ago around Archway for nearly an hour I stormed down the Tube to Camden. Apparently they're not allowed to give me a copy of my own address. So I then spent half an hour in an O2 shop changing my address and getting something off them. Back up the Tube, hop on a bus up the hill to the GP's (I was feeling pretty ill by now) and I get there at 12:35. They apparently shut from 12:30 to 13:30. For god's sake, what kind of surgery shuts for an hour in the middle of every day?! And then, after slowly drinking coffee in a pub for 55 minutes and filling out a lengthy registration form, they tell me there's no appointments unless I ring up really early until the 20th. The 20th?! That's over a fortnight away! If you weren't wasting six hours a week eating sandwiches and twiddling your stethoscopes and smiling blithely at people like me swaying outside your locked doors then maybe you'd have a reasonable waiting time! I am pretty pissed off, as you can tell; perhaps I have been spoiled by Cripps' usual 'We've got a slot in 30 minutes'. Still, if I ring them up early tomorrow I may get one within the week. If I don't I may go throw up in their waiting room and shout about swine flu until they see me.
If I'm not sorted soon I anticipate this coming week to be a struggle; Going round to companies I've targeted with a suit and CVs, puttering down to the Wallace Collection, messing about down at the Job Centre, etc. Also, I'm supposed to be going re-enacting at Sutton Hoo come the weekend, which will happily involve over seven hours of driving and an entire lap of the M25 from north London to go north-east because I'm a retard. Unfortunately, I'm not comfortable driving when it feels like the world is rolling from side to side, so fingers crossed they get it sorted.
So, now that the white text on black has given you irritating venetian-blind retina-burn, I'm going to find some more Paracetamol and stagger off to make dinner. Love love.
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