Seasons Greetings From the Not So New Girl

What a friggin dodge looking Santa?!

'Tis the season to be jolly, fa lala laa la la la laaaaa!!  Seasons greetings my friends. We're nearly at the anniversary of some little dudes birth (or so they say).  Excellent, I like a bit of festive jolliness, feasting and family fun. But we're not quite there yet...maybe next week. I think we're only on the 14th window of that cheap chocolate advent calendar...a few more windows yet before opening the big one with the mini Mars in it.

So nearly 16 months later I am thinking that I can't really get away with calling myself the "New Girl" in Wellingborough any more.  I still know next to know one, the town still is a bit of a mystery to me (why on earth would you need a grand total of 6 bakeries in a town with a population this size?! That's excessive bread consumption my friend). And I am still trying to find something to do in this place that truly excites me. The past time in this town seems to be tv.  Something which I have truly embraced, don't get me wrong, but I need more. It's not enough, it's like being an alcoholic and only drinking beer, I need the hard stuff.

This poxy weather doesn't help one's "get up and go" to find something new either.  Haynesy takes delight in regularly telling me that Northamptonshire (the county that this glorious town sits in) is the driest in the country.  Then why the hell is it pissing down with rain and has been for the past month?  The "Holiday Park" (static caravans for people too cheap to buy a real house) near the Poo Farm (sewage works) in Northampton is bobbing along the road on a sea of murky brown rain/poo water it's so wet.  Granted we did have a spell of minus degree freezing air and no rain but that soon past.  To be honest this is the first day in a week that I haven't frozen my arse off sitting in my kitchen to write. For the past week I have been mostly wearing:

1 Pair of thick stiff jeans
1 Ribbed vest
1 Long sleeve top
1 Gap hoodie (with toothpaste down it, hood up)
1 Thin cotton dressing gown (in a bit of a wannabe black satin kimono stylee)
1 Thick velour dressing gown (with hood, up)
1 Blanket that I normally sit under in front of the tv watching Masterchef (worn like a shawl)
2 pairs Regular cotton socks
1 pair Hiking socks (small hole in big toe)
1 pair Fluffy bed socks
1 pair Cheap but comfy Fair Isle effect slipper boots from my favourite cheap emporium New Look

You'd think I'd be sweatin, fat chance. This house is lovely but boy it needs some serious insulating, preferably before I reach the £250 a month gas bill stage.

Cocobun however seems a bit more lively though. Like the 8 degree weather is optimum for bunny fun making and general knawing on table legs. He is currently sprawled on top of his cage like it's a roof garden and he's having a sun bathe, complete with a scattering of bunny poo's and some random leaves of kale.

Weather aside, one's get up and go seems to have been hampered also by a lack of car.  Now I like a walk don't get me wrong, I'm not one to jump in the car to go 100 meters down the road, I'll use my legs thanks but my gym attendance and generally ability to flaunt myself around Northants. has been to say the least minimal, since Haynesy started using the car everyday.  To combat this I thought i'd do some exercise in the comfort of my own living room rather than dragging my arse across town in the cold to the gym and remember some routines from aerobics and do them to some high energy "dance music" on MTV.  I did it once, realized that I could only remember 1 or 2 sequences and just did them over and over again to Flo Rider telling some poor cow to get on it and blow his whistle.  If I was ever approached by Flo Rider to "blow his Whistle" I would take his whistle, cut it off and get him to blow it himself.  The fact that little kids go around singing that song makes me feel a bit sick.  Unless of course I am interpreting the blowing of whistles the wrong way?  Some how I doubt it. Think we could have a case of the R Kelly's going on there.

Anyway I digress.  Weather and get up and go aside, I am no longer new to this town.  I know where the shops are, I know which day the bin men come for the recycling and I know where not to set foot for fear of being sucked into an episode of Shameless. Therefore I guess I am realizing I am new to a different town....Aimless.

Aimless is a weird town.  Its well enough, things are settled and unchallenging.  Everyone and everything goes about it's business day in day out.  However in this household you have a person (and possibly a second and a rabbit) that are the sort of people to want to strive for something new quite frequently.  I think I have touched on this before, that I am a bit of wagon jumper (generally a tad too late and I stumble a bit getting on and then promptly fall off again around the corner).  But isn't it good to always want something fresh?  Or is it our aim in Aimless to achieve a level that is comfortable and then just maintain it until something happens outside your control to change everything or you fall off lifes perch?  I don't think that sounds right to me, I don't like the thought of accepting the status quo.  I think Haynesy is somewhere between the two, comforted by a level of consistancy but likes some freshness (hell if he wants fresh, I am fresher than Fabreeze baby!) and I know Cocobun likes it fresh, he's always sticking his little twitchy nose into everything, looking for something new to interest him for a few minutes until he gets an ear tickle and a bunny nugget. Maybe that's why we all get along in this family.  It's not that I am aimless as such, just easily diverted and never quite reach a goal. But then I guess that firstly depends on whether you need to set a goal in the first place and you define what the goal actually is.  It's a concious decision and I tend to not like making those, they lead to accountability and staying on course.  Like Flo Rider not my "bag".  I like to swerve, duck and dive and just see where the wind takes me.

Hummm I think I need to explore this...with the help of my trusty first mate Haynesy and my cabin boy Cocobun. 2013 could be the year that we explore the sea's beyond Aimless.

Ttfn xxx

Coooo-eeeee! I'm over here

Greetings and salutations from Welly

I'm back.  Having had a couple of months of non stop "stuff" to contend with and of course enjoy too, I was starting to feel bad that I hadn't dedicated more time to post a ditty or two.  It wasn't until I thought to myself, "oh my god this would make amusing reading" the other day while gazing with amazement at an 80 year old woman dressed as Shirley Temple that I realised that I really miss getting this stuff down.  It wasn't a conscious decision to stop writing, more life getting in the way and a certain lack of get up and go after working and playing.  But the main thing is I am back and I intend fully to get back to some sort of writing routine.

Work seems to have drained me of late of any "spark".  My gym attendance has been appalling, my social life seems to have taken a turn for the worse and all I seem to want to do is sit watching cookery programmes from underneath my bright pink chenille blanket.  I blame the fact that I am getting old (I am the grand age of 33 now) and that the UK hasn't had any summer to speak of this year.  Without the sun, I feel stunted like a flower in a pot that's too small for it and a bag over it's head.  However for some reason today I am feeling a bit more perky!  A bit more back to my old self and a little bit bonkers.  I am putting this down to two things:  1)  my increased iron intake thanks to my new multivitamins with added iron and 2) that everyone around me is also seeming a little perkier too.  It certainly isn't down to a sudden heatwave or that the sun has entered the earths atmosphere and made a home at the end of my garden.  Nope, nothing like that, that would be too much like a good thing.  I reckon it's all down to the iron and the sudden increase in perky people.  Don't underestimate the effect that unperky surroundings can have on a person.  Lacking perk is all around us.  Drab wallpaper, concrete, dull and unhappy looking "neds" sitting outside Greggs eating their beef and onion slices(yep I am still banging on about the type of person that frequents a Greggs).  It all makes for a feeling of "ergggghhhhh".  That is to say the feeling that you just want to lock yourself away from it and eat instant mash.  Of course instead my reaction should have been "Thank fuck I'm not that drab" but I blame the lack of iron on me going the other way. 

Anyway enough of that.  I have emerged from the other side, I am now zesty and perky and raring to go.  I have removed the shackles of the tv (although I have still sky +'d The Great British Bake Off and lovely Lorraine Pascale with her easy and tasty recipes) and tossed aside my cosy bright pink chenille blanket.  I must say today's outfit doesn't quite match this zest.  Leggings, an over sized plaid shirt and plimsolls isn't really what you would describe as the uniform of a person that is embracing life but as soon as that pile of ironing is done, I will have the options available again to zest it up and maybe add a pastel eyeshadow into the bargain.  Ironing therefore is tonight's activity, after I have got my butt moving at aerobics.  I might iron to the sounds of "Eye of the Tiger" and "Final Countdown" just to further embed the feeling of empowerment and control over my own existence.  It's funny how ones own body and lack of an essential nutrient can totally do you in. Let this be a warning to you my dears.  Take your vitamins and eat your greens.

Yep hi ho hi ho, it's off to the gym I go....come on Dilly do your worst!  I will be exhausted and dragging my carcass around like a lame deer to the tunes of Ke$ha but by golly I will give it all I have and some.  This time next month I would have shedded the small amount of poundage I gained while under my blanket and be embarking upon a quest.  To learn how to dance!

You may mock but when I was little I used to do ballet, tap, modern, street and character dancing.  As well as brownies and play guitar.  The guitar now sits in my living room as living testament to the fact that I can't play a single thing and have the musical prowess of a deaf and slightly uncoordinated newt.  The Brownies however is still a lovely fond memory.  But the dancing bit.  That's the bit that I wish I had taken seriously and continued.  I wasn't great but I wasn't totally crap either and I reckon I could do a salsa justice.  At the weekend I had the pleasure of going to the Twinwood Festival in Bedfordshire.  It is a vintage festival, full of big band music, swing dancing and ladies with gorgeous curled hair and nipped in waists.  Not having ever "swung" before I didn't attempt to embarrass myself on the dance floors.  Which left me a little annoyed with myself.  Why hadn't I at least given it a bash or did a bit of research before hand and prepared a little routine?  Therefore my quest for the next 12 months is to learn 3 dances, Lindy Hop, Waltz and Charleston.  Both will come in handy at this festival next year, where I will be for the full 3 days and I will be sooo busting the moves that my dance card will be full for the whole duration.  Next stop....yellow pages for teachers who can teach a total tit like me to dance. 

This is moi at Twinwood....not dancing!

This could all turn slightly embarrassing.....watch this space. 

Ttfn xxx

Super Crap

Yes yes yes, I know I am proper bo shite at getting down to it and writing.  It took some shameless revelling in my own glory when a friend asked me to get back to writing, to get my arse into gear and take a stab at another installment.
So what have I been doing that has meant I haven't written for while?  Absolutely fuck all that's what.  The days seem to be disappearing into some sort of wormhole, that my parallel universe me is enjoying.  Right now Polly on the planet Zogg is so overstocked in time that they have been able to read 100's of books, ride bicycles, eat pie, fashioning darling accessories out of left over fabric and old jewellery (note these are all things that I want to do but never seem to do!), while me, Polly on the planet Earth, seems to work, eat, rest, shower, maybe watch some 24, play with Cocobun, go to the gym, clean the bog...hang on, may be I do have time, I just got my priorities all wrong! Eating and playing with Cocobun are the only ones that should be on that list.  Alas my ability to make nice things out of scraps of old fabric and buttons runs in tandem with the necessity of working to earn some hard cash.  Drats.  New plan needed!  Short of running off with a rich man (which isn't going to happen, I am in it for keeps with a normally financed Haynesy) then I am going to have to find some get rich quick scheme.  A cunning plan is needed and quick smart.  Although I do have an unchecked lottery ticket in my purse, that could be step one of my cunning plan to financial bliss.  Check ticket and hope blindly for the best that I will be a winner........ahhhhh a winner.........winner........winner..........cue dreamsequence......
......I am running through a foggy landscape, draped in black swathes of fabric like ravens wings, there is a howling in the distance...I look over my shoulder and keep running, running away from the terrible howling......as the fog clears it is plain to see that the fog is smog and steam rising from the pavement manhole covers of Manhattan, the black swathes are the best in Vivienne Westwood drapery, I am also sporting a frigging fabulous pair of Nicholas Kirkwood heels, and the howling is the mad pushing of traffic down Broadway.  In my dreams I am obviously a fashionista in New York. 
In my spare moments my day dream of choice is to think about what I would do if I won the lottery. With millions of pounds carefully ensconced in off shore bank accounts (doing a Jimmy Carr, it's all legal!), a black Amex kept in a McQueen python tote, Cocobuns in a tailormade bunny carrier on my shoulder and me and Haynesy hailing a cab (keeping it real, no private driver) to take us to some fabulously cool, downtown eaterie.   Ahhh thats the sort of dream scenario that I must limit to when I am really sitting in Northamptonshire, wearing really old sagging jeans, a wife beater vest and Havianas.
The top things I normally decide when daydreaming about being a lottery winner:
1) Where we will live or more probable where the locations of our various properties will be.  London Penthouse, New York Loft, Italian Villa, Balinese Sunseeker, Northamptonshire ..
2) What we will do for family and friends.  Paying off mortgages, going on holidays, buying my mum the cd/dvd of every musical ever and paying Michael Balls to sing The Heat is On in Saigon to her
3) The exact size and layout of my "Dressing Room" and its contents.  Yes I will have shit loads of clothes, shoes and bags....I am a girl you know!!
4) What business I will amuse myself with when I'm not on holiday.  Photographers studio/art gallery/bar for cool trendy peeps, celeb hang out and generally always featured as being "the" place to hang full of musicians, artists and their hangers on.  A bit like Andy warhols Factory with me as the fabulous hostess instead of Warhol and his bad haircut

All totally shallow and all totally never going to happen but that's what day dreams are for aren't they?  Escapism, falling into a totally unrealistic other world where I am thin and rich and I can eat pizza without worrying that it's going straight onto my arse.
Ahhh well, back to reality.  Back to being Polly on planet Earth.  Sitting in sunny Northamptonshire, in my lovely home, writing her blog with his highness Sir Cocobun sitting on her feet and waiting for Haynesy to get home so they can eat and watch some 24 before snuggling up to sleep.   Reality aint so bad either. A home, Jack Bauer, a couple of snuggle bunnies and love.  What more could I want?  Nothing I have it all. 
Ttfn xxxxxx

Wow its been a while

Greetings from me and Cocobun!!

Christ has it really been that long since I last wrote a little ditty??  Time goes so quick especially when your on time off from work.  It seems only yesterday that I was getting all excited about leaving for Italia.

I am currently standing at one of the kitchen worktops on the laptop waiting for my "Specialitie de la maison" to cook.  Man if there is one thing I can cook, that's a piece of piggy.  It's been a long slow roast today and it's about to be pulled apart with some homemade apple sauce and some roast tatties.  Yum yum pigs bum......well shoulder actually but I would eat his bum if it was juicy enough.  Not vegetarian then.  Why eat nothing but veg when you can sink your teeth into some flavoursome, juicy, tender meat I say. 

This is a real quick one today, just to say that I haven't forgotten about the fact that i have committed to writing a few words here every now and then and that I am back in the world of the living.  Not that I haven't lived for the past two weeks.  Au contraire.  I feel like I could really get used to this not working thing.  The thought of a sprog and some time off suddenly appeals to me.  My friend who I met for coffee on Friday assures me it doesn't have to be as expensive as they make out and that really, children are quite nice.  I thought all along that they were a tool for making you question your sanity and grasp on reality in those dark days but apparently its not that bleak.  Who'd have thought.

Anyway I digress.  I am sure I will whitter on about children again soon.  I feel it may be a passing whim until I have grown up a bit more.  I am only 33 after all and I think my maturity levels need a good couple of years yet to develop to the level needed to sustain and develop another human being.  That said my curiosity to see what my future child looks like it killing me.  In my head it will be a girl with dark brown hair and the family heirloom massive cheeks.  Add to that Haynesy's nose and dashing charm and wit and you have yourself a little cutie.  Ah well we'll see I guess. 

With pork in mind I was once told that the closest meat to human flesh is pork.  I guess not everything tastes like chicken.  Now not knowing a bonafide cannibal I cannot verify this information.  "It puts the lotion in the basket"......hahaha the funniest part in the Silence of the Lambs, is that dude and his little dog.  I tell ya that girl he had in that hole was annoying, I don't blame him for wanting to make a jacket out of her for his spring/summer line. 

Well anyway enough random for tonight, I seem to have gone from pork, to having a baby to cannibals.  Better stop now before I really start worrying about the state of my mind.

I will write something a little more substantive and cohesive tomorrow when brain is in gear.

Ttfn xxxx

Laters Chumps!!

Well It is 17:24pm on Thursday 24th May 2012.  I am now officially off the clock and on annual leave until 9:00am on 13th June 2012.  Happy doesn't cover it.

In the next 2.5 weeks I am going to Italy, watching one of my best mates get hitched, sleep, have people visit, wave a union jack flag, eat cake, stay with my parents in Bath, most probably eat more cake, work out (a lot), walk around, eat cake and enjoy some time with Haynesy....by eating some cake. Like I say, I can't describe the feeling of joy in my heart right now.

If Apollo could grace us with his mate the sun for a bit longer, say until 14th June then I would be very much obliged.  Last year I had time off right at the end of September and it was the best week of the year....yeah a bit more of that kind of luck would be sweet. 

Cake seems to crop up in my list of things to partake of while I am dossing around and I think I may exercise my baking muscle and make them rather than buy them.  My baking skill is sporadic.  Some come out quite good, others come out a bit brick like.  I might attempt something that is supposed to be airy and dreamy and angel like.  That way if my usual cement touch interferes it will result in a reasonably normal cake.  Whatever I produce from my oven, I will post on here.  We can have a good old laugh at how crap I am. 

I fly to Italia at an hour normally best seen from behind my eyelids.  Getting up in the middle of the night is only ever acceptable for 2 things, 1) flying out on holiday 2) a bit of hanky panky.  If your lucky you get number 2 then number 1.  I LOVE this pre departure excitement.  Making the list of things to pack and getting the Lonely Planet guide and making notes in the margins appeals to my inner spod.  The list changes at least 5 times before packing and the lonely planet gets all lovely and dogeared.  Oooooh I love it!  I am sitting here scrunching my nose up in glee at the thought of revising my packing list.  In reality I have to be packed by about 9pm so that I can get enough sleep, to keep to my pre departure schedule.  The schedule that sounds practical and everything will get done but will go out the window when I stay up too late watching something crap on telly, realise I haven't ironed half the stuff to go in the suitcase that is still in the spare room waiting to be packed. But one can dream and relish the organisation of it all.  hehehe, still full of glee. 

Cocobun however looks full of dread.  He knows that his mummy is going away which means that daddy will be looking after him.  To Cocobun this also means that he won't be smothered in kisses every 5 minutes, he won't get half the attention he normally gets and he won't have a 33 year old child saying ridiculous things in a baby voice to him.  He's probably quite happy about that last point.  Cocobun is an attention whore.  He loves it and when Haynesy and I partake of a little kitchen smooching, he hops up, biting our ankles with a scowl on his face, telling us to stop it and to give him some snuggy time.  Soz Bun, mummy is outta here and into the Italian sunshine, ready for culinary nirvana and shit loads of vino rosso.

I'm hoping to take lots of gorgeous photos demonstrating the "Dolce Vita" they have going on there, I hopefully will be looking tan and nonchalant (I love that word!) while conversing effortlessly with the locals over some wine straight from the vines.  If some photos pass muster then I will post them here for you all to gaze on in wonder. 

OK OK, I have to wrap this up.  Things like painting my nails and applying my fake tan need to be actioned before I can get way laid by the television before my panic ironing/packing starts at about midnight.

Laters Chumps!!  xxxxxxx

Cerveza, drama and Grizzly Adams

Just a quick one today.  It's got to that stage before going on annual leave from work where you have to get everything done in the 1.5 days you have left.  But still I am finding time to write a few words.  See never lost for something to waffle about!

Last night apart from lovely and sunny and warm and perfect for sitting in the garden with a cold cerveza, was also drama night.  Having walked the deceptively long route from Wellingborough station to the Hind Hotel for practise, I arrived to find that I couldn't open the door.  At first I thought I was the first one there (even though I was 5 minutes late and a little sweaty I might add!), I thought that perhaps I was the keen bean newbie and that a more relaxed vibe was needed, not promptness.  Thankfully after a few forceful rattlings of the door knob, I could hear shufflings and someone coming to the door.  Yes I wasn't the only one.  There was a grand sum of 3 of us last night but it was small and perfectly formed.  We did some improv work, retelling song lyrics conveying sadness or anger, spoken word not sung.  I did Walk on By one of favourite songs and both times ended up cracking up as soon as I caught someones eye.  I don't know if I can do serious.  Comedy or should I say immaturity is more my style.  I need to develop my serious side. This is hard because I have never been serious in my life.  I think the most serious I have ever been was when I was robbed on the street last year of all my worldly goods from my removal van (that's a blog for another time), serious I definitely was.  Sad, angry, pathetically anxious and worried sick.  I was sorry to be leaving London before that happened, suddenly leaving London seemed like the best thing in the world to do and I just wanted to get out of there as soon as another van could be organised.  As it happens, I was packed up (with what was left, not much I can tell you) and on the road up the M1 within 3 hours.  I think if I had to do a really serious scene where anger is needed, I would channel how I felt that day.  But last night with the sun shining and a beer calling, I wanted to do nice light things.  So we did some singing instead. 

Now I am not known for my awe inspiring vocal talent, I can hold a note of sorts but as soon as that note has to change to a different one I am in trouble.  Suddenly I am a teenage boy who's balls are dropping.  However my drama leader Rosie was quite happy with what came out doing some scales.  She reckons I could belt out some high notes with some training.  So now I am on a mission to find a song that I would really like to be able to "belt out".  Something with some crazy vocal riffs.  When it comes to music I prefer to listen to men singing than women.  If you put me in a room with Katie Melua then I might be forced to shove that guitar up her backside.  However put me in a room with that gentle giant of a man, Guy Garvey from Elbow and I will sit like a well behaved child, cross legged on the floor and listen to his beautiful voice.  How can a man that looks so much like Grizzly Adams make such lovely noises?! 

Anyway I have to find a song that I would like to belt out.  I think seeing as I love him so much, I might have to go for an Elbow song or my other hero, David Bowie....not different much huh?!  I could do Space Oddity and put on a Bowie warble!

I think I prefer singing to acting actually, it seems to come a bit more naturally (apart from my super natural comedy moments).  Rosie suggested a musical performance, I like the idea of Miss Saigon, now that I would be happy to perform in front of Welly!!  I could be a Vietnamese hooker and do it a bit drag, you know a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman.  As usual I'd probably end up looking like Kenny Everett.  Another hero of mine who I would have been if I was born a man.. 30 years earlier. 

Do we think I have a thing for unconvincing men in drag?!!  What with this and Pauline the Taxi Driver!

Anyway best get on, got some policy to write and a garden just begging to be sat in later..... "Camarero, una cerveza por favor"!!

Ttfn xxxxxx

Karaoke Karen and Pauline the Taxi Driver

It seems, that by some weird fluke of nature, that I have stepped into a freak show. 

I understood prior to moving to Wellingborough what I was getting myself into.  After a year of every other weekend here while Haynesy was living a bachelors existence, I got to sample the dizzy heights of the Swansgate shopping centre, ASDA and Swanwick Lakes.  Upon arrival I have come to see that life here can only be described as one slim level down from what is played out on the Chatsworth Estate in Shameless.  Frank Gallagher is played by the drunk that sits on the steps in the main square outside McDonalds.  McDonalds itself is a veritable playboy mansion of young girls who I am sure would have been lovely slim gobby characters if they hadn't let themselves slip into the world of the overweight, gobby, single motherdom cliche that you don't have to watch Jeremy Kyle to see.  Mimi and her venomous words, gold ringed fingers and Lambert and Butler hanging off her top lip can be seen sitting in BB's Coffee and Muffins in the middle of the Swansgate shopping centre, holding court with the other hard women, that have lived hard lives and sit there with their tartan shopping trolleys, smelling of fish. 

At Book Club on Saturday night I was introduced to Karaoke Karen and Pauline the taxi driver. Not in the literal sense, just anecdotal. I have yet to personally witness them but apparently they are famous in Welly. These two people should be in Shameless. One is a mad big red haired woman with red lipstick drawn up to her nose and right down onto her chin. She lugs a karaoke machine around on a trolley and is given to busting out a rendition of I Will Survive in the town centre. The other, Pauline, is a taxi driver who generally can be found at Wellingborough train station. You'll know her as soon as you see her amongst the other taxi drivers. Not because she is the only woman. No. Because she is the only male taxi driver wearing a dress, wig and full poorly applied make up. Pauline is a transsexual. She is a big burly deep voiced woman. I reckon if she picked up a group of pissed up blokes on a Saturday night they wouldn't dare give her any trouble. She may wear a dress and blue eyeshadow but don't fuck with her, she'll do yer!

So why move here then?  Yes the centre itself is pretty shit but outside the town it very quickly turns to green fields, farms and winding lanes.  Northamptonshire is really quite pretty.  The villages are small and picturesque and upon closer inspection you can find a nice pub or two.  One of my favourite past times is walking around the many country parks and reservoirs that are literally five minutes drive.  Perfect rabbit walking country, that is it would be if it wasn't for the fact that everyone owns a dog and I don't think little Cocobun would stand a chance against the dirty great big mastiff that I see being walked around Pitsford reservoir.  That dog has the biggest nuts I have ever seen, human and canine included.  Poor Coco's balls are like a couple of peanut M&Ms, this dog has bollocks the size of a couple of ripe granny smith apples. Anyway I digress.  I moved here because for all it's culture and people and many interesting things, there is no peace in London.  You can't stand outside and hear birds like I can right now.  You might see a manky pigeon with a club foot and mange but you wouldn't hear the birds.  You wouldn't get silence outside your front door at 9pm.  You certainly wouldn't get the space you get here and you most definitely don't get fields of grazing sheep.  There is a small stream that runs down the end of my road straight into the middle of town.  Along this stream on one inaccessible side you can see wild bunnies.  Little brown haired, perky eared bunnies.  This is in a town centre.  How the hell did the rabbits arrive there?!  I wish I could bring some London people up here to live with me and the bunnies and we could start a new cool scene of provincial culture.  I need to convince some cool young artists that the East Midlands is totally happening now and to set up a gallery here and get a bit of an arts scene going.  Maybe I'll make that my next venture.  Bunnies in Art.  Or I could go into more of a hospitality role and get a bar scene going that doubles as an art space.  Humm, someones already got to be thinking about this.  Might need to do some research.  I can't afford to give up on the fact that there has to be some culture in this town.

My attempts to find people via traditional routes e.g. the gym or social clubs is proving fruitless.  Even the people at my Book Club agree that unless you have children that meeting people in Wellingborough is nigh on impossible.  (They all have children and therefore can't commit to extracurricular activities as easily as me) So what's my choice?  Create something to attract those like me that may be out there, or just simply crack out a kid?  The second option isn't ringing my bell at the moment.  Some woman are made to be mothers, I'm made to please myself and swear.

Nope I am going to have to create something.  Any ideas on what that might be, let me know.  In the mean time I am going to carry on attempting to talk to people in the gym, which I do quite frequently now, I just need to develop it a bit to actual long getting to know people chats.  And I am going to continue my foray into the dramatic arts (tomorrow I continue my amateur dramatics investigations after last weeks workshop cancellation)

Right I'm off to find Pauline and see if I can't get her advice, at the very least I might get a single gals view on things. 

 Ttfn xxxxx