Month: August 2014


We have just reached the end of Week 2 of the new super-strength happy pills. Going from 20mg to 30mg is quite a big jump. I asked my GP if I could expect a return of interesting side effects and she said ‘probably not’ but it turns out otherwise. I am basically OK and it isn’t like the first time around when I had every side effect in the book but I have been mostly asleep for about a week. I am hanging on in there because I overcame it pretty well before and therefore I think I will do so again when my body has adjusted to this new dose. I am also gaining weight quite rapidly because I am burning up approximately zero calories each day, but I am trying not to worry about it, I will lose it again when I am not so knocked out all the time.

Let me see what news there is. My period is back, so I guess that’s good. It was nice not having one but not so nice having to constantly wonder if it was going to show up at any minute on any given day. Now, not having had a period for two months, I’m bleeding quite hard, so that might also help to explain why I am so wiped out this week, I guess.

I went out last Thursday and had dinner with my friend D, scoring 1 Friends point.

The main news, I guess, is dating news. Do you remember back on 12 August when I blogged about two guys, William and Charlie? Well, William didn’t make it to a third date and has now gone to Canada, but Charlie … we are getting along beautifully. So nicely. He would be here now except I didn’t have the strength today to wash the dishes and change the sheets so I told him to wait until the weekend.

Charlie has spent the whole of the last two weekends with me, and one of them was an extra-long bank holiday weekend so we had a few days together. He is lovely. He is so easy to get along with. He is as pretty as a picture. Kind. Helpful – I never have to go out to the shops any more, he knows where all the local supermarkets, corner shops and restaurants are and is quite keen to do errands. He likes everything that I like – films, food, etc. He constantly tells me how beautiful I am. He doesn’t care if I’m a bit fat. The sex is great. He has a great work ethic and is pouring energy into his career, which is something I respect. Plus he is young and sharp so he dresses well, is fashionably groomed and knows all the sorts of Young Person things which are very important to know, like which are the hot new bands and what’s funny on the internet this week. 

Apparently he has spent TWO YEARS trying to get my attention on that dating website, and I was blind to his existence, mostly because of being in love with the Head Honcho and therefore uninterested in dating anyone else who wasn’t a supermodel.

When he was saying goodbye to me on Tuesday morning he said “I hate this part”. “I know”, I said, sympathetically, “we’ve been all warm and cosy indoors all weekend and now you have to go out in the cold and rain (for autumn has arrived early in London) and go on public transport for an hour”. “Oh, it’s not that”, he replied, “I’m a Northerner, I don’t mind a bit of rain,” (lol, so true), “I meant I hate this part of the weekend because it means I’m not sleeping next to you tonight.”


He is even learning to knit. I am dying of the cuteness. He made a couple of ‘jokes’ about it, enough to indicate an interest (I knit all the time and have yarn all over the house so it’s hard to avoid noticing). “OMG”, I said, “if you took up knitting I would love you so much”. He didn’t need any further encouragement. I found him some wool and a pair of needles and he has been knitting so diligently! He has started making a scarf and is doing really, really beautifully with it. “Knitting is so addictive!” he said, and he is right. I spoke to him on the phone last night and he said he is really missing his knitting, having left it here at my flat, and keeps thinking about it.


So that’s me. Charlie and me. We are as happy as kittens in a basket. I am the one that keeps falling asleep.

Let’s have a tune. I was going to save this for Church one Sunday, but it is too good to wait.

The Ikettes: I’m Blue (The Gong Gong Song) (1962)


My Slightly Improved Hair

OK, that is slightly better.

I had my hair coloured to its usual shade of dark chocolate, so that’s my roots taken care of. I don’t dislike my natural colour but I am starting to go grey and I don’t really want to watch that happening, thanks, so I go and get it touched up when I see about half an inch or so of grey appearing at the sides.

My haircut didn’t take all that long because I still don’t have that much hair to cut. However, the hairdresser and I did have a discussion of about 20 minutes altogether about what look I am trying to achieve with my hair (a very small, sleek, shiny, close-fitting, off-the-face, ear-length bob, as seen on Isabella Rosselini, if you are playing at home).

It was kind of a weird conversation. I was diplomatic and businesslike and took full responsibility for not properly communicating what I wanted him to do with my hair the last time I saw him. Despite this, he could see how much I hated my hair and he was mortified because we like each other and I am a long-time customer. He said ‘I just want to make you happy’. I said ‘I know’ and smiled in a friendly way and then pointed out even more crucial features of Isabella’s haircut until he swore to me that he gets it now.

So that’s why my hair is a bit tidier now. As I say, there wasn’t much hair to cut, but he has tidied up the back and cut it in more of a straight line which the shorter layers can gradually catch up with. The front of my hair is more of a challenge because I have annoying floppy layers hanging in my eyes that will take several more months to grow out, but they can be controlled with gel. So I think we are going to be okay.

It’s just occurred to me that the next time I’ve grown enough hair to go for another haircut should be right around the time that the extra-strength happy pills are kicking in to the max. So I am pretty much planning on having a good October. I might even think up a TLYW themed season to make up for the fact that we didn’t have a very fun summer this year. We could call it The Oktoberfest You Want.

Hairdressing: Wish me luck.

I called in at the hair salon and they can fit me in this evening.

Wish me luck. Last time I was at the salon, in June, my formerly loved hairdresser gave me a haircut that aged me by 10 years and sent me fucking running to the Botox clinic to try and claim those years back. A haircut that makes me feel depressed just thinking about it, never mind having to look in the mirror. A haircut that belongs on a woman who is actively trying to be unattractive. A haircut that looks awful no matter what I do with it. A haircut that is significantly less fashionable than the one I saw my 70-year-old aunt wearing the other week. A really, really inappropriate and wrong and bad haircut that I never asked for.

My hairdresser and I will be having a Very Serious Conversation about the haircut I actually want. It is still 4-6 inches too short to even achieve a very short bob, but at least we can start working on getting it into shape.

I swear to God, if he fucks this up a second time, I will never go there again. I will go straight to a competitor salon and have them attach an entire head full of extensions at whatever cost, until my hair grows back. I can’t live with this awful haircut any more. It has got to go. He is getting one more chance to demonstrate that he understands what I want, and then that is it. Finito.

I am scared of letting him come near me with the scissors now and I am ready to be upset. The last couple of months have wrecked my self-confidence. Wish me luck, please. It should be game over by about 7pm. I will immediately report in here with news.


Art and Beauty

Life is gradually improving. We are still on Week 1 of the new, higher dose of happy pills and apparently I can expect it to take 6-8 weeks again for this new dose to achieve its full effect. Therefore, if this yields a good result I should be back on the dancefloor with a vengeance around the first half of October.

Yesterday I went to the British Library, which was super. Check out this fabulous statue of Isaac Newton by Eduardo Paolozzi.


This is what the exterior of the British Library looks like.


The spires of the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel appear over the library roof.


Inside the library there are several floors of reading rooms which are full of priceless, ancient manuscripts. The building is dominated by this central tower, which is called The King’s Tower, because it houses the books of King George III, who founded a precursor to the British Library back in the 18th century.



While I was there, I went to see the Comics Unmasked exhibition.


My favourite periods for just about anything are the mid 18th century and then the 1970s, including cartoons and comics, as it turns out.

Plate 2 of The Harlot’s Progress by William Hogarth, 1732. The Harlot’s Progress is a series of six engravings that tell the story of Moll Hackabout’s decline and fall into moral turpitude. In Plate 2, prior to entering into prostitution, she is the mistress of a wealthy merchant. She is kicking the table over to draw his attention away from a rival lover of hers who is discreetly escaping out the door.


And now a couple of hilarious comic book covers from the 1970s. I was a child in the 70s and this is what Britain was like. As you can see, not that much had changed since the 18th century.

Truly Amazing Love Stories, 1977. “Forty-four pages of crotch ticklin tales.”

amazing love stories

Dope Fiend Funnies, 1974

dope fiend

In the latest beauty news, I went to see my Botox doctor for a check-up and top-up. I showed her some photos of me from July, in which I look utterly defeated and have the sagging, almost-dead eyes of an ancient turtle that has experienced abuse. Then I showed her some photos of me that I took a couple of days ago when I was putting on make-up ahead of going on a date, in which I look like a princess and totally unrecognisable as the same person. Then I gave her a thank-you card with a heartfelt message. Then I wept, right there in her office, out of gratitude. I can’t believe what she’s done for my face. I am overwhelmed with the results. I thought was I was never going to look pretty again after being beaten so badly around the face and head in the awful Crime of earlier this year. It is like a miracle. It is better than when I had new teeth and that is really saying something.

It is my birthday this week and I decided to celebrate it today so after I left the office of the Supreme Goddess of Beauty I went to Top Shop and had my ears re-pierced. I haven’t worn earrings in 15 years and the holes had all but closed up. I suddenly felt that what I wanted for my birthday was to be able to wear earrings again. Right now there are two sparkly crystals in my ears. I feel reconnected with my own, relatively gorgeous, past and at the same time I can see into the future, and it is a future with earrings in it. The holes will have healed in about a month and then I can really have fun.

I feel happy because I feel pretty. My other birthday present to myself was new hi-tech moisturiser, so that the lower half of my face can keep pace with the newly rejuvenated upper half and finally I am due a haircut this week, which I’ve been waiting for, so we can at least begin styling it into a shape that I actually want.

I am speaking at a large business conference in France in a couple of weeks. I will be the only woman on a panel of men. I am going to wow everyone with my beauty and glamour as well as my expertise, if I can find my passport, that is.

1 Art point. I think this means I’m officially not depressed any more.