Good grief, I’m tired.

There’s a whole lot of change going on in my life and it’s bloody knackering.

I’m learning a lot in a new role at work, which is awesome. I’m trying to eat healthily, which is not. Also, failing to eat healthily is so bloody draining because you have all the misery of thinking about how bad sweeties are for you, despite still eating them. The feeling of refrain leaves me feeling like an exhausted victor- although, I haven’t refrained at all. I’ve just laid the guilt on pretty thick when I indulged in a bag of Randoms.

Ideal Brown and I are gearing up to move in May so I have visited ebay a million times in the last two months looking for nice furniture that we don’t have; and we visited Ikea twice in the last week to look at not as nice furniture that is easier to have, along with glassware and cutlery and…a garlic press.

I know I’m meant to feel like a loser for rocking around Ikea for fun; but I distinctly remember a time when all I wanted was to do was grow up and have my own space and salary. So I was living it up choosing coffee canisters.

My painting space is now an odd furniture space however, I started a fucker of a painting last weekend. It took me ages to complete 4 square inches of work and there’s a lot to do still- but it’s nice to have another big ‘un on the go that I’m excited about. It goes hand in hand with a great audiobook, which I have also just started (yay! words!)

Anybonk, I just wanted to say that if I owe you an email, I’m sorry about the delay. Tonight I replied to all the ones that have piled up that I’m aware of. Sometimes I read my emails from bed in the morning. Then I go back to sleep and forget that I ever received them having digested their content semi-asleep. So if I’ve not replied, it’s nothing personal. I’m just super tired.

Super tired. My eyes are burning.

OoOooooOOoooouuch.

A note about adverts currently doing the circuit at the moment:

Liz and I have agreed to never go anywhere near Halifax ever ever ever because their advertising is so wank. And we loathe to ever be one of the retards they endeavour to entertain or appeal to.

People rapping about buying “any car” are tossers.

Beer ads rock although beer doesn’t (it’s full of wheat and carbs, you see)

And the news:

David Cameron is doing my nut.

Who styles the anchors? They look fucking awful. There should be a body fat restriction put on them and their clothing should be provided (but not sponsored) by droll-ass M&S. I don’t want to notice some awful bloody lapel on a mustard dinner jacket when I’m trying to learn about the misfortune of third world countries at 8:00 am. Also, the “holiday” tan doesn’t work on anyone at BBC news.

Here’s a picture of a painting I did last year. It’s called No-Bear’s Not-Birthday.

6 years ago today I arrived in London with Lyndall. I can’t remember arriving at the airport or getting on the tube at all. Not at all, which is really strange for me.

My first memory is of getting on a bus in Clapham Common and heading to Brxiton to drop off our 20 kilos of luggage. That’s the amount of Life you’re allowed to immigrate with.

We had to get our mobile phones sorted out, so Lyndall’s first taste of London was the Brixton branch of Virgin Mobile, after which my mom took us to LIDL to show us how they sold food with a shelf life straight out of cardboard boxes. She laughed a lot and looked younger than when I’d last seen her, which was reassuring and nice.

Then we went to Boots to buy umbrellas. I can’t remember the rest, but I’m sure it involved lots of tea and chocolate digestives.

It took me and Lyndall an hour to catch our first bus. We were floored by trying to figure out which side of the road we were meant to be on (given we had no real destination) and the alternating Route Masters and modern buses had us stumped as to which end to of the vehicle to board. It was embarrassing and funny and cold, but mostly embarrassing.

The first time we did a grocery shop, we argued about getting cheap coffee. I was for it, Lyndall was not. She won, of course. The 27p we spent on Asda Own Brand coffee was a complete waste. We ate a lot of soup, shared our first tin of ravioli and spent a lot of time pouring over the papers wondering if we should finally just take the leap and find out what it is employers want when they advertise for “Vibrant! Fun! Young People! With Ambition!”

Jesus, when I really think about it, time doesn’t fly at all. And for the record, I’ve noticed that ATMs are issuing £5 notes; something Lyndall and I would’ve loved 6 years ago. I still have a Lloyds card with £8.38 on it that I couldn’t access or spend. The account is so low-grade that I couldn’t use it to pay in-store and no, by this time I wouldn’t have earned any interest on it at all.

So anyway, this is the year I can apply for citizenship! And when I get it, I’m going to throw a Great British party, with Union Jack bunting, cucumber sandwiches and cake. I’d like to have Mr Kipling there as an honorary guest. We’ll get tragically drunk. With flowers in our hair and other people’s spit on our shoes.