NaNoWriMo

The first time I met Steve was at the Dublin EPT in 2005, and I don't remember too much about that. He had a girlfriend then and I had a boyfriend, we spoke only once, I asked a stupid question and was embarrassed. He swears he didn't think I was stupid at the time. And I recognise Andy Black now.

The second time I met him was at the Gutshot card club. I think this story will always make me smile, it's almost certainly the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me. As I was leaving Steve said he was going my way, and asked to share my cab, even though he lived nowhere near Tooting. It cost him £30 to get to Blackheath from Tooting Bec.

He says he spent the cab journey wishing the driver would slow down, so we could chat longer. In the back of that cab we talked about writing. Steve said I was the first person he'd ever met who felt the way that he did about writing. He told me about National Novel Writing Month, with its challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days. He joked about getting to 23,000 words without anything happening in his novel, or finding anything resembling plot.

He and I have been together seven months now, and lots has happened. I tease Steve about his habit of speeding up time whenever we're together. We sit on the sofa to cuddle and chat, we put the TV on then always ignore it (neither of us like TV very much) then suddenly it's 1am, and 5 minutes later it's 2am. And I need to go to bed, to be up for work at 6am... And if I were in a taxi I'd be willing the driver to slow down.

National Novel Writing Month starts tomorrow. It's a fun writing challenge... Hang on while I do a quick cut and paste from their website...

'Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.

Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.

Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing.'

It's November tomorrow. So Steve and I are going to sit in front of the sofa and cuddle, but there'll be no TV (neither of us like TV very much) instead we'll have our laptops, and rivalry to see which of us will hammer out the most words for Day 1 of the NaNoWriMo challenge.

Steve's the first person I've ever met who feels the way I do about writing. I'm not sure what my novel will be about. It could be Tooting Bec tube station magic, or stickers on tube posters? It could be about willing taxi drivers to slow down... It could be about love.

Halloween Party - To Do List

I used to regularly throw Halloween Parties when I lived with my Ex. We had a big house and a dark-walled dining room. We'd put our poker tables down, and decorate the room to make it into a 'spooky room' for Amy and her friends. I didn't feel like coping with the work of a party on my own last October, but this year I've told Amy she can have her Halloween fun. Halloween parties are the best - they make me wish I was six. However some enjoyment can still be found as organiser of a spookfest.

Here's my 'To Do' list for our November 5th 'Forget Fawkes just show us the Zombie Spittle' Party...

Buy Toilet Paper
Plenty of cheap toilet paper is needed for the 'Wrap The Mummy' game. The best plan is to pick the naughtiest child then get all the other children to wrap them as tightly as possible in toilet paper bandaging, for as long as possible. Steve used to be a Green Party candidate, I hope he doesn't tell me off for the destroying half the rain forest with this game.

Find Cardboard Box
A box must be decorated and filled for the 'Yucky Dip.' 'Will you be Lucky, or will it be Yucky?' is written on the side of the box. You can guess the rest. Creative fun with wet rice krispies, mud, and empty snail shells! You have to throw in a few sweets too. That's the dull bit.

Mow Lawn
Steve's said he'll 'have a go' at setting off roman candles, and help to supervise the kid's sparkler sword fights. Unfortunately my back lawn grass is about a foot high, due to an ongoing dispute with my landlord about the provision of a shed. I'm embarrassed about the state of this jungle-garden. I know I can't really rely on Steve setting fire to himself as a distraction from the state of the lawn. So I need to get my hands on a mower. Unless a few strategically placed Crackling Inferno Fountains will burn the grass short?

Ring Up Old Friends
I have some friends who I only ever seem to see at birthday parties, Amy's parties, or else their kids. Yes, must ring Natasha. I hope a new baby wailing in the background will mean I can avoid asking, 'When's the baby due?' I've a feeling it was July. I know I've asked her several times already. Need to think of a general purpose question that will hide my crap-friend-ness and usefully reveal whether the baby's pending or now hatched.

Chop Carrot
I need to persuade Amy that making fake sick is a much better party activity than colouring in monster feet. You know the party game, 'Pin the tail on the donkey?' When we've mixed the sick I thought we might play a version of this called, 'Pour the sick on the witches face!'

Devise Game Rules
Amy insists we must play a game called, 'Follow the Monsters Feet.' Her idea seems to be that you make monsters feet, and then follow them... That's it. I prefer the making sick game. A compromise might be reached by following trails of fake sick?

Olives = Warts. Or else!
I need to plan the party food. Ideally the food should look spooky and taste nice. Cream cheese ghosts with raisin eyes do look creepy, but kids won't eat them. So then you get a different kind of horror story, it goes, 'Once upon a time there were squished bread bits under the sofa cushions...' Another idea is to make food that actually tastes nice, like pizza, but then scatter this with chopped olives and tell the kids to squint at it, and use their imaginations. Badly chopped green olives are troll's warts. Yes they are. Or else!

Buy Plenty of Wine
I told Steve that I'd 'think about' his plan to invite his friend Kate. He misunderstood and he's invited her and her family already. Which is fine. I would very much like to meet her. It was going to be a party involving 10 dressed-up 6 year olds. Now it's 10 dressed-up 6 year olds and a few grown-ups. I wonder if they like cream cheese ghosts, or making fake sick?

Use Imagination Whilst Exploring Sainsbury's Exotic Vegetables
We play a game where you get the kids to close their eyes and put their hands into a bag to feel something yucky. It's usually food, but I don't tell the kids this. If no one cries you're not playing this game right. A cut open passion fruit can be a squished eyeball. A knobbly gherkin might be a goblin finger. Wet spaghetti's good too. Worms. If you think of anything yukky whilst you're cooking tea, let me know.

Rottenize Tomatoes
I thought we might play a game where the kids can draw something they don't like and then throw squishy tomatoes at it. My only worry is that Steve will join in. We might be there all night while he throws tomatoes at his pictures. He'll have to stop when it's time to light the fireworks.

Rubber Gloves Aren't Just for Washing Up
Did you know that if you fill a rubber glove with green water and then put it in the freezer you can make a zombie hand? This is a, 'Read it on some web page' idea that you wish you'd never Googled. Don't try this at home. The most horrifying effect of this is the blood curdling screams you emit when you're trying to get icy hand out of frozen glove. My zombie's must be very undead, they always have lots of fallen off fingers. Still this is one idea that won't die... I'll be trying again this year. I'll get this right if those zombie hands kill me..!

Talk to Ex
A horrifying thought. But he has the 'Creepy Music' MP3 collection..

Get Sponsor
I like Innocent Smoothies. So I'm going to ask Innocent to sponsor my Halloween Party. They'll get their name on the invites, and they'll be the talk of Fircroft School! A case of smoothies should do it. Red ones, so I can say they're vampire's blood. How to get kids to enjoy 5 a day? Fruiful blood-juice! I don't know if Innocent will help. Even a couple of money-off vouchers will do me. Mmmm, smoothies...

Magnetic Hair

I pulled out 2 white hairs yesterday. So that's 5 I've found now. Yes, I am counting, although I don't keep these silvery hair rarities. But I could, couldn't I?

I love those museums created by whiskery Victorian adventurous, who put everything that they might file under 'Hmm, interesting' into a glass case. Then they'd feel good about themselves when poor people visited and gaped at the exotic masks and fossilised dinosaur poo they showed them. I'm poor and I hope old Mr.Horniman knows how much I love his dinosaur poo!

Mr.Horniman's dead now, which leads me nicely to what this post was supposed to be about. I'm a bit worried about getting old. Steve is too, though he's 7 years behind me in the old-ness stakes. He's doing his best to catch up by lots of smoking, drinking, eating bad food, and working unhealthy hours. Unfortunately he's still 30. He worries about his hair. Although he has a theory that ginger blokes go grey later in life than people with normal coloured hair. Life is cruel, isn't it?

I found a white hair in Steve's beard today, but I couldn't bring myself to pull it out in case that hurt him.

If I did collect my grey hairs and had a 'Me Museum' containing these 5 fascinating hair oddities, I should pull out Steve's white hair because it would be a valuable addition to the collection.

I'm not sure what else I'd put in a 'Me Museum' glass case? Right now I can only think of the first sanitary towel I ever used. That would surely have some 'me' historical significance? Unfortunately I don't have this any more.

Is Time Team still on TV? Maybe I could get Tony Robinson and his gang to dig in Harrogate Borough Council's landfill site looking for this? Their DNA experts could analyse all the soggy 'female products' they found. But would dating technology be sophisticated enough to pinpoint a towel from March 3rd 1983? Surely an interesting challenge for the Channel 4 show.

Anyway, back to Steve's hair. He's worried about this receding. Of course he is. Most men are. Wigs look stupid. With ginger wigs even stupider than most. However, today I thought of a solution to men's baldy-ness problem. Male Pattern Baldness to give it's trying-to-keep-a-straight-face name.


Scientists need to magnetize men's scalps. And you know when you get iron filings and sprinkle them on a magnet they go sort of random, and fuzzy when you mess with them? Well if clever scientists could make soft, hair-coloured, iron filings they could sprinkle these onto men's magnetized heads. It would be a great hair-substitute. For Steve some nice shiny bronze hair-metal would be great.

I thought of something else for my 'Me' museum. My first ever earrings. Sadly I lost one of these some years ago, at a house in Tooting Bec road. It won't be as much trouble as the first sanitary towel to locate. If Steve's head is magnetized I'm sure he'd be able to help me find it.

Siamese Cat Magic

An old lady came to the door. She had a round face covered with warts and a few hairy moles for good measure. Her hair was grey and short, she looked like a well-fed, smartly dressed witch. She showed me a Siamese cat. She said it was lost, and asked was it mine? I said, 'No', but I told her I'd look after it.

The cat was old. It's eyes were dark with no pupils visible. It had to be blind, or near-blind... It's legs were crooked and it's belly sagged, but she purred when I stroked her. Her breathing was wheezy, but she was confident when I picked her up, and her purr was strong.

She had a tatty red collar around her neck, she had to have an owner somewhere. Only I didn't want her to have an owner. I wanted to keep her.

I have Siamese cat magic going on.

On my 14th birthday my Grandpa gave me a long haired Siamese. This first cat of my own, Barney, was thin with a grey head and legs, a white body, and a bushy grey squirrel tail. He loved to jump on my shoulder unexpectedly. My Grandpa would give me everything I ever wanted. (I didn't go to his funeral.)

Ten years ago I visited my Mum in York, leaving Alex at home in our St.John's Wood flat. My mum helped a cat rescue charity, so one evening a lady turned up on my Mum's doorway carrying two smart green-blue cat baskets. She left the basket's in my Mum's hall, then disappeared into the night in tears. I left for London the next day carrying the two blue-green carriers, and two Siamese cat brothers. They wailed all the way to London.

Alex didn't want cats. Siamese cats are extrovert cats, you can't ignore them. They demand love - or hate. Alex soon loved them fiercely, whilst hating me for forcing him to do that.

I saw his point. Those cats were trouble. Peter soon got stuck on the roof of a four story building. Charlie nearly died of pancreatitis. Neighbours often rang us to report that our cats visited. They sometimes peed on their antiques. Our cats were the talk of the neighborhood. They were loved by many, and hated by anyone who valued their antique furniture.

When Alex's mum was ill with cancer he visited York a lot. And I felt stuck in London, I had no job, no friends, and I would have followed him to live in York, but how could I? I had my two needy cats.

When Charlie died our world changed. Of course he was 'only a cat' but to say that is not to know how much he wanted to be more than 'only'. He took over our lives as much as any child, making his presence felt with loud Siamese cries that made him sound like a peculiarly expressive baby. I got the blame for all the grief Alex felt when our cats died. All because of a decision to carry those two blue-green cat boxes on the train from York to London that day.

I've always had cats, but after Peter and Charlie died they were 'my cats,' Alex kept his distance. I sometimes wonder how much part those cats had to play in ending our thirteen year relationship. Their cheery purrs were always accompanied by my lover's resentment.

So the Tooting Bec smart-witch gave me a blind, crippled Siamese, and I felt she cast a spell on me as she did. I stroked the little cat, with a stoke that was all she needed to make her whole world happy.

And my head flipped. It was obviously a head-flip Siamese cat magic spell. You see, I feel I owe the world some happiness. I could list the reasons, but...

I deleted that. What point does it serve? Everyone has regrets. The thing is how much I want to make up for these. And stroking a lost, old, cat and making it happy felt like some small way to set the world to rights.

It felt like this Siamese stray had to mean something. So I searched for the meaning. I looked to the past, I looked to a dream future, and I loved that little cat for a little while. I wanted her to be mine.

But I knew that I should ring the vets to see if anyone had lost her.

Cats can be microchipped, a tiny identification number placed under their skin. I took the cat to the vets to check for this. They looked and shook their heads, there was nothing to show who she belonged to. I said I'd take her home, I'd look after her until her owner was found. Hoping her owner would never be traced.

The vets assistant said she needed treatment, she'd been lost for a while, she might need fluids, or help with her wheezy breathing.

The cat looked strong to me, and I knew she'd been happy in my arms.

I thought of invoking the law of, 'finders keepers'.

Then I realised I was being crazy.

So I left the blind blue Siamese at the vets. I thought I'd ring up today, to see if her owner's been found.

I decided not to. It was a strange magic that messed with my head. I have Dolly. I wanted that needy Siamese, for lots of reasons, but perhaps it's some kind of penance that she made me hurt, and that I didn't get my own way for once.

Faith

Steve sent me a list of song's he liked. His comment on the song, 'Monsieur' by Thomas Fersen was, 'You don't have to like this guy. And I've built it up a lot haven't I?' He went on to desribe this story of the servant of an assasin, who murders people when he feels miserable. The servant tidies up after him, and tends the roses. Steve said about this French singer, 'He writes really great stories that I wish I could do, and think you probably do already.'

Of course I love Steve for liking good music, and for his thoughtful reasons for liking these. And I like his faith in me, that one day maybe I could write something as good as a story about the servant of an assasin, and roses, and bees...

Il étrangle son semblable dans le Bois de Meudon,
Quand il est inconsolable, quand il a le bourdon...
A la barbe des voisins,
Qui le trouvent sympathique,
Monsieur est un assassin, je suis son domestique.

I don't speak French, so Steve had to translate for me. I have the week off work, and I decided I'd try to write a novel when Amy's at school. We'll see. I have big ideas, but so far I've just written lots of emails, several unpublished blog posts, and I've turned the monkey in my title the right way up. That monkey's been annoying me for ages. I'm trying to convince myself that a right way up monkey will put me in a positive frame of mind for creative writing.

We'll see...

A dress

I own the prettiest party dress. It cost £140, I've never spent that kind of money on a dress before. I've worn it three times, but although it's just as good as new, I'll never wear it again.

The dress has been at the bottom of my laundry basket since December. I'm not sure what to do with it. It probably needs cleaning, but what's the point in paying for dry cleaning if I'm never going to wear it again? Yesterday Steve suggested we burn the dress, and my best pair of shoes too. He said we could do it on the barbecue.

I don't think the dress has done anything wrong. I do believe in magic, but I don't believe that dress is cursed. Or the shoes. I know I shouldn't just keep the dress in the bottom of my laundry basket, but burning it doesn't feel right.

Steve said he'd take it away, get rid of it. I didn't want that either. And I don't understand why not. It just feels like something I should do myself. Only I'm stuck, I don't seem able to find a plan for this myself.

Steve once said something funny to me, about a feeling that, 'The cavalry are on the way.' That phrase came into my head today. And an image of men on horses, waving flags and swords, and charging. That idea made me smile.

I have an appointment on the 24th. It's something I should have done months and months ago. It's an appointment with the right sort of people, who are used to helping with the kind of problem you wouldn't want to blog about, or ring help lines about because they have the initial of this in the name. But when you finally do, you find instant hope and reassurance.

And it feels like the cavalry might be about to charge, with flags and swords waving boldly, and maybe they'll attack the laundry basket and deal with the party dress? Or better yet someone kindly could get down off a horse, and patiently explain how I can deal better with dresses, and other things too.

Songs NOT for Steve

Sharing the music I liked with Steve seemed like a good idea. Listening to the songs I liked, and wondering whether he'd like them too, that was fun. Then I decided to write about this as a blog post. Bad idea.

I've never written about music before. I like writing a lot, so writing about my favourite songs as they played was a jolly little writing exercise. So I wrote about 22 songs. That's quite a lot, isn't it? Actually I wrote about even more. Some I didn't even like so much. I was just having fun.

Evil - Interpol

It's a mean song. Grrr... Yes. It's angry. It's bitter. It's nasty. Well what do you expect with a title like that? Music to stomp along in the rain too, muttering obscenities under your breath optional. By the end of it you'll feel better. Or you'll have clubbed someone to death for looking at you a bit funny.

I liked that one. No, not the song. Just the writing about the song. And somehow the 'Steve' bit of the whole song list process got lost. I realised this when I saw that I'd written, 'I just picked this one so you'll go, 'Who the fuck are Dios Malos?' Note the word, 'you' there - not the word 'Steve'.

And on the day I typed all this I was grumpy with Steve. He was in Baden, and we had a kind of email row. So I didn't send him my song list. I published it as a blog post instead. And then I confessed to him that I'd done that. So now I'm a bit stuck. How do I send him a blog post of my song list, for a blog he isn't even allowed to read? And what does this say about my priorities, that I'll share my musical tastes with you lot, but not with him?

We talked about this last night. We had a bad night and nearly split up. (We didn't.) He says he doesn't want to see my song list anyway. Not now. Right. So, not sure what to do. He probably wouldn't like Dios Malos anyway.

Fighting Talk

I love PokerStars.

Songs for Steve

Steve and I have so far avoided sharing music with each other. What can I say? We're shy, and music is personal. I think both of us feel like we have nothing to win, but everything to lose. I like my music and chances are Steve won't like it in the same way, chances are he won't like any of it very much at all. Of course this doesn't mean much, I'll just shrug and plug my iPod headphones in, listen on my own. And cry.

Not really.

I do know some of the songs Steve likes, he goes for rock classics, Bob Dylan or The Doors. He knows some songs I like too, a couple I've mentioned in my emails, and he's heard me whistling loudly when we've worked together at my place. I feel like it's time to bolder, so I've come up with some songs from my music collection that I like, and that he may like too. I hope he'll like them, I don't know if he will like any of them. And if he doesn't, that's ok. We'll still be happy. iPods have headphones. I can whistle quietly.

Stick a fiver into our favourite 'KGB approved' illegal download site and you can get this whole lot too!

Fill My Little World - The Feeling

The chipperest of bouncy, happy, silly, (magic,) fun songs! It'll stick in your head, and buzz around, like a buzzy 'Fill my little world right up!' bee. You'll tip your head on one side, tap the side of your head, hope to knock the stupid thing out of your ear, but it won't go. Instead it'll relentlessly buzz at your brain, occasionally escaping as a hum or an involuntary rhythmic tap of fingers or foot. 'Come fill my little world right up! Right up!'

Above The Clouds - Turin Brakes

My song of the moment. 'Up above the clouds, it is always a blue sky.' Ah, it's about being happy, and how hard that can sometimes be. And it's a love song too. It's sad and romantic. A bit like me? And it has a bit about rain - that's Steve's favourite weather. 'The rain came again, Cleaning the dream and it always makes me cry, oh my... Something about the rain, it sends memories through my veins...' Ah...

Girls - Nizlopi

Another moody song, he's just muttering a load of meaningful stuff. Not sure what he's singing to be honest, but it sounds good. And I imagine it's about being in love. Well that's probably a good guess, most songs are. It feels like a split up from a girlfriend song. It feels like it hurts. It's sad, but by the end you hope he'll make it on his own and be happy again with someone new. Rather like I did.

Handshake Drugs - Wilco

I like Wilco a lot, although they have that annoying, 'We're rock stars' thing of stupid wild, waily guitar for ages at the end of every song they make. I like this song because it's moody. Drugs and mean streets. Ooh! Cool! I'm not, but I can pretend when I listen to this.

Papa Was a Rodeo - The Magnetic Fields

I love this gibberish! 'Papa was a Rodeo' It means nothing - and everything! It's a song to think about. It's sad. How come I like so many sad songs? And it's a cowboy song. 'Never stuck around long enough for a one night stand..! Before you kiss me you should know... Papa was a Rodeo.' It's a Western in song. I don't need to visit Wyoming, I feel like I've been there when I listen to this.

Wake Me Up When September Ends - Green Day

Ooh, a single! And a band you'll have heard of! I just like this song. It's just a good song. It mentions rain again too. That's a good emotive weather for a song. Or a film. It's less good in books - makes the paper go soggy. It's an emotive song. Although I don't like the crashing drums bit. You know, when it gets loud? I like the quiet bits best. Yeah, just a good song. Nice memorable tune, all that. It's a 'feeling stuff' song too. Love as a big, fat, overpowering emotion. Perhaps you need the loud guitars to do that justice? Perhaps you need hard to listen to bits, to make you long for the easy happy quiet bits? Perhaps that's what it's trying to say?

I will Follow You into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

A song about being rescued by love. It's a bit over-wordy, but a fine tune. 'In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule, I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black...' I listen and muse on the fact that sad childhoods can fuck you up, but this song tells us there's faint hope of getting over all that. Just faint mind.

Hoppipolla - Sigur Ros

Rain again. I never understood how Steve could like rain so much... This music is dramatic, meaningful, like a walk in rain with a head too full of thoughts. It goes quiet, like those thoughts have calmed, then it goes loud like the thoughts won't go away. The rain showers, then pours, and by the end I'm praying for sunshine and a smile, but there's something about the rain and anger and pain that's beautiful anyway. And when it ends you don't know what happens, whether the sun comes out, or stays behind the clouds? You only miss the rain. Maybe I do understand why Steve likes the rain.

Buttons and Zips - Elbow

A few Elbow songs nearly made it to this list, this surprised me, I didn't notice that I liked Elbow. This song has great guitar squeaks and amazing muttery bits. More songs should have muttery bits. 'Will you ever get this song off my lips is what she said...' It's plodding, but it's still always moving along. I'd describe it as a calm practical attempt to undo buttons and zips, not a frantic, 'I can't get your fucking top off!' I love that. It's like a nice easy shag with a trusted boyfriend, once the passion has died down, but at least you're still undoing buttons and zips for each other. That's a happy thought.

Still Fighting It - Ben Folds

Probably my favourite Ben Folds song, although I like a lot of this band's stuff. 'Everybody knows it hurts to grow up'. It's a moving on from the past song, revisiting a home, memories overwhelming, 'You'll try and try, and one day you'll find a way...'

In The Aeroplane Over The Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel

I wanted to say it sounds like 'something' on acid, inserting the name of some famous classic rock band for the 'something'. Only there are loads of problems with describing it this way, there's the fact that loads of classic rock bands were on acid anyway, and there's also the fact that I've never done acid. There's also the thing that I don't listen to classic rock bands. Then there's the thing of losing track of what the fuck I'm going on about here, like there's a long whiney distracting instrument blowing through my musically-musing head. Is that like being on acid? I don't know. I just know it's a bit like listening to this song.

That's Me Trying - William Shatner

A sad-clever song, with Ben Folds and also Captain Kirk. I told you I like Ben Folds, right? Nice chorus. And it feels clever like poetry, because it's not a song, it's a monologue with a tune for a background. How arty art moi..?

Winning Days - The Vines

Ooh swoopy bits! Aren't swoopy whoopy bits in songs just the best? And harmonies too. Whooooo-oooo! I wish I knew the words so I could sing along. Dar dar dar dar dar dar (guitar bit now) Oooh, diddle-diddle-dar-dar - you get a fiddly with knobs on guitar bits there - and then you think it's ended with another swoooooopy bit..!

But NO!

Wait... There's more! It starts up again. Quick, I'm Googling the lyrics. Need to sing..!

Cause I know where there's gold
I didn't know when I was flying
I'm sinking like a stone
I can dream
I've been trying...

Crap lyrics. But I still enjoyed that!

Grrl - Dios Malos

Really I just picked this one so you'll go, 'Who the fuck are Dios Malos?' I haven't got a fucking clue, but this song is alright. It's about 2 minutes long, and I get to look like I know about obscure music. And it's kind of jolly. Can't think of much more to say than that. It's only short, you can't hate two minutes of poppy jollity, from a 'who the fuck are they?' Indie band, can you?

White Houses - Vanessa Carlton

Great squeaky little girl voice. It's about excited teenage girls, it's gossipy, gushy, girls, thinking non-stop about crushes at surburban school. It's Pretty in Pink. It's first love, it's fumbling with training bras and hoping your mum won't ever find out. It's talking non stop about him at school, then going back home to parents, and suburbia, to white houses where you'll think your first dirty thoughts.

Fishing for a Dream - Turin Breaks

I think this is the first song I liked that I mentioned to Steve. It was playing as I typed an email, and I wasn't scared to mention it. It's a laid-back cool song. And of course he downloaded it, as I downloaded any music he ever mentioned. He said he liked it too.

Mardy Bum - Arctic Monkeys

Arctic Monkeys are great! Sheffield accent, lyrics that about life, just ordinary life, described in a way that makes you want to know more. This is a song about someone 'argumentative who's got the face on'. And yes, it's some Sheffield slapper girl, but still I want to know more. It's a Ken Loach film in song, they're just a couple and they just have a row, but here it's working class life as art. And I think he loves her, and I want them to be happy... But I'm middle class so I'm also thinking, 'She's probably a bit common.' So I think I'm better than them, and I frown - a frown that's like looking down the barrel of a gun.

Sad Eyes - Josh Rouse

Ouch, this song hurts. So I can't write about it. It's a song I wish someone would write for me. It's a song for everyone who's loved someone sad and tried to help. It's 'Everybody hurts' sung by your lover to cheer you up when you think there's no hope. It might just work.

Turtle and the Flightless Bird - Devin Davies

'Awake to the sound of the sad city sleeping, I turned out around to find out who was speaking, but there was no one there...' It's a dark twisted fairtyale. It's a silly nonsense fantasy myth. I love the creepy madness of it. There's a logic there. A crazed logic. It's tells you you can lose it and still be happy. A terrific foolish guilty pleasure of a mad song. Sometimes I think it makes sense. And that's the crazy thing.

I see you, you see me - The Magic Numbers

A duet. There's something especially romantic about pop songs duets. I'd use 'Fairytale of New York' on my list if it wasn't such a very 'Christmasy song'. It's smoochy coupley, it feels like more than just a love song, mmm a song about love. It's sharing an Innocent Smoothie with a lover on the beach.

But it's flawed, and goes nowhere... I don't like it once it gets onto the speedier bit. Oh well. Nearly hit 'delete'. It's only still here because 22 seems like a good number of songs. And because I like Innocent Smoothies.

Portions for Foxes - Rilo Kiley

Feels like a bit of an odd inclusion this. I just think this is a good pop song, and there are good rude bits, and some great wailey, 'This Is What It's Like To Be A Woman' bits too. And I like that I haven't got a clue what the name of the song means, or has to do with the waily, woman, sex talk bits.

'It's bad news! Baby I'm bad news! I'm just bad news. Bad news. Bad news!' Great chorus too! 'Cos we'll all be portions for foxes!' Yes, of course we will dear. And it sounds like bad news to me.

'And the talking leads to touching and the touching leads to sex!' And there's a heavy breathing section! wooohooooo! '..Baby I'm bad news. Mmmm bad news... You're bad news..! I don't care, I like you, I like you. ' Yeah it's all about shagging. It's shaggerrific!

Don't get the fox thing though.

Hey Man (Now You're Really Living) - Eels

I added this because it's the chipperest-est-est song off of the latest Eels offering. (Look, I used the word 'offering' there, did you see?) And it's bubbly, kick drum, shout 'hey', clap-a-long, gratuitous-key-change, wooohoooo! music. And because I wanted to share this gossip with you about the lead singer. Did you know that since his last album his mother has died of cancer, his sister committed suicide, and his cousin was on the plane that crashed into the Pentagon on 9/11. Hey Man (Now They're Really Dying) That's sick sick sick... But listen to this and you'll be chipperfied, 'all better'. Ah.

Well those are songs. If you want any of these e-mail me, I might send an MP3 your way.

Pink Cake 'ya berk!

Please look away now if other people being happy and in love isn't to your taste.

Today Steve and I were both very happy, even though we're apart. These feelings were based on a couple of emails where we laid bare our hearts and souls, and talked about writing, drinking, and pink puddings. Steve also sent me some photos of his very-bad hotel room.

In a park as Amy played on the swings I mused about some of the things that make me love my boyfriend.

They're in no particular order and I know there are many more. Only I had to help Amy on the monkey bars, which meant my thoughts were interrupted.

Stickers

When I was feeling down Steve drew a sticker of two balloons and he stuck this beside the escalator at Tooting Bec. Balloons floating together is one of our magic things - I saw that once and wrote to him about it. Steve's balloon sticker had two balloons and an arrow pointing at the tie that held them; this said, 'Knot tied very tightly.'

Couple-Age Database

I'm 37 and Steve is just 30. Sometimes the age difference bothers me. Which means that every time Steve hears about any couple where the girl is older than the guy he'll tell me about it. He has quite a list now, I think he keeps this in an Excel spreadsheet. I don't pay much attention... Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin is the only one of these I remember. Oh, and Steve's Gran's pensioner friend who lives in Knaresborough. She's 80 and her boyfriend's 70. That's nice. I usually just think, 'So what?' But still I like that he tries to reassure me in this way.

Squirrel Man

Steve makes a big effort with Amy. He makes this seem natural and not like he's making any effort at all. For a while Amy called Steve, 'Squirrel Man'. He played along good naturedly, drawing squirrel man cartoons for her. She often asks for him to read her bed time story to her. Steve thinks of me feeling left out, so the last few times he and I have both read the story to her, taking it in turns to read a page of 'Horrid Henry' whilst trying to outdo each other with the silly voices.

On nights when Amy's unwilling to go to bed Steve will sometimes take requests for drawings as a clever bribe. As I put Amy to bed he'll have to Google image search Sonic the Hedgehog or some other cartoon character, in order to fulfill his promise that she'll have a picture waiting for her in the morning.

Our Magic

I'm sure all couples have couple 'magic,' little things that have a secret meaning to them. Steve and I have bucketloads of 'couple stuff'. Balloons, pink cake, muffins, Innocent smoothies, 'der doop', 'ya berk'... Some come and go, and some have been around for a long while. If we find something that makes us smile, we'll use it again and again - it'll make us smile again, with the smile just a little stronger because it reminds us of happy times when it's worked magic before. So we have - silly places names, the word 'chipper', 'FD', mushroom hunting, :-) :o), cowboy boots, crisps & cup a soup, adventures on night buses, rain... And finding ever-more adds to the fun.

Late Night Long Emails

I never thought I'd find anyone who liked writing as much as I do. I've written long, happy, emails to a couple of boyfriend's in the past but Steve's the only person I've ever known who can match me for email vigour, and perhaps even outdo me... I start work at 7.15am each morning, he's used to 'Poker playing' hours, so often when I fall asleep on his shoulder, he'll persuade me to go to bed, and then go home and email me, just so I have a happy email to start my day. The night bus from Tooting Bec to Streatham is often the subject, and I joke about the adventures he has on the short late night journey. It' one of our 'couple things' - see above.

Other Stuff
I jotted down some other things - Not reading my blog, pouring me beers, Pants, Soldier things, Cooking... but then I wonder whether revealing all the special-ness of my love will make it seem less mysterious? Or maybe I don't have time to blog about all this, because I want to email him in a minute..?

Teasing
Steve has a funny view of the world, and I suppose I do too. The most important thing in our relationship is probably that we chuckle at the same kind of stuff. We have our 'secret code' that I mentioned, our couple magic, but none of it is ever very serious, all of it works simply, as a queue for a joke. We ordered chocolate cake once in a cafe, and got pink cake instead. This was at the Streatham cafe who's pretty pink cake is pictured above. So today I mentioned this, and we joked about pink pudding, and Steve sent me a photo of the pink pudding he ate for tea. Of course I told him this wasn't pink at all... And I know tomorrow he'll look for pinker pudding, and then we'll laugh about it some more...

Robot Fish

I'm a hunter of things. I like looking, and hoping, and finding's good too. But mainly I like the looking and hoping. It's just the kind of person I am.

I'm wondering about my childhood, why did I become a hopeful seeker of treasure? Wouldn't it have been better to be an enjoyer of treasures found? Or a muser on past treasures loved? I don't know.

I can only think it might be to do with day-long Dungeons and Dragons sessions when I was 10. I was the clever thief, always first to search the monster's backpack hoping for a broadsword +3 or a potion of invisibility (6 sips.)

Now I'm going to hunt mushrooms. Steve was surprised that Border's had a book called, 'Mushroom Hunting.' I wanted a mushroom hunting book with recipes. I hunted the vegetable bookshelf, then 'Mushroom Hunting' was found and bought. It was perfect. Of course I enjoyed looking for it more than the finding it, and buying it, and reading it. The anticipation on the walk to Borders... Ooh..!

I really wanted to catch fish. Imagine that. Sitting beside a river all day long, waiting for a fish to bite. Waiting and wondering, would I catch one, what sort of fish would it be? Would I catch an old boot - just like they do in cartoons?

I'd love to fish. But I can't. I'm a vegetarian.

I know you can throw the fish back, but I'd worry that the hook would hurt the fishes mouth.

I wish someone would invent robot fish for vegetarians to catch. So I could sit by a river with a magnet on the end of my fishing rod, and there could be big robot fish in the river, programmed to be wily and smart, a challenge to catch. And robot fish tiddlers too - some of which could play the Nokia ring tone when you catch them. Or even a blast of Crazy Frog? And there'd be robot old boots too, to make it an authentic fishing experience. Just like on Tom and Jerry.

Best of all, if you ever caught the biggest, baddest, smartest robot fish, you could open a little metal door on it's side.... And inside you would find..? Oooh...

A plate of delicious fried cod and chips! Linda McCartney cod and chips, of course.

Or a little door that leads to a walk to Borders, to buy a book about mushroom hunting...

Or a Broadsword +3?

Or a potion of anticipation - 6 sips... That you swallow to enjoy looking and hoping, that leads you to find the treasure of more looking and hoping... And then you find the best treasure yet, even more looking and hoping...

Ok, enough dreaming. Got to go. It's conker season!

A hire car named 'der doop'!

"What colour is the car? I hope it's blue."

A text. 'Blue-ish.'

Silver-blue.

"Does the car key thing say 'der-doop'?"

No.

"Der doop!" I have to say it. And I have to say it again, because the magic's always better the next time around.

Amy, "Chessington!"

Jo "Legoland?"

Steve, "Safari park?"

Amy, "Chessington! Chessington! Chessington! Chessington! Chessington!"

Chessington. Rain.

"Bubbleworks is best!" A boat ride. Silvery fountains. Giant plastic ducks.

Rain.

"Who can ride the rollercoaster without screaming!"

Not me. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Rain, rain, rain.

"Der doop."

Home. Wet clothes off. Hot tea. Warm hugs.

I pack my clothes in Steve's orange suitcase.

"Der doop!"

We don't need maps. If we get lost we'll laugh our way out of trouble.

We find Blackheath. Steve lived here with his ex. Blackheath is very nice. "And now you're in Streatham. Don't you miss this?" "Don't you miss money?" One second thinking about my rich ex. An easy smile, "No!"

Cambridge! Our car the only car in the hotel car park. ("Der doop!")

Serious brown-pattered bedding, it feels too grown-up. Giggly fun, it feels too teenage.

Students on bikes. Colleges. Goats with spots. Spot the silly street name - 'Pety Cury', 'Trumpington Street', 'Jesus Green.'

Border's 3 for 2. We buy '3 for 2' for two.

Cambridge shops. "I'll choose something for you. You choose something for me?"

Next Mens. A pink and orange stripy jumper. I carry it through to Steve in Ladies, trying to keep a straight face. Failing. Giggling.

"Don't be stupid!" says fat red faced woman. "You're so stupid! Don't laugh," she snarls. "You're just being so stupid!"

I want to run. Steve shouts. I just cry.

A pint. A pint for Steve too. Didn't Steve stop drinking 6 years ago?

Another pub. We agree about the wooden tables. I like the curved bench held together with a metal strap. We like a picture of a sad person in the street.

We play a game.

"Coldplay or Travis?"

"Daffodils or roses?"

"Mushy peas or baked beans?"

"Monkeys or elephants?"

A Croatian Italian restaurant, or going back to bed?

It's 10pm, can we still get food?

Turkish vegetarain moussaka in an olde world cafe. Lumpy bumpy toffee for pudding.

Will the hotel bar be open still? Taxi! "The bar is shut." No apology. A discussion of Cambridge rudeness...

Bed. Serious sheets, we're un-serious under them.

Breakfast before 9 - too early. A Guardian outside our bedroom door. Fruit and croissant for me. Sausage and bacon for Steve. The newspaper. The news says, 'Online poker is fucked!'

A phone call from my boss. Reassurance that I still have a job.

"You knew? Why didn't you tell me?"

Crossness. Sulks. A grumpy walk by the river. Our first ever row.

We discuss fishing and mushrooms. We go to Borders, 'How to be a mushroom hunter'.

Mocha ('Choffee' Steve calls it.) Thai Chai latte ('Remind me to get that next time')

A silly Cambridge name again. The Whipple Museum. Old oak cases filled with Mr.Whipple's telescopes and scientific gadgets.

Shopping. I want a bra and pants. Too fancy. Too plain. Too sexy. Not sexy enough. Anne Summers for giggles. Debenhams for, 'any customer in household and kitchen will be given a free kitchen knife.'

A demonstrator cutting a hammer with a kitchen knife.

"For only £23 you'll get 6 knives, and I'll throw in 2 lemon juicers!"

I reach for £23 before realising I'm doing it for the lemon juicers. We escape with a free gift, and lots of free laughter about this.

No bra and pants. "We're not good at shopping, are we?"

Pubs. Bed. "I've never had tapas." Sangria. Why is he drinking again after 6 years? The hotel bar. More beer. More bed. More tears. "A girl asked me out on Friday." Oh. "I said no." More "Fuck offs" than there should ever be between a couple in love.

Fruit and croissants. Prunes for me. Alpen for Steve. Prunes for Steve too.

We pack.

"Der doop."

Imperial War Museum Duxford. Planes. Tanks. Soldier-boy Steve. I'm more interested than I thought. "Is there a book called the Battle of Britain for Girls?"

Lunch. A country pub. "I want chips!" "We don't have any chips."

We smile.

We drive. We're happy. We're home.

"Der doop."

Viennese Whirls (PS I love you)

I'm chipper today, even though Steve's away. He's gone away to write about the Baden EPT. Although he's not in Baden. He's in Vienna. He doesn't seem to think this is a problem.

He sent me a song to Listen to. The Doors, 'Touch Me.' It's not rude,' Steve said. It's so typical of Steve that he'd say this. It's so typical of me that I just think, 'shame.'

I told him not to worry about being in Vienna not Baden. Vienna is more famous. Because there's a Mr.Kipling cake named after Vienna. Did you know that?

Steve's chatting to me on G-mail now. Worrying because some PokerStars marketing person reads his blog. I told him not to worry. I told him I got away with writing about marketing people's fat bottoms for ages. I suggested his next post should be called, 'Conrad is a bit posh and has a lot of kids.'

I suppose Mr.Kipling must have been to Vienna. If he'd stayed in the next town then maybe Baden would be famous instead of Vienna? We'd all have Badenese Whirls for tea...



One of the reason's I'm in a good mood is work stuff. I work for a very good company, and even though there's lots of grim stuff going on to do with work right now, I'm confident that it'll have a happily ever after. But I can't write about any of that stuff, due to the fat bottom thing.

My bottom is fat too. Just in case you think I'm being 'slimmer-bottomed than thou' about colleagues. I know the bottom thing because I've been trying on lots of new dresses. I need a frock for some E-Gaming awards dinner-thing on Monday night. I came back from my lunch break with my jumper on inside out. I didn't mind about the jumper. I minded that I didn't get a dress. And I'm wondering why I ever said I'd go to this awards thing? But if PokerStars win anything I'll cheer louder than anyone!

I doubt that Steve's company, Gutshot, will be up for any gaming awards at this dinner, but I wish they were. I feel lots of goodwill towards Gutshot right now. I met Steve's boss David at the London EPT, he didn't seem quite how I expected (he wasn't nuts like I thought he'd be) and I would have liked to have chatted to him more. I know Steve's other-boss Derek, who's just treated Steve very well with pay rises, and share offer type things. So all that's good.

And I'd better talk to Steve now. In the 'PS I love you' title, the PS was supposed to stand for 'PokerStars' but really, even though PokerStars and Gutshot are both Very Good Things. I just want to talk to Steve and forget this blog post nonsense...

PS. I love him.

Vicky Coren Lite

When I started playing poker many years ago hardly any women played. These were days when it was possible to imagine every London poker player gathering in one room to play a tournament. It sometimes felt like they did this, on Wednesday's beginner nights at Russell Square. Most people who played watched Late Night Poker on Channel 4, and Vicky Coren was this show's star. It's fair to say that this was based on the fact that she was a pretty blonde who knew a flush beat a straight. That's not to say she was a bad player, but there were almost certainly better players who knew that a flush beat a straight, but got less attention because they weren't pretty and blonde. (Dave Colclough excepted.) As another female 'poker freak', I sometimes felt the 'Vicky Coren' factor. I felt like Vicky Coren Lite. Here's why...

Late Night Poker -
Vicky played in every series of Late Night Poker. I was asked to play, but couldn't afford the buy in.

Poker Places -
Vicky played big buy in cash games at the Victoria Casino. I played in Gutshot's barely-legal tournaments. In a room above a pub.

Home Games -
Vicky lives in Hampstead, her home game is attended by London's poker celebrities. My home game was in Bermondsey, attended by people who couldn't go to a casino because they couldn't afford nice shoes. They had their own dress code - they only played in lucky T-shirts.

Writing -
Vicky writes for the Guardian and has a weekly column in the Observer. She's had several novels published. I have a blog, I've written a few novels too. They're on A4 printer paper in my wardrobe upstairs.

Rude stuff -
Vicky tried to make the best hardcore porn film ever and wrote a book about this. I once had a sly wank in a jacuzzi at Centre Parcs, I wrote a blog post about this.

Beauty -
Vicky's a classic English Rose. I'm a mouse with a crooked nose.

Posh Factor -
Vicky went to Oxford. I went to Bournemouth. Vicky's the member of a smart West End Private Member's club. I wouldn't want to join any club that would have me as a member. Which makes me a member of the, 'Wouldn't want to join any club...' club. Yes, I am a member of the Loser Society.

Family -
Vicky's Dad is humorist Alan Coren, her brother is journalist Giles Coren. My Mum's called Joan. She lives in York and has 3 cats. My brother's work in IT. They don't have interesting names like 'Giles'. Hi Rob and Jon!

Tournament Winnings -
Last Sunday Vicky won the London EPT at the Victoria casino and the prize was £500,000. Last Friday I won the Vic's £10 rebuy tournament. I won £750. That'll do me. I'm happy. Haven't played for ages... Well, poker's not that good, is it?