Kittencat is having a snack

My person, the one I made from string and paper and glue, is eating a snack before bed, and moaning about how things aren't the way she wants them to be, while simultaneously telling me about stuff she likes.

I am reminded of quite how much I love her. My heart saw fit to explode into an infinite shower of overwhelming shiny when I first saw her, and I've never quite been the same since. Frustrating, exasperating creature. The source of infinite joy.

If I were one to do New Years Eve

I would go to this at Islington Mill. Alas, even before the child, I was never one to go out on New Years. I broke the rule once, and it was terrifying. New Years Eve is a lovely night for an early night with a good book or a molestable chap in your bed. This year I'm eyeing up this.

Hey all you ladies (and gents) who worry about your skin and spots and all that shit

Apparently aging is bad. And we aren't supposed to to it. We aren't supposed to get spots either. People spend fuckloads of money on creams to stop these things happening, cleanse, tone moisturise those blemishes away. Creams with sciency sounding ingredients. Creams with sciency ingredients that if you happen to be sensitive to them, they will give you chemical burns - as I found one unfortunate Christmas when my brother bought me a fancy £100 sciency face cream (that he bought from the staff shop when he worked at Proctor and Gamble, so thankfully he paid much less). Turns out (for me at least) fancy sciency facecreams take all the skin off your face within a day and they burn. Much money, much risk.

Over the years when I was susceptible to all this miracle marketing, none of these products made much difference. But here's a lovely thing that does. 1) Eat good food, with lots of fat. 2) Put olive oil/other oil of choice on your face, wipe off (cleanse), then add a tiny bit more oil/shea butter to your face. Your skin will be good, your pores will be clear. Your skin is only a reflection of your health, so if your skin is bad, that means you aren't well enough. So. Eat better. And cover yourself in oil. Job done.

As ever, I am procrastinating

But it is time to stop. I have work due in tomorrow, and I have left it late enough before I start that I finally have the level of calm focus that can only exist in the face of certain doom.

A further moan about those who can't drive around corners properly

You are even more of a nuisance when you are giving someone a tow. You're lucky nothing was behind me and I was able to reverse. Otherwise your tow dude would have smacked right into my car, and it would have been no ones fault but yours.

This year I am being horribly antisocial, and I don't like it

It's not really a choice, more a condition of circumstance. Kittencat's nursery fees increased significantly this year, my income did not. Being a student with a small child basically means being poor. And being poor is no fun. I never accounted for a significant proportion of my income to be disposable for the marvelous fripperies of going to gigs, seeing friends, but, for the time being, there just isn't a way to budget for a social life. Arse.

Dear drivers of cars, please will you learn how to take a fucking corner

Every single fucking morning, as I attempt to turn right onto the main road from the top of my road, I am thwarted over and over and over and over again by a series of wankers who, when turning right into my road, sweep the corner so as to stop me being able to pull out at the same time. The diagram below demonstrates my morning. I am the red car. The green car represents oncoming traffic. The black car represents the mythical, considerate taker of corners, who actually drives properly, whilst the blue car represents the unwholesome bastard reality of the selfish fuckers who have no perception that a gap in traffic can be used by more than one vehicle at once. So yeah. If you are one of those drivers that sweeps around corners like that, I fucking hate you from the deepest darkest corners of my soul. Because you are a fucker.

Its that time of the year again

Deadline season (aka Christmas) alsways seems to be a time for watching way, way more television than usual, and for the last year or two that's meant a fuck load of old Joss Whedon and reminding myself, aside from the impeccable timing, casting, everything else, what a delicious way with words he has. This time round, we're having a proper, old school, Buffy-athon.

You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love til it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other til it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood, blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it.