My favourite things this week

Turmeric, and more specifically a golden “milk” recipe I’ve come up with for allergic to dairy me. About 90% of folks allergic to dairy can have butter, and thankfully that includes me, so in the mornings I’m whacking a mug of water, a teaspoon of turmeric, a little cinnamon, black pepper, salt, butter and coconut oil in a pan, boiling it up, and it makes a pretty decent, pretty bulletproof golden milk. Some days I’m adding ginger and cardamom, which adds a whole other layer of lovely, but the basic recipe is pretty good.

The floor, and more specifically sleeping on it. I’m not quite down to straight on the bare boards, but... my back has been less than great for a while now, and following a camping trip with Kittencat I’ve carried on sleeping on the only half way inflated camping mattress, so I get nearly all the rigidity of the floor, but not quite. Energy levels are improving, posture feels better, back less achy. For a long term option I’m looking at futons, but this works for now.

The Murder of Sherlock Holmes

The plan Kittencat and I have is to watch all of Murder She Wrote. Kittencat is 9, and I am seriously selling the character of Jessica Fletcher to her, partly because I love Murder She Wrote, and partly because Jessica Fletcher is one of the best archetypal role models for girls and women ever. If you aren’t sure why, we can discuss sometime. Seasons 1-3 arrived today, we’re buying them slowly for cheaps, because £75 in one go for the new box set saddens me, and we got the first three seasons for a tenner. So there you are. KC is 9, going on 19, and has a keen sense of style, and a wicked sense of humour, and I think Jessica Fletcher will be appreciated as the before her time feminist icon she is.

It turns out that I am definitely NOT a fan of Italo Disco.

I found this title, and realised I forgot to write the post. I’m not going to now, save to say that I am increasingly unlikely to say I like things, or to do things just to fit in, to conform.

I’m noticing that while I don’t think I’m doing anything out of the ordinary, I’m increasingly diverging from certain social norms like, for instance, the use of soap and shampoo for washing, or deodorant. I haven’t used any of these for about a year now. I’m mostly just using a flannel and water for washing, though initially I used oil to cleanse, which is very effective on days where water isn’t enough to feel and smell properly clean. For my hair, I’m still working out the kinks, but washing with conditioner once every two weeks is keeping it under control.

What started off as an experiment, has left me with healthier skin, resolved my psoriasis, and most importantly, I smell less. In fact, I rarely smell at all, because I’m no longer stripping the healthy bacteria from my skin, and it’s led me to question further a lot of what we are sold regarding hygiene with regard to our health. I use soap to wash my hands, my clothes, and my house, but that’s pretty much it.

None of which feels particularly radical, except that it actually possibly is?

It is time.

My hermitude has gone on too long. So I’m dipping my toe. I bought a ticket for Sounds From The Other City, AND I’ve committed to a work social event. Of course, now I’ve teetering on the brink of cancelling all of it, but it’s been too long. I have spent enough time with myself and my own thoughts.

Sounds is in many respects the perfect toe dip. Friends will be there, but I needn’t spend all day with them, there is a built in expectation that we will have different musical priorities, and spend time together and apart in different venues. The main priority is to ensure we end up in the same venue at the end, but not that we are glued together all day, though that too can be good, if priorities align, and you are not one so out of kilter with spending time with other humans as I.

A hermit, a recluse, I never realised this was my destiny, but I like it

My goodness. Going out. That's scary. I've tried to, recently. It seems I can't. I'm good with close friends, and small cafes, but anything with people, or crowds, or noise, or crowds, or people I can't deal with. I get like this at times, but it seems that it is lasting longer this time, possibly because I no longer drink enough to override my own feelings.

Maybe this time the hermetic bent will last forever. Maybe I'm okay if it does.

The double standard

In the wake of all the recent revelations about Harvey Weinstein, a conversation about when to sleep with another human took place.

Historically, there has been judgement on women who followed their urges too soon, and a social narrative that indicates that a man will not be interested in a woman who gives herself too freely. But this narrative has holes. Within the narrative around sex that we have created as a society (a narrative that is thankfully changing, albeit at a snails pace), women are pursued, and, eventually impressed by the attention, become flattered and eventually learn to be attracted to the man. Which we all know is a lot of horse shit. You either like someone or you don't. You either want to jump their bones, or you don't. You can grow to like them more, or less, but you ideally wouldn't choose to spend time with them if you didn't like them. But so coercive the narrative, that it's possible men make themselves feel uncomfortable by being physically intimate too soon. Retrospectively wondering if the act was mutually lustful, or if they pushed someone beyond their comfort levels. Whether consent was present. Or not. And because men are taught not to be serious, or have emotional conversations with someone who they have done a shag with, because they are taught to separate the physical from the emotional, they have no way to get past this discomfort. This question of was what I did okay? Or really really not? And so they walk away, because it's too much. And they myth continues. Girl, I mean, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

Either that, or every man you slept with is as much of an ass as you thought, in which case, as you were.

Next week

Next week marks the beginning of the longest period of time I will have ever spent away from Kittencat. Ten Days. TEN. It is going to be strange, though I have grand plans for a long overdue spring clean, a couple of meetings with friends, uninterrupted sleep at night and going swimming for longer than the occasional half hour at lunch.

No doubt I shall instead get woefully depressed and wallow with Sylvester Stallone films and gin.

Hair pt 2, lovely friends, and a probable midlife crisis.

I'm going to cut off the hair! It's decided. I'm feeling a little nervous about it, but overall, I'm already a little relieved.

I'm currently making lots of plans with lovely people, including a cinema trip with Carolinasaurus, and a plan to go for climbing lessons with Christina.

Steph says that the recent acquisition of a year long swimming membership and the climbing plan must indicate a midlife crisis. He's clearly right.

Hair, boys, lumps, swimming, gigs

Dear Diary and interweb bots,

It has been an age! I'm sorry for neglecting you, but you know I'm the kind of human that occasionally forgets to call for a year (or five) and then rings for a chat like nothing has happened. Well, shall we catch up? Yes, and please let me know all your news as well.

So, what's on the list? I still love my job, nearly two years in, which is awesome. I've never loved a job before. I'm not all gooey about it or anything, it frustrates me, makes me stressed, makes me swear and regularly hold my head in my hands, as everything and everyone worth loving should. 

Hair... is hair. But I've developed some kind of minor psoriasis, which left me with dandruff and an itchy scalp, which when combined with the occasional nit letter from school is a speedy recipe for insanity. And I checked and treated and checked and treated... there's nothing there. And the child's head is clear, which is also an good sanity check after I've combed mine to within an inch of it's life. But the itch, and the flakes. I tried medicated shampoo. I tried washing my hair with ghassoul clay and rinsing with cider vinegar, because detergent. I tried bicarbonate of soda in case it was some kind of yeast imbalance. I tried neem shampoo with colloidal silver in it. I tried neat coconut oil left on my hair for an entire weekend. I tried neat neem oil left on my hair for an entire weekend. I tried washing more, and washing less. I finally got it under some kind of control, then went to the hairdressers in February, and they used chemical shampoo and the whole cycle started again. The best thing I've found is a product called New Wash, and my scalp is almost okay, and not flaking visibly or itching much. 

Boys... Well, I'd kind of written that one off, because let's face it, I have two days free in every 14, but my lovely friend decided that she was ready to Tinder, and I must too. I talked to a boy, I met him twice, he was very nice, but it won't work. Boys need more time than I have, so that is done, and Tinder is deleted. Nice experiment, good to know that it would be possible if time permitted, but for now, it's a write off.

Lumps... There is a tiny lump on my arm, and I'm going to get to the doctors this week. It's been there slightly more than a month, itches like hell and it's hot, rather like a recent burn scar. Actually, it's on an old burn scar. It bled for a while and stabbed, and while that's healed due to the magic of sudocrem and plasters (to stop me scratching) it shows no sign of going away. While it's probably nothing, the glorious magic of the Internet informs me that it looks and feels remarkably like a basal cell carcinoma, which is eminently treatable, though all the treatment options sound gross, and generally involve burning or scraping. I think I'm most good with the description that opted for straight forward cutting- if it is that, of course. I need to get to the doctors, and out of my own head.

Swimming... You know I like swimming dear diary. I've not been since I concussed myself two years ago (remember, I walked into a door? Much hilarity and post concussion syndrome ensued), and that, combined with the lack of free time in my schedule, the acquisition of a desk job and my general apathy for exercising at home means I've become something of a fat fuck. Call it a size 14 (UK) on size 8 (UK) shoulders, combined with a 32GG  bust, with a short torso that has little room to allow for a waist. I basically look like a potato with cocktail stick arms and legs. But ignore the aesthetics. The aesthetics mean nothing. I want to be fit again, I want my lung function to be better again. I want to be flexible again, so this week I will be reincorporating some very basic yoga into my evenings (which will have the added bonus of helping me calm my head with thoughts of lumps and scraping and cauterising). With the swimming, I only did 10 lengths last Thursday, and 14 Friday, but Friday felt easier, my body less stiff. So on Monday I should be good for 20, and from there I'll be working on whatever can be fit into 30 minutes, hopefully by the middle of July I should be good for 30 in 30.

And gigs. I stopped going to gigs around November last year. Not so much a conscious decision, as much as a bad crowd experience at Dinosaur Jr at the Albert Hall (which is not my favourite venue) left me feeling a little agoraphobic and unable to cope. But I recently popped this years gig cherry with Melt Banana at the Deaf Institute and if was freaking awesome. I've booked a few tickets for things partially because they look awesome, partially so I start going out again, and in the absence of enough time to meet boys I need to do more with my time than watch all the Nicolas Cage films ever made and stagnate in my front room (let's face it, my relationship with music and gigs was always better than my track record with boys anyway). I am going to see Ex Easter Island Head Ensemble next week, I have a ticket for Saul Williams, one for the final incarnation of Fat Outs Burrow at Islington Mill, and a few other things besides. It will be excellent.

I have a kettle bell

And I have not yet dropped it on my foot. Go me!

*Please note, I hope I never do. My admittedly very ugly feet are very important to me and take me lots of places and really help me in doing all the fun stuff.

Something I do from time to time.

I thought of sending you something, but I deleted you from my phone so that any and all contact must be more than an absentminded moment.

This is occasionally a worthwhile exercise for those who are not worth your absentminded moments. Also for those where a friendship has become a little one sided, still mutually fun (you think), but you are always the one suggesting meeting up, contact is rarely initiated the other way. Sometimes, drawing back is necessary. Either folk will come forward to meet you or they will leave you with space to meet others.

Unfortunately friendship is rarely balanced, but when the imbalance becomes too great, it's good to step back, or you may find yourself turning into one of those mildly suffocating people you yourself find so difficult to be around.

I did something radical

There are things that you do. And then there are things you just don't do. Despite the compelling evidence that you should, you just don't. 

I did. I did the radical thing. I feel incredible. But it's beyond comprehension for the vast majority of the world, so let's just say I did a thing, and I am the better for it. As to ongoing benefit, we shall see. But I feel very very well.

An announcement

So, it's Sounds from the other city next weekend, and in due deference to tradition, I shall be speed dating all the bands, from all the stages, a day or two before (Thursday night to be precise) and posting the resulting judgements (based on a maximum of 60-120 seconds of snap judgement) up here for all to see. Guest judge will be Corky, there may be beer involved.

An entertaining thing

You know how when your male friends take about meeting a nameless, genderless "friend", and they think you don't realise it's a date, or someone they're fucking, or want to be fucking, or are embarrassed about fucking?

The trick, chaps, is to just name them e.g. My mate Griselda. Not my friend Griselda, unless it's followed by, you know, Griselda, who goes out with Tom. Otherwise, it sounds like you're shagging them. Or want to be.


** On the flip side, male acquaintances who don't name their friends... Probably just trying to avoid having anything in common with you, barr your acquaintance, it makes it so much neater to awkwardly avoid you post the functional shag that they acquaintanced you for in the first place. Just because it never happens, does not mean that is not the design.

** Everyone does this, not just men. Probably.

Where the small resembles the large when the large was small (except in the love of Disney. The large, when small, did not love Disney)

Kittencat has end of Christmas term ill. Not too badly, but she's coughing, and sneezing, and wheezing like an old horse, and generally reacting to the disruption to routine and piling on of junk food that school apparently feel is necessary in the run up to Christmas. All manageable with lots of sleep, calpol, cough linctus, Karvol and Vicks Vaporub, and although not yet well she's significantly better than she's been for a few days and is currently bounding about in her bedroom with soft toy Elsa, replacement soft toy Anna (original Anna broke, and my mend job was considered grossly inadequate), and newly acquired soft toy Rapunzel. We went to the Disney shop yesterday. We were supposed to do Christmas shopping, but town was busy, the child less than well, and I promised her we'd go to the Disney shop when we did our Christmas shopping. We didn't do our Christmas shopping. Christmas shopping is boring. Seeing the delight in a child's face when they find something they love and will treasure indefinitely is not boring, though that too is a rare shopping experience. I mostly hate shopping, but that was quite fun. Oh, and we also went to Paperchase, and she chose a diary, and a pen, because she's enamoured with the idea of a book you can write in every day and write the date at the top of the page.

She slept all the way home, on purpose, and then ate some tea and slept all night. Kittencat needs a rest these holidays and lots of sleep.

Tales from Motherhood.

I have the thing where the child just headbutted me - accidentally - in the lip, my lip slammed into my bottom teeth, and those teeth obligingly punctured my lip in several places.

Living the dream.

Hello you

It's been a while, hasn't it? I didn't die or anything, in case you were worried. I know, you're relieved, right? Sorry for the radio silence, I've been a little busy/wrapped up in stuff/generally uncommunicative. So how we going to do this, a brief catch up then go for a beer? AWESOME.

So, where did we leave things? It's been a funny old year. I told you about the concussion, right? Did I tell you that it meant I had to postpone all my exams and coursework and shit? Yeah, the plan was to do them all this year whilst working at an honest to goodness part of the grown up human race again job, and I started doing that, but... Well, I seem to have found myself in a spot awesomely suited to me. I found a job where being me is actually considered a major plus in my role, and I'm progressing better than they expected for the length of time I've been there. I'm enjoying it immensely, I'm working with people I like in a company whose ethos works well with my own. But seriously, do you know how hard it is to find a job where being me is actually a good thing? Where I don't need to dial back and pretend to be quieter, less? I freaking love where I've landed. And I've realised that studying was giving me none of this. Nothing positive at all. So I'm leaving my course and I couldn't be happier about it.

So that's the work/study situation. The child is glorious, she's started school and is a major smarty pants, but you knew that, right? She can read properly now, and has made me buy her a dictionary and an encyclopedia. Because that's what 5 year olds like, right?

Boys. Still haven't met one, at least one that's available to be interested in me, honest about it AND I find suitably attractive in a sexy way. Settling for just sex wouldn't work, because who someone is tends to be the defining factor as to whether I find them attractive, and just friends doesn't work, because a relationship based on just friendship is, well, just friendship. Ultimately, it doesn't matter, because life is good.

Friends. I can see them again! I'm out of the habit of making plans, so it's early days, but I'm seeing people again and it's fun!

So, how are you? Really? Let's go and get that beer and you can tell me all about it!

A memory

Some years ago, there was drunkenness, on the scale required to achieve merriment in Jilly's, and a boy, who may have been an interesting boy, and I were talking. And then he said, "Kiss me, Kate" and I burst with laughing, because of Cole Porter, and he was upset, and aggrieved, and that was that. 

But really, I can't really blame myself, because in the same situation, I'd do it all again. It would be impossible not to. If you proposition someone with the name of a well known musical, you can't really expect anything else.

Oh and

I just made falafel. But it tasted really good, because I fried them in beef fat.

It's been a while.

Hello you old Latvian bot you, how've you been? It's been a while, which means I've probably been significantly less, or significantly more stressed than the happy medium of nicely slightly. But yeah, how've you been? Did it work out with that South American bot?

I think I may have had too much sun today? But yeah. Hello blog thing. There's some stuff I want to write about, but not today, as I want to write some proper thoughts about proper topics. Maybe even edit and spell check BEFORE I post. I know. No really, I know. But not tonight. Tonight I'm tired. Kittencat and I spent the day traipsing around Chester Zoo, which is actually the first zoo I've been to in memory where I didn't spend the entire time walking around feeling immensely sorry for all the animals (which is why I don't, as a rule, go to zoos, and why this is KC's first experience of a zoo). We went with my parents, and my nephews who both looked like the Unabomber, and were referred to as Unabomber 1 and Unabomber 2 for the entire day. Only by me, because I'm dead mature and cool and shit. KC and I are going to go back another time, and not just so I can see if she'll continue to call the porcupines "pontipines". My child is too fucking cute sometimes.