smokingboot

and then do nothing afterward:-)So the red cloud of doom has passed, I am not going anywhere until Saturday, and apart from emails I need to write, the commanding call of the hoover and work this afternoon, I am so not doing anything at all. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, the garden is shaggy and full of birds. If Reincarnation ever turns out to be true, I'll bet every England football fan's life has a future or previous life as a garden sparrow. They're all out there shouting at each other, fighting over seeds with all the happy violence you'd associate from 8 pints of lager and a stale pork pie for breakfast. I keep expecting to hear one bellow 'Vindalooooooo!' through the window at me.

Work still makes me smile. The mistakes have not gone away...the talkback (aka the earpiece of doom) remains my greatest foe, though lighting determined to reveal every detail of my chest is not far behind, and I still suffer from trying to understand the traffic levels. Yesterday, the director/producer told us not to worry, that the Breakfast show was always slow, cos everyone is either at work or still asleep...and then we were all surprised by lots and lots of callers. I just do not get how this works.

I must talk about meeejaboyz. Old friends of this journal may remember my thoughts on Oldhamboyz and their uniforms. Meeejaboyz have their uniforms too. See, meeejaboyz are sweet, genial, loaded, and all under 26 or it's game over baby...they are thin, thin, thin, with a leanness born of many cigarettes, they have plucked eyebrows, clear tanned skins, perfect teeth and hair moussed up into a tousled, just rolled out of bed style which must take at least an hour and a half to achieve.

They wear invariably clean but never ironed flyaway rumpledom over light tight t-shirts and very loose jeans that lurk under the hip line, far below the point of the whole outfit, i.e, the always clearly visible designer underwear, underlining a flat belly and half starved pelvis. The undies, usually grey, red or maroon, sport a white band at the top saying 'Versace' or 'Calvin Klein' or the name of whichever panty god has their allegiance. If you haven't noticed this on sight, you soon will, cos eventually the catalogue model training will kick in and there will be lots of casual leaning against door posts with arms stretched languidly against the framework, just to make sure you get the point. For god's sake notice or the pout will last all afternoon. It's very pretty, but is it sexy? Hmm, don't know. I like a bit of smoulder in my dudes, a touch of the extraordinary. Fortunately, I am surrounded by the extraordinary every day, not least in my friends...

Such nice things have happened, swimming in a pool in the evening, green and blue lights above and below the surface, I could just feel a great big crocodile-in-my-head diving and rolling in the water, enjoying floating through all that luminescence. Then I joined

mamapusscat in the steamroom, went to her home, had some pinknsparkling. There was a jaunt across the road to another beautiful garden with overhanging trees, a huge light blue room filled with night scented stock, adorned with plantation shutters..the place had a gentle Edwardian air shattered often by the witchy cackles of wine-tinkled chums. The only problem with work is that I am not getting anywhere near enough time to meet beloved peeps and hang out. There is much catching up yet to be done. But first - more rest!